Between Myth and Memory: Rewriting the Stories We Inherit

Somewhere between legacy, imagination, and transformation.

One of the invitations that I received in my spiritual community (that I can share out loud) is to reflect on what was going on in our lives during the last cycle 9s, 2016 and 2007. In both iterations, the thread of bodily autonomy, and this journey of reclaiming myself as a site of healing were taking form. Despite, or maybe because of, my fiery disposition, I experience a deep level of calm when I’m near or in the water. I’ve learned the hard way what happens when I try to hold onto my emotions as opposed to letting them share knowledge and flow out.

As a child of the Black Atlantic, I know that dialing into that relationship with water is in reverence for those who were forced to cross it. To survive is to carry the legacy of those who came before us, transforming inherited pain into strength and imagination. Our bodies are more than vessels for survival; they are archives of our lived experiences, as well as those who came before us.

This is crucial as the gap between science and tradition closes via a deeper understanding of epigenetics, as some of what we’ve inherited does not need to be passed down or how emotions show up in the body. To view the body as sacred is to honor its complexity - its ability to hold pain, joy, and transformation simultaneously. Bodily autonomy is not just a right; it’s a reclamation of power over what was silenced or controlled. To survive is powerful, but to reclaim sovereignty transforms survival into an act of creativity and joy.

So, what does it mean to feel fully at home within your body? For some, it’s a lifelong journey of reconnection. For others, it’s an urgent declaration of sovereignty. But for all of us, it’s an act of sacred defiance: a reminder that our bodies are both our inheritance and our offering to the world. I often share this via Ancestors in Training through the ‘alter your altar’ framework, reminding us to remember that we are a multifaceted expression of all those who came before us, and the first altar we have access to.

In Candomblé, an Afro-Brazilian practice and faith derived from the Ìṣẹ̀ṣe (Yorùbá) tradition, corpo fechado speaks to the idea of a body that is spiritually protected and closed off from harm through a series of rites. It is both a physical and metaphysical state, where the self is fortified against external forces. Corpo fechado embodies both spiritual protection and self-worth, a declaration of sovereignty that reminds us of our inherent power, even in vulnerability. This sacred armor can mirror boundaries we build through intentional healing and community care.

I’ve written about this before in 2016, also a year 9, in the afterglow of my first introductions to the ọ̀rìṣà and my survivor journey via my capoeira regional group at the time. This present spiral (as in cyclical moment) reminds me that what I said then still rings true - there is something deeply powerful about finding practices and traditions that allow us to drop back into our bodies - especially if that relationship has been harmed or interrupted through trauma. If anything, this bell rings louder and clearer as I continue my abọ̀rìṣà journey. Corpo fechado (as a concept and as a sacred rite) is not just a shield; it’s a declaration of self-worth. It’s a way of saying, “I am whole. I am protected. I am powerful.” It is a reminder that even in moments of vulnerability, we are never without protection or power.

To survive is powerful, and to reclaim sovereignty is transformative. It’s about taking up space, demanding the freedom to move, speak, and exist without constraint. Sovereignty transforms the narrative from one of endurance or resiliency to one of active creation. This reclamation is not done alone. Our loved ones, chosen kin, and communities play a vital role in witnessing and celebrating the process. Together, we remind one another that healing is not only possible but inevitable when rooted in love and intention. Through community care, we amplify the strength of individual journeys, creating (or returning to) an ecosystem that honors both the individual and the collective.

Rituals serve as bridges between the physical and divine, grounding us in the present while honoring ancestral connections. Through these practices, we reclaim the sacredness of our bodies with tenderness, courage, and intention. Whether through movement, creative expression, or quiet moments of self-reflection, we can find ways to honor the sacred within ourselves. Each step forward transforms our relationship with our bodies, allowing us to inhabit them fully and freely.

On this path, we become living testaments to the power of autonomy, joy, and connection - vessels of infinite potential, carrying the medicine of transformation within us. Within that possibility, if our bodies are altars, then reclaiming the body often requires intentional practices that honor its sacredness. This also involves reviewing who does and does not have access to said altar as needed. For me, this practice includes:

• Daily acts of self-care as rituals of reverence - reciting prayers, meditation, going out in nature.

• Writing affirming poetry that reminds me that I am my first muse and site of possibility, transforming words into spells of empowerment.

• Recalling what my younger self enjoyed and spinning that block in healthy ways - whether that is through dance or music.

This reclamation does not happen all at once. What this looks like for me has ebbed and flowed for me as I deepen my commitment to my practices and how I move through the world. If we work to remember that we are also sites of healing that also shift and change just as nature does, as a reminder that we are a part of nature rather than separate from it, imagine the legacy that creates. Or the cycles that that mindset interrupts? This perspective reframes survivorship as a site of creativity and possibility.

By sharing our stories, we inspire others to reclaim their narratives. By embodying joy, we challenge the narrative that survival must be marked solely by struggle. This new narrative embraces that since we are mostly made up of water, we trust that we are comprised of the libations of our loving and elevated ancestors while acknowledging the necessary work to shed any inherited stories that take us off of our path. May our individual and collective healing be a call that ripples out to those who need reminders of their divinity and sovereignty.