Audre Lorde. Audre Lorde. Audre Lorde.
How my generation of black women, of artists, of revolutionaries could have benefited from Mama Lorde being required reading in school. The landscapes we’re currently creating would be so different–so much more human, much sooner–had we read Mother Lorde instead of the stale, mathematical words of continental Europe’s repressed geniuses celebrated by patriarchy.
Had we grown-up dissecting the courage of trusting your feelings and the essentialness of art, we wouldn’t be:
content with intellectual circle jerks over action
paralyzed by analysis
hustling for our worthiness
dependent upon societal validation
mistrustful of the ancient wisdoms that resides within us.
Sure, my generation is actively unraveling ourselves from this. But how much good could we have done if this was the place we launched from? We could have launched from this place with Mama Lorde’s guidance. It’s not too late, but it’ll take saying no to particular brands of bullshit and yes to ourselves.
Fuck stale, mathematical prose. Fuck technical standards whose only function is to define a thing.
Fuck believing in the supremacy of the head over everything.
Fuck believing that pleasure isn’t our birthright–that art, health, beauty, rest are rewards for a job well done. Fuck me opinions of strangers who have no earn significance in our lives. Their worthiness doesn’t entitle them to judge us.
Fuck not reading Audre Lorde.
Yes to gushing feelings, to highs and lows, to honest appraisal of our internal states.
Yes to creating for ourselves and our tribes.
Yes to ignoring the gate keepers.
Yes to creating our own lanes.
Yes to believing in ourselves– and each other.
Yes to assuming the best.
Yes to the things that feel good to us, that are good for us, that need no justification.
Yes to us.
Yes to abundance.
Yes to reading Audre Lorde.
Yes, yes and more yes.