Each year, in November, we are invited to give thanks—to gather with family, break bread, share stories, and remember. But for many of us across the African and Indigenous diasporas, gratitude is not limited to a holiday. It is a living, and breathing practice—a way of remembering who we are, where we come from, and the countless lives that made ours possible.
Gratitude, in this sense, is not a list of blessings but a lineage of remembering, reflecting, and becoming. It is a sound, a feeling, a resonance we inherit.
Gratitude is not something we think—it’s something we feel. It moves through us from the crown of our head to the soles of our feet—a vibration, a pulse. Each beat is a drumbeat, each pulse a reminder: we are not here by accident. When the drum sounds, we feel—we remember.
Remembering the Lineage
When I light a candle, build an altar, find a feather, or pour libation, I’m not performing a ritual of the past—I’m entering into a conversation where I listen, remember, and connect to something beyond my language, yet felt deep within my soul.
Gratitude becomes a dialogue across time: Thank you for walking before me. Thank you for walking behind me. Thank you for being here. Thank you for covering me. Thank you for guiding me.
To reclaim gratitude is to remember that we are not the beginning of the story. We are a continuation. We carry prayers in our blood, songs in our breath, and memories in our bones. We must remember to rest, too—because rest is remembrance. It is how the body listens, how the spirit repairs, and how the ancestors speak through stillness.
The simple act of remembering—of speaking a name, of whispering thank you—reactivates the connection that colonization, capitalism, and assimilation tried to sever. Gratitude repairs the thread. As bell hooks (2000) reminds us, love—like gratitude—is an act of remembrance, a way of returning to community and to self.
When we honor our ancestors, we also honor ourselves. Their strength lives in us, and our courage nourishes the future. Gratitude invites us to see that we are both descendants and ancestors in training.
Gratitude Through Sound and Story
My research on music and healing continually brings me back to this truth: sound is one of our oldest languages of gratitude. In Black musical traditions—from spirituals and gospel to blues and jazz, all rooted in African music—gratitude is expressed not as comfort but as continuance, as revelation, as revolution—of life.
Our people sang gratitude through the ache, giving thanks not for what was lost, but for the spirit that could not be taken. As Ashon Crawley (2016) writes, the sound of collective breath and song is itself a practice of freedom—an embodied gratitude that transcends language.
When Mahalia Jackson sang ‘How I Got Over,’ she wasn’t merely recounting survival; she was transforming history into vibration. When John Coltrane lifted his horn toward the heavens in ‘A Love Supreme’, and Pharoah Sanders did the same in ‘The Creator Has a Master Plan’, they weren’t just performing—they were praying.
When Sun Ra declared that ‘Space Is the Place’, he was inviting us to imagine gratitude as cosmic belonging—liberation that extends beyond the visible. These sonic altars remind us that gratitude is not always quiet—it can be a moan, a hum, a shout, or a call that demands response.
In the blues, in rap, in R&B, in poetry, and in jazz improvisation, gratitude takes the form of freedom—an honoring of the present and of our ancestors who dreamed of a future where we could create without permission. Each note is both remembrance and offering, both reflection and release. From B.B. King’s blues to Kendrick Lamar’s bars, gratitude has always found a way to testify.
Gratitude as Healing Practice
Gratitude directs the flow—it clears stagnation and restores harmony. When we pause to thank the body, the breath, or the moment, we align with a frequency that transcends scarcity and fear. That’s how we get over—that’s how we get into deeper layers of truth and overstanding. Menakem (2017) reminds us that healing is not only mental but cellular—and that gratitude can regulate the body and reclaim safety in the nervous system.
Gratitude is medicine for the nervous system. It softens contraction and opens the heart’s portal—the place where ancestors whisper and future generations listen. Within the frameworks of energy healing and compassion cultivation, gratitude functions as a grounding energy —a root system that connects us to the earth and to one another.
To feel gratitude is to remember we are never alone. Each inhale carries the wisdom of those who came before; each exhale plants hope for those yet to come. Healing happens when we recognize this reciprocity—when we allow gratitude to move through us like breath, like song, like light.
Reclaiming gratitude also means reclaiming responsibility. Gratitude is not nostalgia; it is stewardship. It asks: What are you doing with the life your ancestors gave you?
Gratitude as Responsibility to the Future
Reclaiming gratitude also means reclaiming responsibility. Gratitude is not nostalgia; it is stewardship. It asks: What are you doing with the life your ancestors gave you? Denise Ferreira da Silva (2007) calls us to imagine the ethical horizon (e.g., “…a shared ethical horizon for global Black life…”) where gratitude becomes a decolonial act—a refusal to forget and a commitment to reimagine.
When we teach, create, or nurture others with integrity, we extend the lineage of gratitude forward. When we act in ways that heal communities and honor the planet, we become ancestors of consequence—the kind our descendants will thank.
We must see ourselves as both the living beneficiaries of ancestral sacrifice and the future ancestors shaping what’s to come. Gratitude becomes a compass—guiding us to live with awareness, creativity, and care. It reminds us that every act of kindness and every gesture of healing is powerful in the moment and it ripples across generations.
Listening Across Time
When I listen closely, I can hear the hum of gratitude beneath all things—in the rustle of leaves, in a gospel chord, and in the rising spirit of students discovering their own voice. Gratitude is the rhythm that keeps time across generations.
To reclaim gratitude is to listen across time—a practice of love, memory, and liberation that scholars like hooks, Crawley, and Menakem remind us begins in the body, the breath, and the beat. It is to recognize that every thank you we utter echoes backward and forward—healing what was and blessing what will be.
May we keep listening. May we give thanks not only for what we have, but for who we are—living extensions of love, strength, and grace. May our gratitude resound like a drumbeat that calls the ancestors near and clears a path for the future. These reflections invite us to act. Gratitude is not just felt—it’s practiced.
Practicing Ancestral Gratitude in Daily Life
Ancestral gratitude is not only ceremony—it’s a daily rhythm, a way of walking through the world with intention and reverence. Here are a few simple practices to help reconnect with your lineage, honor your body, and remember the unseen support that surrounds you.
- Light a candle or place a small offering (water, fruit, herbs) in a quiet place as a daily act of remembrance.
- Speak the names of your ancestors aloud, even if you only know a few—whisper “thank you” or “àṣẹ” as you do.
- Listen to music that stirs your spirit—let it be a portal for connection, memory, and emotional release.
- Write one sentence each morning of gratitude to an ancestor, teacher, or guide—seen or unseen.
- Practice stillness and breath—in silence, ask: “What wisdom wants to move through me today?”
- Cook or prepare a meal with intention, honoring a tradition, ingredient, or memory from your lineage.
These practices are invitations—not obligations. Let them evolve with your intuition. Gratitude, after all, is a relationship—one that deepens every time we listen.
Lakiba Pittman
References
hooks, b. (2000). All about love: New visions. Harper Perennial.
Crawley, A. T. (2016). Blackpentecostal breath: The aesthetics of possibility. Fordham University Press.
da Silva, D. F. (2007). Toward a global idea of race. University of Minnesota Press.
Menakem, R. (2017). My grandmother’s hands: Racialized trauma and the pathway to mending our hearts and bodies. Central Recovery Press.
