Cherry Jarrett shares a moving session with a client…
The session took place to examine the clients’ issues around infertility. In the interview we discussed a history of slavery, breeding programmes, medical experimentation to increase fertility. The client disclosed a genetic anomaly where every generation of women on the maternal line (mother, Aunts, cousins and grandmother) conceived twins and often miscarried. When a pregnancy became viable only 1 twin survived. Natural born twins normally skip a generation, so we remarked on the unusual nature of every generation conceiving twins and the possible links to the medical experiments.
We focused on the clients’ unborn children and multiple miscarriages. She has not managed to conceive and go full term with any pregnancy. She feels a deep affinity with her own unborn children and the unborn children held in that space between manifestation in form and spirit. We spoke of their unfulfilled longings for life and that of their mothers for them. The grief in that space and how through the history of slavery these unfulfilled lives and the early infant deaths are the unacknowledged victims of slavery. The nature of the breeding programmes and consequent rise in infant mortality are well documented.
The client and I discussed her loyalty to the unborn and the unacknowledged fates of the babies and the mothers. She speaks on a soul level of feeling like their guardian, expressing her love and loyalty. She is the holder of their spirits and memory.
We included, as a resource, an ancient Yoruban deity, Oya, the mother of 9 (babies who died before birth or at birth) which led to her being crowned by Olodomare (the bestower of knowledge) ‘The Keeper of the Cemetery’ and given knowledge of how to move between the dead and living, carrying souls to rest and permitting union between the living and the dead.
It was suggested to the client that a ritual of sorts entrusting all the babies’ souls she has been holding to Oya, for the return to the great spirit to take place. The client was left to decide on this ritual for herself.
The next morning I woke to this poem of the clients process –
Hear them cry!
They carry the anguish of violent separation
Reparation? How do you appease the ghosts of traumas past?
Flags flying half mast for trivialities
While the souls of the little ones
Cry, cry, cry
Oh please! Keep your juneteeth!
When beneath the aged soil lies the blood and mother-cords of the innocents…
Ripped from burgeoning flesh long before nine
Cause of fascinated creatures from fallen stars eager to know just how they…. Breathe under water….
I can’t cry!
I can’t cry anymore!
Tears have dried and burning ulcers have taken over the flagellation.
“How in Tarnation did this nigger survive?”
They had no clue that I couldn’t be stopped
For my name is Retribution, the antithesis to their solution to years of bigotry…. A month’s celebration. What’s it called? Balk History?
I carry their pain
I carry their thousands of years on my almost broken back.
It’s worth it!
For I hold in my womb the cry of stolen souls of the Children of the Sun
The time hath come!
I rush to the altar of Grace as my faith is now restored in humanity.
Inhumanity no longer dwells alone for it is surrounded by the sweet sweet singing of the little ones, as they surface from the deep
They know a new day has dawned and they urge me
Weary shoulders and calloused feet mark the trek of lifetimes cross the field of dreams where forgiveness stands
I’d love to smack him in the face but I know I’m no beast of burden. No need to relieve the man-kinds from their treachery
“Give it all, give it all! Give it all to Jesus!”
And so I kneel….
A joyful din rings in ears of the awakened
One by one they soar towards the Sun, the 7s the 9s and the Golden Ones
I’m in labour as I release their souls over to beings of light
It’s as if the Light has gone!
I cover my eyes, wondering if I erred devastatingly…… mistakenly…
For in a flash
A New Day is come
Goodbye Sweet Children of the Sun
Xayla Tina Simone
George Elliot once said, “Our dead are never dead until we have forgotten them”. Systemically speaking maybe it is paradoxically true that our dead are never dead to us until we have remembered them. Through inclusion of the excluded and the missing being given their place the system can know peace.
In order for the history of slavery to find its peace, I wholeheartedly believe that the untold stories must be told so all can be given their rightful place. Hearing the stories of the breeding programs and the ongoing epigenetic and psychological consequences on descendants of slavery is one step closer to closure.
May all know peace