My favorite reading from this week’s selection was Chandra Talpade Mohanty’s piece “Under Western Eyes: Feminist Scholarship and Colonial Discourses”. In this piece, she thoroughly unpacks the problematic ideals Western feminists hold towards how to relate Third World Women. The root of this issue is generalization, attempting to create one “Women” identity that exists in one vague, ahistorical experience that positions women as subordinate. She notes that this concept of Women (capital W) is constructed. Lowercase “women” is real, noting history and specificity that lives in every woman’s identity. This reminded me of Shange’s use of lowercase letters. However, Shange’s use of the lowercase creates the effect of collective, something that blurs specificity and singularity. Here, the lowercase is used to give a sense of grounding, moving away from a “high concept” version of the word rather than representing the women who live in it.
In the piece, Mohanty details how Western feminists dangerously characterize Third World Women as “sexually restrained”, “domestic”, “poor”, “family-oriented”, “tradition-bound”, and “uneducated”. In contrast, the Western feminist positions herself as “modern”, “educated”, and “having control over her body and sexuality” (pg.7) The ahistorical nature of dichotomy erases the specificity that exists in every experience of women, that is deeply rooted by their economic, racial, ethnic, religious, and social position. The characteristics given to each “group” lives and effects the other. This dichotomy positions the West in the position of savior, a patriarchal imperialistic figure to “save” Third World Women.
One example of how generalization limits our deeper understanding of Third World Women’s varied experiences is through how the West views the Veil. Often, the West asserts that the veil is inherently misogynistic, a symbol of how the Middle East controls women. However, Mohanty points out how the veil varies from culture to culture. For example, the veil was used in Iran in 1979 as a form of protest against Western colonization and in solidarity with working class Iranian women. This example reminded me of the political comic book, “Persepolis”.In iir, Marjane Satrapi tells the story of her childhood in Iran during and after the Islamic Revolution. Due to the revolution, she began to question what it said about her that she chose to wear or not wear the veil.
This piece made me reflect in the ways that I almost instinctively fall into the trap of using the “solutions” of our own oppressions onto Third World Women. As a black woman, I struggle to even see myself as living in a “Western” ideology, since this ideology is assumed to be white. However, as a member of Western society, I have internalized some of these paternalistic and imperialistic views, and also do have a hand in the oppression of Third World Women.
Why is it so difficult to resist the capital w “Women”? Perhaps it comes with recognizing there is so much work, listening, education, and time we must dedicate in order to fully involve ourselves in this specificity that Mohanty calls for. By maintaining the idea of “Women” as a singular ahistorical identity, we not only are able to sidestep the work of fully unpacking our role in other women’s oppression, we also able to sidestep work that we perhaps would not benefit from.
Shange’s work is forever representing a subtle and nuanced duality that ultimately makes her work brilliant. The themes of transnationalism versus internationalism can be discovered in her poem “Bocas: A Daughter’s Geography.” This poem serves as a geography lesson that Shange teaches her imagined daughter of the New World by taking her from place to place and showing off her siblings, which are physical locations. This physicality of kinship across geographical distances is a crucial aspect of her work and functions as the line between transnationalism and internationalism. Transnationalism can “[signify] process, flows, linkages, relationships and crcuits” meanwhile, internationalism can be defined as a system that “privileges the actions of the states and rectifies borders” (Enszer, Beins, 24). These definitions can found when closely examining “Bocas: A Daughter’s Geography.” In the first stanza, when Shange introduces her daughter mozambique, her son angola, and her twins el salvador and johannesburg she states that although they all “cannot speak the same language” they all “fight the same old men/ in the new world.” This particular line is continuously repeated throughout the poem, thus the identity of common enemy renders the linguistic disconnection unimportant compared to the ability to fight together. This transnational identity clashes in the fifth stanza when Shange reveals the ignorance of the “old men” and their beliefs that the world is flat. This flatness of the earth can be interpreted as the falsehood of internationalism and its conception of borders. Flatness implies that there is an edge and that edge signifies a boundary that can not be crosses. Shange demolishes this idea in her poem by asserting that “there is no edge” and “no end to the new world.” These powerful statements declare the power of transnational identities by affirming that “debates about power and opression [are] not bound by national borders” (Enszer, Beins, 22). Thus, connections between all the locations mentioned in the poem and the roundness of the earth symbolize the significance of global familial relationships that exists beyond the political formation of borders.
