Category: Cultural Citizenship

Cultural Citizenship, Essay

Whose Child is This?

ADOrduna

Reflections on the war against Gaza and a call for Ceasefire.

In the aftermath of another rocket strike, my imagined self rushes to the piled rubble of concrete debris, an image seared in my mind from social media and the nightly news. In this dream-state, I hear the whimpers of a child. I dig, you dig, we dig until we find the listless body, wrapped in pink – a mixture of blood and concrete dust, whimpering as it struggles to breathe. 

#Ceasefire 

Those around say it won’t make it much longer, we should keep digging to find others. I am paralyzed. I will not release the child from my arms. Whose child is this? Israel? Palestine? Does it matter. No child should die as a casualty of the latest battle in a generational war. What if baby Moses had not survived? I stand to shield this child in its last moments, hoping to foster memories in heaven that it was loved.

#Ceasefire 

Watching the destruction of human life in the cosmic womb of Abrahamic faiths strikes the global human soul more than any other conflict happening at this time. Victims of trauma weaponizing pain and projecting it on another. Piling on revenge, fear, impotence like shattered concrete imploded when pierced by bombs. Hate is the outcome of a supported process of dehumanization deployed to find comfort in the suffocating of the other as a move to elevate in a superior, binary world constructed of hierarchies and scarcity.

#Ceasefire 

Unholy leaders on all sides using human shields to justify their funding and bloodthirst for war. Women raped; seniors and babies kidnapped; children scared to sleep; citizens voluntold to join the army and fight for a flag. Where is God in the heart of such carnage?

#Ceasefire

Peace activists and defenders of history, around the world outside of the conflict zone, enter their own battlefield seeking to reason with a primordial beast of consumption for a pathway forward, initially to save the children and as time moves on, to save their own human souls and dignity as the grasp of power turns on them too.

#Ceasefire 

In this moment of carnic global reckoning, the roots of human life buried under colonial flags once again shifts to break the incarcerated Indigenous soul from the bellows of the earth-god’s chambers, to rise up to see the light of consciousness previously silenced by violence and chains. 

Lies have been told that man or nation or flag controls the earth and its people. The confusion of idol worship backed by twisted interpretation of sacred texts, and of privileged minds and ideas that segregation yields safety and peace.

#Ceasefire 

The children of the world are watching. They are not confused. They are frightened by the possession of wars fought in the name of honor; human hunting games that lack the strength of peace, and are fed by blood and repetitive actions that sustains fear, insecurity, and generational curses.

This is not sustainable. This is not in alignment with the privilege of being on earth. This is not compatible with humanity. This is not the way for which the people are asking.

#Ceasefire 

May the waters from the river to the sea rise up and offer a gentle mist of rain to cool the heads of men.

May the milk and honey of the land seep into the ravines of broken earth to heal the spiritual, physical, emotional, and mental well-being of its people.

May ammunition jam and create a ceasefire – take a beat – and inspire minds to wonder, are we fighting for God or the fantasy of man? 

May the inner resistance to peace be a call to healing.

May the rage of our own traumas not turn on those closest to us as scapegoat for this greater sickness in the human psyche seeded by the greed and wickedness of a few that has been violently imposed on all. Hate is wasted on individual attacks yet can be composted to fuel the change of systems and beliefs.

May I remember in the heat of passion that my Jewish neighbor is not responsible for my forced displacement wound as I fight daily to help people restore a sense of home. May I greet him with peace.

May I remember that my Palestinian neighbor is not responsible for my intergenerational racial healing, although I am grateful for their presence in the demonstrations for Black police justice. May I greet him in peace.

May we find the courage to stand side-by-side in the heat of our emotions to share our collective concerns to the universe – safe return of loved ones, acknowledgement of the right to exist, reclamation of sacred lands where ancestral bones are buried and future hopes are planted, safety, peace, economic opportunity, religious freedom of expression, the right to dream, the joy of loving, ability to grow old, space to grieve – and be humble enough to honor the universe’s response.

