celebrate
make the loudest sound you can
and don’t apologize
when you celebrate yourself
you are celebrating me
and don’t apologize
to the people scared of love
you are celebrating me
you are celebrating all of us
to the people scared of love
this is the sound of getting over it
you are celebrating all of us
who don’t have flesh to use right now
this is the sound of getting over
the only way to hallelujah
for us beyond the body now
act like you know it
the only way to hallelujah
is make the loudest sound you can
act like you know it
when you celebrate yourself
My birthday (in June) is the day after my father’s and for many years we had joint birthday parties. This picture is from the first one. In this poem I can hear my father telling me rather directly to get my Lucille Clifton on and CELEBRATE. (Lucille Clifton was born in June too, and I miraculously got to celebrate her last birthday with her.) I don’t know if you are like me, but sometimes I feel shy about celebrating who I am, especially in times where so much is hard. There is so much grief. And the fact that grief is undeniable evidence of love, doesn’t mean that I feel like celebrating my losses. In the past I have been called “tone-deaf” (an ableist term) for finding gratitude and something to celebrate in the midst of terrible circumstances.
But knowing that my ancestors and all the no longer embodied can only come be part of this celebration on earth if I create one, a celebration, a portal for their love to stream through for me but also beyond me to you and all of us makes me realize that the work of celebration is crucial. The best offering I have to give my ancestors is my joy. After I find the love and lessons in my sadness (which often takes some time), they are finished with it. Sadness doesn’t keep. It grows toxic if I keep it around after it has already offered its gift. May I open my heart to fresh sadnesses with even more gifts another day. Joy on the other hand can’t wait. If I wait until everything is perfect to feel this joy…when will that be? And so I celebrate my father, I celebrate myself as his daughter. I celebrate all the love that I am experiencing in this time that is also shaped by my grief and by missing so many people whom I love. I’m celebrating you, and I’d love it even more if you would freely celebrate yourself today.
P.S. My every day writing practice shapes my days into vessels for generations of love. If you want support with your own daily creative practice, I’d love to be part of your journey. This is the Stardust and Salt Daily Creative Practice Intensive.