The Beautiful Project Journal: On Solitude | Spring 2023

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4. 26. 35.

10. 32.

6. 30.

13. 20.

Letter from the Editor Dedicated Spaces: A Silent Retreat for a Weary Pilgrim by Alexus Rhone Resources for Practice

Home by Alexandria Miller Three Loves: Poems Born from Solitude by Aeran Baskin

My Solitude by Gerty Mitchell Refill by Shaunna Barbee Tyus

Self Documentation: A Conversation between Damola Akintunde & Kaci Kennedy

On Motherhood by Kara Simpson

Letter from the editor

SOLITUDE

[English] noun the state of being alone, solitary, by oneself

What comes to mind when you think of the word solitude?

One of the many definitions describes it as a state of being alone and by oneself. In my experience, the state of solitude is designated alone time to be present and find peace within my mind, body, and spirit. In bell hooks’, All About Love: New Visions, she reflects on the significance of what solitude can bring to one’s life. She wrote, “Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.” When our editorial team met to discuss the theme of this issue of our Journal, we were all emerging from the quiet and sombering first year of the pandemic in 2020. As we all remember, our worlds were halted and many of us were forced to slow down and distance ourselves from others.

Khayla

Quite a few of us were forced to learn how to be alone. And during that specific time, we all turned inwards.

This Journal issue is a collection of reflections on solitude from Black women artists. As our co-editor Alexandria Miller stated in one of our editorial meetings, “For some, there is a difference between being alone and being lonely. Black women and girls’ solitude and privacy is sacred and, unfortunately, sometimes invaded. Solitude can be a moment for rest, recharging, and relaxation. On the other hand, still in the midst of a pandemic, the meaning and purpose of solitude has slightly evolved.” Alexandria expounds off her personal experience of solitude in her essay, “Home,” an exploration of what it means to create a home for herself.

Kai Jullian Photography

During our brainstorming sessions, our photography editor, Damola Akintunde, asked herself the question “Who am I outside of the background noise?” As a photographer, she uses self portraiture as a tool to explore that question in her conversation with fellow photographer Kaci Kennedy on self documentation as a grounding practice.

This issu is also full of beautiful reflections and commentary illustrating how people define and practice solitude. Our cover image features writer Gerty Mitchell sitting in her favorite writing nook to spend time with herself and her words. Her poem, “Solitude” captures the sentiment of her portrait beautifully, which was photographed by Damola. Aeran Baskin also shares a poem in three

acts describing her relationship with solitude. We also have a personal reflection on motherhood by Kara Simpson that takes us on a journey of self discovery as she became a first time mother. There are a couple of powerful prose on what a silent retreat and a sweet cup of tea would do for one’s soul individually gifted by Alexus Rhone and Shaunna Barbee-Tyus. To round up this issue, we have a great list of resources of practice to support one’s solitary journey. It is our hope that the reflections and images in our fifth issue of The Beautiful Project Journal will be a gift to you all.

Enjoy,

Khayla Deans Co-Editor

“Peace of mind, that’s just what I seek to find. I ain’t in the mood, I just need some solitud e .”

~Lyrics from Lila Iké, “Solitude'

My solitude

GERTY MITCHELL

My solitude needs not to be an alarm

Needs not to be a concern, nor frightens you

Because it is the medium that I use to find a peaceful Umbrella under the ever increasing fast-paced world

With constant traffic jams

So ever loudly with unwanted noises

Unsolicited informations, opinions, expectations, and misconception

My solitude is thorned between silence and screams

Dead silence

Then I scream

Then…

Nothing

My solitude is not confinement

Is not social rejection

Nor invisibility

My solitude is being present

Finding time for reflection and being aware of the World around me

Meditating to hear the voice of the one who calls himself I Am

Being strengthened by a higher power to becoming brave, courageous and resilient

When my strength becomes feeble

So that my tomorrow can bloom again with hope, love, laughter, and purpose…

My solitude grants me the freedom to become and reinvent myself

Photo by Kaci Kennedy

“I see you in every part of this place. This is truly your home, a young Black lady’s home.” My usually wild, witty mother’s words have stuck with me since that fateful day in May. I always think of her laugh and soulful bounce as she talks, but this time her tone was both placid and proud. It was the first time she visited her first-born daughter’s first home. Truthfully, a bit over a year later, I know it was God that got me here but to be able to see the delight on my mom’s face made the entire process worthwhile.

my

I wake up to peace in my house every morning – heavy on the “my.” By peace, I mean I discovered the beauty of silence and it is something I now treasure daily. I wake up each morning to the distant sounds of birds chirping and the wind whistling, and just my thoughts. It’s a sort of quiet that I’ve never known, but that I desperately needed.

For most of my life I’ve had to share space. I divided the decoration of my bedroom with my sister. She had her side of the closet and I had mine. In college, fortunately I had a dorm room all to myself, but the cafeterias, and worse the lackluster, taupe bathrooms, were open spaces. I’d gone from my mother’s home to the dorm

room, and then to living with roommates, none of them felt super ideal for the woman I was growing into.