The integration of post colonial thought and transnationalism reminds me heavily of Claudia Jones and her militant advocacy of Black liberation in the 1960s in connection with the communist party. Jones was deported in 1955 due to her outspoken ideals of communism and necessity of labor unions to address the plight of working class Black women in America. She is considered one of the first proclaimed Black feminists. Jones believed in the destruction of capitalism as one of the keys to dismantling systemic racism and oppression. Likewise, in the Triple Jeopardy and Conditions text, transnationalism is characterized as “a useful tool to analyze the complex effects of globalization shaped by neoliberalism capitalism” (24). The similarities between Jones’s beliefs and this article that we read for class over the span of 60+ years symbolizes the importance of the concept of intersectionality and how it is used to comprehensively understand complex global systems of power. Transnationalism, as defined by Enser and Beins, being used as a tool to dissect the impact of capitalism maintains Jones’s position in the 1950s that capitalism is the root of all evil. Ultimately, the connection between Jones and this article reveal how transnationalism and intersectionality intertwine with each other throughout history.
Love is a healing force. When that love has the opportunity to develop and be passed down from generations to generations, the impact serves as a opportunity for individuals to connect with themselves on a deeper level of self-realization. The theme of female relationships is crucial when analyzing Sassafras, Cypress, & Indigo. Mama serves as the matriarch of the family and the anchor for each of the three sisters as they navigate life. Her wisdom and old-fashion conventions often contrast with each of her daughter, but they all depend on her knowledge to gain deeper insights into the world. When analyzing Indigo, the youngest character, it is apparent that this text is a work of magical realism through Indigo’s strong spiritual connection with her dolls and how she is described as having “too much South in her.” This “south” that Indigo posses symbolizes the dichotomy between the North and the South and its impact on centuries of African-Americans. Indigo is often misunderstood by many of the characters in this novel and this due to how she is able to think outside the box and is unafraid to assert the metaphysical power of Black womanhood. When Indigo gets her period for the first time, she believes that a “trail of stars […] fall from between [her] legs after dark.” This description of her menstrual cycle scares her mother because she knows that historically the sign of menstruation is a sign of danger for Black women to have their sexuality used against them and she states this by saying “White men roam these parts with evil in their blood, and every single thought they have about a colored woman is dangerous.” This statement by Mama reveals her as a vessel of history that contrasts with the younger generations of her daughters; however, she is not only person who attempts to shield the other female characters in the novel from potential danger. When Sassafrass, wants to escape her abusive relationship with Mitch she flees to San Francisco to live with her younger sister Cypress. The fact that Sassafrass sought out her younger sister for security demonstrates the capacity for younger generations to teach their elders. In the end, all three sisters return to South Carolina and Sassafrass gives birth to a newborn baby. When she gives birth, she is surrounded by her sisters and mother and this ending scene ultimately reveals how generational love is invigorating and restorative.
This novel reminds me of the Red Table talk hosted by Jada Pinket Smith, her mother, and her daughter Willow Smith. This show that debuted in 2018 is a show about three generations of Black women speaking about their truths and wisdoms that they have gained throughout their lives. In this particular episode of the show, the women are discussing loss and how they move forward from losing things and people that they loved. Willow Smith reveals how she began cutting her self at a young age and her mother and grandmother are shocked to find out that for the first time. They begin to empathize with Willow and learn something new about mental health that had never been discussed in their generations. This theme of generational healing and knowledge I believe is critical to the survival of Black women. Without these kinds of conversations and connections with other Black women, I undoubtedly believe that we would all go insane from the everyday traumas we face being Black and being a woman. In the novel, all the women return home to their mothers at tumultuous time periods of their lives in order to gain guidance and resurrect their self identities. The Red Table Talk series is a modern day embodiment of this Sassafrass, Cypress, & Indigo and how Black women must lean on each other for strength and wisdom on their journeys to self-realization and discovery.
