An Ode to Self-Love

Multilayered
Complex
Hauntingly beautiful
Full of grace
If only one could capture,
Secure it
Hide it in plain sight
Or perhaps lock away in a dungeon
I hid her away for ages
Fearful of desecration
Resenting the worlds brutality
In truth, she deserves all of the roses
Molten-led whispers along her spine
Sweet kisses, foot massages
Divinity in the arch of every limb
Basking in her sublime time
As fine as well-aged wine
Sipping from her lips, I find my peace
Oh, this deeply-rooted woman
Her cries are my anguish
Her heart my salve
Peaking into the heavens I capture her grace
Teasing her light, balancing unconditional rapture on slick fingertips
Then shoving fingertips down her throat
She bursts into a symphony of luminous rays
When they saw black and white
She saw the world in color
A special woman, the feminine, the anima,
Yin
The Great Mother
Heaven!
The root, so deeply rooted
Attempting to siphon her light—she forever remains luminous
She brings weakness to my knees;
Clearing my minds eye
Easing my soul
The embodiment of heaven—
Love without the illusion of control

Neu Religion

Please, don’t you lay waiting for me.

Please God, don’t you lie waiting for me.

When you first heard words uttered from the deepest place of my being, did you believe “wow, she is so free”? Did you hear eons of pain dripping free of the tightly coiled rope around my wrist and whisper, “God, she is a free as I hope to be”?

Who me? Not this young woman, afraid to walk outside naked—lo and behold my scars and stretch marks for all to see. Not this beautiful lady, peering deeply from the corner or her eyes, hypervigilant to any movement making sure she can count each moment, never to be caught lacking in her “freedom”. Walking the earth with a certain amount of insecurity—who knows what tomorrow will bring her wanton arms? But she waits with a smile on her face hiding the unrelenting anxiety.

And you say this here woman…is free?

No, no, you see, she recalls the pains of her ancestors. One could hardly leave the house without fearing for their safety; turn around the wrong corner and she might hear a shot ricochet between tussling leaves. Leaving her brown bosom wet with regret and solemn defeat, as its remnants trickle down to her knee’s—Lord the times where living meant to be in a constant state of anxiety.

You see, I’ve realized that the world isn’t always safe. I won’t always have the answers to all of the questions, even the things my parents shared with me being questioned under a microscopic lens until it begins to lose its form again. I wonder, how many lies were we sold as truths—as a young girl, believing that my parents had the key to insurmountable wonderful living. Now realizing that they only had one key in a sea of infinity. Whew! And how is one to know which one to choose? We cant say that one is mightier than the other, that one path is more true in might or size, this way makes the most sense, is the most pleasing to a God that is multidimensional. If only existence was that simple. It makes some of us feel insecure.

And why a sense of insecurity—it means that my life completely and totally depends on ME! A new feeling, some may meet with ecstasy – “ah! I get to live completely and totally for me!” But what if the “me” to get along with simply isn’t so easy? What if the “me” is outstandingly beautiful and also stemming with insecurity? What if the “me” writes so poetically but often times loses her will to speak? What if the “me” loved to be a healer, but also feels that “healing” is never-ending, perhaps the reality is that we may not find out way back to eternity. Not as we were but something completely different, something bitten by the sea of suffering unrelenting.

It seems to me, that perfection is an illusion created out of a deep feeling of apathy. Needing something to make sense, we whisper “lets resign to obtain the unattainable”, hoping for destruction or complete mastery. Perfection as an illusion because it prevents us from ever beginning anything; perfection as an insatiable need because it means that nothing is ever quite as worthy; perfection as a deep aching because it means that I don’t even get to see me for me; perfection created for a deep feeling of suffering.

Tension rolling through my fingers until I can write no more, there is tension rolling over the shoulders that one nurtured me, tension rolling through my sore throat as I swallow skin deep, tension as I admit that some days it is hard to be me. Tension as I hold space for these tears to roll down my cheeks. Tension.

So if you look at me and say “God, she is just so deep, so free”, don’t mistake my eloquence for mastery. In a sea of humans who are so beautiful to me, I am just as imperfect and confused and hopeful and needy and wanting as any other person could be.

This is the reality of the deepest layer of me.

I remember you

the lines of your face, deeply groomed grassy heaven

My tears furled in the crevice of dark tresses

I remember you

Dark, tall and handsome

An enigma

Not seeking to be chased but enjoying

The thrill of desire

I remember you

We lay, sprawled between silk lies

A tangle of webs caught between several truths

Things we’d hoped our hearts would hide

But see…I remember you

A wistful tale of love unrequited

Or perhaps too immature to ignite this fire

So important to my own song—

I suppose you’d helped me find my own

Touching traces of insecurity

So that I would unveil the real me

Not so pretty or so peaceful, no:

Painfully human, fleeing ease and flow

I recall—

Much laughter in the height of the morning

3am, hearts soaring

Recalling dreams of tomorrow

Though it’s actions turned sour

A hidden place inside of me

Stories never ventured, still unseen

You see…I remember you

The thrills of diving to the deepest end

Pulling me back to my waters ocean

Liquid desire tracing back to the Source

A sure testament of love as a compelling, mystique force

I recall, infinite stories of who we’d wish to be

Becoming all that God meant for me

Perhaps trading in another,

to reignite my own energy

Yes…you gave me a wonderful gift

The gift of remembering me

I remember me.

