1. While visiting Paris in April, I’d made arrangements before I left to visit Vichy and visit the Black Madonna there in the Old Church, chapel Saint-Blaise.
I’m returning to my relationship with the Black Madonna here but still exploring this connection. This pull I sense towards these Black Virgins.
2. This chapel has always been a magnet in Vichy due to this Black Virgin of the 14th century. She is known for her miracles.
3. I’ve not brought with me the Christena Cleveland book, God is a Black Woman but I know I’ve written about this particular Black Madonna here before.
4. It was during the French Revolution, that she was burnt and only her head remained, thanks to a ten-year-old child who saved her from destruction.
5. There have been times that I have lost my head. Or been disconnected from my body. There have been times that it’s felt that I’ve been burnt at the stake. That my life has gone up in flames.
6. In 1802, her head was placed on a wooden base covered with the old cloth until 1931 when she was given a body again. Became a full bodied statue thanks to the sculptor Emma Thiollier.
7. No- one stitched me back together. Forged that (re)connection with head and body. I had to do that myself. Over years and over turbulent waters.
8. Vichy is known as the “queen of spa towns” with five healing thermal mineral springs.From the Roman times, people used to bathe in the waters, later to just taking to drink from the spring. It was only later after legends linking the healing qualities of the water to a white fairy that Christians connected the blessed waters with their miracle working Black Madonna of the Sick.
9. I’ve always thought of the sea as my medicine. She has healed me more than once. Healing is not a one time deal. It’s a practice and a process. But I’ve not been taking to the waters of late. I’ve not been taking my medicine.
10. I turn up here, create stories as a part of my healing journeys which are never linear. Spirals and circles instead.
My mind and body are hurting with the constant stream of information and images of this and that atrocity, and there is very little space to breathe, rest and take stock. I’ll be honest, I’ve been checking out. Checking out into Netflix boxsets, mindlessly watching episode after episode, numbing the pain and feelings of being inadequate , or not doing enough, being enough. Enough.
I don’t know about you, but it’s an overload at times of these times, which feel cruel and oppressive, evil and violent and unbelievable and yet we accept. There are no quick fix solutions but my heart and soul wants to feel that all will be well.
Society and culture ( the whole world) at the moment feels toxic and dangerous and I’m all for just slowing down and connecting in more deeper, honest and nourishing ways. I’m still leaning into my joys. Still bending towards the light as I don’t want to lose myself in this crippling spiral.
I’m slowing down alone and I’m slowing down in groups that I’m supporting and who are supporting me. I’m not by-passing the pain, the harsh realities, the genocides ( as there are multiple happening at the same time just now or have always been going on), but I’m also acknowledging how much I can endure and not beating myself up if I choose silence instead of performance. I know this is a privilege which I recognise, voice and keep checking.
Below I share the images from my Paris trip of Our Lady of Good Deliverance, often referred to as the Black Madonna of Paris. Over a 6 miles walk to see her, I covered more miles within my mind with my thoughts and feelings wondering and wandering, which were silenced or put to one side when I met this Black Madonna. I had the small chapel , in the suburb Neuilly-sur-Seine, all to myself when I visited. I walked around, I sat and looked and I lit a candle and remembered my ancestors and give thanks for this deliverance.
Deliverance: being rescued or being set free. How apt she comes back to me today. How I must have unconsciously known I needed her guidance today, needed her love and reassurances that liberty, salvation, change is possible. I’m not religious or spouting anything remotely religious or pious. I’m not preaching or looking to convert.
I’m spiritual and believe in love. I believe in the good in people and try to connect there on that common ground rather than separation and hatred.
What I do know is this isn’t a neat, tie-it-all-up-ending, with ‘this is what I want to say and you to take away’ as that would be another construct and false prophet.
I just know starting to look/ believe that ‘God is a Black Woman’, that the Black Madonnas are here to support and love us through difficult times ( as well as good times, our pleasures and joys) feels like a blessing to me that I will continue to lean into during these slowing down, turning away from exploitative and extractive society and culture times and continue to nurture others ways of {BEING} in this world.
