“Spending quality time with those you love – and who love you back – is the best way to make time matter.”
For years, I was ashamed of not “having my own place.”
Not only could I feel other’s judgment of my seeming “developmental delay” in embracing Western society’s understanding of “adulthood,” but I also judged myself harshly, subjugating my values to those of a soulless society.
Just today, I recalled an old conversation with a friend. I said that I wanted time to live with each of the elder women in my family…to glean from their wisdom, stock up on memories and soak up our lineage’s special kind of magick.
And guess what?
I’ve gotten my wish.
I’ve been blessed with extended time with all my mamas – my birth mother, my maternal grandmother, my aunties, my cousins … and on this night before my return to my home state, I see and feel the wealth they’ve planted in me. I’m walking with invisible moonstone and diamonds dripping from my hips, I’m sure of it.
I’ve got stories to guide generations because all my mothers’ stories are in me. They spoke, and I listened. I’m adorned in laughter, crowned in prayers, guided by love and made of the kind of marinated magick that comes from struggle and rise, ebb and flow.
It’s a going with what is kinda magick, not a make-it-how-you-want-it type thing.
That’s the magick of gumbo folk — stew, quilts, music, names, language — we make whole new things outta pieces of whole things that nobody else sees value in. That’s magick: to see a thing into being.
Y’all may not understand this kind of soul talk, but dig this:
no matter what we do, the most important thing is sharing time with those we love because without the ones who came before, we wouldn’t be, and without the ones who come after, we don’t matter.
It’s bigger than us, so make time, and like a good stew each autumn-turned-winter, keep making it.