In December, my Jewish grandmother on my mother’s side passed away while I just happened to be spending the entire month surrounded by Jewish community up and down the West Coast.
A few days ago, I returned from ten days in Hawaii, immersed in the presence of Black men - sharing space, wisdom, and our unique experiences as Black men in our world. We also filmed part two of Dark and Tender, a documentary exploring our stories and access to tenderness. After days of sinking into melanin magic, I woke yesterday morning to the news that my Caribbean grandmother, my father’s mother, had passed.
As of yesterday I am officially grandparent-less. It's an interesting feeling to not feel the anchors on this planet... yet, I know and now feel the infinite anchors on the other holding me through the rest of this life journey.
I don’t know much of her story yet, but next month, when I travel to Antigua for her funeral, I hope to uncover more. Regardless, she was the anchor, my lineage tie to African women from which I come from, from which I am. She is my tether to Blaxk joy, resilience, power, magic, beauty, strength and mythos. I feel it in my bones.
PREMONITION
A couple of nights ago, I went to an incredible dance event hosted by the lovely Epona Rose. When a powerful African song came on, I had a feeling, a knowing that my grandmother’s time was near. A wave of grief came over me and I stepped away to let the tears fall. I found a staff to hold onto which felt like a signal and reminder from my ancestors of strength and the earths stability in the midst of my grief.
The next day, I called my father to tell him I wanted to go back to Antigua to see her before she passed. And the day after that, I woke up to a text that she was gone.
POEM AND MAGIC
In honor of my grandmother, Black Future month and all Black Life everywhere I'd like to share with you a poem I wrote at the end of our 10 day Black Mens retreat.
Being touched by Black skin is like being touched by water, or the ocean of stars above.
It’s like being at a party where everyone knows your name.
It sounds like your favorite music, laughter of your ancestors, or the sounds of steak hitting a skillet, knowing the goodness of what’s coming.
Being touched by Black skin, happens away from the noise of a white world that doesn’t know our names, doesn’t know that we come from an ocean of stars, or that our touch feels like water running over a river stone.
Maybe Black touch is the best kept secret.
Maybe no one should find out.
And still, my body yearns for the world that knows my hands as sacred, knows my touch as a well of water, sees my body like the sun. Giving life to all that I touch.
May the white world learn to touch the Sun People like the sun touches us.
Lovingly, soaking into our skin, never burning.
May we warm each other again.
Rest in sweet Blaxk Royal Paradise Grandma Gloria I promise to live it for us down here.
Love forever,
Your Grandchild
“When our Elders die, we move up in the ranks” - Alyx Somas
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