Releasing the False Self—Ramadan Reflections

This Ramadan has been quite peculiar for me.

In this place of merging tradition with intentional ritual and releasing faulty conditioning of the Ultimate Truth, I have found myself at the seat of paradoxes one can find lying beneath the tyranny of the false self.

Where are the people, the items, the identities that will bring us to The Most High? We find ourselves seeking practices, ritual and information as a means of searching for this Ultimate Truth. And still, many will miss it.

This search for truth is often found when the haze of clouds disappear overlooking the sky. As Rumi writes, “God has shown us the foam and obscured the ocean”. We see the dust but missed the wind. How is it that we are searching for that which has existed all along?

We search and search once again, only to find consciousness peaking beneath the level of our awareness. Then attention becomes displaced and once again—this awareness escapes us. How is it that we have missed the gold that peaks from beneath the surface? Or even more importantly, how can we grasp the gold when we are confounded with the earth settled on top of it?

This is what it means to operate under the false self, to be consumed by the evils of our own minds—fear, doubt, shame, guilt, judgement and compulsion. Many of us condemn the hell we are afraid of entering—yet perpetuate its presence in our lives through each waking moment.

In moments we choose our false selves over the reflection of the Divine, we have lost Ultimate Truth. In moments we find ourselves tethered to unnecessary impulses, compulsive needs of the lower self, an inability to sit in the wake of nothingness, of silence—we are forfeiting our birthright to the Ultimate Truth. And what is this truth exactly? It is the presence of God that is so apparently in our face, we lose vision of Him each time we turn our face.

It is nothing to be ashamed of, but everything to be conscious of. In this world where we are faced with so much distraction, temptation, anger and strife—remembrance of God becomes not only a necessity, but our saving grace. And I do not mean the God that is defined through religious dogma and rules to regulate human conduct. I mean the Creator that exists beyond space and time—residing, etched deeply into every facet of His magnificent Creation. Including ourselves.

This is what I have learnt this Holy Month. That behind routine, there is the intention and importance of ritual that brings us to a place of purposeful remembrance. And this remembrance allows us to let go of ourselves, let go of our false identities in favor of remembering the fullness of that from which we have come. To embody our divinity and let go of conditioning, false idols and hatred. To release our arrogance and fall to our faces in humility and lack of perfection. And even in those shameful reflections, find the need for the love of God.

💛 I pray the Creator purify my speech, in my intentionality to bring forth His magnificence.

💛 I pray this month be an opening to each of our awakening.

For this, is the truest, most enduring healing 🌸

Have a wonderful second half of this Holy Month.

Your sister,

Xx Heaven

Screams from the Silent

office

 

At times I feel meekly paralyzed
Covering my face at the shame of gruesome deeds
If one could perhaps rip the blindfold from their heart
Lay each story onto a scale and measure them
They’d be horrified at the punchlines we’ve been sold;
One man with limbs marred by pavements heat in the scorching summer
Somewhere near 96th Street
Onlookers watch gazes filled of disgust
And I, I disappear into the crowd
Stomach full of lead
Or perhaps the woman with two children
One upright, one decrepit
As she stumbles up and down flights with purse, babe and stroller in hand
Mere seconds from plunging to her demise
But her worry is with is the place she needs to go,
the mouths she need to feed,
the work she must return to
Never mind patrons passing idly along stairs until she trips on the first child,
Another rushing to grasp the falling carriage from her hands
As she tumbles down 8 flights, child firmly clasped to her chest
Woe to these current times—
Profit at the demise of our brothers
Without the means to purchase tombstones for graveyards
While others are sipping from gold plated cups
Until one sees the face of God within themselves
It is hard to see God in the needy man with burnt limbs;
The wailing child dangling from the mother’s arms;
The man on Wall Street stuffing his mouth with gold
I am horrifically guilty—
Wishing for the return of my innocence

 

The Empty

white clouds
Photo by Dorothy Castillo on Pexels.com

Take a moment to empty yourself

Release all identities

All perceptions

Become like a child

Open in its awareness

Curious to what God has to offer it

All that it knows is its knowing

Its seeing

Its hearing

Empty yourself of yourself

Turn to God and seek Him in silence

Immerse yourself in the depths

Cleanse your being

Empty your vessel of all that it cant contain

All that distorts reality

All the is subjective in nature

Turn to nature and seek thyself

Oh, once you empty yourself

You will find God lingering in the containment of your being

Pulsations in the Abyss

black pile of stones
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Please take care of me

I want you mentally, physically

Deep inside of me

As skin touches

Until breath evades us

Until you don’t know where you end and I begin

.

Sensations of nails dragging across your skin

Soft, sweet kisses

Long pauses

Seduction

Eroticism

Tantric love

Pulsating deep within the abyss

Praying to God as tears fall up toward the heavens

.

Pushing, pulling

Tasting salty-sweet liquid running down luminous valleys

Grasping on to clumps of feathers

Praying to swallow the moment alive

.

Take care of me…

Mentally, emotionally, spiritually

I honestly cant even put into words–

.

Dragging and pulling at flesh

Sinking into deep waters

Gently opening the folds of each petal

Teasing honey from beneath the leaves

The wind carrying our cries to God

For the freedom of death

.

Circling tiny knots of ecstasy

Building pressure

Dragging, pulling, bones kissing bones

A whisper– “Dear God

Flesh caught between teeth

Nipping at the base of veins

Blood boiling, straining

Tangled in a web of stiches

Clinging onto each-others wings

Until we reach the top

..and leap from the heavens into the greatest crescendo

Propelling into oblivion

Finding freedom in release

Holy Grounds of Symphony

low angle view of silhouette of woman standing near building
Photo by vishnudeep dixit on Pexels.com

As crystal clear as the truth is;

You’d think I’d freely immerse myself in its depths

But I’ve been dancing in a whirlwind of drama for ages,

Eons it seems

Searching for one who’s step is in sync with my own

At first we march to the beat of the drum

Twirl in each others arms

Open up our wings to the sky and set off on our flights

The harshness of the wind causes us to vanish

Feathers scuffled in the freight of the storm

Each time, The One nurtures

Encouraging a new step,

A new dance

Marching once again to the symphony of hearts

Whirling my hips round and round

Enticing, calling, seducing

he watches the dance with a gaze of curiosity

Longing and passion

Meeting me halfway matching each step melodramatically

Praying to capture

To engulf

To possess

Each one circling one another, waiting to pounce

Too soon…we encounter destruction

Jumping off the edge, plunging to equal depths

What good is the dance if it does not end in harmony?

In laughter, in intimacy, in flow

As I float in the earths wetness

Confounded and oh so weary

Salt nurses each wounds to bind

God leads me to the earth

Sets us me up on my knee’s

And whispers “practice makes the moves perfect,

But love makes the dance appreciated

I’ve taught you each step so that they all lead to me;

What other gift need you then this?”

Overcome with arousal for tango’s uncherished

I release all presumption, intending to find my own rhythm

My arms moving,

hips circling,

smile beaming

As the ocean washes up my shoes

Beckoning to begin the dance once again