the skies are talking, can you hear?

i felt like i was being drawn away

from the mediocrity of a place

. . . not of my own choosing

drawn towards anticipation of the ancientsi couldn't describe it, but the skies are still talking,

and I wrote their testimony. . .everything happened so fast 138 years since Bill left the home

. . . not of his choosing

years covered in a matter of minutes,

and if i stayed for a month, it still wouldn't be long enough,

and i think of my mother who birthed me,

my grandmother who raised me,

my mothers' mothers' and others who treated me as if i belonged,

and the clouds took form of my many inherited mothers, and they all began talking in a mother's language. . .

for my ears only.

"Underground" was a place of pain

where ancestors from my mother's side of the family were sold and separated away; it was the marketplace of the time,

and they came from South Carolina to be sold from the bowels of the ship, from one underground to another.

the mother responsible for the other half of me was the the baby mother, Obi the Nigerian, the belly warmer for the people whose skin was bleached like limestone.

they sold here away. . .the skies burst, and cried.

and Obi cried for her mother, but she could not recall her name.

neither can i.

looking at my own skintone i know how black women were more often than not raped repeatedly,

i feel the lacerations in my spiritual, sensual places,

and i need to talk

i can't hear the skies from the confusion going on as i enter the house where the spirits dwell. . . i hate knowing my mother won't even mention the barrelmaker's name.

i am halfway knowledgeable of my Mississippi rootstems.

Papa Van they called him, a Dominican, Jeannie or Jenny Bell they called her, from a master last known as Wilson

--they were Delta people.

and perhaps they are known by some Reeds or Barrs or Beckley's who lived along Highway 19 I believe, close to Meridian Mississippi, perhaps, this family can be the key, brought up to believe they were dead my entire life, until the age of 33 There were 16 children. 5 remain.

How I feel after the trip, and why did I say all of that? Abbeville was my aorta,the missing vessel that birth my own children and in Abbeville i leave a piece in my heart;

Abbeville is the mystery unfolded, the reason I talk about "The Pieces"

the court square is filled

with my reason to not do away

with the essense of my life

and squander away my dreams because others believe i am not worthy of being heard

Abbeville is my ability to appreciate the passion and the determination against all odds to locate family so that at least, that part of my life can be as full and wonderful as being a part of the Reed family now.

and, after the trip. . . I was changed.

That's about as simply as I can put it.

My emotions were mixed. My anger ran as red-hot at times as my joy.

How can one cry and smile

at the same time?

How can one feel the presence

of the pain of the past?

How can one be glad to be in the presence

and be served by the decendants of the ancestors who inflicted pain and suffering upon my people,

knowing what happened on that plantation was nothing but heartache everytime a loved one was taken away, without a second thought?

How can one be buried in the woods with the snakes and the weeds being so thick beyond the dusty red earth that we could not see the unmarked graves of the many whom served those whose decendants we met in Abbeville on that seventh month, on that incredible 8th day?

How can I not hold it against the decendants of the slave owners seeing that their loved ones have lovely limestone and granite remembrances in well-groomed memorial grounds, knowing that many of my own were whipped, sodomized, castrated and hung from trees that house the secrets of their blood?

there is ONLY ONE explanation. . .

that explanation is universal Christ-like love.And I love Abbeville.4-ever. . .

the skies hear me now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Where I fit in. . .--Cynthia (cynth'ya) Lewis Reed, wife of Kenneth William Reed (our 2 sons Kenneth Jay Reed and Roger Preston Reed keep that name alive in this branch), Kenneth William, my husband, is the only son of Rodger (Roger) William Reed Jr., son of Rodger William Reed Sr, the son of Willie Reed, the son of "Grandpa Bill" owned and emancipated by way of Lemuel Reid of Abbeville SC. Grandpa Bill had 11 children.

NOTE: If you access the site and get an error message saying "Site is temporarily unavailable", that means that the site had exceeded its data transfer limit and will be restored within an hour. So, just check back soon. The data transfer limit is directly affected by the number of visitors to the site. There is a limit per hour. If many are trying to look at the site at the same time, it will likely cause the site to go over its data transfer limit that is allowed through geocities.