Month: December 2022

Where do you find home when you’ve searched most of your life for belonging? I have not found home in square or rectangular structures built by men with plans. I have found home in being a cypress tree in my dreams. Tall and strong with roots anchored deep into Mother Earth and branches growing towards the bluest sky.

Go home America says if you’re black, brown or any color other than white. My body traveled to the mother land, Nigeria to be exact. I walked out of the Lagos airport and saw the same shade of black among so many people. It was as if I was sifting the darkest coffee roast with my eyes instead of my hands. I wondered how I would find the man I flew thousands of miles to marry with no hue variation in people. Panic, awe and intrigue went through me all at the same time. Panic finally said, “Crazy girl you’ve done it now! Your ass did not think about everyone being Black and your phone not working across the Atlantic. What if his ass doesn’t show up to marry you?” I then looked up from my phone to see him walking towards me smiling. I breathed a sigh of relief. I saw blackness everywhere amongst strange foods and bright, patterned fabrics. We tried to find home in each other. We tried to forget we were running from the hurt of others as we exchanged vows and rode motorcycles. I tried to wash the heat of the land off me multiple times daily but had not packed enough clothes for so many showers. Perhaps that’s why the television shows I remember about Africa had half-naked people with painted faces. I would rather have been naked with tribal face paint standing in the ocean with blue green waves crashing around me.

We lived in my American house, but like I said, I never found home in structures created by men. When he left, I found home in an esoteric pull to mystic things. I was not scared because I’ve had the gift of sight into the supernatural since I was a child. Ancestors, spirit guides and spirit animals greeted and welcomed me home to my authentic self. My mother watched this journey and remembered my baptism as a baby in the spiritualist church. I always laugh as she tells me I was aunt Helen’s child as she stood at the altar with Reverend Hester. My mother sat in the back frozen with fear as objects began to float in air during the baptism. My mom is afraid of everything and we call her chicken little. I am awaiting the right time to visit the spiritualist people. My intuition tells me I know how to do their magic. Their founder shared my birthday and loved the woods like me. Reading his biography with my aunt was eerie.

I have a favorite meditation, come home to your authentic self. I think I find home in the evolution of me. My vertebrae merge African and Native American spiritual practices in my body. I left churches for bodies of water and campfires. I know the Cherokee heart song and have been jolted once by some electric force during a shamanic journey. African shamans are initiated by lightning strikes. My shaman says, “Kathryn you have the mojo you don’t need me.” I think she’s the training wheels to my current bicycle ride.

Home is healing with emerald energy placed at heart center. It’s waking up to Mexican curls on the pillow beside me and the sound of Telemundo echoing through the house. It’s Home Depot runs on Sunday because the Mexican is the one that builds structures I never found home in. Although when I go into the basement he renovated I turn in circles thinking to myself this is now home. I wonder about us. I haven’t told him his spirit leaves his body and tells me how much he loves me. He is afraid of this love. I wonder about us, soulmates with the 222 energy circling us. I watch him in the garden through windows. Keep the faith Kat and come home to your authentic self. Whoever she may be I’m sure she’ll be strangely magnificent.