Last year, amidst the awkward unknown of the pandemic, I got my own apartment, suitable for a single hot gyal such as myself. I looked tirelessly and had almost given up after feeling entirely out of place in a new city with nowhere to really rest. It’s just like God to have divine timing. I walked into this beautiful one bedroom with a walk-in closet to hold all my shoes. It had a quaint porch where I envisioned myself drinking my morning cup of tea. It was perfect for me, down to the apartment number, my favorite number, which I took as confirmation that this would be my home.

Building my home has made me find home in myself. For the first week, the quiet of the morning confused me, in a good way. There was no one in the kitchen making breakfast, no one turning on the TV too loudly, no one disturbing my zen. I found solace in the quiet and I cherished it. My days are on my own accord, with a little meditation, my gratitude journal, and some reggae music. I have a little yoga corner with a photo that reads “Live the Life You’ve Always Dreamed of” as reminders to care for myself daily, radically, and intentionally. My thoughts have no external intrusions, and I am free to lounge, rest, dance, and design as I please.

Building

home has made me find home in myself. For the first week, the quiet of the morning confused me, in a good way.

One of the many ironies I’ve realized since is the habits I’ve picked up from my childhood home. I used to deplore washing dishes every night as a child and now I can’t go to bed without doing them. I make my bed every morning now, not because I must but because I want to, because it is part of my care regimen.

My self-care language is solitude and I never truly understood that until living alone. As an introvert, I am quite clear that I need space for myself. Owning a home has, however, taken my understanding of self and space to a whole new level. It has allowed me to realize my likes and dislikes, like the giant halfnude portrait that hangs behind my couch which I love but may not be everyone’s cup of tea. I’ve created a schedule solely based on my movements, my feelings, and my agenda. I choose comfort and simplicity and I am very serious about symmetry; all things need to coordinate. I’ve figured out my own style, from the rug I selected with gold geometric patterns that both goes with my sectional and brings out the gold accents on my TV stand. I keep my air fryer on my countertop, much to my mother’s dismay, because that is the one appliance I know I will use every week. I am better for the ability to choose my existence. I’ve gotten to know myself better, to be softer with myself and I’ve learned to take care of myself when things get tough. Nothing cures a bad day for me like making some chili in my Instant Pot, baking a cake, and curling

up under my weighted blanket. And yes, I have all the millennial adulting must-haves!

Home-buying and home-building alone, during the pandemic, and as a Black woman surely didn’t look like it does on HGTV. One day I may write about structural equalities and the challenges I faced buying my home, but today I choose gratitude. I am better for the lessons and experiences. I am grateful to be able to feel what true independence is like, to begin this journey to emotional and financial freedom because Jah knows I went from thinking househunting was so cute and dandy to a serious life lesson on how the process really works or that I would be super lonely living alone when in reality, I feel safer and more secure than ever. I’ve realized I had to get alone to get free – to learn new things, like how to unclog my disposal or that my basement needed a dehumidifier.

My home is my vacation, with bursts of yellow, a little sparkle, essential oils, and my favorite books. It is the first place I’ve ever dared to be so bold, so fearless, and if I don’t like something I am free to change it.

Buying my first house in a new city and making it a home, all by myself, has taught me that through solitude comes softness. This solitude, this peace of mind is the greatest gift of selfexploration I’ve ever experienced.

Photo by Kaci Kennedy

Kaci Damola

Creating

in the midst of a pandemic created some challenges for many artists. For those who often collaborated in person, video calls became the new norm to envision new ideas. Virtual photoshoots were seen across social media and magazine covers. Documentation took on a new shape as we saw more people place themselves in their work to maintain a sense of self during a time full of grief and uncertainty. As a photographer, I also took that time to lean into my grounding practice of self portraiture and other forms of visual documentation. Everyone’s process of documenting self will look different so I joined Kaci Kennedy in conversation to learn more about her journey to self portraiture.

DAMOLA AKINTUNDE (DA)

So I guess now that we're getting started, maybe we can start with introductions. I guess, maybe one sentence about your involvement with the beautiful project, and then we can get into the conversation.

KACI KENNEDY (KK)

I'm Kaci Kennedy. But I guess my involvement with The Beautiful Project is I was an intern when I was an undergrad, for a year back in. I think it was my sophomore year. But ever since then, I've been part of The Beautiful Community, and in supporting them in that way.

DA What do you identify as in terms of being creative? Do you have any specific titles that you consider yourself?

KK I am struggling with that. I want to call myself a photographer, because I feel like I should. But I don't quite feel like I'm there yet. And I'm trying to figure out why that is.

DA I think just the act of intention behind photography makes you a photographer. I don't know if that helps. But I think you could totally call yourself a photographer whenever you're ready to do so. Let’s open up the conversation by stating how we use self documentation and our artistry, and I guess the significance of doing that.