Our greatest strength is to stand together in solidarity for the grieving, for the murdered, for the unhoused, for those for whom hope has enabled them to survive, and demand a new way of living together.

#Ceasefire

Tear down the walls that make our earth and our own beings unfree.

#Ceasefire

Cultural Citizenship, Uncategorized

Online Communities: Lovemaking of Ogun & Oṣun under the covers of Quarantine

ADOrduna

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[Writer’s drawing – 2014]

Now that I have your attention:

I know I am so, so late to the online game, but one blessing of quarantine for which I am grateful has been the creativity blossoming around the use of technology for social connection, network and community building, knowledge sharing, and building of an alternative economic system.

In my world of the imaginary we are in a time when Ogun (the energy of metal, technology, implementation of creations through a clear path) is collaborating harmoniously with Oṣun (the energy of creation, fertility, humanity)  to open new pathways for the upliftment of humanity and bring us into a new state of being of planetary citizenship. A time where it is possible to align the energies of the Divine Feminine and Sacred Masculine to usher in a time of peace and end (at least temporarily) the war between men and women.

Platforms like Zoom, Blue Jeans, MicroSoft Teams, Google Classrooms, Slack – existed pre-CoVID as well as SM such as FB, IG,- maybe not Tik Toc – but these apps were associated with class, access, and for the most part applied as transactionary tools to support corporate and individual agenda building. A masculine approach of business that placed profit over people, soul, and community.

Now these platforms are being transformed into builders of mutual aid networks, dialogical spaces to raise the vibration above current news talk, learning and exchanging ideas, creating respite spaces for healing and mental wellness, and generating income.

They are creating a counter-economy where indigenous knowledge (that created outside of formal institutions through storytelling and sharing among family or one’s personal lived experience and research) is honored, respected, and paid for.

While we still have to go through the intermediary of a Comcast, Spectrum Verizon, etc. – we can tap into the wisdom of the giver of knowledge directly, and compensate them for their sharing – creating a new flow of wealth based on the value of reciprocity and mutual aid verse exploitation and greed. Also valuing sustainability through creating virtual networks that exchange and recycle material goods locally instead of buying from around the world. In essence conjuring the vibration and formation of Beloved Communities.

Not all content producers are a part of this emerging movement, yet with intention and discernment, one can find one’s own tribe or community or movement, to flow into for support in the birthing of one’s own ideas and manifestations.

I am amazed that in the past week alone, where for example, I participated in the following events:

