Come and See, Come and Perceive

Gentlebeings,

Last month, my mission in this newsletter was to cultivate a kernel of hope. I wrote in a wave of mounting exhaustion and confusion that I perceived in so many colleagues, movement workers, ministers, etc. Today, I continue that cultivation. Knowing that words alone aren’t enough. But they are something. I hope to share some pain and some balm in this issue. I start with a grounding framework by Lucille Clifton that I love:

“won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.” Lucille Clifton

“Won’t you Celebrate With Me” is a tender poem that holds special meaning for me. For the sake of today I draw your attention to a few words. The tender invitation to come and celebrate and the raw reality of “everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed.” The invitation to come, to celebrate, is not distant from the realities that harm, that bind…that destroy. And even as I use this poem for my personal edification, I wonder what it could mean for us in these days? In these times when truth seems to be a rare commodity. When atrocity and joy seem to mingle into each headline that one comes across. I entitled this post “come and see, come and perceive” because I have heard so often the advice to turn off the news and to just try to think positive. How can I/we/us do so in an ethical and sustainable way? I write this at a time where a Black woman representative was locked inside of a state building for choosing to push back against racist gerrymandering. (see below) I write also at a time where there is current vehement discourse about the reality of enslaved peoples in American history. Where there is the temptation by some to diminish the horrors and atrocities of this hateful scourge. No. Hiding won’t save us. Sustainable, equitable, intersectional community can.

This is an anti-racist newsletter. With the aim to make its readers more aware, more knowledgeable, more empathetic. Building upon the legacies of so many that have gone before us that sought to make an impact on our society. Those like Fannie Lou Hamer who exhibited a life of fierce determination to advocate for herself and others. So many ancestors (and the living) that have sought to continue to do the work until the last vestiges of white supremacy, Christian nationalism, and bigotry have fallen away like a nightmare long gone. I don’t believe that shrinking and hiding away is the answer, even as I regularly recommend that people take care of their mental and physical health. We can’t hide when atrocities are in the land, and even as I type that it feels redundant in America. America the disabling apparatus. America home of the “not/so-free.” Come and see. Come and perceive.