KK I like to write it out first. I guess there are different aspects to how I approach it. But I think my favorite way is to write. I don't like to share my writing. But I enjoy writing in my way of sharing that. And my expression through my writing is through photography, because I'm much more willing to share that than what I've actually written.

DA And it's interesting to hear that you write before you take photographs. So is it more of a process where you create a concept on paper, and then you use your photographs to describe that feeling that you're kind of encountering?

KK It's kind of interesting, it's not even a concept. It's more of, I collect my thoughts and emotions through paper first to make it make more sense and be more clear and concise. So I am able to kind of portray that and kind of pinpoint what exactly I want to portray through the photos in a way. But then, from there, in the moment of actually creating photos, I kind of just go back to what I'm writing. Not physically look at it, but kind of remember that sort of feeling and ideas that I had recorded. And just put on some music.

DA I think for me, I define [self documentation] as any form of archival work that you do to document who you are at that time. And I would consider your writing as well, self documentation. I know for me, I've gotten into the habit of doing video diaries, where I would talk to myself on camera, to kind of figure out ways to remind myself where I was when I'm older as well. So it's cool that you have a two step process, the writing and then having the photos kind of work together to share that story of how you were feeling at that time. And for me, it's almost the opposite where I take the photo, and in real time figure out how I'm feeling and what I want to portray while I'm photographing myself. And then after the fact, it's easier for me to talk about what I was feeling at that moment. Because I did that process. So it's almost like opposites, which is cool.

Photo by Damola Akintunde

KK That is, I think I've definitely done that before. But I really enjoyed the backwards way.It's just different. It's interesting to hear your approach on that, too.

DA Hopefully, by sharing this conversation, it can help others do their own self documentation as well during this time. Because I think, for a lot of people, this was a very, like, pivotal moment in their lives, for whatever reason, dealing with grief, dealing with just so many changes. It might be helpful to help others figure out ways to document all those feelings. Because I think, looking back at it, in a physical way, has a lot of value and can be used for generations to come, honestly.

Did you used to do this kind of process prior to the pandemic? Or did it come out of the pandemic?

KK So I've always liked doing the writing portion. I've never really done self portraits, but I definitely never combined the writing and photography and that order.

DA So do you think it came out because of the pandemic? Or was it just something natural for you to kind of shift into

KK Kind of both. So with the pandemic, that's part of the reason why I started self portraits, but then also, I found myself writing more. So it was as natural as it could have been with a pandemic.

DA Yeah, I think for me, it was more out of a need to continue working on my photography. And also just needing to be distracted as well. Especially in the beginning, I think it was really hard to not be able to connect with people. So I was like, well, I guess I can put myself in my work a lot more. I did do that before the pandemic, but it was almost more intentional. Once the pandemic started, I was like, well, if you're gonna be by yourself all the time, you might as well learn how in your work.

KK I feel the same way because I wanted to start with portraits, but not necessarily myself first. I thought of like, I might as well kind of practice on me since I'm here.

DA Do you have any suggestions for folks who are thinking about self documentation or doing self portraiture?

KK I don't know about suggestions. But for me, I hesitated a little bit because I didn't feel like I had a proper set up for a background or studio or anything like that, or camera, or lighting, just anything I needed. But I think there was one point where I was like, I really just need to go out and take pictures of something. I need to distract myself, I guess. So I had a bedsheet, and a camera on my tripod and one light. I guess that's all it kind of took to get started in the process. And honestly, even if you don't come out with the exact image that you had in your mind, that process in itself is honestly worth it.

DA No, I agree. I think that's a misconception where people think you need a full studio setup to do that. And I know for me in the beginning, I did use a camera, but also my phone was really helpful. I didn't realize how powerful phones are until recently and that you can really take beautiful portraits without even having a proper setup. So I think once folks kind of play with what they have, they'll be surprised that you can really transform your room in your house or wherever you want to document yourself with a setup very easily.

Specifically has doing [self portraits] shaped you as an artist? Has it creatively shifted your way of thinking about your art or your work?

KK: I don't know exactly. I think for one, it has helped me to be more intentional about like the person on the other side of the camera, and maybe how they might feel more if that makes any sense. Because at first, I actually had this image in my head of what I wanted to capture. And initially, I wanted to paint it before I started taking self portraits, but I don't know how to. And I want to find someone who fits this image. But I didn't want that picture in my head to kind of go away. Exactly. So I just went ahead and sat in front of the camera. I wasn't comfortable in front of the camera. But from that I kind of learned how to create an atmosphere that would make someone comfortable in front of the camera, even if it is just myself. I feel like that has helped me a little bit with portraits. And this gave me a little bit more confidence to actually go out and take portraits and play with lighting in general and have a bit more confidence to try more creative shoots.

