I walk down a dark tunnel. Not afraid but with a knowing that I was not alone. The air – not too warm and not too cold. No smells or sounds other than my own breathing. Just space to exist.
I walk down this tunnel and see a light ahead. I start to hear the sounds of birds, scents in the air. The buzzing of Life beyond the tunnel beckons me on my path. Forward.
I’ve arrived. To an open meadow. I turn and it’s like that tunnel had never been because all around me, as far out as I can see, are flowers and greenery. Colors, so intense. Sounds, so melodious. Nature, so breathtaking.
Am I dreaming?
But I can feel the blades of grass brush over my skin as I move my feet forward. The moist dirt between my toes. The nostalgia from childhood summers outdoors in fields of flowers and friends, warms my Soul. The Earth, solid underneath my feet. Feeling, like Home.
I sit and close my eyes to intensify my other senses. Flowers. Sweetness. Humming…Rum? I open my eyes to find a white man in front of me. I’m not afraid. I don’t know him but he feels like Home.
He tells me a story of a lovely black woman whom he knew long ago. A Lover. My great great great grandmother. I could smell his shame as he spoke of how her beauty led him to lay with her and make babies with her; although he never loved her.
Infatuation, he says.
He knew his infatuation was not enough to protect her then and be the man she needed. He claimed to have been a strong man but admitted his weakness.
He knew his part in the curse of my Mothers. Forced to live in the masculine. Of doing it all. Of being it all. My Mothers, we all did it on our own. No matter how strong he was –
WE had to always be stronger.
Acceptance. My lineage, ancestral curse. His remorse. Forgiveness, the transmutation of guilt and shame of family secrets complete. Releasing the pain, the struggles of the women before me. A Reclamation of my worth.
My Father had shown up for me like no Father had before. Gratitude. I close my eyes and inhale deeply.
His final words to me in that moment:
Remember your Power, my great great great granddaughter.
The scent of rum is gone.
When I open my eyes, he is already talking. Chatty, he is- my father’s father’s father. Subconsciously I could hear him telling his story. Like he had been waiting. Humbled to be called upon, excited to be remembered.
Soul to soul, we stare at each other. Knowing everything, saying nothing. Without words heard through the ears, more like feelings heard within the Eye. He said to me:
Don’t feel like you need to overcompensate for any shame or guilt.
Pick a partner that is your equal.
The journey to your Freedom is yours to create.
And lastly, Remember your Power, my sweet great great granddaughter.
His words hugged me tightly and felt like Home. Words of a true Father, like no Father to me before.
My Father had shown up. Gratitude. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. Exhale, the chatter ceased, and he was gone.
That meadow that day, so full of past lives. My Fathers led me there to meet them, to be witnessed as I had my Mothers, for until then, I had only known of their stories, of their pains.
No longer wanting to be forgotten or be unknown, my Fathers asked to be witnessed. To witness them. Acknowledge their pains and forgotten perspectives. To hear their stories, their wisdoms, their truths.
They are the missing narrative to my own story.
My Fathers showed up that day to remind a daughter of her strength, in a way that only a Father could.
About Toni Moné
Toni Moné is a certified Spiritual & Life Coach with an interest in Human Design, Astrology & Writing. Her mission is to Activate Women and support them as they awaken to their divine natures, helping them shift limiting perspectives and define life on their own terms. She helps them to embrace their radical truths, express their unique dualities, and create their personal journeys to freedom.
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