This week around the Red Table, Jada Pinkett Smith reveals the impact of the tragic death of her longtime best friend, Tupac Shakur. While Willow Smith shares a painful secret for the first time. Follow Red Table Talk for episodes and updates, only on Facebook Watch.
Before I begin my analysis of this week I want to take a moment to thank Shange for her impact on me. When I found out the woman who wrote For Colored Girls went to Barnard, my heart grew and when I met her for the first time I was so shocked. She brought an aura to the room. Her writings empowered me and she will be someone I look to empower and take care of myself. I have thought of her passing every day since and each day I think something new out of it. But today the quote that sticks with me the most is from my favorite playwright Suzan Lori Parks; “I saw Ntozake enter the room,” Ms. Parks said, “and I stood up, and the younger playwrights said, ‘What’s the matter? Why are you standing?’ And I said, ‘The queen has just entered the room.’ ” She is the closest thing the diaspora has to royalty, and I hope people let her know that. And I don’t think its simply because of what she gave us but I believe it is because she saw so much in herself as a black woman. Although there is so much her work has given this world, I feel blessed to be alive in a time where I can study and be close to it. And I hope to give her labor justice.
That being said, it has been very interesting to hear academic critique of various multi-ethnic, multi-racial and transnational feminist movements. Specifically in “Inter-and Transnational Feminist Theory and Practice in Triple Jeopardy and Conditions” where I initially had questions about how international and transnational movements worked in action. At a time where a woman could not get a credit card without being married in this country, were we allowed be traveling alone? Weird questions and although the article does not answer specifically it showed that even without iPhones and wifi these women used whatever they could to stay connected. It also raised questions for me of what we regard as “major” publishing as many of these groups had a large reach on people. As much as this version of feminism adds to the nuance of history, it is still complicated and multi-faceted. For example, in one issue there is a woman working in a factory in inhumane conditions for the country that the other women in the issue live in. Does anyone have any examples of publishing where this might be seen today?
Mohanty, in Zed Press, points out that the concept of the “Third World Woman” is a further perpetuates colonialism. This is an interesting point, I mean take Puerto Rico, or Haiti or The Virgin Islands where the United States has had an imperialist presence whether or not it persists today. While much of the colonizing was happening was this important coalition building. Yet when I think about purely in an academic sense, the “third world woman” being seen as an additive is essential to the continuance of the American state. Further helping to perpetuate the elitist standard American academia holds over others. We have the 1st version of feminism white women, 2nd rate queer white women, 3rd rate women of color in America, 4th rate “3rd world women”. And many people buy into this narrative while Shange challenged it as an academic, artist and activist. Traveling the United States and building a coalition with many.
I have hope for the writing of women in the third world through literature, not academia. Take Edwidge Danticat for example, who was actually taught by Ntozake and Ntozake adored her. Being born and living in Haiti for quite some time she is put in an interesting experience but in her novel Krik, Krak. The women are shown as multi-faceted and not simply at the hands of their colonizers and oppressors.
“When you write, it’s like braiding your hair. Taking a handful of coarse unruly strands and attempting to bring them unity. Your fingers have still not perfected the task. Some of the braids are long, others are short. Some are thick, others are thin. Some are heavy. Others are light. Like the diverse women of your family. Those whose fables and metaphors, whose similes and soliloquies, whose diction and je ne sais quoi daily slip into your survival soup, by way of their fingers.”
― Edwidge Danticat, Krik? Krak!
Through Krik Krak the culture, humanity, and strength of women flourish in the midst of the trauma and pain. I really don’t think it has to be one or another.
Very often in Shange’s work, she connects the diaspora and speaks of many countries as a whole. But in the same way that this text critiques Audre Lorde, I worry that we do not critique Shange for the way she generalizes Latin American experiences as an African American woman. For example, there is almost an exotification of Haiti’s legacy as the first black nation and a dehumanizing link between the immense poverty and colonial history. Both are difficult but leave Haiti very little room to create a current legacy for itself. In Shange’s “A Black Night in Haiti, Palais National, Port-au-Prince, French is used to describe the experience she is having towards the end. In the poem she encounters rich whites, she becomes sickened by the level of poverty and sad.
