i am the black gold of the sun
i am the black gold of the sun
the art of radical self-acceptance
i am the black gold of the sun — rotary connection (1971)
i started my dreadlock journey in the late spring of 2022. now shy of turning two and a half years old, i reflect on the day i twisted strand to strand and entered holy matrimony as an eternal promise to cherish my being throughout all phases. upon moving to a new city, i traversed unfamiliar terrain that left me lost, scared, but nonetheless, hopeful. the horizon revealed itself clearly, so close i could nearly touch it: a fresh beginning, a chance to start over, an opportunity of creation. a new version of myself emerged and begged to be shared with any and all in vicinity. i have always resisted change out of fear of the unknown—but deep down, i knew it was time to stop waving disappointment towards the barren trees i neglected to water (sometimes inadvertently, sometimes purposefully). no longer could i hide from myself and from the world.
even in the shadow of doubt, when the light illuminates my face too brightly and insecurity creeps to the surface of my chest, i refuse to cut off or comb out my locs. although reaching this point of ease proved challenging, the journey is almost romantic—finding comfort amongst the frizz, the shrinkage, the length (or lack thereof), the exposure of all flaws, the inability to do anything except observe and wait. patience is not a strong suit of mine, but “trusting the process” has created a newfound appreciation for intentionally nurturing the hair on my head and taking myself as is. my locs are tightening up and brushing my shoulders; they kiss my cheeks more often and my roots keep trying to marry one another.
over time, my relationship with myself transitioned from one of insecurity to indifference; and indifference is blooming quickly into a budding love—not just for how i look, but for my soul as well. while my initial reason for loc’ing my hair was to develop confidence in my physical appearance, it transformed into a testament to my personal growth. sometimes i fail to record my moments of sovereignty, so my dreadlocks measure the cultivation, grief, and evolutions endured throughout the years. it is becoming natural to welcome myself with open arms on the good and equally as bad days; to forgive my mistakes and try, try again the next morning. more importantly, there is no longer space to chastise myself when i am meant to be fully and freely all that i am.1
to summon the beauty buried deep within yourself is to discover pleasure past the physical, to engage with the erotic as a form of healing.2 and essential to this, is exploring the depth of energy that is revealed when seeking out physical, emotional, and spiritual peace. standing firm in your lived experience as your truth becomes a task of resistance against domination, as self-recovery demands that you wrap your flesh in gauze and kiss the bandage, attend gently to the wound and greet the new scar before entering the battle that is honoring your complexities. against a scene of subjection, the stakes are nothing short of death if i allow the crucification of self-connection by consciously boarding a ship destined to sink. denying myself the fulfillment that comes from knowing intimately who i am, and offering the wisdom that comes from such recognition, is something i can no longer afford to do.
to shed the grandiose costume of performance behind the velvet curtain; to step into the sunlight bare, naked, and exposed; to reckon with the good, the bad, and the ugly is an act of courage that requires you to welcome vulnerability with little hesitation. are you willing to trust, unwaveringly, that when you fall forward, you will be caught before your body hits the ground? it is absolutely terrifying and i despise uncertainty, but returning to yourself is beyond worth it. there is a sense of urgency in recognizing who you are fully: maintaining eye contact with your shadow; memorizing the rhythm of scars on skin; embracing the sensuality that lives in your thighs, your smile. and the storm will not settle itself until it is released wholly. it is only appropriate to deepen my capacity for joy by confessing my desire for intensity, vibrancy, richness in everything i do.3
besides, terror shrinks in size when i consider that i have watched butterflies emerge from shriveled cocoons and phoenixes rise from ashes. i have taken refuge underneath branches that stretch across canyons to form canopies of protection. i have been shaped by the most calloused of hands, lulled by the sweetest of songs; housed inside of hearts and graced with an abundance of forgiveness that would put the Creator themself to shame. the culmination of generational resilience bring the words of octavia e. butler to mind:
partnership is giving, taking, learning, teaching, offering the greatest possible benefits while doing the least possible harm. partnership is mutualistic symbiosis. partnership is life.
any entity, any process that cannot or should not be resisted or avoided must somehow be partnered. partner one another. partner diverse communities. partner life. partner any world that is your home. partner god. only in partnership can we thrive, grow, change. only in partnership can we live.4
it is true that self-evolution is internal. however, individualistic praxis fails to serve me because transformation is never an isolated process; my personal power has sprouted not from withdrawing love, but from replicating these very patterns of generosity. i am merely an infinite reflection of the world around me, including you (yes, YOU). and because i love you so, it would be silly and nearly selfish of me to hoard the fruits of my labor out of fear they have spoiled, when you have been so kind to leave offerings from your harvest on my doorstep every single season. if we do not wipe the slate clean of shame, disgust, and thievery, how is collective healing, restoration, and liberation ever to occur? should anything in our universe change tangibly and sustainably, i do owe it to both you and myself to first change my mind and spirit.
there is so much more to be said about: the set of hands who graced my hair with unprecedented tenderness, the beloved connections in my life who are instrumental in building up my confidence, the balance between solitary introspection and reliance on community, my dream of salt and pepper locs that trail down my back in old age. however, i have to trust that my desperation for you to understand the magnitude of love i am blessed enough to encounter is simply felt through my words.
i find there to be a certain purgatory and heaven in seeing yourself through the eyes of others; yet, no matter how strange, it is these exchanges with both the collective and my own reflection that teach my hands to untangle the trickery of pain and passion. through such experiences, my roots birth new vines that curl from the crown of my head and flourish from my soul as a triumph against the beating of wind and water. when you accept yourself so fully, so freely, so radically, it becomes impossible to strive for anything less than pure joy. i am the black gold of the sun and there is a r/evolution5 burning inside of me; who am i to let the celestial entity that is the very essence of my being fizzle out?
i am growing in love with myself simply because i am.
author’s note: i am inspired by a dear friend of mine who said my dreadlocks are “entering a new season.” she has been loc’d for over 13 years and i have the utmost respect for her, so this compliment truly means the world to me! <3
from “a new politics of sexuality” by june jordan (1991).
in this context, erotic does not refer to sex or pornography; rather, it speaks to the sensation of empowerment & the reclamation of life/love that comes from exploring one self’s, without motives of power. this thought builds off of “uses of the erotic: the erotic as power” by audre lorde (1978), which has largely influenced this essay.
since vulnerability is an act of radical care in itself, honoring all of your feelings—anger, hurt, despair, delight, pleasure, etc.—in their full intensity and searching for that fulfillment in everyday life is a step towards personal freedom. this is what i mean by joy! (not be confused with allowing your emotions to control actions; something i am working on.)
from section two: “2033” of parable of the talents by octavia e. butler (1998).
from “r/evolution is love” by assata shakur (n.d.)—one of my favorite poems.
I adore the way you weave words together, this touched my soul so sweetly. Sooo beautiful. I started my locs just over a year ago, and I have been enamored with how much they change. I also typically hate change, but I’ve grown to love the r/evolution on my scalp. I hope I can learn from my hair to radically accept change in more facets of life.
I read this a while back and I just needed to sit with your writing and how it relates to my journey then come back and write my comment 😂. I started my loc journey last year. The starting phase was a process of accepting not just my hair but the many aspects of myself(especially my queerness). Now, 1.5 years later, I've grown to love and care for my hair and this love stretches to the rest of who I am. Thank you for writing this. It was a reminder to be grateful for the growth and love I've grown to have throughout this period. And the love within us that also lays ahead of us. Your writing is beautiful