EXCAVATION

Last November, filled with a great deal of pride and self satisfaction, I called my mom and told her about my wonderful discovery. About my false “truth”.

Man, she was horrified. Where I was thrilled at my ability to see clearly without blinking without flinching the truth, obscured by the lie woven by fear. I knew, without being able to explain it at the time, that my world had suddenly changed. Lifted by my ability to simply observe.

She wanted to know why I felt like this, where had I gotten these thoughts, these idea’s how had I developed these beliefs.

It was my turn to be astounded.

I did not know.

I pulled out my journal and thumbed to my first chakra worksheets courtesy of Dr. Christiane Northrupt. I started rhyming off my reasons by the events in my life, the messages I had received from my tribe, messages about the colour of my skin, my inability to be accepted or nurtured by the people and society I had been born into. I was born smack dab in the middle of social unrest, activism, fanaticism. Mind expansion, spiritual exploration, psychedelic revolutions.

I found I am a symbol in the world as well as an individual, I symbolized the unconscious fears of my Grandfather, of my mother, and of the white, respectable, and fearful society I had been born into.

I was the love child of two disparate worlds. I was the offspring of hippies and revolutionaries. I was born a visible majority in the world, but in my corner of the planet, it seemed like the other way around. In fact, despite the sea of brown faces that comprise a good portion of this country and a vast portion of the world, I was constantly reminded of my minority status, and the minority status of others who looked like me.

The white supremacists, the neo and bonified nazi’s I encountered in my life hinted at a hidden fear. A fear hidden from the collective mind of the Caucasian offshoot of the human race. A fear of being displaced.

This fanaticism of the white world to remain “pure” to remain unsullied by the “mud people”, comes from the dark corners of the collective consciousness, the feeling of being few, powerless, unable to stop the tide of brown, black, yellow and red from overtaking their perceived place of superiority, of being knocked down the ladder of the food chain. Of having to pay for the pillaging of the planet, and of brown men’s women and children.

I came to realize, this fear strengthened by delusion is as false as my own Miss Taken beliefs. In time, we will all know that.

I’ve been thinking ever since my revelation about all I just wrote. But still, I still didn’t see how any of it related to my personal miss truth discovered last November.

Then my Granny died.

Through the anguish of losing my beloved Queen Ette, of witnessing the cruelty, the selfishness, the dysfunction of my mothers family did I begin to really get it. Where I got “it” from.

Granny’s stories came back to me.

Her childhood.
Her marriage.
Her despair.
Her divorce.
Her self discovery.
Her freedom.
Her death.

I remembered Granny telling me about discovering she was pregnant by Papa. They weren’t married. Granny went to the abortionist. Walked in, sat down. Heard someone say “Don’t you do it”, and began to cry. She walked out. Met Papa and tearfully told him she couldn’t go through with it. Papa cried, pulled out a ring and asked her to marry him. On Friday November 13th, 1948 she did. Figures.

I told my mom this story a while back now. She told me she wished Granny had told her that story. That she understood it all differently.

In anger once, Granny told her that the only reason she married Papa in the first place was because the abortion office was closed.

I felt mom’s pain. I really did. I remember the times she told me she was planning on sending me across the border to my dad, in a jar.

I stood at my Granny’s bedside as she strung together her broken last words and thoughts. She told me how worried she was about her youngest grand child. She told me how scared she was for the first time little S. says “No!” to her mother, my auntsi, and says, “I want daddy to do it.” She doesn’t think my aunt will be able to bear that rejection. Granny should know, she’s received it from both her kids, it’s a normal part of childhood.

She fixed her green eyes on me and said “One day, S. is going to have to know, she’s going to find out, that auntsie didn’t want her. That auntsie wanted an abortion.

My poor Granny.

I forgot myself for a moment, I forgot where I was, what we were doing here together in this place. I forgot my granny was dying. I said “No.” that’s all, just “No!”

Granny’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, no?” She asked. I said “No Granny that child should never know she wasn’t wanted. She is wanted now, that is all that matters that is all she should ever know.”



Besides, I silently added, I wanted her and had from the moment I knew she was coming into the world. I knew little S. was on the way because I dreamt it. On some level, I know S. knows it too, because she dreamed of me too.