To be honest, these last several weeks have not been even near close to what I would consider a “harvest” conversation worth talking about out loud. Like, not even close. I am under the suspicion that a Star Sis is in the midst of a “Dark Night transit”. Which essentially means to me that I’m shifting frequencies on the consciousness “radio dial”— and haven’t quite found a station to land on yet. And this part is really weird and uncomfortable and disconcerting and dare I say, cray, cray. Besides the near daily bodily (minor) injuries that have become more laughable and annoying than anything else and the depths of tears that have left my face, I’m okay. I have a roof over my head. I have food to eat. That cat is cool. I feel especially tender, but I’ve been taking daily salt baths and I’ve been leaning into the parts of my spiritual practice that feel resonant.
Six days ago, I started a 7 day ritual that Empress Naima our Starfolk University Dean of Intuitive Arts sent me. She calls this ritual The Tree of Remembrance: A Ritual for Africans in the Diaspora.
Now.
Empress Naima is all of the things. We’ve been friends for the better part of 7 years. She’s a lauded, studied and practiced chef and musician and intuitive and mystic. When she sends me things, I know they are rooted in scholarship, practice and guidance beyond the veil. What I did not know was that I was opening up an initiation portal. What I’ll also say is that initiation portals are not fun. They hurt. Old parts of me/you that want to cling to bone, are not easy to pry off. The body often cannot make heads or tails of the energy shift and so its whatever. Go to bed sis. Okay, but who can sleep? Stay awake sis. Okay, but who can keep her eyes open? Eat something. Okay, but what is food? It’s the bad place and the upside down all rolled into one.—without the cinematic elements, story arcs and plot points.
I’ll also say that everything to me is dumb right now. The headlines. People who talk about the headlines. People in general. People. Which is a complicated place to be as a talk show host on show day. Mind you, my life has been teetering on this particular axis for a few months (really years, but whatever). As much as I’d like to blame my inner chaos demon run amok on day 6 of a 7 day ritual, as I type this with the most annoying crick in my neck, a burn on my typing finger, a gash on the back of my ankle, a bruise and a cut on my left elbow, restless leg also happening in my left leg, bruising from a fall on my right back area…and no sleep till Utica, last night. Yes. All in 6 days.
I have not yet done today’s tree ceremony because I got a really late start today and I’m typing this presently. But I do want to say this about the injuries I mentioned. Something that I just noticed as I itemized the ones I could think of…
They’re healed. Or nearly there. Already. Each injury healing faster than the last.
The crick in my neck isn’t yet healed because it was this morning’s gift, but last night’s finger burn is nowhere to be found. Not even a blister. The bruise from falling off my hammock on the first day of the ritual, you wouldn’t even know I fell unless I told you. Meanwhile, the pictures I took tell a different story. The other thing I’d like to add to this revelation is that I also had a sort of innate, relaxed response to each of these injuries—and the ingredients on hand to resolve whatever came up. When I fell, I put my homemade healing creme on the wounds. When I burned my finger, I didn’t have fresh aloe, but I just happened to have made “okra bath” the day before and had it in the fridge to soak my finger in. There are other things. Nudges in the direction of my own rapid healing that have plopped into my awareness, like an interdimensional pop quiz I didn’t know I signed up for. Like I’m being tested. Like I’m being forged. Like I’m being reminded of the gifts I’ve already been given of knowing what to do. Like my vessel already knew and the remembrance I’m asking for in ceremony is a formality.
And so now I’m thinking about HARVEST differently. Planting seeds and watering and pruning is cute work, compared to the harvest. If you’re picking crops by hand, as our ancestors did, and do—it can be backbreaking work.
Fingers without gloves bleed.
Feet without shoes ache.
Bodies without rest moan, crack and break.
What if with every revelation around the tree I am remembering those things my ancestors tried to protect me from— wanted me to forget about their journey. The most painful and degrading parts. The parts they forgot before they even left their home lands— so that they could survive the journey,
—so that I could be here typing this. It is a harvest. What I get to do every single day is a harvest. The way I get to breathe in this free air and use my free voice and move this free body and participate in this free fake society. It isn’t perfect, but it certainly is “Having All Resources Vested, Expressed, Spreading Triumph” like this month’s shift prompt says…
I’ll also say this, I am looking forward to tonight’s gorgeous on air conversation with tonight’s SFU Deans:
Oneika Mays— Dean of Joyful Revolution
Dr. Kelly Wallace—Dean of Heart-full Insight + Joy-Full Resistance
Dr. Fearless Smith—Dean of African Diasporic Studies
Kitakiya—Dean of Art, Artistry and Creative Expression
Eisha Mason—Dean of Radical Spiritual Connection
The WuWu Metaphysical studio opens Friday nights at 7p EST on WURD 96.1FM Philly + The FB LIVE (worldwide). See you then yes? Oh! Bring a journal, a pen and 3 frens! WuWu is best done together. You can listen live with this link and/or on the WURD App. We ARE Live on the FB Live OR Twitch too tonight!
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