The Art of Disappearing

The Art of Disappearing

A cup of tea neglected on the kitchen counter

Waiting for the scorching heat to cool down so that

I might sip from its contents

.

Selfishly, the tea stands as

My longing to be comforted

.

Yet it sits—

Three hours later

In a cold heap

honey sitting at the bottom of the cup

.

I’ve forgotten

What it feels like 

To be warmed from the inside out

Just as those have forgotten

What it feels like

To be loved by me

.

And maybe that’s Gods blessing

Allowing myself to be 

Forgotten

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.

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.

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.

Xx

Heaven

The Breakdown Before the Breakthrough

Have you ever experienced a moment where you are feeling overworked, exhausted or a lack of motivation?

We live in a society that tells us that we must find a way to sustain ourselves, build an accumulation of power, turn our creativity in to profit and be of some help to others. In this same society, there is an overemphasis of intellectualism, “following the herd” mentality and overworking. In this paradigm, there is this created image of success that glamorizes monetary wealth but sacrifices inner spiritual relationship to God and Self. This overexertion can cause one to feel undervalued, overworked and still yet, under-appreciated which of course makes way for one to experience something that many of us abhor – burn-out.

Burn-out literally feels the way it sounds, as previous innocent intention give away to others expectations or requirements of your behavior, work ethic or social responses. We begin to move in ways that we do not quite understand—like saying “yes” just to say “yes” and fearing the repurocutions (sp?) if we were dare utter our “no”. We begin to take jobs that we do not truly enjoy, simply so that we can “pay the mortgage”. We stay in relationships that no longer feed us for fear of being alone and/or undesirable. We pay attention to what others are doing because we don’t trust that we know what’s good for us and we hate ourselves for it. We begin to lie to ourselves about our innermost feelings because if we truly faced our sufferings we feel that we would crumble. Until one day—we do.

This is burn out. It’s the moment where you realize that you have walked way too far along the wrong path and still have not found a way back home. Feet burning, legs aching, you frantically run amuck in circles, searching for a kind place to lie your head, some semblance of peace but find only suffering. And that’s when you realize your suffering comes from a place where you can no longer hide—within yourself.

If you read any of this and began to cringe as if bugs crawled beneath your skin, I want you to know that you are not alone. Many people around the globe feel like this every single day. Many people have felt this way for years and still dragged their feet along a stubborn path to a home they knew was never meant for them. And they pay in their suffering, in their lack of self-worth or self-respect, in their meekness and frailness in spirit. They pay in their lack of and resentment of living.

This is a story we hear all too often. But aren’t you tired of hearing this story? Aren’t you tired of living it? I know I was. Burn out should not be shunned or quietly placed in the back of our pockets or the corners of our mind when we hear its shadows heavy foot steps, but invited in so that it can burn through foundations of a home that was never built on truth. Its fire rekindles a sense of surrender as it strips us away from false illusions and places us into our hearts. And through withstanding the pain of loss; of shame; of guilt; the freedom of truth—we are left to look at the pieces of material left in its dust and make the conscious decision to begin this process of starting anew. Of creating a home built from the vibrations of a child’s innocent laughter; walls painted in the love of our ancestors; brick by brick built from the strength of resilience; protected from prayers in tongue from holy mystics; dripping in the creative and loving spirit of The One.

And I…. well I am your neighbor helping you to put layers of brick upon brick, while sharing beautiful stories of women and men who made it their life’s mission to live well. To live honorably. To be authentic. Listening to your story, I am the one who reminds you that we are beyond our past, actively stitching together old wounds and forgiving ourselves for past ignorance. I am your neighbor sharing from the fruits of my garden, teaching you to plow, tend the soil, plant the seed and water natural life. In the hopes that my fruits and your growing fruits become our fruits sharing with one another recipes of old, basking in the wonderous blessings of living.

Welcome to the catalyst for your home-coming.

Welcome to the community healer.

Find me on Instagram @thecommunityhealer_