La Mula
Carrying dead weight, healing generational wounds
De nigger woman is de mule uh de world so fur as Ah can see.
-Zora Neale Hurston, Their eyes were watching God
My mom’s nickname growing up was la mula. There are differing opinions about the origin of the nickname, with my grandparents saying it was because my mother was stubborn, while my mom saw the nickname another way. Growing up, she was a people-pleaser, did not like to ask for help, and often took on more than she should. She dealt with things alone. She internalized the nickname, la mula, like a burden, carrying dead weight.
My Spring Edit is more than tackling my own baggage and accumulation, I am also responsible for my tribe. Now that I sorted and tended to my own items, I am doing the same for my family. We are going through junk drawers and closets with the same questions in mind: what are we keeping, selling, or donating. To the things that we are keeping, what needs tending to? The physical is a manifestation of the spiritual and our interiors, so we do this manual work of tending to our physical spaces, knowing that it will lead to internal clarity. Clarity leads to space to dream and strategize and actual execution and implementation. Forward motion →
I lean on my ancestors in deep ancestral reverence as EbonyJanice references in All the Black Girls are Activists , for guidance and protection. I acknowledge their sacrifices and their role in shaping me. I search for them because as EbonyJanice says, “we understand that healing our ancestors is one of the ways we heal ourselves”.
I am tending to the interdependent links between my family and ancestors.
In keeping connection to my ancestors, I daydream about them while I smash spices and fruit in the pilón: What did they live for? What did they die for?
This week I made olive tapenade in the pilón. Whole coriander, a clove of fresh garlic, capers, and Kalamata olives. Fresh lemon juice and olive oil. A pinch of salt, pepper, and oregano. A dash of dried dill. The heavy stone pilón I use does not require much pounding before the ingredients are mashed and blended well.
In community and sustainable systems, there should be no redundancies.
if I have it, you have it,
if you have it, I have it,
we have it.
In caring for my community, I am meditating on the question: what can we exchange? That looks like participating in clothes swaps and plant swaps, or taking time to brainstorm challenges together. As my herbs and vegetables are coming in my garden, that also looks like sharing the harvest. When I cook extra of something, that looks like sharing a meal or baked goods.
I trust myself and my timing and my flow.
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave. I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
—Maya Angelou, 1978
Reminders to self:
I am creating the space for more practice, more iterations, more reps.
It is okay to take up space.
It is okay to pause.
In my sweet and knowing timing,
Dr. A
Good read thanks for sharing this