Yes to Communion

All Houstonians awake with the burning passion to ‘be someone,’ and I chose to be a writer. Growing up, I learned that my hands were faster than my mind at times; hours of handwriting felt like seconds. New worlds formed before my eyes, somehow existing in the one I seek to liberate us from. A place beyond the asteroid belt where we can appreciate our darkness. I consider myself a writer of the times, sojourning through Texas, hoping to find the rebirth of revolution. 

I’ve witnessed injustice deprive my people of their autonomy, families in cages, burdened mothers and children that never make it home from their destination. I am the nightmare of the American dream because I refuse to be silent for those resting on our backs for comfort. The purpose of this column is to reflect on Black women’s social and political practice of community organizing. Reflecting on our past, contemporary, and futuristic praxis helps us understand how to create spaces that prioritize liberation and artistic creation effectively. These spaces should redefine theoretical approaches to systemic violence against women and decolonization. The writings from this column will serve as a tool of radical practice through testimony. I believe that we can only begin to heal from actions that have silenced us by telling the truth. I imagine a new world where Black women are free to love and enjoy the planet as their ancestors intended. And through writing, I could get to the bottom of what causes disconnection and suffering in communities. 

What are we going to do to stay alive? Will we run toward the trees? Or will we continue to choose a life in solitude? I long for us to follow the call of stewarding the land, leaving. In the face of collapse, we will create stronger roots that, when chopped down, will loudly crush the axeman. As I ask these things, I think about the beginning and end of the world, two things I’m likely to see in my lifetime. For the dreams I have now will eventually end up in the minds of another generation. The least I could do is give them some words to remember that it's their time. 

I said yes to communion because I’m a free outlaw in a sisterhood full of rebels. I admire revolutionary women who spent their whole lives dreaming and writing about some of the freedoms I enjoy.  They were fearlessly alive. Just like those writers, my existence as a writer, one who is queer and Black, is a disruption to the perfect stories our oppressors are trying to convince us to believe. Communion is an act of rebellion, especially for women in the South.  This rebellion is revealed in our friendships, our solidarity, and the power in our hands that eliminates suffering. 

As a true believer in the limitless creation capabilities of women, I’m compelled to write and testify how I’ve seen the divinity of communion.  Remembered Rapture, bell hooks wrote about the ways in which women use writing as a tool of divination. Her writing led me directly to the sisters of the yams Writing Society. I agree with hooks that not all my art is divinely inspired, but yet I have every reason to write. Toni Morrison once said I do it because I’m compelled to do so, and I too feel this compulsion to write. I have read many books by hooks, and Remembered Rapture is one that I feel best answers the question of how we can heal and resist in the face of domination and subjugation. 

I was disconnected from communion with women, and I had the power to change that. I saw these revelations all around me; stars aligned, and then I realized I didn’t take myself seriously as a writer despite all that I have poured into my writing. I had to give up on the myth that I am the only person worth liberating, realizing that my goals and dreams will never truly be seen if I am rendering others invisible, including myself. I made more time for women, therefore making more time for myself and my newfound well of inspiration. This led to a fascination of documenting the creative processes of Black women. How their manifestations have led them to transformation  through  “the presence of divine spirit.” 

I chose to highlight women’s stories because they are the voices that came to me and encouraged me to stay faithful to my craft. The new era of T.G.W is dedicated to understanding “that it’s okay to want to be seen” and “being numb no longer suits me.” No longer will I operate from the shadows when my club is standing in the sun. There is no sense in being a small, coy woman and a writer when my words transcend generations and spectrums.

Xandria McGilber