on: finding god in myself and loving her fiercely

the world continues to be a constant cycle of clusterfucks. i saw the news about the pittsburgh synagogue massacre as i was on my way to the northwestern game and had to make an active decision to not dwell on it because i knew i probably wouldn't be able to keep it together. i still haven't read more than a few brief pieces about it because, well, i know me and i know that i can't really process all of it yet. it still breaks my heart and my spirit when places of refuge are violated.

then i saw the news about ntozake shange's death. i'm not exaggerating when i say that "for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf" has had a tremendous impact on me. i think i first discovered "for colored girls" my freshman year at northwestern. by sophomore year, i'd auditioned for a role in a production being staged by the african-american theatre ensemble (aate) on campus. i didn't get it, but still managed to be involved by helping out with publicity. i can't remember if it was junior or senior year (or possibly both) when aate's coffeehouse/staged reading series included excerpts from "for colored girls." we didn't need scripts during rehearsals because we all had copies of the book.

what i do remember are some of the conversations i had with other black female undergrads as we red and re-read and memorized and identified with the words and themes in shange's work. it kinda knocked us out that something that was originally produced before many of us were born still resonated so deeply. that we could see ourselves so clearly. that we could, as shange's characters did, find god in ourselves and love her fiercely.

i can't tell you the number of times i've riffed on the title of "for colored girls." how many times i've gone back to read the choreopoem. how eager i was when shange released new work. hell, the only tyler perry movie i have ever watched was his adaptation of "for colored girls," because i was hoping that shange's words would transcend whatever trepidation i had about perry's artistic abilities. (narrator: this did not happen.)

suffice it to say that the news of shange's death hit me hard. i hope she knew how influential she was to oh so many of us.

thank you for singing a black girl's song, ntozake. we love you fiercely. rest well.