DA: Yeah, that's the beauty of it. I enjoy it for that reason, too, especially with trying new setups and lighting. I'm like you and figure out how it looks on me before I go outside and work with other people. So I definitely agree that there's less at stake when you're the only person having to be in the shoot and deal with it. Are there any other closing remarks, any thoughts that you want to share that might be insightful in this process of self documentation.

KK: I don't want to sound like Nike. But honestly, if you start just with little things, if you're considering, like any form of self documentation of writing or photography, videography, anything like it doesn't have to be perfect. But it's important to start somewhere I think. It can be really helpful and therapeutic to kind of just release that from yourself.

How to Get Started on Your Self Documentation Journey

1. What do you want to capture about yourself at this moment? Things like emotional state, impactful life events, personal style, etc, are all part of self that can be documented through your medium of choice

2. What medium do you want to use?

Mediums like photography and writing are more commonly used but voice notes and video diaries are other examples.

Photo by Damola Akintunde

On Motherhood

Howoften have you looked at old photograph of your mother BC (before children), or any matriarch in your lineage, and noticed the minutia? A deep belly laugh captured by Polaroid. A flirty stance, hands on hips, eyes staring at the photographer knowingly. What did you notice? Was it the freedom displayed, or the wonder? Did you still see those things in her as your mother? What changed? This poem from Jasmine Mans is one that I’ve read before and it didn’t fully resonate until I became a mother. The lens in which you’re viewed by the world changes drastically. Society places expectations on women that often lead to most losing parts of themselves in exchange for motherhood. Hobbies are pushed to the side for playdates. Passions and desires become extracurricular activities. The wonder that once dwelled in your soul becomes a memory as you step into this new role. I decided before Nuri was even a thought that I would model motherhood differently and keep my “girl” when I had children, especially if I had a daughter. I want her to grow up and see that I very much maintained my identity. She will see me as a dancer, writer, trap music aficionado, with an affinity for warm weather, a good book, and travel. She’ll likely know that occasionally colorful language will escape my lips, see me laugh with my whole body, and know how terrible I am at recounting and retelling events. She will likely tell anyone who will listen that her mom delivers babies, has tattoos and a head full of locs. I saw motherhood through a lens of a very polarized spectrum.

TELL ME ABOUT THE GIRL MY MOTHER WAS, BEFORE SHE TRADED IN ALL OF HER “GIRL” TO BE MY “MOTHER”

-JASMINE MANS

KARA SIMPSON

Either you were a great mother or a woman of the world. It wasn’t common to see images of women who maintained a great sense of individuality that didn’t revolve around their children. These women were devoted to pouring all of themselves into their children, which is admirable, but left little for themselves. Millennial motherhood is different in that we are taking a stance to keep all the parts of ourselves. No longer will we have to choose. We are mothers, but we’re selfactualized humans first. We raise and rear, but also keep our personhood intact. We aim to be free, unapologetically. Nuri, for you I will maintain my “girl.”

My Birth Story

Before my daughter was born, I asked a few things of her. I asked that she arrive during Virgo season. I asked that she come after my retwist appointment so she would meet me looking my best with freshly twisted roots. I asked that she make her arrival during the weekend so that my doula Jen, a medical student, wife and mom, would have the availability to support me in labor and birth. Finally, and probably most importantly, I asked that she come after my term in Grad School ended on September 18th. I’m currently enrolled in a master’s program pursuing Midwifery. Her Due date was September 20th. She obliged and granted me three of my requests, and on September 12th, 2020 my world changed for the better.

My Friday was very typical. I had a chiropractor appointment and even had time to stop at my favorite Black owned organic spot for a smoothie and a couple veggie patties. I headed to my loctitian and pleaded for him to wash my hair with

his tingly concoction. He flat out refused until l I was full term, so at 38 weeks and 5 days, my day arrived. Netflix was releasing Girlfriends that day, so I was preparing to spend my entire weekend lounging, laughing and crying with Joan, Maya, Lynn and Toni. I was in need of a pedicure but decided to grab a sandwich and start my marathon. Two episodes in at 5:45pm, I felt a warm sensation. I hobbled to the bathroom to confirm my suspicion, and as luck would have it, my mother called. I guess there’s no age limit on mother’s intuition. “Hey ma. Don’t freak out, but I think my water just broke.” Of course, she freaks out as I confirm that the gush I felt was my amniotic fluid. Somehow I’m able to briefly get her off the phone to call my midwife and mentor, Traci. She tells me to monitor my temperature, start timing my contractions, and take a castor oil midwife’s brew if my contractions go away. I had very mild, but regular, cramping so I was encouraged to rest and make an acupuncture appointment for the next day to get things going. Traci was going to be on call the next morning so we both assumed that we would see one another then. Nuri’s godparents came over and we decided to do my belly cast since I would not be pregnant for much longer. Jen arrived and I bounced on the birthing ball and continued to chat with everyone. Nuri’s dad grabbed pizza (Pizza Hut at my request), but once he came back with it I was no longer hungry. Everyone ate and talked, so I took the opportunity to take a warm shower and attempt to rest.