  • Presented remarks on the Divine Feminine Church of Ocean Park, a non-denominational church community, in collaboration for the first time with friend/mentor Queen Leia Lewis (Iya Oriade) creator and founder of Beautiful and Sacred Things (beautifulandsacredthings.com). She lives in Shreveport, Louisiana and I and the church are in the Los Angeles area ;
  • Witnessed my Pacifica Graduate Institute classmate Themis Dela Pena Wing present her oral defense and receive conferment of her doctorate, joined by friends and family from Brasil, Spain, Mexico, and the United States;
  • Participated in a global call with 1 Million women with over 600 participants from around the world championing climate change and the need to direct over $2 trillion in economic recovery funds to be distributed by nations to a sustainable agenda;
  • Tuned into New Moon messaging from a spiritual mentor and astrologist Iya Tirra Omilade of Goddess Body Mind Spirit (goddessbodymindspirit.com);
  • Attended a virtual Urban Voices Project Board Meeting to discuss how to enrich our community sings and other music wellness programs to better reach persons in permanent supportive housing and other independent housing settings through technology as a supportive tool for housing retention, socialization, and mental wellness. (https://urbanvoicesproject.org/);
  • With a few tech difficulties, saw my nearly 80 year old father light up as my siblings and I connected over Zoom (although not sure about doing this EVERY week 🙂 );
  • Had my first class with Yeye Luisah Teish on the Orisa Aje to learn how to cultivate a divine relationship with money and redefine the meaning of abundance. Participants were from across the country and Canada;
  • Watched the replay of Dr. Funlayo’s ADRSA 2020: Wind & Fire Conference on YouTube (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5-1pnjpvWA) and was so blessed by the stories of the Ifa and Orisa tradition as it has evolved across the Diaspora, loved being able to stop and replay deep drops of knowledge, and still felt the ase through the screen when words touched soul. So excited to reciprocate this receiving of knowledge by supporting the vendors she highlighted and by taking upcoming classes in her online series through Ase Ire Communiversity (https://aseire.com/) ;
  • Logged into Kimberly Miguel Mullen’s Virtual Dance Studio that offers stretch and Orisa dance movement classes on-demand which best fits with my writing and research schedule. However there are many online dance and movement classes including Extra Ancestral, Dancing Diaspora, and with the amazing and kind Kati Hernandez – all are on IG;
  • Connected with an author Lilth Dorsey whose new  book “Orishas, Goddesses, and Voodoo Queens- The Divine Feminine in the African Religious Traditions” I just read and enjoyed;
  • Learned of a local maker of Afro-Centric headwraps and masks from my friend Rufiena Jones’ “impromptu” photo shoot on IG and able to order online – supporting a small business in my own zip code and one who is providing academic scholarships to neighborhood children; and
  • Now listening to an Africadelic’s musical highlights with plans to watch the replay of my Ibeji’s Iya Dr. Monica Coleman’s Octavia Butler series (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyLsqaFjl44) during an afternoon break.

 

Instead of being drained or distracted, or even feeling like a “Zommbie” – I am feeling determined, fierce, focused, and energized. I have felt empowered to say no or decline invites that give me angst. It is not that these are bad, they may not be for me “right now” or may be at a vibrational level of attachment to a model that I intentionally chose to release to stop weighing me down. Still working on the feelings of guilt, part of the growth process. And values clarification keeps ringing as a common theme of this time, so take a moment and have an honest conversation about what are your values. Don’t judge, just tune in.

Attending the conversations that bring joy, I am just so in awe of the teachers emerging during this time from my 5 year old nephew who is teaching me the importance of marriage to my 10 year old nephew  teaching me about Tik Toc and how he sees his world, to experiencing the gifts and talents of friends who are teaching their joys from gardening to cooking to yoga; to having access to community Elders without intermediaries or interpretations of their work, and being able to compensate and acknowledge their wisdom in the moment.

I guess you could say there has been a democratization of knowledge sharing and a knitting or linkages of sharing that deepen connection. Anyone can post a DIY You Tube video, or entertainment video, but at least what I am tapping into is witnessing collaboration and new institution/ movement building that is shifting mindset.

It reminds me of the practice of African Tradition Religions. While there is structural hierarchy, it is circular where no one person can practice alone or the tradition will die. The traditions live through the community coming together to transform ordinary places into sacred spaces where everyone can bring their gift to make ritual happen. You need people to set up the tools, share the lecture, sing, dance, drum, welcome people, cook the food, feed the orisa, clean up and dispose of the instruments used properly, do the ebo, etc. I am seeing this same practice of generosity, reciprocity, and humility online and it is so empowering.

A few weeks ago my Iyanifa Fayomi Osundoyin Egbeyemi reminded, okay no told me, to go back and review the commitment I made when I initiated into the mysteries of Osun/Obatala. What was the promise I made? What was the promise I made in heaven on coming to this earth? Reclaim it and use this time to realign as the best guide in navigating through this opening of a transforming world.

Quarantine overall has been a deep time for this level of personal reflection to assess where do I want to be in six months, nine months, 18 months; and calling forth from the universe the road(s) that supports the necessary action steps to get there.

