Was just reminded of the complexity of relationships and thought I’d share this story I told a couple years back on the stage of The Great Hall at Cooper Union in N.Y.C.
It was a thrill to tell my first story alongside other storytellers/raconteurs on the Main Stage of The Moth, a pioneer and mainstay of storytelling movement. But it was even more of an honor to be a woman of color sharing my inner-and-outer world view, to stand on the same stage as many historical and political figures who may have never asked.
Just to be in that Great Hall was powerful. I feel something is always left in the spaces we have occupied. All it takes for me is a walk through the pine and oak tree woods along the Georgia coast to feel that. Our stuff, black folks’ stuff, just seems to hang in the air down her on the Sea Islands.
Sometimes, it’s tangible, like Spanish moss hanging from the trees or healing, frangrant “dog tongue” growing right at your feet. (BTW, I have to share with you all a bit later my first time setting foot on the still-amazing Sapelo Island off the coast of Darien, Georgia, just up the road/shore from me on St. Simons Island. An epiphany! Somebody remind me. : ) )
Other times, the feeling, the insight, the memory is as ethereal as the scent of freshly caught mullet smoking over a fragrant fire of fallen oak wood. So fragile that you fear to move.
For me, it’s always a privilege to tell stories of women. And to tell a story of womanhood as old as time: My first time. Well.
Please share with our young ones, especially our girls, and view it with them for discussion afterwards.
Peace, love and joy,(I added the “JOY” for Miss Maya.)
Go to www.themoth.org and listen to all kinds of stories.
Enjoy and let me