Somewhere in the middle of North Carolina on the way to Million Man March, we came upon a sprawling field of cotton.
Curious and delighted, we stopped the car, jumped out, and climbed down a steep hill into the field of white.
In the midst of the field, I felt the energy of a land that holds many stories tucked deep within her bosom: Tales of sacrifice, strength, struggle, and survival. Tales of hatred, hunger, heartbreak, and hope.
The history of our people, and our stories are intertwined like the deep roots of a tall brown tree, stretching its limbs towards the sun.
I know that there is no challenge we as a community cannot rise above… WE, who have endured so much as a people.
Fire from the torches our freedom-bound ancestors used to escape in the night, is alive, and exists within ourselves and our offspring.
Reflecting within the field left me with a feeling of deep reverence. I can compare the experience to prayer… Or meditation.
In our generation of Africans in America, there is a revolution of the collective consciousness brewing. Every day that we process the pain from our past, we make way for the transformation of our future.
We can and will only rise up from here.