We were in an unsustainable time when our behaviors threatened the livelihood of human existence on the planet. We have be given a time of reset, a pregnant pause to sit still and re-imagine what wasn’t working with the individual and collective power of conscious choice to go back or use this time to innovate new ideas to make humanity functional once again.

The title of this work is a play off of a story told in different versions throughout the Diaspora between the qualities of Yoruba deities Osun and Ogun coming together. Summarizing, in a state of drunkenness Ogun killed many towns people. Out of shame, he retreated to his home in the woods and withdrew his power, hoarding his tools from the town he almost destroyed. The townspeople recognized that despite his transgression, he was a member of the community and his skills and tools and energy were needed to sustain and grow. How could one farm without a hoe, how could one walk their path without Ogun to clear away their enemies?

They needed Ogun, but in a functional form that respected his own talents and gifts and would be committed to sharing in reciprocity with the community and earth. After attempts to coax him out of his home failed, Osun agreed to give it a try. She adorned her body in honey and with her brass bracelets and sweet melodic voice, called his attention, enticing him out of his home. On the road near the river banks, they made love, bringing sweetness to his roughness, bringing him back into community, and honoring the good things his presence brought to clear pathways for the creation of wholeness. In essence, bring back balance.

Let simple minds return to “normal” of rugged individualism that does not mind killing and stepping over others as part of the process of material accumulation. Yet let creative, innovative, brilliant minds ask themselves, “why you are on this planet in this moment of time?” What idea have you been holding back on out of fear, scarcity, lack? If you were told the Universe/God is giving you permission to be reborn in the image of your ideal self, what would you do differently? What are you waiting for? and make a commitment to do your work to help us all create a new way of being.

Now is the time to find your community, claim your sense of belonging, put your idea and thoughts out into the world (while you literally have the whole world’s undivided attention), and trust your internal wisdom. You don’t do this alone, but with the support of trusted elders and embracement of the community of family, friends, and strangers that have been searching for you. The real you. The authentic you. As more than one Iya has recently stated – TRUST!

In the meantime, let’s advocate to incorporate free wi-fi (guess cable no longer exist) as a basic and essential utility in all housing units, give free lap tops or tablets to school children like the distribution of books, and SMART phones with quality data packages as a social benefit distributed by either government or philanthropy to seniors, people experiencing homelessness, and other economically marginalized groups. Let’s also uplift small businesses and ensure they have the technology needed for e-commerce, distribution and delivery, and e-marketing.

Thank you for reading. Gotta go and DO MY WORK!!!! Blessings!

Cultural Citizenship, Homelessness, Spirit of Place, Uncategorized

Bloom where you are planted

ADOrduna

A missing component of the homelessness services delivery system is the integration of anti-racist healing interventions for survivors of trauma inflicted by inter-generational racism. In particularly systemic racism experienced by Black people experiencing homelessness that impacts recovery and establishment of a sense of belonging in newly housed spaces. Racial trauma often presents as mental illness in Black people, and perhaps it is if we consider racism a mental disease. hooks concept of a homeplace provides a framework of community based solutions that have existed in one form of another in thriving Black communities before the disruption created by the invasion of “luxury apartments” and gentrification.

Hooks described a homeplace as “the construction of a safe place where black people could affirm one another and by doing so heal many of the wounds inflicted by racist domination” (p. 42 – Yearning; race, gender and culture politics – 1990).

In 2014 inspired by hooks’ concept of homeplace and childhood memories of safe spaces I withdrew my nonprofit retirement savings and pre-paid a year’s lease for a storefront in downtown Inglewood. Like a magic seed, the storefront transformed into a literary arts cafe called Callie Rose Literary Arts or Callie Rose LA.

Theo's reading

Callie Rose is a nod to my great grandmother Callie whose husband worked at EE Hughes – Memphis Florist Company where he often brought home open roses at the end of the day. Great grandma Callie was the first generation to be born free from the institution of slavery. She would represent the transition of life as a citizen of this country and the mother who then birthed a line of advocates who would fight throughout their life to secure those citizenship rights from the right to vote, to creating a business, school integration, fair housing, etc.

