People, friends who come through for you in your hour of need. Who offer their help when you don’t even ask.
Friends who are genuine in their offers of helps and support.
Mutual Aid.
Like the friends who came to my rescue when I needed to move house on very short notice members little money in the bank.
These friends helped me move. And you know who you are. We became a 3 car convoy, back and forth from the old flat to the new flat, all in a few hours.
It was such a god(dess) sen. It was Black Madonna providing in my time of need. She moved with us, carrying each box or suitcase or plant.
Our Lady of Montserrat La Moreneta (Catalan: the Dear Dark One)
I remember a time, after I’d said I was leaving, I’d taken my daughter on a break. We hired a campervan and travelled around the north -east coast. Still covid, still a pandemic. Summer relaxing of restrictions. Eat Out For Summer, something like that. The van kept breaking down for one reason or another.
We booked into a hotel for one night, and I got a phone call from a potential funder. Offering support to apply for emergency funding to help the organisation I was working for as project coordinator to be able to pivot. Still over the nature connection we’d been offering but through nature immersion online.
This person, who called out of the blue, helped me secure the bag. Helped me secure the funding, so I could continue to run nature connection events for others, during these difficult times, but also continue to be paid.
One of the reasons I thought I couldn’t leave my marriage before was because of finances. We lived pay cheque to pay cheque. I didn’t have the resources to move out and find a place of my own.
To me this was a miracle. This was a lifeline. This made this dream of leaving come through.
Notre-Dame-de-la-Roche (Our Lady of the Rock), Our Lady of the Side-Eye, Black Madonna of Mayres
I think the big one here is Black Madonna showing me it was time to leave my marriage of over 20 years.
This is wisdom and insight .
I turned to my ex-husband and asked him for help. It was during the pandemic. I was struggling with how our world had been turned upside down with Covid, home schooling, pivoting with work and the brutal murder of George Floyd. I was struggling and was vulnerable and scared and in need of support.
I laid it all on the line. I was going down and needed a life-raft. My pleas fell on deaf ears. He could not help me.
So I called upon my own strength. I took the sacred act of saving myself and started to make the plans to leave. Black Madonna showed me the way, by showing me that I had to love myself. Love myself enough to save myself.
I ask the question, how do I know that this was the presence of Black Madonna in my life, showing me the way? Faith and trust. I trusted in myself enough to take the leap. I had my fears but I jumped anyway, I trusted in myself to find a way. I trusted in the universe or my ancestors or someone or something having my back.
I’m choosing to feel that this is Black Madonna. I know it’s me, I made the decision and acted upon it. but I’m not taking all the credit. There is someone or something out there who has my back.
What is spirituality if not believing in the divine, in our spirits and souls. I’m choosing to believe that God is a Black Woman. Because when God is a Black Woman, there is no conditional love. It is unconditional and unlimited. Black Madonna loves me in all my fucked up glory.
With my knapsack on my back, I went a wandering. Wandering and wondering is part of my summer field guide plans ( more to follow here with updates). It wasn’t too hot and it wasn’t too cold. It was just right.
I had a bundle of old photographs with me, probably half of my family archive of photographs, as I was going to get them photocopied for a project I’m working on ( more to follow here too).
At my local library, there are two photocopiers. I usually use the downstairs one. But this one was broken. Has been for a few weeks. So I had to go upstairs and use that one.
This photocopier upstairs is manually operated and all monies have to be given to the librarian sitting not far from it.
I asked to use the photocopier. They said yes and I started the job. As I’ve said there were a few photographs to get through and the librarian did say they were leaving momentarily, swapping out.
They stayed for the duration of the job. I paid for the copying and then I took a minute to turn around and look at the new books . Something I do from time to time.
The librarian said at the same time, I was just going to say that there are new books in if you want to have a look at them. Don’t you just love getting your hands on new books? And I had to agree with them.
And there, right in the middle of the shelf, facing me at eye level was the new book from Christena Cleveland, The Black Madonna.
You might remember that another book from Christena Cleveland has been featured on this blog. God is a Black Woman. Ring any bells?
A book I travelled with to Paris, and the outskirts as I took a mini trip to France in search of Black Madonnas.
Well, Cleveland’s next instalment is The Black Madonna, is a further reclamation of the divine feminine, part memoir, part global stories, part historical records, part invocations and rituals. Total liberation.
Part way through this book, where at the end of each chapter there is an invitation to actively allow Black Madonna into your life more fully, I’m drawn to the task of mapping Black Madonna’s loving pursuit of us. Of me throughout my life.
Cleveland presents the story that Black Madonna, is the sacred black feminine worshipped from time, from Africa. When the people of Africa were stolen, taken across the ocean to be enslaved, the sacred black feminine in the form of Osun, orisha of the Osun river begged Yemoja, Mother of all Orishas and Oceans, to let her go with them. Osun’s love for her people was limitless and she didn’t want them to think that she had forsaken them, forgotten them or stopped loving them because of their forced departure .
Yemoja granted Osun’s wish by transforming her into rain, so she could cross the ocean and be with her people who needed her most. So within the Americas, and the Caribbean, Osun crossed an ocean, transforming herself into a more light-skinned goddess so her people would recognise her in these strange new lands, where they had been enslaved and all Africanness bred and/or whipped out of them. She crossed an ocean not just out of love for us, but to empower us. Who has not heard of the slave rebellions inspired and led by Black Madonna, by black women? Who do. you think Harriet Tubman’s North Star was?
Black Madonna. Shape-shifter. Black women. Shape-shifters.
