Portal Doula: “It’s after the end of the world. Don’t you know that yet?”1
It has been 82 days since we gathered in incubation.3 The ritual of remembrance continues, as it was always intended to…since In Incubation was formulating4 in the air of my distant imagination [our collective conscience + my ancestors’ wishes floating on dandelion seeds]...
Then in the soil of my mind…
Then in the fire in my belly…
And now we wade in the waters that connect a time that is still here and yet to come–
Thank you for being doulas in the labor of bringing In Incubation, the seed, earthside. Your presence is a source of encouragement, your offering to the altar is an orienting spirit, and your words are the echoes of Alíwayé’s5 desire, an awakening to a power kept. A “power which rises from our deepest and non-rational knowledge.”6
At the altar building ceremony, I said something along the lines of “what we build here leaves with us.” I want to return to that sentiment. The spirit +7 lessons leave without ever being detached, because we are still there. Like the point of a spider web that strings across time. I want to offer you a few prompts of reflection, exploration, orientation that are rooted in black methodologies.
“Black methodologies do not follow a trajectory of seeking, finding, and making an analytical site knowable; black methodologies are articulations of wonder, curiosity, and sharing.”8
As we continue to collectively grieve, I hope these prompts massage your senses to loosen you into wonder…I feel Jakara’s question in the rest between the beats of my heart: “what is giving up when you’ll continue to live in this world?”
What if the birth canal is the portal doula,9 the vaginal opening is the entry to the portal, and the world is the portal itself? What if this world is not a destination but a portal intended to knead your will? How would you make sense of this world if you based yourself in this (possible) truth? How would you experience life differently?
I welcome insights into your reflections with gratitude and humbleness because that is an intimate space you are allowing me into if you choose to. But ensure that your sharing comes from a space of desire not false feelings of obligation. This is for you and your spirit first and foremost.
Portal Doula: “So we gather and we pray and we protest and we rage and we read and we remember the world we’re dreaming of is embedded in the world we have.”10
Space Is the Place, directed by Sun Ra and John Coney (1974), 0:00:14. Watch on YouTube.
In the system of numerology that I follow, 8 = “build/destroy”
Lower case ‘in incubation’ speaks to In Incubation, the immersive art exhibition, as a meditation on the general act of incubating but seeks to honor the ongoing act of incubating that is both separate from and informed by the various timelines and spaces you inhabit in your living beyond In Incubation, the art exhibition.
Alíwayé: The One Who Rises to Come to Earth: the woodpecker who was tasked with keeping time.
Audre Lorde, “The Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power”, Sister Outsider (California: Crossing Press, 1984), 53.
“+” = “And” but is also representative of the crossroads. A venn diagram between these two concepts, both “spirit” “and” “lessons” and “spiritlessons”
Katherine McKittrick, “Dear April, The Aesthetics of Black Miscellanea”, Antipode 54 no. 1(2021): 6. DOI 10.1111/anti.12773
I’m still playing with this term. It is grafted off of the word ‘gatekeeper’ and inspired by Esu, the owner of the crossroads. Where my understanding of ‘portal doula’ stands now is: one who holds open the portal, one who helps prepare you to enter the portal [consent, reminder of your power, dissolution of ego*], one who is in service to you and serves as a trustworthy point of reference in the disorientation that can come with being in the act of transition.
*My sibling in Ifá, Akinyalo Adeola, gave me this understanding of Esu. Esu as an Orisa who helps one remain in alignment with their destiny and embody radical compassion by employing tricks as a method to dissolve our ego.
Ayana Zaire Cotton, “Invitations from Inside Collective Grief and Study” For The Worldbuilders ep. 27 (October 26, 2023)
I empathize with Yamilka. Overthinking about the woes of this "white supremacist capitalist patriarchy" is a part of my daily routine, but I struggle to get these thoughts out of my head and into real life sometimes, especially into a space that is not tied to academia. Being in incubation with everyone, having a space where I could share these thoughts so freely, and hearing them echoed in the stories of people around me felt so refreshing and inspiring. Like Yamilka, I felt community in a way that I haven't in a really long time and in such an authentic way. It feels weird to say, because yes, most of the people there were strangers and we were only there for a few hours, but the vulnerability you offered created a space for each of us to be vulnerable as well.
