Songs of Innocence and of Experience
by Sukaina Juma
13 April 2012
Introduction (William Blake)
Hear the voice of the Bard!
Who Present, Past, & Future sees;
Whose ears have heard
The Holy Word
That walk'd among the ancient trees,
Calling the lapsed Soul,
And weeping in the evening dew;
That might controll
The starry pole,
And fallen, fallen light renew!
"O Earth, O Earth, return!
Arise from out the dewy grass;
Night is worn,
And the morn
Rises from the slumberous mass.
"Turn away no more;
Why wilt thou turn away?
The starry floor,
The wat'ry shore,
Is giv'n thee till the break of day.''
"... but you haven't found a way to earn money from it. Whenever you feel inspired to write, just write. Don't worry about the fact you should, logically, be doing something more practical, like looking for jobs."
***
Day and Night
The television flickers shut. I lay my weary body onto the bare floor. Stare out into the dusk. You know you're in trouble when you switch on the telly and watch Coronation Street, then switch over and start watching Eastenders.
Another day, another night.
The twenty-eighth year ends. I know within my heart that... at least I am not where I used to be. I hang onto that thought.
I have some of that clarity back, although I know it keeps leaving me for long, inexplicable periods of time.
Why would you do that, God?
***
Don't Leave Home
Tonight, this feels as though it is her home. It used to be her home. It isn't any longer. Neither is anywhere else...
The memories have been melted and chased away... the little six year old girl no longer peers at her, trembling, from underneath the sofa. She is around... not yet completely at peace.
She still lives within her, staining the wallpaper with her handprints.
She hides when he comes home. She waits until he leaves before she leaves her bedroom. Different country, same survival strategy.
Yet, this is where she chooses to stay. Year in, year out.
London used to haunt her dreams. She would walk the streets in the snow. Walk aimlessly down roads and pass many terraced houses.
Sometimes the sun would shine upon the tree-lined avenues. She was possibly walking alone. Except when she was not. Her soul did this. Granting her hope that, in spite of all, she would return, the prodigal daughter.
And she walked the same streets when physically here. Parts of St. John's Wood reminded her of having been there before, as did the tiny passages along the Embankment and Victoria.
She walked past a place from her dreams, it ended up being the road on the other side of her old primary school.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. And that was it. No epiphanies. Just a simple, "Yes, I dreamt of this" and the mystique was no more.
***
She walked the streets today. She walked twice the length of the Common. She passed the house of her second mother from when she was three, entrance now only by invitation.
Self invitation.
She could no longer stand the solitude and asked for shelter. She silently blessed them and asked for guidance as to how to live a "functional" family life the way they did.
The alien needs to be retaught, retrained into the ways of the world.
Her warrior planet, Mars, had retreated for a few months.
Artemis had lost her footing. Her arrows missed their marks, piercing and wounding those she was charged to protect.
She cannot feel her fingertips.
Lips are still parched.
The pavements are just pavements. Not hers, never hers. But at least she stands tall on them now.
They still do not make way for her. It must be her impregnable invisibility cloak.
***
London (William Blake)
***
Wake Me Up Before You Go Go
They tell her she is safe, loved, protected.
They look with harsh eyes, not really human and say,
"You need to wake up! Wake up! You've lived your entire life disassociated, you can change it. It need not continue that way... you are avoiding living the truth, you continue to avoid becoming your authentic self! You're just not bothered... you will need to make a choice soon.
...WAKE UP!"
She doesn't understand. Obviously.
The sleeping have no clue what it means to be awake.
Which annoys those who are, who can see.
Of course, it also annoys the one who is asleep, who is desperately doing her best to wake up. But she's not only responsible for herself, she's fighting a crusade for the entire lineage, the entire line of souls afore and aft... at least, they tell her so.
She's clearing and healing for them all.
"When I asked my uterus why it was there, I'm apparently carrying the rage, fury, anger, resentment, vengefulness and frustration of millions of women who have been cheated, abused and clamped down upon, humiliated. Including the experiences of my mother... it started when the second husband was messing her about. Left her cold."
She wears glasses to hide the truth. She can't hear that well, either.
As for feeling anything...
***
Rogue
She is Rogue. The one who poisons, harms, destroys and annihilates upon being touched or touching. The one who has been invisible for so long, people just bump into her in the street - still.
The only one who finds herself in the places where they gather and can clearly understand that she's only there because of Divine plan, not because she is needed or wanted there.
And so they do exactly what she fears: they do not care. They are not present. They do not touch her.
Untouchable.
How she aches to be touched, caressed, loved poured into the heart from the Source. She knows she carries none of it within.
