Crowned by Marielle Stanley

It’s been over a decade since I’ve visited, and even though I’m accustomed to New York’s 90-degree summers, I am taken off guard by the island’s heat and humidity. As my eyes are getting adjusted to the tropical climate, I find myself choking up, overwhelmed by the sheer Essence of the island. Every inch of my body is overwhelmed with the atmosphere, as though my body is a desert, receiving rain after a decade-long drought. With each inhale, my nose is tickled with scents of the ocean, BBQ food, ripening fruit, and ancestral pride. I think about the ancestors who lived and died on this soil. And with at least 30 people ahead of me in the passport control line, I close my eyes and imagine the faces of those who came before me.

I bring to my recollection the pictures I’ve seen of my paternal grandparents and imagine them greeting me with a warm embrace. With each breath I take, I feel as though I’m being greeted by the spirits of family members and their friends, all excited at the return of their kin folk.

Greeted by a scent that reminds me of scented lotion and powder, this foreign, but so familiar scent reminds me of Caribbean self-care practices. As my mind wanders to my maternal grandmother, I chuckle, knowing that she is going to inspect me from head to toe. I won’t be seeing her until tomorrow morning, but I am already looking forward to her twinkling eyes and heavy hands that will have prepared bush tea and homemade bread to welcome me home.

And just like that, my mind drifts off to hot afternoons spent on her porch, eating kinnips and watching the lush, green mountain in the distance. I think about the time spent at the ocean, watching the waves embrace the sand with the gentleness of a lover’s kiss, and feel myself get excited about pouring libations for my ancestors. I’ve spent many hours under the shower in my Upstate, New York apartment, imagining myself sitting on the beach in a white cotton dress, gifting the Ocean white roses. “I wonder if She knows…”, I think to myself. “Does She know just how much I’ve missed Her? Living in cities far away from the Ocean, I wonder if She can feel the homesickness that runs rampant in my heart. “Would She accept my gift, knowing that I prioritized trivial things, such as money, before family, tradition, legacy, and Her?”Just as I start to panic and contemplate whether this three-day visit will be enough to reconnect and prove my loyalty to my island, a warm breeze caresses my face. Deliberate and gentle, I know this is Her answer to my thoughts… “As the Mother of All, I embrace each one of My children. When My longing for you becomes too great, I ask the Great Wind to kiss you ever so softly, wherever you are. I ask Him to call you home by gifting you memories that remind you of the ways you bloom when at home.” Lost in memories and conversation with Her, I am yanked back to the present moment by the customs officer requesting my passport and documentation. Unbothered by my clumsy attempt to hide my inner dialogue, she asks me where I’ll be staying during my visit on the island. I compose myself and inform her that I’ll be staying at my aunt’s house while I visit family. Without even waiting for my answer, or looking up, she stamps my passport, hands me a piece of paper, and points me to baggage claim. Still flustered and trying to figure out whether she caught on to my absent-mindedness, I grab my purse and carry-on with the skill of an experienced traveler. As I’m about to lose myself in thought again, I see my suitcase coming down the conveyor belt and decide to get my stuff and get out of the airport. After an entire day of traveling, I’m looking forward to a hot shower, fresh clothes, and a decent home-cooked meal.

When I pull into my aunt Lena’s street, I am greeted with upper-middle-class homes that belong to doctors, bank managers, private school teachers, and local business owners whose surnames are woven into the fabric of life. A little bougie for the average islander, this neighborhood is a perfect reflection of my aunt. As the daughter of a local grocer and the wife of a lawyer, she enjoys the life of a kept woman.

A little over 8 years older than my mom, she was known as a meticulous hostess. Not only was their house beautifully decorated, Aunt Leena made sure you were entertained and thoroughly pampered at her house. Being raised by a rather braggadocios father and pious mother, Mommy and Auntie Lena were taught to bask in the wealth gifted by the Lord and to be of service to their community. While Gran’ Daddy insisted that they attend the most exclusive private school the island had to offer, Gran demanded that they’d be immersed in the world of fundraising and doulahood. (Of course, this was before doulahood was copped by urban hippies and became more about first-world activism than ancestral tradition.) Known by everyone on the island as Mommie Celie, Gran had assisted in many home births and had organized countless fundraisers to support the women who lived in the shanty towns. Even though these two worlds seemed to clash, it seems that my aunt found her voice somewhere in the middle of these two realities. Over the years my aunt and I shared many deep conversations about the joys and disappointments of marital bliss. She has openly shared her marital woes and her inability to walk away from a man whose biggest character flaw is his irrational fear of not being enough for her.

While I looked forward to having long, deep conversations over hot bush tea and cake, I suddenly felt like an intruder. Tempted to hop back into the rental and look for a hotel, I instead decide to freshen up and enjoy the space my aunt has prepared for me. Being as hospitable as she is, I know that she has been preparing for my arrival all week! Not only did she promise to prepare all my favorite meals, she also went out of her way to ensure that I’d have a fresh supply of cold-pressed juices and a steady supply of hand-picked bush teas.

