Winters Blessings

The most beautiful gift of love is when it is given and when it is taken away.

I thank God for each moment I’ve had my heart broken and returned to Him because it allowed for a deeper relationship not only with Him but with myself. My most recent lesson in love has taught me not to withhold it, but to welcome its appearance with open arms and to grieve it deeply when it begins to leave. I’ve learned to listen to my deeper intuition, as they are signs from the Most High and to also not berate myself for taking my time in letting go. I’ve learned to allow myself to fail diligently and to coax my wounds to close gently. We cannot begin to possess anything or anyone, only to love in whichever season they appear and to gracefully let them go as they pass into another. The idea of loving for eternity is not only romantic but resonant, only if we allow our love to pass the gates of the ego and emerge into transcendence. With this, we begin to understand that love is never truly gained or lost—but always present. But we must be present enough to witness it.

I also have learned that love is not change. By this I mean, not expecting for another to change on our time or mold into the person that we think we need them to be. It’s allowing for the constant evolution of that individual to emerge so that they can transform into whomever God have them be. I am no more powerful than the energy that coaxes petals of hydrangea flowers to unfurl and emerge in brilliance colors. Who am I but a passive observer to the colors that God allows for each petal to paint? Much like this, I pray for God to allow me to be a passive, yet expectant observer to the movements and motions that course through everything in nature including my own self. There is little that I can do to force anything to happen and really; what need to be done when resting allows for everything to be completed fruitfully? With a bit of nurturance, grace, and prayer, all begin to emerge from its slumber into wakefulness. Love has taught me that its presence allows for tree’s winter leaves to shed and springs little buds to emerge from its confines—yet all were already present at the moment the seed was planted. All it needed was grace, time, and faith. All it needed was a bit of love.

Here’s to loving, enjoying and re-meeting myself in my winter season as I await springs arrival.

What to Do When it Seems the World is Falling Apart?

The world is in an interesting place and we are at the precipice of it.

Recently, I’ve been rolling ideas in my mind, trying to find a concrete balance between work and play, discipline and pleasure, spiritual devotion, and mundane order. Allow me to admit that I have not yet found my footing. Much of my childhood spent in a frantic fear of getting things wrong; of not knowing how to respond, when to make certain moves or perhaps how to begin to unravel the meaning behind some of the actions (or lack thereof) of those around me. Was inaction due to laziness or a lack of understanding? Were we stripped from our natural God-given resources and thus caused my family, my community to be in a perpetual state of fear? Did this fear strip us away from our natural longing of mutual connection and wholeness? And what does this connection and wholeness mean in the practical, mundane world which arguably seems devoid of the recognition of the wholeness of the Divine?

Contrary to popular practice, I am not here to blame anyone for anything. What I seek is a space of understanding. You see, I have been tired and angry for the past few months. Truly angry, a silent bitterness collecting at the base of my psyche. As I drive through the streets of one of the most expensive cities in the world, biting at my fingertips as bikes rush headlong before cars into incoming traffic, rushing to go to a place that promise to fulfill their needs only to be left aching and wanton. This I know as I’d once rushed headlong into the city with the same desires and aspirations – a dream to make more money and to reinvent myself as anyone I’d wished to be. Only now the only one I wish to be is no one else but me.

It is a truly odd time in humanity, where greed is the order of day. Many people are struck with disgust at witnessing the atrocities of the world: walking outside and seeing young men and women at the corner of busy streets clamoring for resources, food, shelter, or simple affection. While we, reluctant or perhaps too guilty and poor to reach into our own pockets, look on with gazes of disgust and heartbreak at the world around us, at the unfairness and chaos that ensues on this beautiful planet. Oh, the suffering that we cause one another. It would be remiss for me not to mention that in these odd times witnessing reality is heartbreaking, nevertheless overwhelming. Those considered fools are the only ones who walk the earth with a feet as light as a feather, flowing to and fro among the chaos. Is it that they do not witness the distress that tugs at our heart strings or perhaps they feel disconnected from it, unable to witness another being as their own selves? Or are they the most wise of us all; welcoming and processing each emotion deeply as it arises, willing to venture into the depths of the unconscious human shadow. Witnessing then embracing the faces of destruction.