———

I guess love is never truly lost

Never taken or held behind

A finite fire smothered on a summers night

Illuminating the path to witness the stars shine

Gazing above, the heavens hanging on the edge of time

Reminding that it’s presence has always been alive

Time has taught me time and time again

Human love is only for the purpose of true remembrance

———

I saw God’s face

He smiled softly

Drove me deeper into the cold waters that met me

Cleansed grime and smut from clouded soul

Embracing insecurities and wounds of old

Salt stitching each layer of raw skin

Purging the cloud of sin from within

Loss and doubt that arose in a lack of faith

I’m happy that our imperfect love led me back to God’s face

Thank you

For leaving this memory of you.

As winters day rolls in

Sun rays burning dirt-colored skin

Peeling cloved eyes apart to

Witness your grin

Or perhaps soft snoring—

Hands searching for eternity,

Tracing ridges along deep waistlines

The aroma of yesterday’s coconut shrimp

engulfed between sheets,

Faint memories of distant dreams

Crashing like ocean waves into reality

Drowning out the sounds of our breath

Reminding us that time passed is each, a tiny death

Mingling, rising then crashing deeply

As firm digits rush to grope soft cheeks

Laughter breaking vocal chords weak

The deepest rumble, bold vibrations

Echoing from your stable mountain top

I’m grateful that it is your chocolate eyes I peer in—

On a chilly, winters morning

Redefining the Bounds of Spiritual Praxis

Lately, I’ve been attempting to find a new rhythm of spiritual practice, retrace my steps to relearn what it means to be an individual who serves God, who loves God and most importantly; who is God conscious. Do we absolve the meaning that intentionality brings in return for being a diligent soldier? Do we follow blindly without asking question, without coming to a deeper understanding of ourselves and God as One Union? And how do we allow ourselves to be properly yoked in the face of this magnificence that surrounds each one of us?

I’ve been searching for my relationship to the Ultimate to be much more prayerful. And silent all in the same instance.

You see, I was raised in a staunch Muslim background. I felt for most of my life, as I observed many of the practices of these wonderful, yet flawed individuals that there was missing the integral piece of clear-heartedness. It seemed that rituals were followed hollowly without true clear-heartedness- the sacred intention of wanting to be close to God for the love of this beautiful entity as opposed to guilt. Or fear.

When I actually think about it, many of these relationships included a sort of transactional dynamic between an individual and “the other”, which further perpetuated some reality of egotism. To believe that one is so important that they must be followed or ruled as some odd way of further proving this importance. I saw this in many peoples relationships not just with God but also, with authority figures; doctors/nurses, teachers and even parents.

It is true that many relationships on the outside definitely can operate in a transactional manner. “If you do this for me, I will love you more. If you don’t do this, I will hate you”, this is the idea isn’t it? In but so many words, we have continued to perpetuate this idea that our sense of worthiness, of being loved, cared for, accepted is dependent upon some outside validation of how good we are to other people. Of how good we are to the world. But the reality is that when you understand your inner worthiness apart from anyone else requiring it from you, this is when you truly are able to pour back into the world around you. How can we possibly expect to give freely, relentlessly and earnestly when we are giving from a place of needing someone else to validate us? We constantly place another’s mind and morality at the forefront of our consumption, needing someone, ANYONE to tell us that we’re good enough. And the real reason we need someone to tell us this is because we don’t believe it within ourselves. Thus, I feel this same fallacy, we project onto The Most High.

Tapping into the reality of God, for me at least, this being feels limitless. Merciful at the forefront, He see’s to the core of who we truly are. Seeing deeper than a meaningless identity of “this is who I am today and that’s who I was yesterday”, yet still allowing for us to experience this being through this very identity. So many stay perched on the surface level of who God is, believing that we are created in His image. Many believe that God has “likes and dislikes” and judges according to our feeble human affairs. That God takes human beings at face value and labels each of us as “good or bad”. A surface level, that places mans own ideology of morality and value at the forefront, instead of understanding and loving the intricacy of God’s nature and thus, failing to fall in love with their own.

What a gift life is when we are able to tune into the truth of who we have always been. We are able to tap into this limitlessness and relinquish false identities. Perched at the base of God’s throne, we recognize how small we are, and thank Him for it. I’d always marveled at the unique ability that religion sought to give tools and a means of absolving oneself in favor of the whole.

And The Whole is harmonious. It is also chaotic. It is an active and alive universe, with so many things happening in each instant since the beginning of time—it is expanding and releasing planets, while other ones die, when the star is absolved into a deep black hole and plunged into nothingness…What then is left behind? Then do the words of an abusive mother matter? Does the car that cuts you off on the way to work even make a dent in the reality of the cosmos? Does that emotion that you thought you’d NEVER get over, make its way back up to the heavens? Does man become that important to the grand scheme of creation?

Numerous times have I found myself at the precipice of grand self-importance. Maybe because I felt that if none of this meant anything, then God would dissolve itself. But at the ending of my identity, there is the beginning of the nameless, the formless that does not speak. But simply exists.

Lately, I’ve been trying to find a new rhythm of spiritual practice, retracing the rituals of old, the intentionality of my ancestors, the prayers that protected their graves. I’d searched so far only to come back to the place I’d started. Recognizing that to find God, the search must discontinue deep enough for me to dissolve myself, my separation, my opinion and distance. To melt back into this Majestic Creator who had always lingered deep within.

I pray that you find the strength to let go of yourself. Simply, to find yourself.

Heaven