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Through invoking my own family history, I wanted to lead by example in calling forth the memories of our grandparents and other honorable ancestors in a time when so many people are being uprooted and displaced through an invisible movement of containment and internment. So many people no longer know their grandparents, let alone great grandparents and thus believe they are whoever they come across tells them – verse knowing self from within. I believe this is an effect of systemic racism that devalues non-White culture and a symptom of this disease that can be eradicated with intention and safe spaces where such stories could be shared.

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A community building practitioner I wanted to create a homeplace, a safe community based space where people did not enter with deficiency labels such as mentally ill, homeless, re-entry, and other diagnosis. Ms. Jewel’s home, my former caretaker, became my inspiration.

Ms. Jewel was from Louisiana. Her white wooden home with a winding southern porch was on 39th Place off of Normandy. Inside the home one always heard a background soundtrack of soap operas like General Hospital and As the World Turns. And you always smelled food – mainly burning grease preparing bacon for a white-bread bacon sandwich or fried chicken dinner. Inside were many adults called Kin. You never knew how everyone knew each other, but to us children they were just “uncle” or “auntie” and anyone of them could spank you if you got sassy.

Outside on Ms. Jewel’s block you could see the Coliseum at one end. Across the street was a modern apartment building that stuck out on the block, but where two sisters lived who became my friends. Somehow back then, it was safe to play on the streets and neighbors did not have fences so we could run for days across many lawns with no chastisement. It was about time to go back inside when the produce and fish man came down the block announcing the specials of the day “ come get your waterrrrrrr-melon, peaches, collard greens” and the moms and grandmas came out with their carts to do their daily shopping. We would then have to go inside as dinner was prepared and the street would start to repopulate with folks coming home from work. The best memory was the candy house two doors down. When “Tee” the oldest grandson came home, he would take our rascal bunch over with our saved pennies to purchase tart apple styxs, lemon heads, candied mango with chili, and maybe a sour pickle.

In essence, Ms. Jewel’s home represented love, a sense of belonging, validation, safety, food, and hospitality. These were values that may family shared and values instilled within me that I bring to my work today as a community development practitioner with a special focus on addressing systemic causes of homelessness – including racialized land-use policies and attitudes.

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Callie Rose Literacy Arts became the manifestation of this value system. For a year, with the embracement of community members we hosted many dialogues and artistic forms to help people tap into their most authentic self through the literary arts. We hosted spoken word, book readings, films, yoga, drum circles, dinner conversations, writing classes, even genealogy. The cornerstone activity was a small stage that new guests had to stand on to introduce themselves. For many, it was the first time being seen. All of these elements achieved the goal of creating a space where people felt safe, welcomed, and that they could “be”.

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Youth from Inglewood High taught other youth chess. Parents dropped off their children for help with writing – leading to one 7 year old writing her first book on her family trip to Yosemite. We had people experiencing homelessness tutoring children after-school. I had parents with young adults living with severe mental illness leave their information in case their children came through our doors and in one case, the mom anonymously paid a stipend so her daughter could volunteer as it gave her peace of mind that her daughter had a safe place to go that she liked and was understood. Another mom of a severely medically fragile five year old often came in to allow him to play in the children’s corner where a volunteer worked with him so she could have a little break to read a book or take a nap. Callie Rose magically bloomed community where it was planted.

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Sadly I had to close Callie Rose in February 2015. I had run out of money and listened to the bad advice. I operated on a donation basis to sustain the value system that everyone was welcomed. Her presence was so great, I know I will reopen her again in the very near future with greater understanding of how to generate income and sponsorship. The experience taught me first-hand how cultural centers operated by cultural workers are a missing piece of our mental health and homelessness systems – particularly as a cultural informed means to have a greater impact on Black people. In cultural practices performed by Black people are not about “showing off” but about “showing in” – a total recall or mirror of one’s authentic self often made invisible or outright denied in greater society. In cultural spaces with Black expressive arts genres, Black being is not a projection to create whiteness – but an expression of a liberated form of the divine right to be.

