Love to love you, baby.
[No. 51]
NAME THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND THINGS YOU LOVE NON-ROMANTICALLY! CAN YOU MAKE A LIST OF 12? HOW CAN FEEDING INTO NON-ROMANTIC LOVE SUPPORT ROMANCE IN YOUR LIFE?
A guest piece by author & visionary Kelly Macías
“I’m a big fan of Black women. ‘Cause in our blood is space travel.”
Nikki Giovanni
Dear Alien,
You should know that I dove into your question wholeheartedly, fully intending to write a list of twelve things I love non-romantically. My lifelong adoration of sunflowers came to mind first, how the youngest of the species move their blooms to track the sun during the day, only to reorient themselves at night in anticipation of the dawn’s arrival. I have always been comforted by their behavior, a reminder that plants and animals need both dark and light to function, and things move in their own time. I considered how each song and interview on Nina Simone’s Protest Anthology album is a sacred prayer; meditations I’ve revisited frequently over the last nine years to help me find words to express my anguish, fear, and hysteria over the lack of justice and equity in the world. Then a memory came, of renting an Airbnb in Long Beach for a writer’s getaway, and in-between writing and procrastination, I took a blanket and walked to the water each night, to sit in silence as the sun was setting. It was there I learned to love listening more than speaking, realizing the fullness of quiet, tuning into the crashing waves, and paying reverence to Mother Earth with my breath.
But something else kept nagging at me, friend. My heart demanded that I write something else. Because it feels incredibly urgent to do so. And because I cannot answer your question without acknowledging what I know to be true. And as the very wise bell hooks once wrote, “To know love, we have to tell the truth to ourselves and others.”
Author Kelly Macías [center] smiling and experiencing joy with her friends in 1988
I have spent the last year deeply reflecting on my love for Black women and femmes. Perhaps it started when I realized I was experiencing symptoms of perimenopause and, because I could not get any clear answers about what was happening to me from the women in my family or my doctors [or anyone else really], I turned to Black women on social media for relief. Perhaps it was during the conversation with a friend who was responding to a question on a dating app, “What most feels like home to you?” And I instinctively responded, “Black women.” Maybe it was because I finally rewatched one of my childhood favorite musicals, The Wiz, and felt instantly transported to the summer when I was 9. My best friend Angie and I watched the movie so many times [trying to perfect dance moves to “A Brand New Day,” that we broke the VHS tape]. Whatever the reason, I have been contemplating what it means to be a Black woman and to love Black women in a world where so many forces plot our very extinction.
I am sure I don’t have to tell you how things feel desperate right now. With so much darkness in the world, many of us feel like we are drowning, bodies and spirits irreparably broken. And when our modern-day dystopia makes me want to stay under the covers with a pint of Jeni’s Brown Butter Almond Brittle ice cream, I turn to Black women and femmes. They remain my North Star, consistently possessing a vision of utopia that reminds me of what could be and what we deserve: a society where people, plants, animals, all beings, regardless of sentience, live in harmony and abundance with one another.
Alice Walker put words to Black women’s ways of being in 1979 when she coined the term “womanism” in her book, In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens.
Womanism: 1. From womanish. [Opp. Of “girlish,” i.e. frivolous, irresponsible, not serious]. A Black feminist or feminist of color…Responsible. In charge. Serious. 2. Also: A woman who loves other women, sexually and/or non-sexually… Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female…3. Loves music. Loves dance. Loves the moon. Loves the Spirit…Loves the Folk. Loves herself. Regardless.
I fall in love with In Search Of Our Mothers’ Gardens upon each reading. I now own three versions. The original [dog-eared, highlighted, and well-loved] got me through writing my doctoral dissertation. What began as a collection of essays has become an ongoing conversation between Black women and Alice Walker about who and how we are. Over time, some of us have expanded Walker’s definition beyond gender binaries, incorporated womanism into our religious and spiritual practices, perspectives on the environment and more. This doesn’t surprise me. We are expansive, liminal beings with threads connecting us to our loved ones and all of humanity in the past, present and future. We navigate and co-create language and multiple realities. We are in pursuit of our wholeness and committed to our liberation. And to bringing others along with us.
Lately, I’ve been talking with other Black women and femmes about the things that bring us joy. I absolutely love this for us. For so long, we’ve borne the pain of the world in our bodies, forced into activism, expected to save everyone around us. We aren’t seen as deserving of softness, of wellness, of time to pursue our desires and creativity. Still, we are creating spaces to rest, to be our beautiful, abundant, full selves. My last few texts from my sisters/siblings were full of energy, possibility, and, of course, our special brand of humor. “I’m going to send you a little pic of sweetness!” [followed by a picture of a cat] “Do you have time to collaborate on writing? That women in Hip-Hop thing we were discussing.” “America would be boring AF WITHOUT us!!!”
What I love about Black women and femmes is that we do more than just survive. As Nikki Giovanni says, “anything can survive.” We have the capacity “to thrive, believe and hope,” even when that hope is bluesy or non-traditional. Overall, I don’t have much optimism for where our society is headed. But my hope in the capacity of Black women and femmes to build, dream and create new realities for all of us is infinite.
As I think about it, my Alien friend, I see divine synergy between the list I started and where I ended up. It is precisely because I am a Black woman and womanist that I have admiration for the magic of sunflowers, the power of Nina Simone’s transformational music, and devotion to the sea and planet on which I live. Nature has bestowed me the gift of profound love, which begins with Black women and femmes, one I keep coming back to, and that love extends itself out toward the rest of humanity and the Earth.
Though there are many more than twelve things, I can tell you with certainty that I am a woman who loves the moon. Loves the Spirit. Loves the Folk. Loves herself. Regardless.