The Seventh Sister — Priestess of Release
I found her seated in silence, eyes closed, hands to her temples in deep concentration. Her breath was slow, face calm, and presence a boundary drawn gently between what was and what can no longer stay. Adorned in black and gray satin and moonflowers tucked softly in her hair, she seemed neither heavy nor light. Simply freeing.
The left side, her right, of the moon glowed above her like an old truth she had finally learned to lay down. There was no rush in her, and no urgency. Only a sacred pause. She did not ask for permission to let go. She simply did as her symbolism states.
To black women holding too much for too long, she blesses: What you release makes room for what you deserve. Let it fall. Let it fade. Let it teach you.
She is the grace of surrender, the wise hand that opens rather than clings. I bowed my head beside her, and felt something inside me loosen. May it loosen for you, too
The Seventh Sister — Priestess of Release
I found her seated in silence, eyes closed, hands to her temples in deep concentration. Her breath was slow, face calm, and presence a boundary drawn gently between what was and what can no longer stay. Adorned in black and gray satin and moonflowers tucked softly in her hair, she seemed neither heavy nor light. Simply freeing.
The left side, her right, of the moon glowed above her like an old truth she had finally learned to lay down. There was no rush in her, and no urgency. Only a sacred pause. She did not ask for permission to let go. She simply did as her symbolism states.
To black women holding too much for too long, she blesses: What you release makes room for what you deserve. Let it fall. Let it fade. Let it teach you.
She is the grace of surrender, the wise hand that opens rather than clings. I bowed my head beside her, and felt something inside me loosen. May it loosen for you, too
Mixed media on canvas
20x24
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