Legacy of Love

In the early 1900s, Archie Haynes Sr. — my great grandfather — founded a church and bought land in Ridgeville, South Carolina with the sole purpose of giving his descendants something tangible to hold on to. Something that was ours and wouldn’t be taken away. He was born only 33 years after the abolition of slavery, meaning his grandparents and parents were born into the slave trade and he saw first hand the consequences of white greed and barbarism. My great grandfather, only three generations removed from me, was born into a world where slavery was still a topic of justification and debate, where his parents and grandparents were owned by people who wanted nothing but for them to be dead if they were of no use to them; where his parents, and even he, were still seen as a commodity to be bought and sold instead of people with beating hearts and blood in their veins.

When I heard this story repeated at our family reunion last year, it struck me how much love my great grandfather must’ve had for his lineage, both those who came before him and those who would come after that he would likely never meet — those who would be born into a world and country he was not certain would be better than how he left it, despite it being built on the backs of his immediate family. It’s amazing how much optimism one can have in the face of so much adversity and uncertainty, and in the face of so much hatred directed at you solely because of the color of your skin.

I grew up feeling so incredibly unloved, unwanted, and disposable. But last July, as I sat in the humid South Carolina summer and listened to a distant cousin preach about the love, hopes, and dreams my great grandfather had for all of us congregated there, I realized that was never the case. I have always been loved. I was loved in 1789 and 1878 and 1923 and 1962. My ancestors have always loved me, despite the unknowing and fear they faced in their own lives. Do you understand the strength it takes to pass on a legacy of love despite watching your friends be lynched for one wrong move and being whipped for speaking your mother tongue? It is reasons such as this that make Black love, Black joy, and Black pride a form of resistance and resilience. Black people in this country were never supposed to be happy. We weren’t supposed to love or even be proud of where we came from; we were meant to be livestock. Nothing more, but maybe sometimes less.

Prior to my family reunion, I’d come to an agreement with myself that I was, in fact, a love alchemist. I try to make sure that everything I do, I do with love, regardless of how hard my personal circumstances are. I love hard and I love fast, and I’m learning that even though that often feels like a weakness, it is a strength others wish they had.

As I’ve also been decolonizing my relationship with the Bible and God, and approaching both of those things with new, unindoctrinated eyes, I have come to find that God really is love, as stated in 1 John 4:16:

“And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.”

I’ve been revisiting the Bible and rereading some of my favorite stories for about two years now — after taking a Gender in the Bible class, I realized just how fun it is to analyze the Bible from not only a theoretical and scholarly point of view, but also from the stance of my own beliefs that have evolved as I’ve gone from being raised in a southern church to further embracing my own roots, heritage, and traditions within Hoodoo and being of Gullah Geechee and Tsalagi decent. I think reading the Bible from a more spiritual — as opposed to religious —perspective leads you to understand that the overall theme is that Love is the highest vibration you can operate from. God is love. Living in love means you live in God (1 John 4:16). Love your neighbor as yourself. Love each other as I have loved you. (John 13:34-35) Do everything in love (1 Corinthians 16:14). Love is not self seeking. Love always protects, always trusts (1 Corinthians 13). These are all universal truths that are displayed throughout various faiths.

Love has always gotten me through some of my hardest lessons. The love of my friends, the love of my family, the love of community coming together to lend a hand. Last year, when I faced domestic violence and had to make an emergency move back to Oahu, it was the love of my friends Jeena and K that got me through those 6 months of healing after moving back into the refuge of their arms and hearts. Being the highest vibration to operate from, love also facilitates healing. My friends have always made sure to hold space for me and my feelings and the stories I need to tell in order to let go of them. Untruths about myself being replaced with adoration for all the parts of me I’ve learned to embrace by seeing myself through the eyes of the people I love who love me.

K shows her love for others through her love of cooking. We spent our mornings together making freshly ground coffee and frying up some eggs while we smoked a joint at the kitchen table and told each other of the dreams we had the night before. We spent our evenings with her teaching me to love mushrooms and all the ways I could cook them. Enoki mushrooms in ramen. Shiitake mushrooms cooked in butter. Our love letters to each other — moving around the kitchen, sniffing seasonings, chopping mushrooms, and smiling at each other from across the table when we realized we had — yet again — created a masterpiece. I think that maybe she taught me to love myself more by teaching me to love mushrooms.

I learned to love by being blessed enough to experience the love of my grandmother. When I was younger, it was in her home I felt the safest and most held. I would lay on my belly on the living room floor, feet in the air as I watched cartoons and colored, surrounded by dull crayons. Sometimes my grandma would play pretend with me — very often I was a princess, but other times I would be a bookstore worker, ringing up her order and telling her she owed me $65,000. I didn’t understand money but I understood books were valuable. She always read what I wrote, she always told me to write more. She gave me my love of the stage and my love of music. We would sing featured duets at church on Sundays when I was visiting and flip through her album of burned CDs, trying to remember which one had Sugar Shack by Jimmy Gilmer and the Fireballs and which one had Knock Three Times by Tony Orlando & Dawn. We would watch Dirty Dancing over and over again, never tiring of Baby and Johnny’s love story and the soundtrack that accompanied it. My grandmother always nurtured me, my imagination, my passions, my fleeting interests, and my lifelong dreams. This is the greatest act of love, I think. Loving someone so much you foster their authenticity.

As many people know, my favorite place to be is my family cemetery. I feel the most at peace here, surrounded by the spirits of almost every Haynes that came before me, including my father. During the family reunion last year, I took a walk to the cemetery to commune with my ancestors. For my father and grandfather, I left cigars. For everyone else, I offered a song. I walked around the cemetery, making sure to take my time honoring everyone and leaving them the offering of my voice. Honoring my ancestors is one of my favorite ways to show and receive love; leaving offerings at the altar, praying for guidance, and lighting candles on the birthdays of the ones I loved most. The more I show my love for my ancestors, the more they show their love for me — blessings start finding me more easily, my heart chakra feels more open, more willing to show compassion and empathy for others.

As I layed in the grass in the cemetery, allowing the wind to soothe the emotions that always come over me there, I realized that this land bears my last name, too. The Haynes land never fails to take care of me. I tell the wasps to leave me alone because I’m scared of them and they do; I ask the trees questions and the reply is in the sway of their branches; I ask for signs and suddenly there’s a dove or a heron or an egret. This is the Haynes legacy — a love that transcends time and space and generations. And I hope I make my ancestors proud as I continue to learn the ways I can make love shine through everything I do.