Traveling “Light” with Langston Hughes

I keep revisiting Langston Hughes’ I Wonder as I Wander: An Autobiographical Journey.In this book, the poet describes a rite of passage at sea: as he travels across the Atlantic to Europe by ship, he releases his books into the ocean.

He writes,

“It was like throwing a million bricks out of my heart when I threw the books into the water . . . all the books I had had at Columbia [University], and all the books I had lately bought to read.”

What Hughes feels after this moment is telling. He takes a deep breath. He feels “that nothing could ever happen to me that I didn’t want to happen”.  By releasing his books, he travels lightly – both physically and emotionally.

When I read this passage, I always want to know more. Why was tossing the books into a sea was such a relief? I want to know more about Hughes’ relationship – or attachment – them. What memories or expectations did they hold? What gave them so much weight? I want his analysis – and I want to analyze.

Thoughts and feelings: when Hughes surrenders the books to sea, he surrenders himself. He delivers himself. From an ancestor perspective, a part of him returns to the very ocean enslaved Africans forcibly crossed generations ago, as he makes a reverse journey across that very ocean. His moment evokes Yemaya, Oshun, Mamiwata, and other spiritual beings whose realm is water.

But the deeper beauty of this moment is Hughes’ lack of analysis or explanation. How he feels is enough. He invites readers to feel alive with him. Maybe he offers so few words, because that’s what he’s got. The feeling from freedom is all there is – and all that matters.

As I read this moment again, I want that sense of freedom. I desire presence. Embodiment. Life. These were no small feelings for Hughes, a young Black man in the 1930s, and these are big desires for me as a Black woman in the 21st century.

But the truth is that books are the one thing I’m not releasing as we leave to live in Mexico for a few months. We’ve sold our furniture. Donated most of our clothes, kitchen ware, and what more. The books? I can’t bring myself to “toss them into the sea”.

re releasing when we leave for Mexico for a few months, books are the one thing I don’t plan on giving away. At least not all of them. Some are going to dear friends, some to donation, and the rest to storage.

Many of these books are hard to find or out of print, especially those by authors of color. When people come to our house, our books become part of the conversations. They’re part of our relationships, one way I share inspiration forward and connect with community. On a deeper level, the books I can’t let go of part of my healing journey. When I read Gloria Anzaldua’s La Frontera/The Borderlands, I felt resonance with Without them, I wouldn’t be writing on this blog. Books are one way I connect with ancestor wisdom. They’re one way I share inspiration forward, when it’s time to pass one on. And as much as I try e-books, I still love the feel, smell, and experience of a bound volume.

This all said, Hughes’ moment at sea has me asking – how free, present, and alive I can be? What possessions are heavy for me? What does need to go?

Here’s my interview about Culture of Health Leaders on Profellow.com

As someone who works at the confluence of spirituality, social justice, and academia, it’s been challenging for me to find a “place” (and funding). In a recent interview on Profellow.com, I shared how the Culture of Health Leaders program helps me articulate my path, grow relationships nationwide, and learn from 39 other scholars, practitioners, and activists.

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Spring Cleaning + Ancestor Work: A Mini-Ritual

For this month’s e-letter, I wrote about “sweeping the yard”, a Black diaspora tradition of sweeping floors and the yard as household labor, ritual, and spiritual cleansing. Lately I’ve been inspired to sweep the ground beneath my feet – in a literal and figurative sense – with the busyness of spring. I must slow down. I must breathe.

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