Why is it illegal to be fully black in spirituality?
Today, I really wish I had the answer to that question. I believe it is as much intentional as it is unintentional. I wonder how many of my white colleagues actually see my color or just accept me as Tonesha, the different one in the group. Do they think I’m 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 really is me. It makes me invisible.
This issue is weighing more heavily on my mind right now than usual. The fact is, I wrote a book and I’m proud of it. I finally finished a body of work that I feel comfortable publishing. I want people to know about my experiences as a black woman embracing her spiritual side.
I have been welcomed by my white peers 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 I know that has a possibility of changing things. If they knew my authentic experience as the only black girl in the room, it might change things. 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 really are and what we’ve been going through!
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 black community. It seems like somebody put in the rule books that spirituality and religion can’t be mutually exclusive. But who can really argue with Christians about the Bible, you can’t win with the faith card. Black people let each piece of them go so easily, or at least that’s what it feels like. African spirituality should be celebrated by all people. But it seems as if cultural appropriation is more on trend. 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 unkept. 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 actually have or is it what I have been conditioned to think?
I grew up in Alabama ya’ll. The place where the Dixie flag has always flown freely. The place where some of the most important 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 was an expression to define their privilege. Their privilege is the very thing that is holding 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 and will not be open to understanding 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 happened if I asked my white colleagues that very question. Would their eyes glaze over? Would it be uncomfortable? Or just dismiss it, kinda they way they dismiss 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 would like to think my true friends would be interested, ever how inconvenient or uncomfortable, about my authentic spiritual experience.
All of these things are what my fears are made of as I prepare to publish my thoughts for the world to see. So 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?
