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

Shattered Reflections

In the image of your reflection,

we’d find shattered mirror pieces —

glass poking out the frame’s tension.

Rushing to clear the mess I’d nicked my finger in.

.

Blood flowing on marble floors —

startled, dazed, a bit unsure.

Its presence ricocheting like a gunshot, point-blank;

dreams crumbling, jolting us all awake.

.

Throbbing pulsations remind me

of its existence —

lies shattering the world once created.

Beautiful illusions leading one to quietly wonder,

“What was real? What was fake?”

.

Did I mistrust my judgment?

Was my intuition offline?

Yes — I’m God’s child, emboldened with the divine —

yet divinity became stripped bare in deceit;

half-truths, manipulations, and betrayal all meet.

.

Cowardice is one’s own personal hell.

Frozen in time and space, inaction becomes a choice itself.

Small internal voices whisper, “What’s wrong with me?”

Shame becoming an insidious, contagious disease.

.

In the fractal pieces, we witness a thousand reflections —

one face here, another there — infinite ways of deception.

Mirrors culminating truth that can hardly hide,

showing the fragility of the Self inside.

.

Time passes,

and the finger generates skin cells to mend

all the pieces the mirror tried to end,

scars remaining as a lesson of the horrors when

lies become the identity we live in.

Not Digestible

I am not digestible

Not sweet tea with 

Four cups of sugar and a squeeze of lemon

Helping the medicine go down

She’s full bodied gin

Swallowed with a hymn and a prayer

Praying the demons don’t win 

.

Full bodied convulsions

Chanting to avoid shattering into pieces prematurely 

Leaving me high and dry

A trip cancelled just as the tickets were purchased

Seats booked

.

An orgasm right there…no damnit right there

Beads on foreheads bubble as we seek to match 

Tempos shifting in rushed, frantic pace

Impatience snatching sweet release, disappointment on my face

.

Brimming with wanton in a cup overflowed

Where the fuck is the ecstasy I’m owed?

.

Not digestible

Not here to soothe brows with

Gentle balming caresses

Cute little nothings that leave my body hallowed and wanting

Screaming to be filled

Please fill me up with something

.

Not meant for overconsumption

Pick my flowers intentionally,

or the thorns might bite

Blood drops like sweet reparations 

For raping my petals 

To steal my light

.

Treat me delicately

Hold on to subtle curves with a feather light touch

Before the dove takes flight again

.

Experience is the teacher 

That reminds us

How bittersweet moments are 

Before they reach their end

.

I’m not here to be digested.

Nor consumed 

Ask those who have passed by

Memorials for all the empty rooms

Forsaken without my presence.

Never able to be digested.

.

But I—

I’m the perfect size. Perfect shape

Perfect volume. Perfect taste

Absolutely holy. Utterly whole

Goddess woman with a whole lot of soul

.

Not swallowed hastily

but sipped in reverence

Eyes closed, head tipped back 

In drunken presence 

.

Frighteningly ethereal. Deeply divine

Internal medicine

So irrevocably moving

It became my deliverance 

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