pathfinding.

Portrait by Elizabeth Catlett

The path is winking at me.
Cajoling me into the darkness.

My last post came after I was hit in the gut by the need to rethink this whole thing. To step back and feel out with my soul the "how” behind the Black & Rural Project. How do I go about finding “these people”. These black and rural folk like myself. These folk who are tucked away and, perhaps, as uninterested in the society’s clamor as I am.

I have recalibrated. I have set it now as my intention that I will “move at the pace of relationship”. One story, one dignified connection at a time. I must trust that the stories that are meant to be told will make themselves known. Those who are meant to be found, will be found.

In all honesty, since writing last, I have felt discouraged. Felt tired. So many possibilities, few tangibles. My way has been unclear.

Then, all of a sudden, there’s a crack.
a drip.

A trickle has begun. despite my blurred vision, this trickle has come and it tastes of something full and sweet. Several tentative, electronic-shoulder-taps have shown up in my inbox. “Hi.” The trickle speaks. “I’m out here too”.

drip.

Yes!

DRIP.

In a trickle I hear of “the first time I felt at home” and “the day I finally owned my skin”.
In this trickle I’m given a window into Shame turned Pride turned Curiosity.
And I am humbled - humbled - that I get to be a story-shaker, anonymity agitator, black skinned marinate-r (that one’s just for fun). By this drip-dripping I have been given Courage.
Sweet courage.
Emboldened by a slowly gathering stream.
a trickle of tales.
a trickle of woes.
a trickle of insight.
a trickle of life.
My God!

a pebbled path awaits me, o’er which a river will flow.
may it be.
may it be.

with gratitude,
Shayna

PS. This is a conversation. Write me your thoughts, your reflections. I will write you back in time.