No one can be who she has been or continues to revert to being if they could truly love, accept and give of themselves freely and without a second thought.
She holds the gathers of her cloak close, shield upon sheath...
She still chooses to manifest that which she manifests.
Vacancies. No contenders. Regurgitated conversations, places, faces, situations.
Screaming unto the crowd.... which only sees itself and gives off theories, philosophies, personal anecdotes that she has surpassed long ago. And she cannot tell them this.
How can the sleeping know that they are asleep?
How can the stirring know how to be awake, when they've only known slumber until a year afore?
She feels.... quicksand... trick mirrors. Apparent progress, falling back, stagnancy... what is this path?
***
Treading water, so as not to drown - she remains where she is.
The others swim, glide, across the seas of fortune...
And all of it is okay.
"You don't have to wake up... no.... you can remain as you are."
They pretend. It makes her skin crawl.
She needs an upgrade in her entourage and her support system. The old system no longer works, Lord.
***
Notorious
Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.
~ Rumi
She cannot sell these writings. She is no Virginia Woolf, no Sylvia Plath. Well, even if she did what they did, she's still not white enough.
The world no longer works the way it used to.
No amount of stones in her pockets can save her reputation.
The image of tortured genius no longer appeals to the masses. They all want high vibrating literature. Ushering in the New Era. Anything vibrating at a frequency lower than Love need not apply.
The amount they spit in her face fascinates her.
Random strangers are regaled with tales of her doings when she was the tortured, wretched, dead one.
She buried those echoes of herself today - 23, 24, 25, 26, 27...
***
Zombie
They appeared to her as pallid, crippled, bleeding, malformed foetuses.
Each of them wailed and screamed: Why did you do this to us? Why did you kill us? Why did you choose this?
Why are you STILL killing us, torturing us, making us suffer?
She was sobbing loudly: I don't KNOW! I'm sorry, I don't know why I did it! I don't know why I'm still doing it!
Ho'ponopono is muttered.
The heart releases new waves of grief.
Come into present time... be who I am now. I am not that any longer. I can think. I feel the earth under the soles of my feet. I giggle, I literally laugh out loud and can shift the sadness. It dissipates.
Please heal me, Raphael. Make. Me. Whole.
This no longer resonates. What still keeps me chained?
I gave them all up... every single one I couldn't be my true self with... without a fuss, they left, I left. I asked them to treat me in a manner that was full of dignity and respect. They couldn't, so they left.
How could they but leave?
The shards of all my mirrors of horror splice my face into ribbons.
***
Scars in their eyes
"Can they not see?"
Canst you not see? It is safe to see the Truth.
No, she wears fog glasses around the eyes... she'd rather not see the truth. What is it, anyway? She's forgotten.
All of it... fallen from Grace, she is.
***
Losing My Religion
It started out so simply.
What did we start out as?
"I bear witness that there is nothing but that is Allah,
that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah and...
that Ali is the friend of Allah..."
***
"Call upon Ali,
he is the manifestor of miracles,
All the hurt, pain and grief,
he helps to remove them.
By the greatness of Allah,
by the apostleship of Muhammad
and by the authority of Ali...
help me, help me, help me!"
***
You are just as I want, so make me just as You want me to be...
***
Naive
This was her first mention of him in written words. The first time she had created poetry for a man. This was one of the many she actually did not send him later on.
Small mercies.
Not quite so naive, after all.
12 September 2010
***
In Transition
" ...it is hard for me to see your beautiful soul as anything other than that....beautiful and in transition. You will work it out. You are strong and know fully what you are up to on a being level. Love you honey x"
Pure Shores
Sand. She is covered in sand. She lies in complete stillness, cocooned into the warm, pulsating womb of Gaia. Her limbs are supine, she does not break free.
Incubation must follow its due course.
She is one with the Earth.
She is being reborn. Again. Archangels Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Haniel, Chamuel, Uriel and Zadkiel are the midwives.
The ocean whispers her name, calling her to baptise herself in its sparkling, redemptive waves - to wash herself of herself.
To free herself from herself.
The sound of the ocean haunts her in her dreams, in her quiet moments.
Come home, dearest mer-maiden, come...
Moisten and replenish yourself from the dryness of life, heal the cracked lines in your wizened visage...
Release your bondage, exchange your weary human legs and grow back your glorious tail.
Discard all your clothing, become truly vulnerable and succumb your entire being to the temptress that is I, the Ocean.
Surrender to my ravishing you in entirety: mind, heart, body and soul.
Allow my salt to be the balm to your wounds. Heal thyself in my arms.
