An Ode to To My Mother + Ancestral Magic
To be loved by a mother is to be wrapped up in a tidal wave of adoration, commitment + embrace.
To be loved by my black mother is to feel a shield of protection, sacrifice + strength of a lineage.
As Maya Angelou once said “I come as 1, but stand as 10,000”— THIS is a testament the the ancestral magic that flows through my creatress’ veins.
When I look in her almond-shaped eyes, I see history.
I see the great-great grandchild of a healer.
The grandchild of providers + protectors who left their homeland in exploration of a quality life.
The daughter of a hardworking woman whose biggest wish was “wanting the best” for her family.
I see genetic alchemy— as we heal as mother + daughter, heightened awareness strengthens our DNA.
I see a future grandmother who fills her grandchildren up with unconditional love.
I see a powerful ancestor-in-training.
I see legacy.
Through her cooking, I taste the tears of our Georgia + South Carolina descendants.
I taste the devotion of her grandmothers who used food as a medium to bridge the gap between the family.
It gives me flashbacks of her grandmother, Mae, telling me “…hey gal, come set this table” in preparation for our Sunday feasts.
Her Scorpio mystique + ancestral magic flaunts as she shares her childhood dreams with me. With her sharp-tongue + warm tone I hear her lessons in love, guilt, passion, regret + pride.
Her stories have become my sacred text. I follow each one with a fine-tooth comb, making mental notes. Each teaching for me has been a real-life experience for her.
As I run the water for my sacred rituals, it takes me back to the baths she would give me every night. During that time, I would repetitively hear “YOU are the prize,” asserting the importance of self-love from a young age. “You are special, you are beautiful, you are so smart, Amb. You are your mama’s child”, completely unaware that as a young twenty-something year old mother, she had begun to heal the mother-daughter dynamic connected to us.
For that, I pour honey in the tub so those sweet memories can stick to my life + in turn, our lineage.
Splashes of Florida water + crushed eggshell help wash away the inherited trauma, pain, fear.
The softness of her skin reminds me of her experience + the experience of many black women.
Though enduring aches throughout her life time, she appears to be flawless; not visually hardened or broken by her many lessons.
For that I live in eternal gratitude for my mother + the women who came before her.
Their lessons have become my lessons.
Their love has become my love. I am her. I am them. Their existence has awakened the divine feminine within me.