Rooted in Ancestral Gardens

Rooted in Ancestral Gardens Blows

For me, I take the word rooted literally, as the source of what I call “groundation,” or the act of being grounded. This groundation begins with the knowledge that my ancestors fought for my spirit to be free.

Even more profound is knowing that I was being fought for before I was even created. That truth carries with it a legacy of resilience, creativity, and hope, qualities I dare to embody every single day I wake up.

I hold that knowledge the way a tree holds its roots: deep, strong, unseen, and foundational to everything visible in my life.

When the Wind Blows

Like a tree swaying in the storm, I’ve learned not to see the wind as resistance but as a testimony. Each gust reminds me how deep my roots go and how strong my foundation is. Those roots were planted in soil that was once foreign, soil my ancestors transformed with their blood, sweat, and tears. That land, once unfamiliar, became home through their resilience and creativity. To honor that, I choose to make the wind my friend, imagining new ways to flow with its force.

The Tree as Teacher

Looking deeper into the life of a tree, which happens to be my favorite plant, I see it as my teacher. I often study its natural being, and in doing so, I’ve learned something important: like the tree, I may not always recognize the value I bring to the world.

There are times when I become so used to overperforming that I forget my existence alone is enough. I have value simply by being. That truth, in itself, provides nourishment not only for me but also for the world. And I deserve to honor that.

A tree doesn’t always realize its own significance. But when the world shifts around it, the truth is revealed:

• It is the oxygen that gives breath to humanity.

• It is the foundation for birds to soar freely.

• It is a refuge for creatures seeking warmth and shelter.

The tree, layered with rings that tell its history, reminds me that my own layers, the struggles, the joys, and the stories passed down to me, are evidence that we have always been enough. Just by being, we are already doing something meaningful.

Seasons of Awakening

The changing seasons remind me that being rooted doesn’t mean being stagnant. As trees shift colors, let go of what is no longer needed, and prepare for what’s new, they show us how release makes space for renewal. Ice melts, water flows, the soil awakens, and the tree drinks deeply. Life returns to its branches and leaves.

Water is the memory that nourishes the roots, transforming into energy. The sun deepens that energy, coloring it and shaping it into something new. The tree exhales oxygen, releasing what no longer serves it. That release is not an ending, but an act of freedom and renewal.

What Being Rooted Means to Me

To be rooted is to know where you come from and to honor the sacrifices that made your freedom possible. It means understanding that storms will come, but they will only prove the strength of your foundation. It means embracing change, growth, and the cycles of release.

The memories and stories passed down by my elders keep me grounded. They root me in the right direction and align me to carry on what they left behind, learning from their mistakes and applying their knowledge as I move forward.

Most importantly, being rooted is recognizing that your existence is not just for yourself. You are home, oxygen, and refuge for others, just as the tree is.