I’m onto the second reading of this book. I think I heard Christena Cleveland on a podcast talking about her journey and I knew I just had to get her book. I’ve used the saying myself, “God is a Blackwoman.” But I didn’t know there was a book all about it.
The book explores Cleveland’s spiritual/ religious journey as she falls out of love with Christianity as its essentially fathetskygod/white make good and is used to uphold white supremacy, patriarchy and capitalism. Basically just looking out for white cis males.
The book also follows Cleveland’s four-hundred-mile walking pilgrimage across the Auvergne to visit eighteen Black Madonnas. The book manifests Cleveland’s transformation through the Sacred Black Feminine, healing her Black female embodied soul.
Each chapter takes the reader on a journey in the present as Cleveland walks and also into the past as she reflects on her upbringing within her family, the church and society. How she grew up feeling unloved by God, unseen and not looked after. Each chapter also introduces the reader to a Black Madonna, each one Cleveland encounters along her pilgrimage.
It was when I read Chapter 5 and Cleveland introduced us to ‘She who cherishes our hot mess’, the Black Madonna Our Lady of the Sick in Vichy, that I got it into my head I needed to go see this one for myself.
Now I’ve seen the Black Madonna in Le Seu, Barcelona. Even climbed a mountain to see the Black Madonna of Montserrat, just outside Barcelona. But this time, this need felt different. A lot has changed for me since I’ve last seen these Black Madonnas and a lot more life experiences to heal from/ through/ round/over/in.
The Black Madonna of Vichy was decapitated during the French Revolution but the people who were oppressed loved her. They tracked down her head and built her new body out of walnut and put her back together again.
I love this story and it spoke deeply to my soul because I know what it feels like to be separated from my body in an act to fit in. To be disconnected from my body, living in just my mental space and not listening to my physical pains and discomforts but soldiering on. Denying my needs and wants as these are seen as weaknesses, produce feelings of shame and are not welcome here. Squeezing myself into smaller and smaller spaces so as not to take up any room and apologising for the space I do take up.
Been there, done that. Now I intentionally practice being with/in my body. I enjoy an embodied presence in the present. My head has been reattached to my body and I’m allowing my body to lead the way with practice. I’m no lover afraid to express my needs and wants or to walk away if these are not being met.
So once I realised I was definitely coming to Paris this year, I made the arrangements to go that extra mile or two ( well 450 round trip) to see ‘She who cherishes our hot mess’ in the flesh.
It would involve a 3 hour train journey each way. An over night stay and a little hope skip and a jump up to the Notre Dame des Malades, the new church where she stands.
And for a minute there I thought the church was locked …
I’ll leave it here for now because trying to see this Black Madonna turned into a bit of a crusade to see her again and again during my time in Paris. More to follow!
Describe your most ideal day from beginning to end.
A week ago today, I took the journey back to Montserrat. I first visited this multi-peaked mountain range, home of a Benedictine monk monastery, back in 2007 maybe. Then, I was staying in El Bruc, a small village at the base of the mountains, at the artists retreat, Can Serrat, for a month. A bunch of us from the retreat decided one day to climb the mountain range to reach the top, the monastery. To see the Black Madonna we had heard of.
It was hard going. Taking hours, at times using my hands, feet, knees, elbows to reach the top, climbing sheer rock face and rambling through the forests of the National Park.
I was always behind, at the back of the group. Moving slowly, holding everyone up. They kept stopping to wait for me. I told them not to but they said they had to. That they couldn’t leave me alone on the woods. Not knowing where to go, which path to take.
I didn’t ask for their help. They it took upon themselves to be responsible for me. And they resented me for it. Once we reached the top, and entered the Basilica, they all climbed up further steps to go see and touch the Black Madonna. I didn’t go up. I saw her from afar. I denied myself the opportunity to be with her because I was tired. I was also ashamed for moving so slow. For not being as fit as the others in the group. I was upset because my body let me down but also that these strangers had made me feel like shit for being me. For being a fat Black body who wasn’t good enough. I allowed them to take away my joy and self-worth all because I was unfit and slowed them down. But I didn’t ask them to wait on me or look out for me. I wasn’t a child but they seemed to think it was okay to treat me as such. And I allowed them to.