When I get to my room upstairs, I am pleasantly surprised to find a basket filled with self-care goodies, a head scarf, a cotton house dress, and some comfortable slippers. After a rejuvenating shower, I decide to wear the outfit Aunt Lena left me and hop in the rental with some bottles of mango juice and water. Even though I imagined myself giving libations in the wee hours of the morning, I find myself making a beeline for the beach in the middle of the day. Gone is the fantasy to sit out there by myself, communing with the Ocean and her spirits as the sun rises. Gone is the fantasy of offering the ocean white roses and my naked body. Gone is the fantasy of me journaling my thoughts and then releasing them into the Ocean. Instead, I am going to the beach looking more like an American tourist than a dreamy afro-bohemian goddess!

As I get closer to the Ocean, I feel myself shaking with anxiety. Upon arrival, I was met with the joyous spirits of ancestors and family friends, but I am now feeling attacked by my inner voice.

Feelings of unworthiness rush over me and I find myself affirming for myself that I too belong here… That I too am allowed to sit at the feet of the Ocean. That I too am allowed to be baptized in the waters of the place that birthed me. With each assertion, I am met with the same accusation: “Who do you think you are?!” At this point, I am not just shaking with anxiety, I am also crying… With tears streaming down my face, I am reminded of all the times that I was “othered” because I wasn’t raised on the island. With each teardrop, I am reminded of all the times that my kin folk wondered who had tricked me into believing that I too was one of them. While searching for the familiar, excited voices of my grandparents, I am reminded that my grandparents - unlike me - are islanders. They are people who Innerstood the culture and could recognize the island’s heartbeat in all of Creation. I am reminded that, unlike me, they never tried to place Western ideologies above their ancestral traditions, principles, and values. Determined to prove my case, I decide to shut down the voices, buckle down and get to the beach, so I can plead my case with the Ocean. If anyone understood my heart, it was Her… I turn down the windows and raise the volume of my YouTube playlist. In a final act of rebellion, I decide to listen to the transcendental sounds of Solange Knowles, Raveena, and Snoh Alegraa, instead of zouk, dancehall or soca. I decide that if I’m about to visit the Ocean, I will do so on my own terms, presenting myself, wholly, as myself!

Feeling a lot more relaxed, I arrive at the beach feeling confident, calm, and determined. There is no denying that I am not the same as those who were raised on the island, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t get to build my own relationship with the Ocean. Who is to say that this wasn’t part of my Destiny? With most of my family residing on the island, I’ve often felt like an outsider in my family. My Western upbringing has often led me to question the role of women in our community. While I understand the importance of values such as servitude, community, and collaboration, I have often felt like the women were the ones suffering through it all. The pastors preached sermons about the importance of piety and servitude, and the women went into their communities to do the Lord’s work.

Seeing the women on the island oftentimes inspires me, as their acts of service seem to adorn them with a supernatural glow. Their willingness to love, even when it isn’t reciprocated in equal measures, is admirable and inspiring. Rather than solely focusing on their own needs, they instead nurture and care for their communities in ways that relinquish the need for words. But who serves these women? Who tends to their discomforts and aches? Who gifts them acts of kindness that quench their own thirst for acknowledgment and appreciation? Who sees them beyond the roles they play so well? The saddest part seems to be that there is no vocabulary around these dynamics. Instead of open and honest conversations, the men and women fluently launch sharp and biting one-liners, laced with scriptures that cut deeper than the Lord’s two-edged sword. Being raised in the West has afforded me a different perspective that I believe will restore the balance between the sexes. I’d like to see what our communities would look and feel like if we allowed our women to feel seen, heard, validated, and affirmed.

My obsession with the Ocean is partially because I believe that the ocean represents the fluidity and life-giving abilities of women. Whether a woman has children or not, her presence allows for a grace, kindness, and ease that otherwise would not exist. Just as water forgives, cleanses, and purifies, the woman creates new beginnings. And when her anger, resentment, and rage are too much to bear, they become like the tumultuous ocean, filled with unpleasant surprises. I believe I was raised abroad, so I could bring healing to my family.

But at this moment, standing with the beach within reach, I am struck with a sense of disappointment. All of a sudden the Ocean just looks like a body of water, aimlessly drifting from shore to shore. What is it about this body of water that made me think that She was magical? Hell, what made me think it was the physical embodiment of the Divine Feminine?! Watching the tourists splash around in the Ocean, I feel a sense of disgust! “How dare you?!” I find myself saying… It’s always astounding to me that tourists can feel at home in a place that doesn’t belong to them. How does one build a paradise in the home of another person? Isn’t the Ocean ours to love and placate? The Ocean isn’t just to be enjoyed. She is to be innerstood, loved, and longed for. And while I understand that the Ocean doesn’t discriminate, I feel a little slighted that she’d share herself so easily. What’s the beauty of a magic trick if everyone knows the secret? Have we mistreated the Ocean and made her feel as though she was only to be of service to us?

Surprised by my intense reaction to the scene at the beach, I find myself gazing into the distance, silently ruminating over the multitude of thoughts swirling about in my mind. While reciting a poem I wrote. I find myself swirling about my hands and rolling my head to the sound of the Ocean.