It was around 11pm. Jen strung lights and turned on the diffuser to create a peaceful atmosphere in the bedroom. Rest alluded me, and I was becoming more and more uncomfortable. A warm bath was the remedy and I submerged myself in the water to ease my labor. Waves hit me about

Photo by dlmphotography

every two minutes, and I began to moan and vocalize. It wasn’t unbearable, just uncomfortable. The urge to push and immense pressure quickly came, but I knew I wasn’t that far along. We decided to call the midwife on call and head to the birth center. Jen, myself and Nuri’s dad arrived at the birth center rather quickly and I paced the parking lot until the midwife arrived. Since I was both a patient and an employee as a birth assistant at the birth center, I was familiar with all the midwives there. I knew that I wanted to be cared for by midwives of color and birth outside the hospital as long as it was safe for the both of us. At 1:45 am I was checked for dilation. No one knew, but I made up in my mind to ask for a hospital transfer if I wasn’t at least 4 cm, which is the hardest point of dilation to get to, especially for first time mothers. I was 7 cm. I wept tears of joy and gratitude for my body and its ability to work in bringing my baby Earth side. As a labor and delivery nurse, I’ve seen the good, bad and everything in between. I knew that birth was wildly unpredictable and at any moment things could change, but I trusted my body. I moaned, prayed and allowed my body and mind to connect and focus on each contraction. I asked to labor in the tub again and turned the jacuzzi jets on full blast. My mother and aunt were in NC and were watching everything via Facetime. It was comforting to feel that they were near, especially since Covid restrictions wouldn’t have allowed them to be present even if they had made it to D.C. in time. There were some hospitals that only allowed one support person to be with the birthing person, but I was fortunate enough to have Nuri’s dad, my doula and two midwives that I was very comfortable with. I moaned, meditated and prayed and again the urge to push arrived. I was checked once again, and it was time. I

was 10cm and the baby was low. I tried a couple rounds of pushing but could not get comfortable in the tub. Nuri’s dad lifted me out and I immediately squatted, and as I was supported by him and Jen, Nuri Lennox emerged at 2:30 am. She was lifted into my arms and bellowed out the most beautiful cry I’ve heard. I held her close and was guided to the bed to wait for my placenta. By this time, Tracie arrived. She was so shocked that my labor and birth was under 9 hours! After a few minutes, I birthed my placenta, her cord was cut, and she snuggled into my chest. I did have a small laceration, which was repaired, I was given a cold pack and a pad and was assisted with my first latch. I ate, showered and napped. Nuri was weighed and examined right beside us. By 7 am, we were packed up and ready to leave. We grabbed Chick-fil-A and headed home to rest and recover. The first 24 hours were spent in bed and the next day we were both visited by Tracie for our assessment to check my bleeding and our vitals. Jen came and assisted me in wrapping my belly in the traditional Bengkung way and set up a healing herbal sitz bath. She poured hot tea, dimmed the lights and incorporated aromatherapy for me to relax and focus on my healing. She also brought Ayurvedic meals and teas that were meant to warm my body and encourage healing. If I wasn’t present for it, I wouldn’t believe how ideal my birth was. It was beyond all I hoped for, and my baby girl was healthy and beautiful. I share this story as an example of the births that can be achieved. Our ancestral knowledge is pulling at us to learn the ways in which women have birthed for centuries. It’s not the ideal for everyone but it was perfect for me. Birth cracked me open, exposed my strength, and what emerged was the best version of myself.

I knew that I wanted to be cared for by midwives of color and birth outside the hospital as long as it was safe for the both of us.

Dedicated Spaces: A Silent Retreat for A Weary Pilgrim

Photo by KumoluStudios.com

ALEXUS RHONE

Itwas August 2005. I had just facilitated a successful professional development workshop for a school district in northern Arizona. I had three YA novels on school library shelves targeting reluctant reading teen and preteen girls within the urban context. My mission was to get them to no longer call themselves “non-readers”. I aspired to be the author for whom, for the rest of their lives, they would say, “The first book I ever read cover to cover was written by Alexus Rhone.” Two of my books were on regional bestseller’s list, and one of them had hit the Essence Magazine national bestseller’s list.

I was celebrated…everywhere but at home.

By then, I had been married for seven years. Although we were busy building a life together in Phoenix, Arizona, there was always something odd in the relationship. After returning home from that professional development workshop in northern Arizona, a series of events transpired within close proximity and rapid succession that led me to pray perhaps the most dangerous prayer of my adult life: “Lord, I’m ready to know.”

Within a day or two, my prayer was answered, and I was scared.

I called my husband into our home office. I placed two chairs in front of each other. I said to him that I had found something in our home that lets me know that I don’t know who he is. I told him that right now it was just the two of us, and that today was the day he needed to answer this question: “Who are you?”

