Black Hair Magic

This is why I will bite you if you ask to touch my hair.

In addition to slave days being over
In addition to the fact that wearing my hair in “natural” styles or approximations of natural styles is still grounds for unemployment in many states
In addition to power imbalance, exoticism etc.

It’s become a part of my magic.

The hair gets a smokebath and the filigrees get popped in the cauldron for a blessing.

When I put it in I watch my favorite movies or listen to my bawse bitch playlist. I eat smoked salmon and cheese and fruit.
I take a shot of whiskey
I sing and make plans with my ancestors.

I thank them for all their blessings, for all their love, for their eyes and teeth.

My hair becomes an altar cloth of me.
Even the color is rooted in some work I am doing.

This hair protects because it absorbs. Sometimes I have to take it out even if it still looks good because it starts to hurt and ache.

It tells me it’s done.

Taking it down is a silly process.
Sometimes I thank it
Sometimes I face a mirror and I scream
cut it out like mourning, like rage
like I can’t get it out fast enough.
get it out the house quick.

A bath follows:
submerge self in a sacred tea
allow the self silence
sleep in white.

I wake and it starts anew.

Some of the most powerful rituals I’ve created are based on things I already do. I’m getting ready to teach a class on this kind of crafting in soon 🖤

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