Fast forward to last week, the end of January 2025 and I return to Montserrat. This time I get up early, to catch the special train to Montserrat from the centre of Barcelona. It’s an hour ride on a commuter train heading north out of Barcelona. The train is packed and I’ve overheating with my two coats on, thinking it would be cold in Barcelona in January. I was wrong. The temperatures were glorious. Winter sun has a way of easing the bones, warming the flesh and making everything fluid and relaxed.
The further we moved out of the city centre, the more the train emptied. Until we were moving within the shadow of mountains and trees. The train can let you off at two stops for Montserrat. The first stop is for the airlift up the mountain which takes 4 minutes. The second stop is to catch the slower train up the mountain. 15 minutes of a steep, slow winding climb. I took the second stop as I was in no rush.
Even on the return to Montserrat, I chose once again to make slow progress. Taking my time to reach the final destination. Yes my body is older this time. I’m probably even fatter but I knew I wasn’t going to allow anyone else to dictate my process or to take away my joy.
Once I reached the top of Montserrat, well not really the top, the main station/ base where the shops and cafes are, I popped into the information centre there in the hope of getting a funicular further up the mountain. It wasn’t working this day but I could walk up an easy path to the top if I wanted.
I enquired about purchasing a ticket to get into the Basilica and to visit the Black Madonna this time also. If I could wait till 1.15pm I could see her as well as listen to the choir sing at 1pm for a little extra cost. Of course I wanted to experience it all. So with ticket bought and time to kill, I took my body further up the mountain.
A steep mountain track hugging the rock face took me further and further into the more or less cloudless sky. And I was just breathing in the tranquility and gratitude to be able to make this journey and relive a piece of my past but on my own terms.
There were other people here but it didn’t bother me as I was in my own little bubble of joy, soaking up the sun, the smells of cypress trees and elders and then there were the bells.
Once back down, I grabbed a coffee and just sat outside and watched people go by. My excitement was building, as after years of waiting, I was finally going to see the Black Madonna of Montserrat up close.
The Black Madonna is sometimes referred to by other names, including ‘The Virgin of Montserrat’ and ‘La Moreneta’, sits behind a sheet of glass high above overlooking the alter. One hand holding a sphere is not behind the glass. Her hand sticks though the glass and is available to touch or kiss if you so wish.
Along a corridor and up some steps and then some more to finally come to the chamber where the Black Madonna sits. You proceed in a line past her. Each of us has an opportunity to stop in front of her. To touch her. To pray. I gave thanks to her. And immediately teared up to be with her. To be this close to her. To be able to touch her. I didn’t ask for anything as she is known for granted miracles. I was just happy and grateful to be in her presence.
I journeyed back down to take my seat within the Basilica to then heat the choir song. All the time I can see the Virgin high above the altar looking down on us.
The Choir @ Montserrat
The choir sang for about 15 minutes and gave the congregation a blessing. I’m not religious. I’m spiritual. But I could appreciate the feelings that arose to be within such a remarkable place and to hear such angelic voices rising within the space and vibrating back into my body. Again another emotional moment.
Once the choir retreated. I got myself back into the queue to visit the Black Madonna once again. I was all about getting my money’s worth! No not really, I wanted to say goodbye and just see her up close once again. And as I say, I’m not religious. And I’m not praying or idolising over false idols.
What I see in the Black Madonna is a Black woman. I see myself. I connect with her as she can relate to my suffering. To my body and soul. And I just want to give thanks to her for being there for me at all times. She takes my woes and my joys. She just reflects back to me that we, as Black women, are enough just as we are. No one else needs to bestow any value on us. We see ourselves and we love ourselves. Just the way we are.
After touching her one more time. I walked back into the sun and climbed a steep path up the other side of the mountain, not ready to leave this peaceful sanctuary. A tremendous amount of peace had descended on me during my time within Montserrat and I wanted to carry it with me as I left. Moving became effortless. My heart was light and full of gratitude.
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