With one hand he twirled his mustache, while the other hand rested on his stomach. I focused on that hand - it was shaking.

At that moment, I realized this wasn’t a nightmare; it was my reality.

We sat facing each other for 20 minutes. Suddenly, he pops out of the chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, and walks out of the office.

I went from being afraid to angry, and, by December 2005, every fiber of my being was permeated by darkness. Something needed to change, and quickly. I could not continue in this space.

Now here’s the thing about me - no matter what is going on in my life, I always make room for my three eternal loves: Jesus, jazz, and dessert wine.

In this present darkness, my first inclination (in my preacher voice) was to calllll on Jesus! But I was not interested in the Jesus of a longer church service, nor did I crave Jesus of the five-day instead of the three-day revival. I needed a whole new Jesus experience.

I called a sister-friend in LA to help me discern my next, best moves. She asked if me and Jesus wanted to come to LA and skate on Venice beach while listening to old school hip-hop and R&B. That had always been a regular and effective goto.

I told her no, that’s not it.

“I WILL ALLURE HER TO THE DESERT AND SPEAK TENDERLY TO HER.”

HOSEA 2:14

She asked if me and Jesus needed to check into one of the north Scottsdale high-end day spas where I could get one of my pampered aromatherapy body scrub treatments.

I told her, again, no, I don’t think that’s it. Then I remembered another sister friend had recently completed an eight-day silent retreat in the mountains of Utah. For eight days, she was not permitted to read, write, or speak. At the conclusion of that retreat, she came down off the mountain a regular little chatterbox. But, more than that, she was sold on the power of silence as a solution.

I needed to get somewhere immediately. While I could not be gone for eight days, nor could I go as far as the mountains of Utah, she had given me an option - silent retreat center.

So we began to Google retreat centers in Arizona. We were looking for some thing that would be within driving distance to my home in Phoenix.

read, “Protected by angels.“ At that point, I knew that I was in a safe space.

The Desert House of Prayer sat on 40-acres of desert landscape nestled under the shadows of the National Saguaro Park. It was run by two nuns and a priest who believed that your answers are always with you; you just have to be quiet to hear them.

I checked into my room. Twin bed, La-Z-Boy recliner, writer’s desk perched against the window facing west, and a private bathroom. I thumbed through the literature on the desk. By 3 pm, I climbed into bed and cried myself to sleep.

Everything’s gonna be all right

We found a spot. It was 80 miles from where I lived. I spent the next day clearing my schedule to be missing in action for a few days.

On December 17, 2005, I checked into the Desert House of Prayer in Tucson, Arizona.

I turned onto the dirt road, and was met immediately by a wooden “no hunting” sign. Except this sign read, “no hunting, except for peace.” I drove further onto the property and noticed security company decals on every window – the chapel window, the sleeping quarters, the dining hall, the library, the admin office – all of them had this decal. Upon closer inspection, the sticker actually

I woke up at sunset, around 6 PM, and walked the prayer labyrinth, then headed to the dining hall for dinner. Dinner was also the only time anyone on the property was permitted to speak. It was there that I met the other eclectic group of retreatants. There was a priest from Botswana, a man from Ireland, two nuns who served on the Navajo nation, and a woman named Gwen whose husband pastored a church in Minnesota. She had been there for six weeks already and, by the time I left, still had two more weeks on her retreat. Six people - all of us seeking, searching, and trusting in the efficacy of silence.

When dinner was over, they rang the bell, we returned to silent posture, and I returned to my room.

Now that I am fed and rested, I’m ready to deal. I go to the writers desk. I open the journal and began to level it with what I called “truth bombs”. The first bomb I dropped: “My beloved is a liar!” And I went on from there, dropping bomb after

bomb of inconvenient truths about my no longer tenable situation.

When I was done writing, when I had said all that I could think to say, I close the journal, take a few cleansing breaths, and climb back into bed. But I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned for about an hour, but sleep would not come.

Finally I said aloud, not as a prayer, but as a curious awareness, “Why can’t I get to sleep?”

Then it hit me. I had one more truth bomb to drop.

I got out of bed, returned to the desk, opened my journal and wrote, “I still love my beloved.” And with that admission, I sobbed uncontrollably because, despite everything that had happened so far, I knew I was not done with the marriage, and that I would return home and continue to fight for love.

I was at the retreat center for four days. It is one of the sweetest experiences of my life. The anchor scripture for the campus was Hosea 2:14, “I will allure her into the desert and speak tenderly to her.” Asé!

My time there was so restful and provided amazing clarity. I would have stayed longer, but Heaven had one more gift for me. You see, before I checked into the retreat center, I had purchased a single ticket to the Dave Koz Holiday Jazz concert in Mesa, Arizona.

I got dressed at the retreat center, checked out, and drove straight to the Mesa Arts Center.