Anyway, I thought I’d share my mapping of Black Madonna’s loving pursuit of me for the past 6 years on this blog this month as I’m in need of feeling that I am not alone.
I’m in need of feeling that I have a black divine presence in my life who’s got me. Who’s there to catch me when I fall.
I’m not religious more spiritual. And because of the white washing of religion,I would’t claim any religion as truth, as something to put my faith in. Never.
I’d much rather put my faith and trust and love into black women. God is a Blackwoman, right. And there is something about Black Madonna that keeps drawing me back to her. That gives me peace and joy when I sent eyes on her.
So who wouldn’t these feelings to continue? Who wouldn’t want to highlight and amplify these feels through difficult times?
If we know that acts of genocide are being carried out in Gaza. Then we are complicit in the acts of genocide too.
If the British government knows that Israel is committing genocide against the Palestinian people as it has been declared by the UN and is running it’s course through the International Court of Justice, then to continue to not call it out and to continue to trade with Israel, then the British government through it’s actions is complicit in the genocidal acts also.
Acts of genocide are being committed in Gaza and Britain is complicit in them.
In order to stop the genocide, from a British point of view, as other counties are also complicit in the genocide, we have to stand up and say:
NO more continuing to supply Israel with arms.
NO more overflying flights to give security information to Israel.
NO more use of RAF airbases for Israeli forces.
NO more manufacturing parts for F45 jets which are being used in the bombardment of Gaza.
No more. No more. No more complicity in the genocide of Palestinian people.
These are the demands we have to continue to put on the British government.
What the fuck is the UK doing in our name? Well not on my name as I condemn them.
To come out and say that the USA can fly their planes off from UK RAF airfields to ‘defensively bomb Iran’ and then come back is scandalous as well as being complicit in an illegal war and terror. And is supporting the Israeli government and state through the back door.
There is no such thing as ‘defensive bombing of Iran’. Of anywhere.
You can’t say,
When people are killed and infrastructure destroyed, don’t worry, it was defensive.
They are still dead. People are still killed, communities destroyed by bombs, defensive or not. There is no such thing as defensive bombing, but it’s the language so-called leaders use to justify their illegal actions and war crimes.
Call it what it is. A bomb.
And it’s happening in our name. This shit has to stop.
This is not a zoomed in image. These flowers have not been magnified. Enlarged through the lens.
I could not believe the size of these peonies’ heads. And not a one off. Multiple big, bouncy peonies alll in a row.
White, cream, blush, pink. A feast for my eyes and nose. Getting in my steps for the day, my senses have been heightened. I’m becoming aware of summer really coming into her own.
Big bursting peonies blooms.
Are these a special variety of the flower or have they been artificially altered? Bigger, more, massive.
I’m gonna take my lead from these peonies and not dim my big bold, blousey attitude and {being} out of fear of being seen as too much. Too blod. Too in your face.
These peonies can pull it off, so why not me too, as we are kin.
Today, 1st June, is the start of meteorological summer in the Northern Hemisphere. 21st June will bring the Summer Solstice: the longest day and solar peak of the year.
I’ve got a love/ hate relationship with summer. While teaching, I couldn’t wait to get to the summer holidays, time off from school. But those 6 weeks always went far too fast. Maybe because I was trying to squeeze in as much as I could, as I was high on freedom.
These last few years, summer has been a more laid back kind of affair. But there’s still, sometimes, an underling tension of not doing enough. Not making the most of my days. Not being out when I think I should be. Not being in when I feel I should be. Sometimes, there can be a frenzied, frazzled energy where rest and relaxation is more of a performance than actually restoring my energy and inspiration levels.
May, June, July, August. Months of summer. Rising energies to the peak. The peak can either be superdeluxe and flourishing or too heady, overloaded and burnt out.
How do I want to experience this summer?
After months of stress and worries, GCSE’s, hustling and financial insecurities, I’m fixing for my summer to be calm and chill. Wholesome and good for my soul. Slow warm mornings, times to linger over coffee and a book. Feasting my eyes on beauty and questions to satisfy the Creatrix in me.
Siestas, sea dips and lake swims. New foods and drinks lingering on my tongue and heart. Scents of rose and peonies reminding me of childhood, ripe strawberries and juicy honeydew melon, tingling in my mouth. Reminds me that, I can slow down and soften. I can stretch out like a cat in the sun, cloudgaze, feel the warmth ease out the tensions and pressures, knowing that nothing lasts forever.
And yet, I’m grateful for being here now, savouring the now. Summer. Summer. Summer ( that High School Musical kind of vibe!)
Please consider reading the above article printed on masarbadil.org by Khaled Barakat, member of the Executive Committee of the Masar Badil, the Palestinian Alternative Revolutionary Path Movement, was originally published inArabic at Al-Akhbar:
Every year, as the fifteenth of May approaches, Palestine returns to the forefront of global memory as an open wound since 1948. Images of displacement, massacres, the destruction of Palestinian villages, and the uprooting of the people from their land are revived under a name and a slogan that has become firmly entrenched in political and media discourse: the “Nakba.”
The difference between the two expressions is not superficial. “Nakba” refers to catastrophe and defeat, while “Day of Palestinian Struggle” refers to resistance, continuity, and popular will. The first focuses on what colonialism did to the Palestinian people, while the second focuses on what Palestinians do to confront and uproot colonialism. Between the two discourses lies a profound difference in the construction of political consciousness, especially among the new generations in Palestine and the diaspora. – Khaled Barakat
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