Beneath the Surface, We Flow
As I stood on the banks on the third day of spring in Vermont, feeling the gushing water and the cold air pressing against my face, I knew I had found the sign calling for me.
“I came here to remember who I am, to find my way back to my power.”
Twenty-four hours before I found myself in Vermont, I sat with two chosen sisters on Zoom, head in hands. I shared that I was feeling further and further away from my power, against the backdrop of persistent efforts to shrink the autonomy and freedoms of Black women and communities. “I need to begin finding my way back to my power this weekend,” I explained. Afterwards I tucked my worn copy of Tracee Stanley’s The Luminous Self in my suitcase for the weekend hoping it would leave a trail of breadcrumbs for me.
The following morning I sat looking out the window at the snow in Vermont after re-reading the first chapter in The Luminous Self. In it, she asks us to recall a moment of true peace.
Do you remember it? That moment when you felt whole, when you knew yourself beyond the layers the world places upon you?
Vivid memories flickered in my mind: Alaska. Earthseed. Quiet moments with Jared. Floating. Lochearn Pool. Night walks. Painting in silence. Birdsong. Sunset. Ocean waves. Each of these moments held a quiet strength, a reminder of my essence—of the power that has always lived within me, waiting to be reclaimed.
I shook my head. “Don't over-intellectualize. Just remember,” I thought to myself as I headed to the woods. Aimlessly wandering, I followed the sound of water - a sound I didn't remember from my hike the month before.
The river was never truly frozen.
A month ago, a thick layer of snow and ice masked its surface, giving the illusion of stillness. But beneath the layers, the water was moving—relentless, powerful, alive. No matter how much snow covers it, no matter how still it appears, the river moves. It carves its own path, leaving an imprint on the land that cannot be undone. It is patient but unstoppable, yielding yet undeniable.
“Gabrielle,” I whispered to myself, “no matter how much they try to cover us as Black women, we are like this river. We are never truly frozen, never truly stopped. We carve out spaces for ourselves, for each other, for those who will come after us. We will be here. I will be here.”
As I stood by the water, I breathed deeply. The river reminds me: my power has always been flowing, even beneath the layers the world places on me—steady, unyielding, and resilient, shaping the world around it no matter the obstacles in its path. And now, it rises again, uncontainable.
