Why is it illegal to be fully black in spirituality?
But I guess this would be a stretch even to consider spirituality when it is still illegal to be black, right?
I wish I had the answer to that question.
You know, I initially thought of these things in the time before -- before the Pandemic, the George Floyd Protests, and the Insurrection at the Capitol.
I believe it is as intentional as it is unintentional. I wondered how many of my white colleagues actually saw my color, or they just accepted me as Tonesha, the different one in the group. Did they think I was ok with this? The “this” I mean, is seeing me in the absence of my color. Because seeing me in the absence of my color is not truly seeing the essence that is me. It makes me invisible. This inability to see color became apparent as soon as George Floyd was murdered. The collective white outrage and “awakening” to racism has inadvertently reinforced what I always thought.
These days, such issues weigh more heavily on my mind, more than usual. If I’m honest, I had thoughts as I prepared to release my first little book on a spiritual experience I had. I dubbed it “Why Am I the Only Black Girl in the Shaman Room?” The fact is, I wrote a book, and I’m proud of it; ever how rough it is, it was my expression of an authentic experience. I had finally finished a body of work that I feel comfortable publishing. I wanted people to know about my experiences as a black woman embracing her spiritual side.
My white peers have welcomed me in spirituality. They have been kind to me and given to me. But then again, I haven’t been putting my blackness to the forefront. And when I did publish my book, I heard the crickets. It didn’t matter to them. Not one of them even acknowledged it.
I thought back then that if they knew my authentic experience as the only black girl in the room, it might create a different relationship than the one we have now. It’s quite the dilemma, I would say. How do I approach my white peers with this accomplishment? This book about being black in spirituality and that having negative consequences?
Being black has always been quite the conundrum. I mean, everyone knows you’re black… even the self-professed colorblind among us. But when you, the black person, actually say you’re black, it’s a problem! Why is that? It’s like it's only ok to be black as long as we are inferior to everyone else or shy about who we are and what we’ve been going through!
I think it’s even more important to mention this now, as our social media feeds return to normal and everybody seemingly tires of hearing about the black experience. I read that just yesterday in a comment; someone was tired of hearing about the same old thing with those people.
Well, you know, I think many black people would agree that we are tired of living the same experience we have always been forced to live in this world.
My problem is further complicated by the fact that my black spirituality doesn’t work for black people. Spirituality and religion are too intertwined in the African American community. It seems like somebody put in the rule books that spirituality and religion are mutually exclusive, and only black peoples got the memo. But honestly, who can argue with Christians about the Bible? You can’t win with the faith card. My African Americans, why are we eternally lost? Sometimes, I feel like, at the very least, the white people had sense enough to see something they didn't have in themselves and take it from others. Black people let each piece of them go so easily, or at least that’s what it feels like.
To better understand how lack of spirituality remains invisible, one needs to look no further than pop culture and fashion. White women left, and right are walking around sporting cornrows and calling them boxer braids with no qualms about it. However, little girls are getting suspended from school for wearing their hair in Afro puffs because the white administration feels they look unkempt. Every time I wear my hair out naturally, I second guess myself. I stare at myself a little longer in the mirror than I do when my hair is straight from a fresh press. My hair in its natural state may be offensive, unprofessional, or somehow give the appearance that I live on the streets.
Are these the thoughts that my white peers have, or is it what I have been conditioned to think?
I grew up in Alabama y'all. The place where the Dixie flag has always flown freely--Trump country. At the height of the racial tension immediately after George Floyd was killed, and protests began globally. You could barely tell anything tragic significant, much less devastating was happening in the world. There The place where some of the most critical civil rights issues came to light, perhaps because it was the place where the civil rights movement was needed the most. The place where I grew up hearing the phrase “that’s just white people being white.” I didn’t learn until later that it was an expression to define their privilege.
Their privilege is the very thing that is held me back from going to my white colleagues with my book. I understand that privilege gives them the right to reject me at the door at will. It means they don’t have to like it and will not be open to understanding what I’m trying to say if they don’t feel like it. That privilege is what has always kept us divided. The division that I feel appears front and center in the context of mainstream spirituality, where there is no mention of blackness or Africa.
I mean, why was Ms. Cleo a laughing stock and Sylvia Brown regarded as a world-renowned psychic medium?
I wonder what would happen if I asked my white colleagues that very question. Would their eyes glaze over? Would it be uncomfortable? Or would they dismiss it, kind of the way they ignore my blackness? All this privilege is the difference in calling them my white colleagues or my white friends versus just my colleagues or friends. I want to think my real friends would be interested, ever how inconvenient or uncomfortable, about my authentic spiritual experience.
All of these things are what my fears were made of as I prepared to publish my thoughts for the world to see. Now I ask myself again, will these women, my spiritual peers, have the least bit of interest in what their black colleague has to say about her spiritual journey?
Tonesha: Monday born, empath, psychic medium, intuitive coach, on a spiritual journey, author of Why am I the on Black girl in the Shaman room?
You can read my original article from 2016 at its home on Medium, if you feel so drawn. I have updated it here to re-share, but with some of my present thoughts.
And, you can check out these episodes of the podcast:
Juneteenth: Africa, where are you?