I arrived to Mesa, parked in the adjacent lot, and waded through all of the red, green, and winter white sweaters. I wore a royal blue shirt, jeans, and black leather boots - I was SO not feeling Christmas that year.

I stopped by the bar before heading to my seat. The bartender, sporting a Santa hat, was trying to hock his spiked eggnog. “No, thank you,” I said. “I’ll take a glass of Muscato.”

Dessert wine in hand, I headed to my seat, nine rows from the stage.

The concert began, and it did NOT disappoint!

Dave Koz and all of these contemporary jazz phenoms performed a two or three song holiday medley as an ensemble. Then they broke off and began to perform mini-sets. The first mini-set was performed by Dave Koz. Following Dave Koz was Mindy Abair. After Mindy Abair was jazz pianist David Benoit. Following David Benoit was Kirk Whalum, a jazz saxophonist from Houston.

When Kirk Whalum was done, he said, “The next person coming to the stage, the song that he is about to perform is the single reason why I feel so blessed to be part of this tour. Ladies and gentlemen, you are in for a treat. Please welcome...Mr. Jonathan Butler.”

The audience applauds. Jonathan comes to the stage. With one hand he’s holding his guitar and the other a stool. He comes down center stage, takes a seat, and begins to play. All of us are clinging to the edge of our seats, anxiously awaiting what is about to happen.

A few notes in, however, I frown. I recognize the song - Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry.” What the hell is so special about that song? I scan the audience to see if anyone else is as confused as I am. They are not; they were enjoying the music. I settled back into my seat, content to let the experience be what it’s going to be, but, real talk, I was super annoyed with Kirk Whalum for setting me up that way.

Jonathan continues on with the song. Verse, verse, chorus, verse, chorus.

Then he begins to sing:

“Everything’s gonna be all right, everything’s gonna be all right, everything’s gonna be all right now, everything’s gonna be all right.”

Suddenly I go from being confused to embarrassed as tears stream down my cheeks. Everyone else is having a good time, and there I sat having a moment. But I’m surrounded by strangers, and I couldn’t care less about what they thought of me. All I wanted was to marinate in that message, to be thoroughly saturated with heavenly assurances.

I close my eyes as he continued to sing:

“Everything’s gonna be all right, everything’s gonna be all right, everything’s gonna be all right now, everything’s gonna be all right.”

Suddenly he stops singing, stops playing. The entire venue was drop-dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. Now I’m growing nervous. Is Jonathan looking at me, wondering, “Why is that woman on the 9th row crying at my concert?“

Everything is still silent. My anxiety is rapidly expanding as I convince myself the concert stoppage was indeed about me.

Just as I crack open my right eye to see for myself, suddenly, beginning at the back of the venue, like a small ripple that forms at the horizon and grows in size and stature as it races towards the shore, suddenly every voice in the Mesa Arts Center began to sing:

“Everything’s gonna be all right, everything’s gonna be all right,

everything’s gonna be all right now, everything’s gonna be all right.”

I hang tightly to that experience. Because of all of that, there are two things I know for sure. The first is everything really is going to be all right. It is. But hold very loosely to what “all right“ looks like. For even though I prayed, fasted, and took definitive actions in alignment with what I was believing and asking God for, I did not get it.

Know what I did get though? I got peace. I got story. And I got the privilege to let weary pilgrims know that there are dedicated spaces marked out to give them respite.

I didn’t have to be a pioneer. I only needed to admit that I was a pilgrim, and that my life had become weary, despite all of the other amazing things that were happening.

I did not know that silence was a thing, for I had been taught to make a joyful noise - at all times.

I did not know that there were dedicated places around the country that I could check into, pay a nominal fee, and receive respite, clarity, and a new spiritual practice: rest.

I’m not one who likes limiting what God can or cannot do. I will say that by me opening up about my weary condition, the solutions begin to materialize.

So tell the truth about what you feel - in all ways. Listen to your life. Rest. Repeat.

Everything’s gonna be all right

Self Portrait Collage by Shaunna Barbee Tyus

Refill

SHAUNNA BARBEE TYUS

Igota teacup, short and stout. It is too small to sit with too long. There’s more bag than water. More body than content. It is quite voluptuous and looks well in pictures. I cannot trust her to share my plans. She does not hold much at all.

Or rather is it me, who is untrustworthy?

Did my husband do right to buy me such a small teacup? He knows I love Joanna’s Magnolia cup... but maybe he knows better that I can’t sit still. “Dot?”, he says gently and lukewarm, “Why can’t you rest?” No, he asks rather, “Why won’t you rest?”

Rest trusts him. He shows up and sups with Rest. He could make a baby with Rest. Me and Rest got a shallow affair. I am not at home, at Rest.

Look at the gift in this belly, the wooden, Trojan horse full of novel virus and uncertainty. She brings so many things. Opportunity and destruction. Introspection. Separation in this virtual, muted dance. I cannot escape the time I’ve been begging to have that she has been able to give. We have lost and gained. Drawn nearer as we have drawn more apart. Relationships, already weird and frayed from my own nature and pursuits, have settled deeper into the dust. They

know I’m busy and doing more these days.