“L’haiti a besoin (Haiti needs)
L’haiti a besoin/de la liberte/ l’egalite/ fraternite. (Hati needs liberty, equality, fraternity)
L’haiti/le premier pays au monde/ sans esclaves (Haiti the first country of people, were slaves)
L’haiti/ la nation de l’independance noire (Haiti a black independent country)
What is going on/ here?
Ou est dessalines/ maintenant (Where is Dessaline right now)
Ou est petition/ l’ouverture? ( And the petition!/ Toussaint Louverture)
Ou sont-ils qui peuvent nous aider a la liberte, l’egalite/ la fraternite (Who is going to be here to help us gain liberty, equality, and fraternity)
I use Haiti because it is the poorest country in the western hemisphere. In this poem, Ntozake uses French, not Haitian Kreyol to describe the country. While most Haitians do not speak French, on the island it is used as a tool to oppress others. Toussaint Louverture is not spelled in Kreyol, it is spelled in French. There is a gap between the Carribean and African American literature in America. I truly believe that America and the rest of the world only want to see blackness through an American lens which is why the hyphenated Carribean-Americans, latin-Americans receive more press than people who immigrate later in life and cannot blend in. It’s sad but this poem does further perpetuate a single view of the third world. Despite being well intended. This is Shange’s experience in Haiti, and it is valid but like anything else should be critiqued.
I don’t know the answers to the questions I feel these articles ask. Where is the line? Who defines the “third world”? Who works within the “third world”?
I will close with this poem. Staceyann Chinn is a Jamaican Lesbian who moved to Brooklyn later in life. I believe if she immigrated as a child her work would be better received but perhaps it wouldn’t be as radical.
In all my readings on black feminism throughout the decades, present in every reiteration or rather continuation of the social, intellectual and cultural feminist movement within the United States is the recognition of and solidarity with oppressed peoples all over the world. Although focused on the plights of women, black feminism’s objective is almost always rooted in the protection and support of all humans. Black feminist politics is saturated with empathy and genuine diversity. The TWWA’s newspaper Triple Jeopardy and the magazine Conditions exemplify this ingrained attitude of multiplicity. These papers are inclusive of the narratives of Third World Women. Conditions for example published “work by women in other global locations as a form of information exchange” (34) Likewise, Triple Jeopardy operated centered their content beyond the borders, linking the injustices happening abroad with the internal terrorism against WoC in the States.
Ntozake Shange throughout all her works, carries strongly an expansive sense of self, an understanding of self as collective. Specifically in the poem Bocas: A Daughter’s Geography is the imagery of transnationalism. Shange, a Black American woman claims blood ties to folks in Africa, the Caribbean and South America. Not only is she saying that she has a diasporic family, but these people in Mozambique, Cuba and Salvador are her children. She has “made children of the new world”. As a mother, the urgency she has in protecting and fighting for them is stronger, I presume, then if she was simply their sister or cousin.
our twins
capetown & palestine/ cannot speak the same
language/ but we fight the same old men
the same men who thought the earth waz flat
In these lines, and the entire poem, Shange recognizes 1) the kinship throughout the diaspora 2) the nuances of experience and 3) the common oppressor of Black Americans and Third World black people. That is also how Triple Jeopardy and Conditions operated. Shange sees a commonality of oppression from racial discrimination in the US, South African apartheid and the social conditions of Palestinians. However, this commonality doesn’t translate to universality because she recognizes the difference in language, a note on separate colonizers. Still, regardless of the colonizer’s language they are all “the same men” whose “dreams are full of none of our/ children”.
