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
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.
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.
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.
If there’s anything I’ve learned from traveling, I know how essential it is to pack light.
Traveling across the country has been a grace only inso much as you are able to practice a keen amount of flexibility. Some days will be absolute chaos—moving luggage from one place to the next, gathering groceries for the upcoming week, trying to build a temporary home out of a foreign location. The ability to be flexible is an indispensable trait that allows for one to have a deeper experience in new locations, an ability to nurture self-compassion in difficult moments and encourage growth. This flexibility in traveling, I’ve observed, is also something that is integral for our ability to create a healthy space psychologically as well.
To “pack light” literally means the way it sounds—to release baggage that simply is not helping us any longer. We each have years of experience, mental concepts and perspectives that become crystallized as we get older. But some of these crystalline perspectives cost us the ability to have inner growth. Or even inner peace. We feel heavy because we hold old stories to our chests, as if those stories even defined us; we clench tightly to old hurts and forgo forgiveness even as our palms bleed from the strain of constriction; we attack ourselves in the name of “self-preservation”, though it does nothing but damage our own inner trust. And when time comes for us to fly, we wonder why we are the bird that never leaves the nest. Leading to inevitable death.
To enjoy travel not only means enjoying seeing and experiencing a freshness of life around me, but also within myself. I can no longer afford the brunt of holding on to past hurts that no longer serve my ability to be peaceful and joyful in the present moment—my hands are too weary. I can no longer afford to spend the duration of my short time of this earth in self-caused pain, suffering and stagnation—my time is too precious. And I can no longer make excuses for worldly attachments fastening around my neck, keeping me tied to slippery ground, causing a rigidity in my uptight spine—I am meant to fly high above until I reach back into the heavens.
This is what it means to live a life that is limitless. A life that is all mine; a story between God and I, letting go of everything in between. I am so far beyond being defined by the resting place I place my head and so I will journey this world like a traveler—building a home within God only and myself.
Genuinely Jannah 