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For these reasons to this day I strongly support indigenous Black cultural informed arts practices such as Urban Voices, Urban Possibility Storytelling, Skid Row Walk the Talk Parade, 3 on 3 Basketball at Gladys Park, Africa in the Americas Annual production, Vivir Brasil, FlowSkool, and so many unknown programs that are doing the work on food stamps, donations, and other sacrifices. Too many Black people are dying at the hands and consequences of the disease of racism and its spread through violence. These programs make a difference in the lives of Black people and non-Black people engaged and the greater community. My dream would be to allow these programs to be funded through mainstream services as part of all recovery programs – recovery with mental illness, substance use, and homelessness in particular. I will continue to advocate to make this change.

Today, I am heading out to Trieste, Italy with a large delegation in Los Angeles for a World Health Organization convening sponsored by the Forum Salute Mentale called ‘Good Practice Services: Promoting Human Rights & Recovery in Mental Health’. I am hoping to meet fellow advocates, consumers, and practitioners from around the world on their experience in implementing community based mental health services that support the integration of people with mental diseases and trauma verse criminalizing and isolating like we do in the States. The trip feels a little overwhelming, and yet at the same time I will be bringing a few Callie Rose seeds to plant into the conversation. I can’t wait to see what blooms.Logo2

Cultural Citizenship, Spirit of Place, Uncategorized

“I see you”

ADOrduna

One can learn the mysteries of life through the playing of the children’s peek-a-boo game of “I see you.”

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Last week I was in Nigeria on a spiritual quest to fulfill a destined step on my personal journey into the mysteries of Ifa. For many years, I shied away from traveling to Nigeria out of a colonial fear of militarization, bribes and corruption, and overall overwhelming sense of not being safe. Yet, Nigeria is the womb of my destiny, the homeland of my Ifa lineage and where I would need to go for spiritual initiation – starting with the blessings of the orishas Oshun and Obatala. So after more than two decades of mental and spiritual preparation, my turn had come to surrender and be led by faith.

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On the second night I asked my African American Babalawo why were there no memorials for the Trans-Atlantic Slave trade like one finds in Senegal and Ghana? I was to ask a friend of our our Oluwo – but never had the chance. Later on, in the week, Baba, his daughter an Iyanifa, and myself had a deep discussion on why it is our tendency to always begin Black American history with the slave trade. Why must that part of history be the seed of our conception? This experience awakened in me the deepness of our sense of self – Africa never left us. Like patient and forgiving parents, she lay dormant inside of us, waiting for us to acknowledge her. Nigeria does not need to memorialize the slave trade. Within her bloodstream we were never separated and she knew we would eventually come back home. Instead of memorializing our separation, she honors our return.

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This story is not about the process of initiation but about the Divine feminine energy of the landscape that embraced me and supported me as soon as I set foot onto her belly. These words are shared through the nano-micropad of time and space and people encountered on a nine-day journey from Lagos to Ibidan to Oshogbo to Ode Remo. They can in no way represent truth, only my insight and reflection.

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After decades of turmoil and violence, Nigeria seems to be in a place of peace where co-existence across faith lives. In the pre-Dawn hour, I awakened on more than one morning to the sound of the Adhan and Iqam – calls for Muslim worshipers; light drum beats and soprano pitches of Christian morning service; and rich voices of the Iyas winding down a series of call and response after a night of praying over me. In that moment, the day was full and rich – a gathering of the ancestors, spirit, humans, and all beings – celebrating life together.

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This was far difference from the divisiveness, segregated landscape, and echoes of hate talk and violence experienced at home in the U.S. In fact, the day I left there was a mass shooting that killed 12 people enjoying music at a Thousand Oaks bar, 2 to 3 wild fires sparked by global warming – one of which destroyed an entire town killing at least 60 people and many animals, and the President standing by the execution of a journalist. And which is the uncivilized nation?

