2019 was a pretty intense year for me, health-wise. There were a few nights over the summer when I didn't think my body could withstand much more pain—moments where I didn't understand how people survived chronic illnesses.
During this time, I heard and read stories of women around my age in similar situations - suffering either physically or emotionally, or both, but trying our best to heal. It felt like we were being put through the wringer for something - for what? I didn't know.
Once I started leaning into my illness, into my healing process it became clearer that I was being prepared for something tougher. That I was being tested to make sure, whenever that time came, I would be ready. Women, as a collective, would be ready.
I knew something big was coming, I didn't comprehend how big or how soon…
When 2020 started to roll in, it felt like a fresh start. I finished both my 300 hr YTT and my Lyme's disease treatment in January. I had plans to travel quite a lot in the first quarter of the year, to relocate. And my precious Karuna started to feel tangible, real.
Then February began and BOOM. In an instant, everything changed.
First, we were hit with COVID and this crazy pandemic that caused everyone to go into fight or flight mode (yes, everyone - even if you were not aware). We were all living in a root chakra space already when something worse hit us. Hit us hard, like a slap in the face. Forget slap, like a roundhouse kick to the jaw. As if Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery weren't enough - we had to watch the slow, deliberate murder of George Floyd, an unarmed black man in the hands of 4 police officers.
When I was in college, circa 2003, I did a research paper on police brutality, focused mostly on the case of Rodney King. Watching that video so many years ago scarred me in a way I can't begin to describe, and although I couldn't bring myself to view the full video of George's murder, it quickly brought me back to that place I was taken to 17 years ago.
For a week or so, even though I was active on social media, sharing as much content on Black Lives Matter topics as I could, I was in a state of denial. I didn't allow myself to process the rage, the grief that lurked right underneath the disgust.
When I finally allowed myself to lean in and process every single one of the emotions I felt, something new surfaced. A different type of fear. Fear of saying the wrong thing, of not being thoroughly educated on this matter, of people misunderstanding me if I said - I think I understand.
You see, I was born and raised in Puerto Rico. I have African DNA in me. Most Puerto Ricans do. I feel it awaken in me, in every fiber of my being whenever I hear drums, the beautiful base in our Bomba o Plena music.
I have seen first hand how this government and some of it's people treat us like second class citizens.
Our island and our people have been ransacked and looted for as long as we have had a relationship with the US. We too are stereotyped and discriminated against.
My dad lived in NYC as a kid and read signs everywhere that stated, "No Puerto Ricans. No Negros. No Mexicans. No Dogs."
When Hurricane Maria hit our island, close to five thousand people died, and as I looked around, it was hard to find people here in the states who cared or even knew what was happening.
Being a woman, a Latina, comes with its own set of discrimination, so to an extent, I get it, at least I think I do. I hope I do.
BUT there's a BIG catch. I do not fit the stereotype of a white person's take on a Latina. Like I have been told so often, in a "complimentary" way - "I don't look Puerto Rican". This means, I will never know what it feels to be blatantly feared/discriminated/abused solely on the color of my skin. To live in fear because my skin is black. I will never know the fear of being a black mother, a black woman, a black man, in this day and age.
Being classified as white comes with a set of privileges I am allowed, even when they are not earned. So I know I can't ever quite "get it" and for a couple of weeks, I let that fill me with guilt. But feeling guilty doesn't do anyone any good. Not me, not the victims of racism.
So if I haven't been obvious - I support the Black Lives Matter movement. I feel ashamed and disgusted to live in a world where the topic of equality seems to somehow be up for debate. Ashamed to think that it is 2020 and racism, sexism, even slavery is very much alive. Just looks a little different.
I believe protesting is not only valid but needed.
I believe in a world where every single human, just because they are born human, should be granted the same rights, same opportunities, same respect, regardless of the color of our skin, our gender, our sexual identification, where we were born, what we look like, who we love, who we pray to, whether we pray or not, etc.
I believe our primary purpose here on this Earth is to love. So much so that if you boil down most religious and spiritual doctrines out there, the main law or rule or stipulation is to learn how to love ourselves and each other. That's it. So simple. Not to judge. Not to abuse. Not to Belittle. Not to Ignore. Not to coexist. Not to Tolerate. TO LOVE.
To love should be our goal. With love comes understanding, compassion, brotherhood, sisterhood, common ground.
It's time for everyone to take a good hard look in the mirror and see where we stand in all of this, to figure out how we are showing up, what we are doing to be complicit, to help, to support, to listen with love. It is the "gift" 2020 has given us, to see things as they really are. Stare straight at them, at the ugliness, and do something about it.
I have so much work to do, so much to learn, but I am willing to. To my BIPOC community, know that I am here, and I am not afraid to hold myself accountable, to make mistakes as I become more educated in the matter of racism, to sit with you, to create a safe place for you to rest and heal.
Namaste,
Dali
PS: If anyone knows who I can credit for this badass image - please tell me so that I can give credit where it is due <3
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