Invocations are an act of freedom

My introduction to invocations came as the gathering of souls for Sunday service. A crafted prayer, long metered incantation, and a chorus of Amens was medicine to my all-Black congregation. As the doors to the church closed, we made sanctuary. I sat with anticipation for the moment where the cacophony of sound transformed my mother from hard to soft. With each Hallelujah, she returned to herself.

She wasn’t an addict or a survivor. She didn’t fight for worthiness or be consumed by the legacy of oppression living in her bones. She was forgiven through the rock of the choir and squeal of the organ.

I didn’t know who she summoned in her prayers in tongues, but I imagined it was her father, a man who lived in a lie most of her life. I saw her asking him questions about his childhood and how he learned to love my grandmother. Were the tears streaming down her face evidence of his presence?

Despite my embarrassment at her loud voice and whistles, I loved to watch my mother in church. She sang, danced, laughed, and talked back to the preacher. She embodied joy. It was as if she could love herself as much as I did.

“My invocation is a hope strategy showing me the sum of us — joyously forging new pathways — is indeed bigger than dehumanization.”

The stark contrast of my mother’s way of being outside of church made this Sunday surrender feel like a fantasy. The woman who mothered me did not know forgiveness, joy, or release. She was the impetus for nearly all my invocations — moments when fear rose, and I needed to summon legions to protect me.

While my body became the sight of her disappointment, I called in the elements to teach my Spirit love. I prayed to believe the woman who came alive in church could mother me someday. My summonings transmuted from shields to my own surrender. It became habit to allow air, water, fire, and earth to soften me. And keep me soft.

Much more than a survival strategy, my invocations guided me back to my wholeness and the truth.

The practice of invocation is a place I begin anything. It is at once the acknowledging of my connections and the invitation of entities, beings, ancestors, and nature. I am clear about the forces tearing us apart — and summon the courage, will, strength to live free anyway. Invocation is a way of gathering a chorus to pray, fight, and create with me. My invocation is a hope strategy showing me the sum of us — joyously forging new pathways — is indeed bigger than dehumanization.

The Invocation for a New World

We are not alone. We are not singularities existing with no connections. We are woven. A thread in the tapestry of all that has been, is, and will be. We are matter diffused by light; simultaneously, the infinite point and the never-ending wave. We open the channels for evolution to emerge. We are not alone. We are woven.

We are here. We legions of souls are gathered together for the sake of our freedom. We are side-by-side in our becoming. We are holding each other’s light. We are here. We mend what is broken and release that which no longer serves. We trust in the strength of our backs, hearts, and voice. We are here. We are breaking the patterns, bringing ourselves into accountability, and telling our stories of grief and rebuilding. We uncover what has been smothered by greed.

We are not alone. We are woven.

We are together — we, family of matter benders. We, gatherers of cosmic dust & rememberers of ancestors’ dreams. We, shapers of infinity. Creators of new worlds trying to break through. We are embodying rest. We are together. We are making our jubilation manifest. We surrender to being new. We are not alone. We are woven.