This principle of solidarity that runs deeply through Shange’s poetry and the politics of TWWA reminds me of the civil rights movement of my generation: Black Lives Matter, a movement pioneered by queer black women. Every time some major social event occurs, there is always support from the BLM movement. An example of this is two years ago when the Dakota Access Pipeline was heavily trending BLM people were upfront about their support for Native Americans fighting the US government for autonomy of their land. Regardless of their name being Black Lives Matter, there is no hesitation or confusion about the inherent fact that all lives, especially the lives of the most marginalized and oppressed, matter. So of course black people, but really black women, would recognize the need to empathize and stand with indigenous folks.
After our last class, I’ve been very interest in the concept of the “moon” in Shange’s work. In our last class, we talked about the representation of the “moon” in Sassafrass, Cypress, and Indigo. In that text, the “moon” had two meanings that existed in a dichotomy. This dichotomy, which I came to understand as “South vs North”, lives throughout the text. The “South” moon is spiritual and lives internally, often inside women as a healing force. This moon is related to themes of cycles, menstruation, transformation, and magic. The “North” moon is external, relating to themes of technology, moving away from tradition, and social mobility. It’s a destination, a place to land.
The idea of the moon returns in the text for this week in the poem “We Need A God Who Bleeds Now”.
“we need a god who bleeds now
a god whose wounds are not
some small male vengeance
some pitiful concession to humility
a desert swept with dryin marrow in honor of the lord
we need a god who bleeds
spreads her lunar vulva & showers us in shades of scarlet
thick & warm like the breath of her
our mothers tearing to let us in
this place breaks open
like our mothers bleeding
the planet is heaving mourning our ignorance
the moon tugs the seas
to hold her/to hold her
embrace swelling hills/i am
not wounded i am bleeding to life
Here, rather than moon representing an internal healing spirit present in women or a destination for the black race to strive towards, it becomes an external healing life force that can affect us all. This representation is most similar to the “South” moon in Sassafrass, Cypress, and Indigo. This moon is a god, or spirit, who is female that can direct us all towards healing. This concept reminded me of Solange’s SNL performance of Crane’s In The Sky, a song we have already discussed connects to black women’s search for healing. In this performance, a moon hangs behind her as she is dressed as a god-like female moon figure.
In the poem, Shange argues “we need a god who bleeds now, a god whose wounds are not some small male vengeance”. This god is described to have a “lunar vulva”. A connection is drawn again between the concept of the moon and menstruation. In a very cisnormative sense, Shange argues that men bleed from violence, while women bleed from menstruation. Therefore, when men bleed, they are connected to death, while when women bleed, they are connected to life. Through her “scarlet showers” she is able to rebirth us. She can heal the patriarchal violence that has called the planet to “heave”.
God here is recharacterized as a maternal, feminine life force rather than a violent, patriarchal force that is often understood in the Christian content. God is a mother, rather than a father. This a god centered in healing. She “embraces” and “holds”, a force that lives through tender actions.
The use of “now” creates a sense that this need for change is eternal. It will always be “now” when we read this poem.
In this week’s post, I wanted to talk about the theme of blackness as shown in Ntozake Shange’s Sassafras, Cypress and Indigo, however due to the current events, I want to write about something else instead. Today, Shange was found to have peacefully passed away in her sleep. I had the greatest honor this year to meet one of the most inspirational black writers/poets out there. Ntozake Shange was a woman with a very powerful presence and ability to motivate people. An ability to guide, inform and teach others. She had love for humanity and her work reflected that. As I had stated before, I never heard about Shange until coming to Barnard, never read a single work of hers until taking this class. However, reading a few of her works has given me a platform, motivation and desire to find my voice in the thing I do on the daily.
As Shange stated, “Where there is a woman there is magic. If there is a moon falling from her mouth, she is a woman who knows her magic, who can share or not share her powers. A woman with a moon falling from her mouth, roses between her legs and tiaras of Spanish moss, this woman is a consort of the spirits.” A woman is unbreakable when she finds her power in her voice. Shange found her voice, her power and motivated others to find their’s. She’s a reminder of those people who see the world in a different way, who are perhaps misunderstood by others because of it but still manage to manifest the best out of people.
