i choose repentance over thanks-giving.

i choose repentance over thanks-giving.

while i feel alone in my spirit, i know – unwavering – that i walk alongside truth and memory.

on this day, i renounce my own images to return space to the ones who were here before me. the ones who remain here, and who cannot be erased, who may never be forgotten; the ones who loved this land far before white feet ever touched here, whose blood and spirit and care form the shape of all that exists here today. i renounce an easy memory and embrace an honest, painful one.

today, and on all the days throughout, i commit to the tireless work of remembering, of digging these hands into the roots of tradition and uncovering all the wounds that live within.

i choose to remember darkness.

i choose to remember the soil.

i choose to remember blood soaking these carolina forests and hills.

i choose to remember rape and the violation of the earth.

i choose to remember walking;

i choose to remember the 2,200 miles.

i choose to remember families, separated, screaming.

i choose to remember people.

i choose to remember names, faces.

i choose to remember white terrorism before it was called terrorism.

i choose to remember enslavement.

i choose to remember grace mistaken for weakness.

i choose to remember those who remember their own story.

i remember

the coharie. the haliwa-saponi. the sappony. the cherokee. the waccamaw siouan. the meherrin. the lumbee. the occaneechi.

i ask that i know each spirit as i know myself, so that i may be forever near and unwavering in seeking our liberation.

i ask that the mother - the spirit of earth, herself - be both forgiving and swift in guiding all away from this illusion, that those who pass these days in laughter and abundance and indulgent consumption be eternally reminded of the suffering that came before, that remains. i invite those who call themselves kin to join me in the labor of remembering, in learning and abstaining until these days are undone; i ask that not one of us find rest until we are dreaming of a world returned.

i ask that the winds lend me their clarity; the water, her memory.

i ward myself against lies.

i ask for a fire which cleanses and returns sanctity to this ground, that i may live to see the collapse of the false colonies.

i choose witness over fear.

i choose accountability over assimilation.

i choose awareness over comfort.

i choose solitude over false togetherness.

i choose agency over theft.

i choose reparations over giving-back.

i choose questions over confusion.

i choose silence over laughter; i choose silence over joy.

i choose a silence which is loud. i lend my voice to amplify the voices of those who have long been speaking; and i dare not give thanks, to invoke the violence of saying thank you for what was not given. i ask forgiveness where i have taken what does not belong to me.

i renounce this day.