If there is anything that I have learned in all my years it’s that grief needs air. Just like anything alive that gets mold and withers when it’s suffocated and not given light, grief needs space and air to be and breathe.
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I had never considered alchemy as a part of my spirituality let alone my meditative practices and yet in the pages of a tiny pamphlet with no author, I was learning how to transform my mind.
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Once I learned about the woman that my grandmother was and the difficult life she had it was no wonder to me that the illness that would eventually kill her affected the areas responsible for love and power; because she felt that she had neither of those.
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But as a queer person of color letting go has often felt dangerous and taking up space was a concept that I thought was only relegated to mediocre white folks. Even as I was typing up the last blog post and the insurgence on the capitol was happening at the exact same time, I saw how the life of an everyday white man or woman holds more perceived value over mine.
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