Resurrection: The revitalization or revival of something. Today I am particularly reflective on the journey of my honorable ancestors. I am grateful for the influence of both my maternal and paternal lineage.
The blood that flows through my veins is their blood—
Julia. Albert. Edward. Gracie. Walter. Lillie Mae. Ethel. Jasper. Ella. The Ingram’s (twice over) The Dickersons. The Kings. The Wootens. The Ruffins. The Wilkins’. The Jones’.
I am reflecting on those names and the names I do not know.
Easter or Resurrection Sunday is a holiday that I do not necessarily observe as I may have in the recent past. Instead, I honor it newly, and I honor my ancestors, whose faith was rooted in Christianity.
I am a traditionalist, an Ifa devotee by choice. It is my path, and it was the path of my Yoruba foremothers and my forefathers. But not the ones that I can name. The ancestors whom names I call, offer libation, and make offering to were devout followers of Jesus. Grandma Gracie had her own church in Selma, North Carolina. Grandpa Albert always had his bible on hand. I will always honor, respect, and protect the traditions of my grandparents; this is my spiritual foundation and my comfort.
Today I asked my ancestors for their support as I navigate my internal compass and fulfill my destiny.
In their honor, I kneeled before my ancestral altar. I prayed. I read aloud from the book of Ecclesiastes. I lit a candle, and I prepared a meal— black-eyed peas. Mac n cheese. Cabbage. And hot water cornbread. I made offering to them. My folk comes from North Carolina, so I chose a meal to appease them. My meal was the vegan version, it was yummy, and it didn’t compromise the way I have come to prefer my food to be prepared.
I feel honored and empowered to find myself inside of my tradition, my known and experienced southern traditions, and my intuitive and spiritual ogboni rituals. I am immensely connected to the responsibility, and the gift it is to hold sacred seven generations from the past while preparing and holding space for seven generations to come.
The prayers of my ancestors are the wings that carry me.
On this particular resurrection Sunday, I stand in awe of the revitalization and revival of traditionalism with profound and unyielding gratitude for the teachings of Jesus Christ.
I have never felt more rooted in my truth or more connected to my lineage.
Omi tutu. Ona tutu. Tutu ile. Tutu la ro ye. Tutu aiku.
May your road be clear.