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For a week I entered a vortex of time into a clay womb, where the woman was honored, where men embraced the feminine within and took pride in their role as fathers, community leaders, healers. One of the most precious moments was when one of my youngest teachers – a three year old girl whom I played a game of ” I see you” with earlier in the day, woke up crying in the middle of the night. Not sure if I should get up to check on her, I rose up grabbing my robe when suddenly I heard the deep, yet soft voice of Oluwo- her uncle, assuring her that she was safe and to go back to sleep.

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How many little girls, little Black girls in the U.S. yearn to hear the warmth of their fathers’ voices affirming them in their moment of need. Fatherhood is an African tradition and through embracing the feminine, we can guide our men back to their roots to regain the knowledge and redefine Black masculinity in the U.S. today.

 

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Gender relations in Nigeria are going through a cultural adjustment. As women gain greater responsibilities out of the home, there is concern by some of Western cultural  influences and the impact on family structures and shifts in traditional roles.

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I think though the answer is more present- at least in the practice of Ifa – Isese- the tradition I practice. Through the eyes of this tradition, I observed women, older women  – the Iyas – priestesses of the community in Ode Remo- hold the space of ritual and tradition with strength and prestige with nods from the powerful male Babalawos (priest of Ifa). Each respected the others role in the tradition and yielded the space to perform those roles without competition or intrusion. Like a dance performing the balance of a living eco-system, the men and women accepted and performed their roles with pride and respect for their respective callings. There was no anger, insult, of dehumanization – only mutual appreciation. Instead of looking outward in competition, they look inward into the the soul guided by the wisdom of their Odu’s – life paths- and gifts given by the Orishas, primordial ancestors and energies of the universe that help sustain the lifeforce for continuous regeneration and rebirth.

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Within this experience I relearned the value of relationships – that they are not about finding the most handsome guy or smartest teammate, or other external factors – but seeking out a mate who complements my essence and call to duty in this life for the work will get done when there is a balanced energetic force behind it.

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The feminine face of nature also was present in the offerings that we gave to the land in honor of our ancestors. Beautiful flowers and leaves filled with sweets and other essences that were quickly absorbed by a natural predatory eco-system of ants, flies, chickens, goats, hawks, and the unknown. I thought how foolish some of our traditions in the U.S. have become when we clog up our rivers with perfume bottles and lipstick – seeking favor from the Goddess – an earth-based Goddess – of the earth and thus shouldn’t also be her gifts? Why do we seek the most exquisite clothes to mark our worth, when the wisest people I have ever met were bare-breasted women with goat eyes who saw the mysteries of this world and beyond? What material mind taught us shame in being close to the earth? It is this skin that truly catches our blood, our tears, our excrement and turns this waste into fertilizer to nourish rebirth of crops that feed our bodies and our soul. Earth is the greatest orisha and why have we gone against our natural intellect to treat her so wrong. She is the most forgiving, but even the most patient mother wears down. How can we look to traditions like Ifa, humbly ask for the medicine needed to reawaken the divine knowledge latent within? How do we act with urgency so that she does not withdraw her wisdom into the earth – for it will be us humans who are unable to survive.

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Many people think of initiation as a final step of destiny. I was one of those. Yet on the other end, I realize that this current mile-marker was just an entrance into a study hall where the desire to learn was ignited. I pray for the resources to return for 3 to 6 months. To sit, assist, observe, hold space in the sacred circle of the feminine as was held for me. It is my duty and responsibility.

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I am honored how I am now called:  Iyalorisha Oshunfunke- she who is to be supported.