Penetrate...
...and allow yourself to be penetrated... to your absolute core.
***
She never really had had an affinity with the ocean before. Interesting how things shift.
Like the sands.
But now, as she walks the London pavement, she feels the white grains of Mauritanian sand trickle through her toes. Grounding her in a most delightful way. Exfoliating the calloused soles to reveal the soft, tender flesh that is her true skin.
The left foot finally tingles with the life force. She is slowly agreeing to come out of the shadows.
***
They tell her to lighten up. To smile and laugh more often.
To live her life.
"I had to re-do my intentions. In a nutshell, my intention is to live my life. As so-and so has told me to do."
Laughter.
It is ironic, when you only choose to live your life after someone else tells you that's what you need to do.
***
Flint
"Can you kill a mammoth, make a tent out of horse bones and light a fire from flint?"
"Yes i can kill a mammoth, build a tent from horse bones, light a fire from flint??? Huh... woman, all i need is a tarpan slither, a stick and dry grass... Hahahaha... We’ll go camping one day and I’ll show you..."
***
The most powerful force on earth is the human soul on fire! Without passion man (or woman) is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock to ignite.
~ Unknown
The power of our unconscious thoughts and words: she had no idea that, in actuality, she was the flint, and he was the shock that her Soul had patiently awaited to ignite her... into an all-engulfing, all-encompassing, devouring and self-annihilating fire.
Thank you, O beautiful Soul.
May you find it within you to allow Spirit to ignite your own soul and activate the artistic creativity within you that yearns to express itself. Nobody can write so beautifully, to glow so brightly even when they desperately try to hide it and then continue to delude themselves into believing that they have no creative talents to express.
Your Soul is urging you to become totally creative, focused and to share your vision in the world. Allow this creativity to flow through you and share your ideas and visions to help and inspire others.
I love you... for the wonderful being of light you are. Up until now, I've only had that spark with you.
And if I am not the one to catalyse you into you being your authentic self, I give you to the Universe so that you can do it your way... under the protection of Allah. I love you that much. You matter this much to me.
You are doing a disservice to yourself, to me, to your loved ones, to the entire world by refusing to wake up, by refusing to unveil yourself, by breaking the contracts.
And that is okay.
Not really a disservice. Just making choices. Exercising your free will.
So much more she wanted to tell him, to tell them about him... and she chooses wisely this time around. Her ego was tired of playing about with his ego.
She's deflated that story, popped it for good. Burnt it into the ashes - yet again.
Unnecessary happenings. Another layer to shed.
Her heart contains the secrets...
but melt away the memories that no longer serve you, little one. He is lifetimes, time frames and dimensions away.
He healed himself, became whole, grew up enough to give of himself, open up his heart and commit to his Eve.
You still need to learn. You still need to wake up.
And that is okay.
Wake up. Wake up. Lève-toi, chère, lève-toi.
***
Nothing is truly hidden, or separate. He already knows it all. It is written on this page. The message has reached.
Everything is a choice.
Let go, child. Let go. Trust in the perfection of all things.
Have you truly woken yourself up, yet? Truly?
Wake yourself up from your illusive sleep. Become your authentic self. That is all that the world needs. You to be yourself. How can you be anything but who you truly are?
Find your passion, dissolve the fear, discover your Divine work in the world, and be amazed as I guide you to the unfolding of your heart's desires.
***
What is my own Soul Purpose?
Occasionally the
'Soul Purpose' or more accurately 'Soul Destiny' can be indicative of a
Soul who is ripe to become one with the divine on the inside and out.
That is they will receive the realisation at the experiential level
that all is one and the same.
How do I achieve it, Lord?
***
And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.
If someone isn't what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.
Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity.
People are capable, at any time in their lives, of doing what they dream of.
~ Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Be like melting snow - wash yourself of yourself.
Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.
~ Rumi
***
In The Arms of The Angel
She is the rogue.
The one who loved her the most... the part of her soul... has set herself free. To be her authentic self. She soars.
She could see through the lies and deceit. The omission of truths.
The hatred and contempt.
And none of it matters. She let her go, to make her own journey.
A soul mate is an ongoing connection with another individual that the soul picks up again in various times and places over lifetimes. We are attracted to another person at a soul level not because that person is our unique complement, but because by being with that individual, we are somehow provided with an impetus to become whole ourselves.
~ Edgar Cayce
Perhaps they finally grew whole... and apart... after all those years.
She is the rogue who could not transcend into Love.
Perhaps in the next incarnation, my angel. I shall be in the arms of my angel, then. Perhaps I shall also be the sheltering arms for my angel, too. