Twila

That’s my cousin Twila on the right..

I've always been comforted by her spiritual grace and unshakeable faith — even when we had nothing.

Last week, I needed her. I asked her to lead a prayer call. I invite you to listen to her words.

Exactly 10 years ago — today — GirlTrek hosted its very first trek.

When I woke up this morning, and saw a Facebook memory of the photos (included below), a flood of memories came back.

GirlTrek was not an organization. It was a personal and spiritual breakthrough for me. So get “quarantine cozy” because it’s an actual story:

It all started when I accidentally went to a psychic.

ha. true story.

Y’all already know, I was raised Pentecostal. Church of God in (glittery) Christ and mama don’t do psychics. ...especially a little white woman in a lake house - nope - my entire existence balked in distrust.

I was at the Omega Institute, a magical place that has since become like home, and I wanted to get “a massage or something.” Be careful what you ask for. The “or something” came on the form of “energy work.”

Sure.

Sounded delightful. "Energy work."

I picture a fine man rubbing my back with hot stones.

I was wrong.

I arrived. She was finishing up. All I could see, without peering into the window, was an empty room with two women sitting in chairs facing each other. I wanted to tap out, but I felt like Celie. “I can’t move. I can’t move ‘til I see her face.” LOL.

If the lady instide were anything like Shug Avery, she’d serve as a sort of guide to my “sho is ugly” past and a gentle reminder - a noticing – of the beauty that has already been laid out.

The door opened.

The client before me walked out.

I sat down.

“Whoaaaaa. None of this is yours.” The lady launched. ...and like a audiophile thumbing through old jazz records she flipped through my energetic catalogue — talking with her hands in midair. Seeming to move ancient trauma assured gestures. I’d had chronic stomach pains for months. Unable to digest the violence of black-girl-past and chocked by mediocrity of a dream un-lived. As she flung it away with the flip of her wrist, my stomach betrayed me by easing ...opening.

“Oh no. Naaah. Can’t. Who dis woman? Jesus, the blood.”

Can’t be too careful. But relief is has a capital R. I felt better perhaps just hearing the words, a witnessing. My stomach pain had been intense for weeks.

“That’s your mother’s pain. That’s not even yours. And this is not even a woman’s pain. None of this is yours,” she repeated.

None of this is yours.

Then she gripped herself. “Wow. There. There it is. It’s beautiful. I see you on a mountaintop. Looking over something big! Are you starting something?” She asked.

“Girl yes.” I laughed. “It has already begun.”

Divine Confirmation. A new-aged hanky wave to what God had already Spoken.

…echoed words that only Vanessa and I had confided in the safety of Black girl conversations, our dream. A movement. The lady said, “It’s bigger than...whoa.”

And whoa was right.

10 years ago, today, our first-ever trek.

The mountaintop photo she described so aptly that day was taken on a trip to Sedona, Arizona. We invited Kallima who I’d met from an online book club. She brought her friend Mieshie. And voila. We didn’t have blue shirts. There was no roadmap to success. But we had a fire. A sister promise. A collective “no” to silencing. A boldness to live . Another try. A togetherness.

Kallima and Mieshie were the first two official “trekkers.” (Although we had two teams of middle schoolers when we thought GirlTrek could be an after-school club. Don’t part-time your dream. Ever.)

I never told Kallima or Mieshie what happened on that trip so, I’ll tell them now.

The last night before leaving, I had a dream of wrestling a bear. I was losing the fight, so I woke up to look at a picture of me and Keith. In the picture, we were standing in front of the Louvre. I needed to see our faces so that we didn’t fade away in the dream. After a glance, like a sleep ninja, I jumped back into the dream to finish the bear fight. I won. I woke up before daybreak and immediately called to make sure he was ok. I was relieved to hear his sleepy voice. Before I could speak, he interrupted. “I just had a dream that we were back at the Louvre in Paris.” It was unreal.

No clue what this has to do with the story except to say it was a magical-ass day.

And it didn’t stop there.

Everyone in the house was asleep. I jumped in the car and decided to be brave. Still dust-dark, I whipped down the winding roads from the high ground of Flagstaff to the painted desert of Sedona. I wanted to watch the sun rise. It was too far a drive. More than I bargained. Almost two hours. I’d bitten off too big of a knee jerk. “I should turn around,” I considered. “Let’s go,” I convinced. I cranked up 80’s John P. Kee and pressed on.

I wanted to see the vortexes. We’d been energy chasers the entire trip, trying to buddy up with indigenous-looking people and avoid snowbirds. We’d been on all kind of “sacred ground” and I didn’t feel a thing. Nothing. Not even static. So, I decided to try at sunrise.

I went to the overlook known as the airport vortex. Climbed up and sat awkwardly, still stiff from the car ride and fitful sleep. The weather was overcast and cold. The wind was whipping a Pakistani “prayer scarf” I bought from Ross or Marshalls. I was like, this suiuiucks. I can’t even see the sunrise. All cloudy. Cold. Stupid. Eeeew. I almost gave up. I tried some poses and ancient mudras and nothing. Stop trying so hard the heavens must’ve mocked.

Then, just as I stood up to do the fake “this shit ain’t working” stretch, it happened. Daybreak. In me. From my forehead and through my body. I stood there in the new light. Arms stretched. The most glorious and ancient expanse of valley revealed. All at once, I was huge and infinitesimally small. I was solid and completely porous. As if the wind occupied my body. Electrified. Ancient. There and Here. All at once. I was all that Would Be. God talked to me. I had never heard before.

No earthly clue what God said.

Or if It was a she or had a booming voice or was funny or gave me The Secret or told me to stop tripping. God said all that, maybe. But loudest of all, was The Knowing. That there was no other place on the planet. No other time in existence. That I should be except for here. In this moment.

It remains true today.

Every now and then I can touch that Certainty. That “Big Enough”. That Exactness. Calling. That Here and Now. Like when we stood on the national mall to celebrate our first-ever #weareharriet walking challenge. Rev Thames spoke that word over our movement. I felt it. Or at our very first organizer training where Katrina, Sandria and Chrys huddled on a Gullah beach in South Carolina and pledged to hit the streets. Or the time we walked through the streets of Fannie Lou Hamer’s hometown demanding that her legacy be honored. Or every single time we convene hundreds of women on “the mountaintop” in Colorado for the stress protest. We feel it. Daybreak.

Here we are now.

10 years exactly after the first trek.

A half million of us across America and the diaspora. All doing the exact same thing that V and I did that very first trip

Stepping out.

Inviting friends.

Trusting ourselves.

Being fearless.

Dreaming big.

Holding on to what is greater.

Leaving behind what no longer serves us.

Chasing joy...

Enlightenment, fresh air, sunshine.

Remembering what we know, who we are.

“I come as one, but I stand as 10,000."

Maya said that.

In a way, we are all approaching our own mountaintop right now. Weathering a difficult climb together in this global catastrophe. For some of us — it's the first time in our lives we've had to sit with ourselves without the masquerade of trading labor for worth - the clouds are beginning to break ...and so many of you have shared that you can just feel that change is here.

I saw a meme that said, “Don’t ask yourself what do I want to DO after this quarantine, ask yourself who I want to BE.”

In this silence, in breaking through, I wish for you — a clear view to what is possible for your life.

And to that possibility, we say, Yes.

Do it. All of it.

Believe.

We believe with you.

As we did 10 years ago.

Today. GirlTrek is a life-saving sisterhood that reclaims the homes and streets of Black neighborhoods and villages across the globe as a united front of healing, joy and possibility.

It has already come to pass.

There are more than 500,000 of us.

Our foremothers willed it so.

10 years feels like round goodness.

A moment to rejoice and say...

We need you whole.

2020 has always been our breakthrough year.

With anticipation,

Morgan (and Vanessa AND Twila)