It's been a while since I felt like my normal writerly self. Last week, I sat and wrote a mini-chapter in a day because I felt like something had been shaken loose inside of me. The words bubbled up and I let them come without thinking much about grammar, mechanics, or spelling.
I decided to let it fester in the ways that it would so that I could birth something imperfectly, and appropriately, in alignment with my deepest self.
Wanna read it? Here's part of it.
"There is a part of me that believes the failure to consider Hoodoo as a legitimate cultural practice with as much authenticity, autonomy, and sovereignty as any other ATR, is born from a deficit perspective that is often used when considering the cultural traditions of Black people in the US. Despite this perspective, Hoodoo has survived in the most hostile of places with little contemporary scholarly attention and veiled by the protective covering of silence. It — like US-born African culture — is tenacious, generative, and powerful. Whether one elects to give attention willingly, or not, it simply is what it is."
Want to read the rest? Click here