I think about the "Soursop Head." In Ithaca, I'm usually in community with the land. I sit at the gorge and share these reflections with the water and trees. I love seeing human behaviors and social concepts reflected in the Earth, reminding me that we are not as separate from nature as we like to believe. I've learned so many lessons from the plants and the Soursop offers another. When I posed the question of giving up, many of the responses stayed with me. I wish I could remember the exact words, but Taylor said "we must make this way of life attractive."
When I question why people won't join this movement, why complacency feels okay for so many of us so much of the time, it's because our current life seems easier -- revolution has never been easy. If we were to truly get rid of every oppressive system in this country alone, it would mean a complete transformation of the way we go through life. We would have to give up so much -- time, our standard of living, perceived safety, social norms -- and all these things feel very cemented. What is the point of fighting for a new life when this one is so cemented in history that is has become natural?Oppression has made itself so powerful it feels like an unmovable object and instead of wasting our lives to try to change something that is unchangeable, we settle into a blissful ignorance. We try and separate ourselves from "politics." We choose happiness, a soft life.
The Soursop Head reminds me to rethink the ugly stage. People love locs when they are manicured, long, and retwisted, but so many people fear that "ugly stage." We want freedom from beauty standards, we want the ability to wear our natural in a way that honors who we actually are -- but we are scared to actually take that journey. There is no ugly stage of locs and Revolution is not the ugly stage of liberation. They are only ugly in how we perceive them, not in what they actually are. They are necessary steps on the path to freedom, and knowing that freedom is on the goal of both journeys should make them so attractive. Sure, fighting for our lives is hard af, "revolution: it's not short, nor easy, nor quick", but freedom is worth it. Liberation -- in its truest form, is worth the ugly stage. I've never wanted to have children of my own because yikes, but my niece will be born this month, so I called her into the space with me. If I have to sacrifice my life [whatever that means] for her liberation -- so they can be whatever, unbound by the arbitrary social constraints, it is worth it.
Ignoring oppression won't make it go away. How soft can my life be if it is materially hard for so many people around this globe. Audre Lorde writes "the machine will grind you down whether you speak out or not." How could I betray this life I was given by opting for easy or soft, when my silence won't make things easier or softer? What is soft about making it easy for oppressors to oppressor you? This fight is so hard, but the possibility of a new life makes it worth it. The journey might be "ugly" but is capitalism, imperialism, and all other forms of oppression not already ugly? Why not go through a period of chosen, consensual ugly to gain true beauty as the outcome, instead of pretending that things are pretty enough to leave them as is.
Cyepress shared something that resonated with me, and that I'm remembering as I write this. The thoughts in my head make such an intricate web and it feels strange sometimes to try and articulate them in a way that can make sense to someone not in my head. The words are written on nonconsecutive pages, some thoughts originated from years ago, sparked by conversations around "In Incubation", some newly formed that Saturday, some that will pop up months from now -- but they all connect in a way, and I hope the connections I've made in this post, though unfinished and a bit incoherent, and just a segment of this web in my mind, resonate with some of you as well and your experiences in incubation.
In Incubation was a healing space for me. Very rarely, if ever, have I been in a space where I could feel raw vulnerability between strangers, evident in the offerings and stories shared by the audience. I also felt a sense of belonging that I don't feel often.
I called my mother into the space because I want to rekindle our relationship. It made me reflect and acknowledge that there are emotions toward her that I have not addressed, and frankly, avoided addressing.
It's paradoxical that the nurture of a mother and birth is rooted in vulnerability and intimacy, yet I have difficulty accessing that as an adult. Moving forward, I would like to reciprocate the nourishment, love and care that she provided for me.