And isn’t it scary to recognize that those faces look like your own? The hands that clamor for more wealth, the nose that wrinkles in the stench of poverty, the eyes that avert their gaze from witnessing injustice. Isn’t it heartbreaking to know that each of these faces; the eyes, the nose, the hands, the arms, the legs, the heart—they each look like our own. And yet somehow, with the twisting of the ego, the whispers that lead them to disconnection, what they find in another steady heartbeat is a pulse that does not match the rhythm of the universe. In this disconnection, you might also find the same seat of suffering and destruction that causes so many of us to be lost.

I’ve been asking myself, “what to do in times like this”? My solace has been teetering between indignant anger, hopelessness, detachment and hopeful prayer. A huge part of me recognizes that there is not much that can be done to undo the mess that we have created of the world. The mess that we have created of each other. Our deeds are written and the actions that our hands have sent forth are in the process of materializing over and over and over as we pick of the fruits that our seeds have sown. It is only now when we find that our crops are rotten and close to dying do we in exasperation call on the name of the One who created the seed in the first place. Begging for the divine to restore some sense of order in this fractured reality.

A deepening prayer on my tongue is for the strength and resilience to carry on. To take time away from my mind in the hopes that it does not continue to attack me. To detach even as it attempts to console me. When you are truly stemmed in the midst of chaos, your mind can be so blinding that sometimes it is the most helpful to take a step back and breathe. To connect to a deepening Essence so much larger than yourself, that when you arrive at its doorstep and perch yourself on its living room floor, all that you hear is insurmountable silence and a deep space of rest. And oh, do we deserve rest.

There is not much that I can offer in terms of answers. I would like to say that there should be some union formed; politicians held accountable; or even individuals to point to as the seat of blame. But in truth, I find no one to hold in the hostage in the hot seat. All that I have been dreaming of is the ability to appreciate beauty; to plant flowers and seeds of vegetables and fruits, to love earnestly and forgive; to release myself of myself and help another. It is a gift to try to love others just as much as I love myself and to find an even greater reservoir of love for God. A deep reverence that allows us release shame and judgement and to show up for the people that we love. To help when and where we can and to let go of the rest. There is much about the world we are unsure about, much that we hope we will have time to be able to reconcile and in many ways, a silent wish to leave something better than what we have been gifted with in our own time. This is the dream of many who have come before us in the hopes that we might be stronger, smarter, and better suited for tomorrow. Sometimes I wonder, even if all material has begun to crumble—houses unable to be purchased, wages unable to fly us on four times a year vacations or buy us the newest game set with debt up to our necks—might we still find peace? Is there a place where material wealth is not the bane of our existence? Where just enough is good enough for us to live earnestly and build community? I wonder what are the things that truly matter for building stability for myself and my family? And does it mean that I need to be in a space where I am considered rich and wealthy?

It is interesting times that we walk in and many of us are in the seat of suffering. With fear clouding much of our judgement, we walk the path of detriment believing that if we lose our stable income, homes, positions that we truly lose all that matters. It’s a crime to be robbed of the natural right toward affordable housing, food, and clothing. But perhaps, it is even more of a crime to be robbed of the natural recognition that our wholeness depends not on what the material world can afford us, but the jewels that our hearts bring into the world inside and around us.

And I pray that this is enough.

The Tides of Destruction

I’ve been in a space of deep-seated anger.

Deep-seated anger—you know, the type of anger that makes you feel restless. When you hear something that feels so contrary to your nature, you feel the slightest bit of resistance in your body and suddenly, the need to lash out! To yell, to scream “SEE ME! HEAR ME! Feel me”

Yeah, that type of anger.

I think we each feel it. It’s been such a wild two years hasn’t it? All the hopes and dreams of what we built on the fragility of “security” wasted away as a virus came in and snatch the rug from underneath our feet. Reminding us that safety and security was never quite that safe. Oh but we knew this. We knew it. Don’t lie—haven’t there been a many of times that you walked outside to take a stroll around the block and a young man smiled in your face, his eye lingering a bit longer than you’d like? And you found yourself confused, wondering “do I have something on my face?”

You felt it—in times were you were prompted to speak aloud in front of a group of people and not only to speak aloud but to speak CLEARLY. Efficiently. Effectively. To move people with a deep sense of conviction and admiration. And safety was stripped away just as quickly as you were asked to speak, wondering “what would they think about me?”

Living in the illusion of safety has helped us only in as so far as we are able to see it’s illusion. To understand that safety means to truly feel that you have a right to be here. Deep in your bones, to feel it vibrate in your soul, “I have a right to be here. To exist”. But a good majority of us do not feel this.