Ntozake Shange never stopped to remind us to love and appreciate ourselves and the people around us. She never stopped or allowed anyone to stop her from being heard. Her work has and will continue to show me the importance and power voice has, especially as a woman of color. Though she is no longer with us, her influence and work will forever remain. Rest in Power!!!!
In today’s culture, a repetitive caricature is the “manic pixie dream girl.” She shows up in romantic comedies and dramas and young adult novels. She is Zooey Deschanel in 500 days of summer, Natalie Portman in Garden State, Kate Winslet in Eternal Sunshine on the Spotless Mind, every major female character in John Green’s novels. The manic pixie dream girl is always white and small, she is always beautiful in “non conventional way,” her main trait is “quirky.” She appeals to men because she is different than the other girls: deeper, more interesting, or doesn’t like to shop. In Sassafras Cypress and Indigo, Indigo seems like the Blaxploitation manic pixie dream girl. She doesn’t really seem like a real child: she is a 12 year old making poetic potions and talking to the moon and playing the fiddle behind a farm house for hours and hours. Instead of making friends, Indigo “sat in her window, working with her fiddle, telling everybody, the wind and all his brothers […] the turmoil of the spirit realm” (32). She is also small and beautiful and boys seem to fall in love with her every 10 pages. While the Black bohemian feminist version of the manic pixie dream girl shares some of the hyper quirky, unrealistic qualities of the white caricature, she also is majorly different. She is not interested in men, she says “I don’t think boys are as much fun as everybody says” (63). And unlike the white manic pixie dream girls and she is a main character rather than a side character designed to help the male character discover himself. She is also Black and in love with her Blackness. Still, I think there is some danger is the Black feminist dream girl. The Black fantasy child is magical, (while she loves her world of imagination) she also has extremely mature and deep ways of viewing the world, and doesn’t need friends to be happy. She lives off of the moon’s love and her family’s and elder’s love, but doesn’t need love from white people or other kids her age. She is “Black girl magic” and never not magic, she doesn’t need what the normal, less magical Black girls need. What the white girls need. Her unrealistic un-needing isn’t intended to demonize other Black girls, but I think it has the ability to fuel this culture in which Black girls are supposed to be to magical. This magic means Black girls don’t want approval from others, feel the pain of racism, feel pain at all. We are too magic so we don’t have problems that looking at the moon and playing the fiddle won’t solve, we don’t have problems a potion won’t solve and a bath won’t solve. But we do. I do.
I loved to read about Indigo: a wondrous, though un-real Black child. But I couldn’t help but think that she seemed a little manufactured. She too perfectly the embody the Blaxploitation feminist love child. I’m happy that she exists, though, especially considering her kind did not become a caricature in every other major motion picture. Like Mullen points out, Sassafras Cypress and Indigo is one of Shange’s lesser known works. Just as Mill’s Fransico is widely unknown. The major difference between the manic pixie dream girl and the Black feminist bohemian dream girl? The Black girl doesn’t sell.
I am always wary about ascribing certain affixes to blackness in order to attribute a trait to a nonblack source. For example, the Black Marilyn Monroe to mean Dorothy Dandridge or the Black Meryl Streep to mean Viola Davis. I recall a professor proclaiming Beyonce to be a modern Madonna. The audacity! The profanity! To me it reads just as shady as “you’re so beautiful for a black girl”. In the minds of many (incompetent)people, black will forever be stained with inferiority. Therefore, ideals and positive concepts such as beauty, talent or success is counter to what blackness represents. Blackness can’t stand alone, in itself and embody goodness. Viola Davis can’t just be her talented, groundbreaking Viola Davis self because that’s just incomprehensible in our society. She’s sooo (unbelievably) good that she is in the image of another great(er) talent.
