My father taught me to write, and my mothers taught me to be graceful. My father taught me to drum and till the land in efforts to strengthen and season my hands, while my mothers taught me to pray with my palms open and to give in the same manner. These lessons—from the rhythm of the Djembe to the resistance of the soil—are the lineage of my grip.

I give to you freely from the pages of my handwritten journals, “The Way of the Hand.” This work is an exploration of what it costs us to abandon that patience and an invitation to return to the authentic intelligence found only at the tip of a pen.

Read it here