How could we? Our history is convoluted with so much pain and suffering, the stripping of our very humanity and oh, the tales and stories of slavery! A sure disease that makes us feel so unworthy.

Yeah, this anger is layered deep.

I’ve been frustrated. How have we sold ourselves a tale of lies? Lies that have made us so unseemingly, we have forgotten that to walk on this earth is not a privilege but a birth right. That to exist is to play out Gods plan perfectly and to create is to truly be free. I’ve been angry.

And so many will say—“a woman?? Angry? A black woman at that, not a foreign sight—it’s to be expected! They walk the earth so bitterly, of course you would find the likes of her angry.”

But you see…my anger is holy. From the same womb that created this existence, I gaze into your face and witness bliss. The sweet symphony of all of humanity, a gift that has been graced to touch the Holy Mother, as feet kiss the ground that created our flesh. As spirit sanctified our breath.

So you see, hell yeah, I’ve been angry. We are so much more that we have become to be if only we would allow ourself to ascend gracefully. To remind each other that money, prestige, the likes of intellect and the mind can hardly superseded the stirrings of the heart and spirit that created all that be.

I hope our anger allows us to wash to the shore of God’s feet and infinite awakening gently.

I pray that our anger allows us all to be free.

The Journey of Acceptance—Foundations of Inner Peace

How comical is it that we plan?

Life lately has felt like a whirlwind of moments, a tsunami of emotion crashing down on unsteady pavement as the world quakes around it. Times like these are a practice in what it means to embody patience and faith while many are left feeling faithless. In the midst of chaos, we are being asked “how will you keep your peace?” And for those who remember the ways of old, the ways of the mystics, perhaps an even deeper question from Our Creator, “how will you remember me?”

I recall my father teaching me the ancient ways of the prophets, speaking their language to me. In a beautiful tongue I could hardly understand, he proceeded to decipher it to me. Though I was just as young, naïve and unassuming as any young girl would be, I feel now that something deep inside registered this as sound truth to me. Perhaps it was the spirit of my grandmother egging me on, her spiritual roots blooming deeply within my core. Or maybe it was the essence of milk and honey resting upon my tongue after whispering sacred words for the love of God to my soul. A part of me wonders was it the emotional tone that conveyed its seriousness to my psyche? But now I understand that all of my ego’s conceptions, descriptions and explanations do not matter. Because the truth, in all of its covetedness appears now in plain sight to me.

We are each cycling with the pulling of the sun, being dragged by gravity into a singing symphony of remembrance. In the midst of destruction, can we return to our nature, can we find our Creator? Can we live earnestly and speak a word that is good? Can we encourage others to listen deeply and reflect frequently on what is right? Are we allowed to give grace and patience in moments that don’t seem to quite make sense? And allow these moments to bring us a touch of grace, the miracle of wisdom? When we allow ourselves to fall deeply into surrender, into letting what will be, be—we earn the rights of our markers for deep faith. When we listen earnestly before we speak, we are able to witness clearly the truth that is sometimes hard to see. And when we allow ourselves to fail miserably, to hurt fully, we open ourselves to the deepest form of love that ironically comes from grief.

Are you grieving the state of the world as many others are? To be alive to witness times where many wander aimlessly, where we struggle to find a place to stand on shaky ground, to float atop the ark in the newly created sea—have you found a place where you can process your grief? I’ve found that in this space of mass information given to an unassuming audience; to many who can’t help but to obtain the stimulation their mind seeks many are choosing to forgo their peace. Or have begun to forget that peace is even an option for ordinary people such as you and me.

This isn’t meant to be a one-size fits all post for solutions that will bring about a new meaning to tomorrow, a new solution and exercise for world peace. But to let go of all reasoning and simply be. To allow ourselves the grace of processing grief and being open to the lessons that arrive in its place. When grief takes place, we can open our hearts to more patience, kindness and faith than many would be apt to see. And it allows us to become the people we were always meant to be.

My father always quoted to me, “we are the ones we are looking for”. I thought it’d once knew its meaning but now it is truly plain to me. In a space where we can strengthen one another to cry, to hurt, to laugh, to scream, to fuck up and make mistakes while we try to make sense of what is currently happening, we can touch a reservoir of faith and plant its seeds. And this is the blessing of the chaos ensuing that will bring many to finally choose inner peace.

Your sister,

Jannah

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