I will die from something... might as well be from living.

I don’t want to be this tea cup. I won’t be. Girl, I gotta be Big, big, like a reservoir. Like the ocean. Sail your ships on my belly. I will keep this whole thing afloat and carry all the tides and fish and surfers.

Me, and my cup, (because this ain’t healthy, I know), are gonna get a room. I will think, and draw, paint and write, read and read, shop and save. Plan, and execute. I will not covet. I will not regret. I will refill this thick cup with its limited capacity and try new teas. I will nurse the tea bags with hot water and lemon. Take time to smell the blends. Peach pomegranate and Lemongrass Green tea. I will eat strawberries covered with vegan chocolate and wash them down with a steamy Mint Berry

Blossom. I will turn my phone off this one time, this one day, and not pick up one sock or put out one fire. I will accept God’s gift of rest and caress it, in the land of the living.

Because new tea, being alone in a hotel room and internet therapy are what I need to live a little longer, what I need to refill.

ACT ONE:

Three Loves: Poems Born from Solitude

AERAN BASKIN

The news was on when you said ‘I don’t want to be your man anymore’

I watched the words saw into my body Removing muscle

I went downstairs To wash your dishes

You didn’t follow

That was the season When every broken thing was my fault

I was young then And feared the depth of my shadow Aloneness was a cavernous mystery Wrapped in memory and rot

I don’t have time for such things now

I don’t miss you.

Maybe.

It could be the way you grabbed my hand or how our breath mingled after I cried or the ease you learned to break yourself wide open when I promised the silence would swallow us.

Or how you licked eternity from my fingers as I watched our generations fall from your teeth, leaves to the fire.

I collected our moments and hung them prostrate in the sun to display in empty bottles, our dead treasures a wind chime among the trees.

Maybe.

I don’t miss you.

Maybe.

I miss me.

The wind is Welcome

‘Come out and play’

Burn the fields and sing hallelujah

‘Come out’

The winter is dead

And now you wait for the beginning of ends

‘Come play’

Each dream waging war

‘Come’

As creation sticky children leap in the promise of the cosmos

‘Play’

Can you smell hope?

Morning smoke and yellowed flowers

The tang of solitude

Revealing the suffocating goodness of God

‘Come home’

Yes, your nakedness is Welcome

A joy drunk dance of being

‘Come out, sis, And play’

ACT ZERO: The Beginning

TBP Resources for Practice

Solitude practices look differently for everyone. They may take the shape of eating your favorite meal, cuddling under your weighted blanket and watching your favorite show, or cleansing your space to feel at peace. If you’re looking for more resources in practice of your solitude, check out some of the ones below.

1. Nothing like a Good Book and a Smile - Reading has the ability to expand our minds, transport us to different realms, and allow us to harness both the determination and the softness we’ve been looking for in our lives. Check out some books that we’ve enjoyed here:

Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches Audre Lorde All About Love bell hooks

The Womanist Idea

Layli Maparyan

Sistah Vegan: Black Female Vegans Speak on Food, Identity, Health, and Society

Breeze Harper

The Womanist Reader: The First Quarter Century of Womanist Thought

Layli Phillips

This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color

Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa

Too Heavy a Load: Black Women in Defense of Themselves, 1894-1994

Deborah Gray White

Salt

Nayyirah Waheed

Sacred

Pampering Principles: An African-American Woman’s Guide to Self-care and Inner Renewal.

Debrena Jackson

Gandy

Literally anything by Toni Morrison! Some of our favorites are Sula and Song of Solomon.

Sacred Woman: A Guide to Healing the Feminine Body, Mind, and Spirit Queen Afua

TBP Resources for Practice

Their Eyes Were Watching God

Zora Neale Hurston

2.

Resources

Dance Like Nobody’s Watching! One of the best ways to lift your spirits, and even break a little sweat is to move. Whether you are singing in the shower or crumping in your living room, create your own “Solitude” playlist with your favorite feel-good songs to lift your spirits at any moment!

3.

Create Your Own Archive! Archives are not just old documents left behind for people to study later on. Keep a journal or make your family tree. Treat your Instagram like your own personal archive and look at your growth over time! Follow archivist, artist, and photographer Sierra King @ buildyourarchive and buildyourarchive. com for more information on how to organize your documents and artifacts into your own personal history collection.

4.

Healing through Natural Remedies/ Holistic Medicine! Have you noticed that putting on your diffuser with your favorite essential oils just sets the mood so easily? Herbal remedies not only have amazing effects on our mental health, but many of them have physical health healing properties as well. For example, a little lavender or peppermint oil behind the ears can help dizziness, headaches, or even insomnia. Check out @iwillaremedy on Instagram for more herbal medicine remedies!