I've sat at your shores, prostrated in prayer, devotion, and meditation...

I've opened myself to your guidance and have birthed myself.

I have journeyed into the Abyss and waded in the river of death and suffering...

I have sat in the space between everywhere and nowhere...”

Digging my toes into the hot sand, I sit on all fours, I move into the cat-cow posture. Breathing in and out to the ebb and flow of the Ocean, I slowly begin to release the intense emotions that came up with my outburst. No longer bothered by the rawness of my vulnerability, I decided to allow the sun and wind to caress my body instead. Under normal circumstances, I would never allow myself to expose my sacred dialogues with strangers. Hell, I rarely allow my husband and kids to see me immersed in unbridled surrender! I might be fighting against my community’s ideologies surrounding femininity, but I too have not quite learned how to live freely within my skin. A part of me is still concerned with how others perceive me. Even in my intimate relationships, I don’t always allow them to see the things that move me. But being back on my island, I feel expansive, confident, bold, and adorned with belonging and grace… I feel the tourist's eyes shift to observe the way my body dances with the wind. Somewhere between fluid movements and primordial chants, I close my eyes and begin to move to the drums that start to play in my mind. As my feet stomp around in the sand, and my arms flutter like the wings of birds, I feel my hips sway as though they’re communing with the Sages of Old. I seem to have entered a space where time seems to have come to a standstill… A space where my Essence seems to Innerstand the Language of the Universe with clarity. The lightness of the consciousness moves through me with a silent conviction and it propels me to dance with the Divine; moving closer to the Ocean, I dance with the intensity of a Priestess calling down her gods. When the wind and I twirl in unison, the spirits of the Ocean come to the shore to cheer us on. They clap their hands and sing their hearts out, overjoyed at the open display of surrender. Accustomed to offerings made at secretive meetings under starlit skies, it’s not often that they are invited to dance and celebrate life in broad daylight. They know that this is the dance of a daughter communing with their Mother. And they know that this is the celebration of a daughter’s return home.

I am rudely awakened by a wet substance tickling my feet. When I open my eyes, I realize that I have found my way to the edge of the beach and I realize that each dance move brought me closer to the Ocean. “I knew you would return home one day” is the message I receive as I enjoy the sun’s rays reflecting onto the Ocean. Slightly annoyed with my inability to stay away from the Ocean, I am reminded of a vivid vision I received during one of my meditative showers. Welcomed into the realm of the deep water spirits, I was shown the ways in which everything on this plane eventually dissolves. Presented with images of those kidnapped from places beyond the Atlantic Ocean who jumped ship, I am shown how She received them and helped them release their attachment to their story. In that moment I realize that my calling is a sacred one. I am here to help restore our identity as a people. Named after the mother of God’s Chosen people, I am to bring healing through mothering. But to do that, I must immerse myself in what Is.

Feeling the cold ocean water caress my feet, I am brought back to reality, and chuckle… I wasn’t brought here to visit family, I was brought here to see my place in it all. “Come… It is time… I need you to embrace me…” Without a second thought, I wander into the Ocean and I don’t stop until I feel the ocean water kiss my neck. Starting to feel a little silly for not considering a change of clothes, my freshly braided hair or my possessions, I allow myself to be taken aback by the sheer beauty of the moment. Not only does the sun remind me to show up boldly, confidently, and authentically, the Ocean reminds me of the importance of feeling embraced by the right people. The women in my community don’t need to be judged, they need to be embraced. They need to know that they belong… They need to know that they belong when exploring their Truth, when asking for their needs to be met, and when basking in their value. Earlier today, I stepped off the plane looking for a sense of belonging… Wondering if I wasn’t imagining a connection with an island I never got to know beyond the stories of family members and friends. But standing in the Ocean, embraced by the Ocean spirits and my ancestors, I can feel them dissolving my grief with skill and devotion.

“No matter where you are, your feet will always have access to earth’s rhythms…

No matter where you are, you will smell the salt and feel the Ocean sway within your bones… No matter where you are, sit proudly,

for you are the daughter of those who recognize the island's heartbeat in all of Creation.

I’ve called you home to baptize you…

To mark your home going as a manifestation of Love.

You are always supported by the Elements,

always guided to new paths that allow for transformation and growth…

We Are the Mothers... We Are the Children...

We Are the cycle of Life materialized.”

Walking back to shore, I feel like Beyoncé in her ‘Love Drought’ video, wading through the primordial waters, owning her innate wisdom, claiming her birthright. Not only do I feel a sense of calm, I also feel tall and powerful. Where my chunky twists were a symbol of my longing to be adorned with just a drop of my ancestral nobility, my twists have become my crown. My fingers feel heavy, intentional, and ready to heal, restore, love, and nurture… My feet feel redirected, programmed to explore only the paths that bring about healing and growth. And my eyes…. Well, my eyes are a reflection of my Mother… Vast, mysterious, nurturing, and All-Knowing. Today, for the first time in my life, I feel like I have truly lived up to my name… Today, I am Sarai, a woman who is faithful, resilient, and laughs in the face of adversity.