Passage from Aida Mariam Davis's Kindred Creation. It reads: "'Rootedness' in the African context suggests deep germination and growth. It is a particular way of being in concert and connected with the wilderness and wildness. Consciously and subconsciously, we reclaim things that give us vision, voice, and value. 'Reclamation,' as we've discussed, is rediscovery and reconnection. Together, rootedness and reclamation sustain life of all forms. This movement of rootedness is both mystical and methodical. It is a labor without payment or acknowledgement but holds the highest value. Our bodies, minds, and spirits are rooted somewhere. The work we have to do is to locate it and evaluate if the roots are in healthy and spacious soil so they can grow. In the current context of widespread ongoing settler colonialism, we experience restrictions on our growth, but that should not deter us. Instead, we should turn to our deep-rooted tenderness and care for ourselves and others. This tenderness and care keep us connected to each other and our responsibilities; they create art and poetry, spark activism, and give meaning to our lives. This place is a sanctuary and the time is sacred. The word 'sanctuary' has roots in the word 'sanctorium,' which means a repository for holy things, or to make things whole. Making space for the most holy often means abandoning harmful ways of being and doing. It means making a distinction between where you are and where you will be, what you accept and what you demand. It is recognizing your gifts as necessary and lifegiving and non-negotiable. You will not make yourself smaller nor will you hide your Blackness, gayness, disabledness, or other beauty. In fact, it is those gifts that will guide you to identifying your kith and kin. Let's sow new relations and claim our harvest." The next section header--'The Weight of Being Well'--follows and Davis cites Toni Cade Bambara before imploring us to "confront our insecurities, demons, and ghosts."
Passage from Aida Mariam Davis's Kindred Creation. It reads: "Bambara reminds the reader, 'There is a lot of weight to being well' and 'Being well is no triflin' matter.' The Salt Waters is set in a fictional place in the American South; the story is intentional in its nonlinear nature and in its exploration of sacred space and time from the African perspective. Bambara, like me, is improvisational. Tangents aren't really tangents; they are seeds and flavor agents to add texture [and depth] to the main story. Poetically, The Salt Waters requires the reader to treat, in literal and figurative terms, the whole self rather than parts of it. Both experimental and political in tone, Bambara's main idea is that for Black people, preserving their identity is a path to freedom and protection from the settler madness. By allowing Blackness to be our center, our home, and our kin--Black people can access our full power and potential. For Bambara, and for me, courage is at the crux of wholeness and freedom. Sometimes we are so comfortable in our illness, trauma, or pain that it immobilizes our ability to imagine. To be courageous, we must be willing to stand in the unknown and stand firm in uncomfortable truth. Wellness, wholeness, and subsequent kinship creation require perpetual and ongoing effort. This book requires the reader to explore wellness and to pay attention to struggles, dilemmas, and relationships. I hope you take time with this text and slow down to examine carefully, and in some detail, the complexity, of your own life. It is these details that force us to become more aware and that shape our behavior and energies. Personal and political liberation is first and foremost about the liberation of the self. Reality is our collective capacity to remain grounded in our history and our spiritual traditions. True politics are not ideologies to discuss, but attitudes about your relationship with the world, which you enact daily."
"Knowledge is like a garden: If it is not cultivated, it cannot be harvested."
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