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

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_

Healing as a Community Effort

My Home

One of the biggest core wounds I’ve had to heal is doubting myself. Perhaps, it stems from generational trauma: a burden earned from my identity as a Black Muslim woman in North America. I can remember from the time I began grade school that I had in innate need to excel. And this need was driven by a passion to be accepted, to be validated in ways that perhaps my ancestors could not have for themselves. My mother would constantly remind: “You have to work three times just as hard as the next person. Why? You are black, you are Muslim and you are a woman. You are the most hated thing this country has ever seen but never let that deter you from your destiny.”

Memories like these haunt me as I sit in spaces of people dripping of privilege. While I cannot deny my own privilege (having the means and intellect to read, write and work in well-known and established institutions), I cannot deny the trauma experienced from having my hopes and dreams seemingly mitigated by shields of disadvantage. And believe me: I am not the only one. What say you of those whom have been wrongfully incarcerated; having their rights stripped away? What say you of working-class families, whose parents did not have the opportunity to send their children to private schools, colleges and universities? Or immigrant families, forced from their homes into a spaces where they are unwelcomed, ostracized from society as the “other”. We live in a society that separates us not only by color, but by class through means of mental acuity, physique and economic standing.

For those of us whom are deeply empathetic to the struggles of others, we often ask ourselves “what can I do to help”? Its quite admirable honestly; even with our own innate feelings of unworthiness, we still stand for others. But even this can be a trap. How can one untether themselves from their own trauma through fighting for anothers? I must be candid and ask- who will stand and fight for yours? Nevertheless, it is often through this cyclical cycle of seeking healing externally that God grants us the wisdom to finally be able forgive ourselves in ways that we never could before. Our stories are just stories: a culmination of memories, experiences and perceptions all charged with the task of bringing us to your depths. Of helping us understand ourselves. And perhaps…perhaps through this revelation, one finds the strength to look in the mirror and accept who they see. Beautifully so, as time has proven through hearing each others stories, staring at familiar and unfamiliar faces and images, visiting spaces that reminds of us of home, reflecting on the uniqueness of each of our stories—we somehow find healing.

I don’t claim to know everything, in fact I believe that I barely know anything at all. But what I am sure of is that through seeing the humanity of one another, we build systems of healing. I know that through supporting works derived from intrinsic truths, we project strength that allows for others to stand in their own authenticity. I’ve witnessed how beautifully and intricately interconnected we are to one another and how this connection is proof in a greater Divine being that ties us all together.

We all have healing to do. We have generations of trauma, of withstanding pain, of quietly allowing injustice to breed resentment within our being. From these passions given to us from The One we are called to a higher purpose of embodying the righteous qualities that exists within God Himself. We are called to a higher purpose of breaking illusions–helping one another, being kind, reminding one another who we truly are. We are called to a higher purpose of experiencing this existence. Of experiencing humanness, of experiencing Him. Be sure that your experience is one that is well-worth the journey.

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