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Nigeria, I see You. I am inspired by your struggle and your fight. I now respect your pride. I honor your traditions. May you support your Indigenous practices – the world  needs the medicine.  I see you in me, and I see me within you. I am thankful that we are made of the same earth. To our future together . . . IMG_6227

Cultural Citizenship, Spirit of Place

Made in L.A. – Black Angelinos’ Self-Determination to Stay

ADOrduna
Black Angelinos- Black people born and raised or whom have resettled in Los Angeles, are suffering at a deep, collective psychic level – holding on to a life saver ring to resist the current of gentrification and displacement. Holding on to the threads of family, health, community, sense of belonging, and sense of self.
Homelessness; personal, interpersonal, and community violence; mental illness; chronic health condition, low-wage jobs; high wage housing – all symptoms and conditions of systems that disproportionately impact Black lives at every level of the socio-economic level. Black wealth is only 1/20th of white wealth in 2018.
This has been a rising tide. I remember my mom and step-dad moving from L.A. in the early 1990’s to transplant to Tennessee where they bought land, relearned nature, and even opened a cat fish farm. A first-generation Angelino – I also remember telling my mom I would not move back to Cali, it was too depressing.
Yet, the spirit of L.A. called me back home. It is still depressing yet it is in the shadow that we must work and stand strong with a plan to stay so that our sanded footprints in the creation of the L.A. we have today – contributions to the film industry, music, architecture, shape of neighborhoods, government services, and overall diversity – are not erased in the sweeping of an evening breeze.
Yesterday I was inspired by South Central artist Lauren Halsey at a talk about her exhibit – “Space is the Place” in a curated conversation by artist, activist, founder of Dignity Now, and co-founder of Black Lives Matter – Patrisse Cullors. In her piece, artist Halsey owns her space, her right to being, through capturing her stories, life events, relationships, and aspirations of the future in her art installation – a “transcendent space” cast resembling a mausoleum to stand the test of time. It reminded me of mausoleums in a cemetery that i visited in Jacmal, Haiti where a little extra, extra was stored to sustain and protect the soul of community.
In her opening remarks Artivist Cullors shared her story how she was a 4th generation Angelino. That her great-grandparents fled the South to come her for liberation and new opportunities. And yet, with intense – and far too many times lethal -engagement with law enforcement, Black Angelinos are fleeing L.A. to northern and southern So Cal regions or out of state all together. She, however, has made a commitment to stay. So resist. To create. To “recolonize” space and organize community to remind folks of the right to be.
Found throughout the surface inside and out of the installation are images of Halsey’s “love affairs” with the city where she was born and raised. She remembers the names of the women killed by the Grim Reaper, she captures the low riders, hair styles, children preparing for the future, and more. She gives hopes and honors those whose lives were cut short too soon. This is a temporary piece part of the Made in LA 2018 exhibit- up until Sept. 2. A permanent piece will be installed along the Crenshaw line in the next two years.
As I grabbed an uber home, the driver – a single Black father, shared the difficulties of raising a young Black boy in L.A. today. The story was a painful one and the outcome is grime. Yet I thought of the intention behind Lauren’s work and its meaning took on a new sense of urgency for me. In a fight for survival, we must create community reflections of our footprints, our stories, our relationships, our cultural icons- for these are breadcrumbs- icons- on a path toward survival. I encourage all to see this exhibit and take a young one.
In the meantime, during these times, pray for your connection to a higher power. Do not mark your value in comparison to something here on earth. We each have the opportunity to fulfill a unique destiny- we just must cultivate our own head so that our head and feet are in alignment to guide our path. In Ifa, we call our head- not just the physical but the crown chakra – our Ori. We pray so that our Ori’s are strong and in alignment with our higher power. We also pray for the Ori’s of our children and love ones so that they too may be strong. One of my favorite Ori prayers is:
“Ori mi ye o, ja ja fun mi. Eda mi ye o, ja ja fun mi. Ase” – ” Inner Spirit pleace fight, fight for me. Creator please fight, fight for me. May it be so.”
May we fight for our space in the L.A. ecosystem and the protection of our place to Be.