My Own Way. Part 1

My Own Way

Part 1

On July 7, 2024, I was baptized for the second time in my life thus far. Interestingly enough, I am not a Christian woman, and the baptism was not a Christian ceremony. I must admit, before the baptism, I was afraid to speak this boldly on my “spiritual” journey (as some would call it). Right now, I feel like I’m coming out of the spiritual closet, though many who have observed me over the last few years may have guessed already that I do not follow the predominant faith of my country, America. 

I would love to write a blog detailing my experience before and during and the revelations after the baptism, but I cannot seem to jump straight in at such an intimate and integral part of my story without you having some background knowledge of what my way of life is and what led me there in the first place. I’ll begin with what led me there.

My childhood was disproportionately split between two different belief systems: Nuwabu and Christianity. Both of my parents were raised in Christian-based households. When my father was about 18 years old, he found a new way. Learning and embracing the teachings of Malachi Z. York, he became a student and a teacher of the Nuwaubian Nation. When he and my mother met, she was about 19, he may have been 24. He introduced the teachings to her, and she found them captivating enough to convert. In the year they spent together, my mother became pregnant, and my father split their relationship months before I was born. Still, my mother continued to practice Nuwabu until I was about 6 years old or so. 

What this looked like for me was an alternative education when I wasn't at school: reading children’s books that depicted the “true” story of Adam and Eve, stories about Anansi the spider, and learning to speak the Hebrew and Nuwaupic Aramaic languages. I was also taught how to meditate through chanting “Om," which I did many nights before going to bed. I would also accompany my mother to Tama-Re. Before it was torn down, Tama-Re was the Kemet-inspired (ancient Egypt) compound that the Nuwauban Nation built in Eatonton, GA. The Master Teacher, as he is called, Malachi Z. York, would teach there and, according to my dad, some would live there.

Tama-Re

I’m not exactly sure what happened, when it happened, or why, but I do know somewhere between my 9th and 11th year, my mother had converted back to Christianity, taking us with her. We quickly learned about Jesus Christ being the only way, the truth and the light. I wouldn’t say the shift was rigorous for my siblings and I because we were only children, and we trusted wherever our mother led us. We started going to church every Sunday, and my faith in Christianity grew. I allowed myself to embrace it and learned to denounce Nuwaubu as if it were an accident that we ever practiced in the first place. When I was 14, led by the conviction of my spirit, I came forth during the altar call to get baptized. My 12-year-old sister followed me up there. Not long after, on a Saturday morning, we were in Beulah Baptist Church on the corner of East Anderson Street getting baptized. I was expecting to feel something different, miraculous even, after the ceremony, but I didn’t. It was okay because I knew that I had made a commitment to God, and that’s all that mattered. I had certainly secured my spot in heaven and as a saint on earth. Visiting church eventually slowed up, but I knew Jesus loved me whether I was in church or not.  

Years later, just weeks after I had High School, my mom and I ran into my dad, who was still a teacher of the way that he had been studying since he was a teen. Unprovoked, from what I can remember, he turned to me and said, “You know your mom doesn’t actually believe in all that Jesus bull sh*t?” 

Immediately, something in me froze as I waited for a rebuttal from my mom. Instead, my dad continued saying, “She, your aunt, and their cousin all came to one of my classes recently.” Whatever was frozen within me dropped from my throat into the pit of my stomach. I felt sad, confused, betrayed, and angry all at once. I felt sick in my body. I tried to hold them back, but tears swelled and overtook me. I had a job at the movie theatre, and I had to work that day. During my entire shift, I cried off and on in waves. I felt that everything I had ever been taught was a lie and that I could not trust my parents to teach me about God. I was so angry at the confusion I felt. How could I be jerked back and forth that way? Did my parents not know how serious the spiritual life is? The worst part was that I didn’t know who God was anymore or what to think about him. I realized that I had never truly known. I had only blindly trusted all that I had been told.

At that moment, I decided that it would be my responsibility to find out who God was for me. I told God, “If Jesus Christ is the way, the truth, and the light, you must show me for myself. I can’t believe anyone anymore.” After that, I felt like I experienced silence… for years. Perhaps I wasn’t listening well enough, but it seemed to me that I was receiving no answers. For at least 3 years, I felt a deep loss, but I decided not to think about it all. I was simply alive without any clear direction. One thing did eventually become clear to me, though, there is more to this experience than what meets the eye. Though I did not know where to turn spiritually, I could never deny that the 3D reality that I had experienced was not all there was. I just could not put my finger on what I did not know. Eventually, I finally began receiving answers. 

Read "A New Way" Part 2 for the continuation of this story. (Coming Soon)