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How Beyoncé’s “Homecoming” Showcases A Black Woman In Love

The healing!

Mild spoilers

When Beyonce Knowles-Carter dropped her beauteous love letter to Black women in the form of a spiritual revival, that evoked the formations of emotions, that are synthesized, providing connectors to Black women in ways that can’t be replicated by White women, who steal body parts for added measure; there was never a better time to reexamine existing and pending relationships with women and men that Lemonade presented — unsweetened and stirred.

The treasured catalog of hits and lessons was delivered about 3 years ago, with the same celebratory mass that greets her latest musical odyssey, Homecoming, another rousing success that depicts the magic that was “Beychella” a year ago, with behind-the-scenes treats, and up close and personal view of performances that are enhanced by the spectacular homage to HBCU culture.

When I was moved beyond control to put my alighted thoughts about Lemonade into words, the scene was the outside sitting area of a local Starbucks, and by 11 am, I was tipsy from the ice tea lemonade that had been spiked with vodka. The buzz treated me to the imagery of Black women in my life, who were doing so much for me, and the guilt of whether or not that was being matched by my efforts.

There were confirmations about how I was able to enjoy bonds with Black women who weren’t defined by country of birth or whether it was “African-American” or “Black American” or both, because skin color and mindset can blend into shared experiences of a rollercoaster ride, that can only calm the nerves when the arms around you grip with profound familiarity.

Yeah, there was bit of a fog, but I was able to articulate my newly-minted love affair with a superstar I never took seriously until Beyonce woke me up, and I realized the love was real.

These days, it’s more about coffee without the extra spices for mind-altering dependencies, and so I’m totally clear with what Homecoming did for me and what it will gift those who partake once they head over to Netflix to check out what all the fuss is about.

As my screen was filled with the vibrancy of historic decor through skilled movements of family members, converging to create the boot camp of love and cultural nourishment with methods that have typically been reserved for homegrown campuses, I was struck by the regret of not seriously considering one of the HBCUs when I was college-bound.

Nevertheless, for those of us who missed out, we get a chance to be blown away by the regalia of jam sessions in preparation for what was described as “something that will live beyond us — a day we will never relive.”

Queen Bey, as she’s endearingly called by the “Beyhive” poured more than just her heart and soul into the project of her life, that essentially would make her the first-ever Black woman artist to headline Coachella. During her history-making performance, she briefly mentioned that fact, and casually added, “Ain’t that bout a bitch!”

There’s no doubt that Beyonce was driven to new heights pf excellence when the significance of her appointment took centerstage and propelled the need to “GO BLACK, OR GO HOME.”

Like the rest of the world, I was glued to my iPhone last year, when the fiesta of all time was happening in real-time, and for me, it felt exactly like an early morning church service, bestowing gems on souls, yearning for endorsement.

And now we know how and why the epic display of unfiltered talent and mightiness of generosity was palatably life-altering.

It begins with fundamentals of engagement, that can only take place when you assemble like-minded flesh and bone, that you can touch and bounce with under the guidance of a rhapsodic environment, that can’t be manifested without the love of a lover.

Beyonce is great. She is a human. She is an even better lover.

She’s been Dangerously in Love before, but this time nostalgic tidings combined with how the responsibility of protecting what means the most from societal distortion, outright persecution and neglect, can push limits with reveals of what can be possible when wings stand firm with support.

It overtakes the landscape of a proposed event that turned into a magnificent festival of Blackness that makes Whiteness seem appropriately inadequate and powerless.

Beyonce remarked over and over about the splendor around her, as she watched her “tribe” possess the space they were in with acute knowledge of “feeling represented,” with the appreciation for that level of “freedom” in a place where “none of them felt marginalized.”

She needed for the Black women around her to feel worthy and not “underestimated”

Rehearsals were a mutha!

We are told that Bey was supposed to perform the year prior, but she had to bow out once she found out about the “unexpected pregnancy,” which took its toll.

She had the twins, Rumi and Sir, and then it was back to the sound stage, and the disciplined lifestyle that would ensure that her body, mind, and soul would obey the signals of unification in order to permit the miraculous rebirth of a beloved icon.

We see her facial expressions throughout the daunting process of recuperation, and notice the twinkle in her eyes, and the increasing light that envelops as she gains back the confidence, while riding on the shoulders of relatives who are just as much in love as she is, especially the man of her life.

We hear her drop gems of workmanship that expose the deepening fibers of performers who are “working to their limits,” because you can only “respect things that take a lot of work .”

“Every tiny detail has an intention,” and that truth was responsible for the earlier frustrations when the beauty within wasn’t being captured by moody camera shots. We see Beyonce measuredly beg for more, on behalf of the initiated movement, and we feel the promise that those who devalue the currency of Blackness will be shamed by the stage presence of what can’t be silenced or stolen.

As she left to celebrate her wedding anniversary after an extra-long day of activity, and right after giving the rousing speech of encouragement, we see Jay leap up and give that knowing look that explains his comical response of “okay, guys!”


All the hard work pays off as it takes flight with immediate adherence to how intense struggle led to the pride that doused the runway of traditions, that sparked the reverence for all the things that Black folks are supposed to hide, within the confines of familiarity when it should be poured onto the flow of electricity that sparks renewal.

You honestly don’t realize the magic of band music until you hear “Baby Boy” being given the treatment.

The performances are what you expect from a woman who isn’t perfection in her delivery. To assign her those otherworldly qualities only diminishes Beyonce’s greatness. Her roots stem from the realization of her limitations as a human being, and how she exercises those tendons to produce what very few can muster.

It’s not that none of us are capable of being the royalty of anything, it’s that only those who ordain themselves, reserve the right to demonstrate the unattainable.

Her family is the biggest priority, and while we got some quick shots of what that collage looks like, we have to agree that the main reason why The Carters and their brood are handled with care is attributed to the mandated privacy, and utter control of what is approved for prying eyes.

Everything comes together with the masterfulness of a tribe that fulfilled the wishes of their maker by “knowing the show—front to back” — and illustrating the gorgeous potency of being solidly united, even with the array of different characters that gloriously stand out.

A disposition that the United States of America condescendingly omits when patriotically defining “united.”

It’s never really over when it’s over.

She sings one last time before the curtain falls, and exits into the arms of her hubby, with the refreshed glow of more to come.

It was all about love, and the sacrifice necessary for the selfless endurance that takes you apart and then puts you back together in a more durable space, that elevates the greatness that is in all of us — waiting to be rehearsed.

But you gotta give love to those who don’t love back, with the patience for what’s waiting when you make it to where we all need to be.

Beyonce was grateful to come home to where she belongs, and to the things she loves, and since we fall into that category, we pledge to love her right back.

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!

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