To fulfill my purpose in life there seemed to be no way around a ‘season of wailing’ for the generational wounds I carried. And therein resided anger, lament, grief, and sorrow for the degradation, mental/physical abuses and raping of my foremothers…for the pain they had to bear on fiery fields of cotton, tobacco, – sugar cane…for the contemptuous whippings and the “shut ups”…for the complete lack of basic human respect as her body-milk nurtured white children while her soul suppressed the cries of her own – sold for profit. For the daughters she birthed, who suffered similar traumas…with neither time nor knowledge on how to heal. For the brown lady who saw no option for survival beyond accommodation and refuge in educational institutions, religious orders, and mainstream media-driven trappings…; all of which inflict their own misguided forms of oppression toward women of color.
More heavily, I cried for my great grandmother who was born into poverty, motherless by age 4 and forced to push her pain aside to make sure her children had food and a roof over their heads…with little to no help. For this modality of living that she passed down to my mother’s mother, I sobbed. And with God’s grace and help from others who were unafraid of a broken spirit, I worked through the anguish. Though liberating myself from what I latched onto for a sense of well-being was by far the most difficult, the cleansing was worth every weeping moment. So, to all of my broken sisters who choose to enter this venerable space, I say “pray for the perfect time to lay your burdens down, learn your story, feel the points of pain, accept what happened, cry out and let it go”. You can do it. You must. It is surely one of God’s many miracles on our journey toward peace and wholeness. – InnaRae
The Quiet Life of a Royal Priestess 