amethyst

Fragmented Discoveries

This digital publication responds to Scottish Dance Theatre’s performance Amethyst by Mele Broomes and features written and spoken works by Amanda Ajomale, fiction author and blogger, Courtney Stoddart, acclaimed Scottish-Caribbean poet and performer, Yasmina Patel, dance artist, as well as the original cast of Amethyst: Kieran Brown, João Castro and Glenda Gheller.

The works in this publication are a collection of perspectives on fragmented histories and offer a reflective and open space for individuals to engage with the healing properties of the stone Amethyst. The texts are encased in a rich visual design by Christian Noelle Charles, adapted for web by Daniel Hughes with photography by Tiu Makkonen.

The Cast

Kieran Brown

João Castro

Glenda Gheller

The Writers

Courtney Stoddart

Yasmina Patel

Amanda Ajomale

Fragments,
Amethyst
& Déjà Vu

Fragments, Amethyst & Déjà Vu

Sometimes I used to forget who I was before I chose to fragment.
This was of course some time before I remembered.

Déjà vu
Rivers of illusion, pools of blindness, swimming in the folds and creases of time.
Following familiar currents, ley lines, like whales -
but perhaps less sure of my purpose.

Déjà vu

I had what some would call a ‘realisation’.
‘I’ became actualeyesed, observer to my thoughts.
I realised that my actions, my beliefs, my ‘self’
was built, forged, cemented

brick by brick -

the foundations were laid,
upon the idea that I wasn’t enough.

That no matter what I did, who I tried to emulate, who I tried in vein to claim myself to be, I simply wasn’t ‘enough’. I wasn’t -
lovable.

I needed an adage, an attachment, an addiction,
anything that meant I was ‘more’ than the pure essence of what I am.

And in being this lie, be-lief, I chose not life but almost her opposite, I splintered.

Fragmented.

Tore,
like fingernail ripped prematurely from it’s bed. & in recognition of the subconscious decision I had made to play small,
to physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually not be enough
light was shone upon the shadow of my choice.

& I felt -
deep breath, inhale,
in lungs I finally gave permission to breathe
freely. I felt death, rebirth,
I bloomed like flower new to this earth -
& I was crystal. Multi-faceted and oh so rich with meaning.
Distinction. Abundantly infinite.

I was depth.

That night I allowed myself to fall head to pillow,
& I was caught lovingly by dreams so lucid.
I knew then that there was more to this -
life.

No longer were my mornings
spent in mourning,
I was rising, sun-kissed like amethyst
in tune, harmonically
with rhythm, hues and sky.

Courtney Stoddart

Courtney
Stoddart

A Place
Where I Go

A Place Where I Go

There is a place where I go, when the world becomes dark and I need a home. There is a place that only I know, a place where I can feel most at home. This place is slightly cold, slightly rough around the edges but it feels like home. It’s a place where I feel calm and balanced, this place called home. When I’m home, I can take off my mask and let my true colours show. When I’m home I can forget about the outside world and let my real self-show. In a world full of forgetting who we are, at home I can be in my zone; but at home, I am alone. I grieve the feeling of fullness and love, of communication and all things above. I long for connection, companionship, comfort. I wonder if I will ever find this. Wonder if I will ever find my matching stone, or if I’m to be in solitude, forever alone…

I am guided by the strength of others. I feed off their charged energy to charge me. To fill me up, to guide me and to charge others along the way. To heal and to be healed. To comfort and to be comforted. To shine light and to have light shone for me.

What does it mean to feel fragmented? To feel broken. To feel split into hundreds of thousands of pieces, divided apart. You feel as if everyone around you is held together with strong glue but somehow, you’ve split into pieces, shiny pieces; glistening as the sun hits them, like diamonds in the sun. You wonder how this could be, how you could be glowing when everyone else that’s unbroken isn’t. Crowds gather to marvel at your glistening stones but you are confused. Why you? Why are they staring at you like you’re some sort of puppet show? Someone comes up to you and says, “you look different- do you realise you’re not the same as us?” You notice that pieces of you are a rich, royal purple; a sense of power and strength fills you. You might not look the same but that doesn’t matter because you realise you are unique. A sense of clarity fills your mind; you realise that in a world full of the same, you have the chance to make something of yourself. To do something different because you are power. You are strength. You are an amethyst.

Yasmina Patel

Yasmina
Patel

History of
a Broken Jewel

History of a Broken Jewel

          When I hear the words, “fragmented history”, my mind is immediately transported through time and space to imagine a world in which my forefathers thrived. A time and space in which being Black, with skin as dark as the night’s sky, was celebrated amongst our people. This joy, a glorification of our defining features, was so abruptly, and brutally, interrupted, that a tiny piece of my heart breaks each time the thought crosses my mind. As a British-born Nigerian, I yearn for a society that prioritises reality, where, in schools, children of all ethnicities are taught the unbiased truth of our country’s history, and are allowed to form our own opinions with open hearts and open minds.

          When a precious jewel is smashed to a thousand pieces, the tiny fragments tell a new story, a story of how it came to be, and perhaps, how it became undone. That we, as Africans, are taught that our history is “fragmented” implies that there was a break in our timeline, that our existence stopped when the colonisers first saw gold in our “uncivilised” civilisations. So, then, I find myself asking the same question over and over again: “Who were we when we were whole?” Perhaps the answer to this can be found in even the tiniest of fragments, the piece that holds the legacy of this cultural destruction.

          I have found that through extra-curricular reading, and global travel, that truth is still out there, and is begging to be seen. I pray to the deities of my people to offer guidance, clarity, and protection, as I navigate a modern world that was designed specifically for my downfall. I draw strength from the Orishas, my ancestors, and the Earth’s elements, which allows me to have hope that, one day, my own children and grandchildren can find the peace that we once knew many centuries ago, before the pieces of my people were scattered throughout the diaspora.

          Our home is no longer our home, so I hold dear our languages and customs to provide the grounding energies that we so desperately need. In trinkets, amulets, and talismans, that force is strengthened, and the Amethyst just may be the most common of all. Amethyst is universally known for its healing properties, connecting the generations in altars and rituals; in a way, mending together our fragmented past. It is no wonder, then, that I hold this stone close to my heart. And a performance celebrating the Amethyst’s mystical properties can, in my opinion, only be received with welcome arms.