I say all this to say, I would have never deemed Shange or any other black artist of her era as “bohemian” because bohemian is a term which I’ve always seen associated with whiteness. Black people, to me, are artists. We are innately artistic. When whites get into the arts and spirituality and wearing their hair down and “being free”, it’s considered counterculture because it’s counter to their culture. How I’ve always perceived it, black folks been spiritual and immersed in the arts and it was never a conscious decision to be deliberately transgressive. Black folks live and breathe creativity and our casual expressions are works of art. So no I don’t see Shange as bohemian if bohemian means relating to some movement. In the same way I detest the redundancy of “black hippie”. Isn’t it laughable that a black slang (hip) is appropriated by whites and then thrown onto black people to say this black is like us. Shange being free-spirited, being a traveller, being spiritual and magical and a poet-cook-mother-activist is in line with an authentic blackness that doesn’t need to be supplemented by bohemian.
I want to share this quote by another Black Arts Movement poet that I think sums up how I feel:
Likewise, I wouldn’t read the sisters in Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo as bohemian but simply as black girls/women doing what is essentially black: creating. More specifically is the link between creation and survival that enables life for black women.
I remember wanting so badly to read Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo after seeing so many quotes about the magic of women with moons falling from mouths and roses from legs. But I remember being so disappointed in the cliche of living within a toxic love, where a man in his art is more important than a woman and she feels obliged to sacrifice because the man is so irresistibly talented. I am frustrated with this narrative because I am tired of black women characters’ storyline being incomplete without some man to inconvenience her greatness.
The rituals outlined in Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo got me thinking about my own personal rituals. In the Shange’s book they are very specific instructions that serve very specific purposes. In my own life I have very informal rituals that I practice, for healing or distraction or peace etc. but I have never thought to identify or outline them.
Last year, going to a school where I was not happy, and living in a totally unfamiliar place, I developed lots of rituals that helped me feel more at home and were a source of healing when I was under a lot of stress. Below is a ritual inspired by my Sunday morning ritual from last year, which was almost always the same.
Waking in a Room Where You Feel Out of Place/Feeling at Home
On a Sunday morning, waking in a room that is yours, but where you feel out of place, open the blinds enough to let in morning light, but not enough to see out the window. Softly play the music that your mother played in your home when you were a child. Fetch water from the bathroom to make the coffee. Pour the water into the coffee-maker, scoop out spoonfuls of the coffee until you are pleased with the amount in the filter, close the top, and push the button. The fresh coffee will make the small, unfamiliar room smell like home. When the coffee is ready, carefully pick a mug and pour the coffee. Open the window slightly to let in crisp morning air, and sit in your chair by the window. Sip the coffee, breath deeply, relax.
Another practice of mine is to do a deep clean of my room everytime I go through a transition. These transitions can big or small. Moving out of my room at home to come to New York, closing a show I’ve been working on for six weeks, a break-up, or even just finishing an assignment that has been stressing me out. These are all transitions that usually prompt a deep-clean of my room.
Transition Ritual/Deep Clean
Pull up the shades and let in all the light you can! Open the window to let fresh air in and old air out. Turn on music that makes you want to dance! Strip the bed and wash everything that might be dirty. Take everything out of the drawers and off the shelves and place on the bare mattress. Re-fold clean clothes and re-organize shoes. Wipe down every hard surface to remove dust. Scour the room for trash. Trash old receipts, old newspapers or magazines, bits of paper and flyers etc. In looking for trash lying around, throw away things you’ve held onto for too long. After wiping everything down and throwing away all unnecessary things, put everything back in a new way, something that suits you better now that you’ve gone through this transition. Finally, retrieve the clean laundry, put away, and make the bed with the freshly cleaned sheets. Nothing is better than clean sheets!
These are just two of my many rituals that I practice all the time and which have grown and changed overtime. I think everyone has rituals that they are not aware of. Identifying them and writing them down is a valuable practice because it helps me better understand myself and do things with greater intention and awareness.
Thinking about ritual also got me thinking about a book by Malidoma Patrice Somé called Ritual: Power, Healing and Community which discusses the importance or ritual. In it, the author says
“ritual is called for because our soul communicates things to us that the body translates as need, or want, or absence. So we enter into ritual in order to respond to the call of the soul.”
― Malidoma Patrice Somé, Ritual: Power, Healing and Community
This is the cover of Ritual: Power, Healing and Community by Malidoma Patrice Somé
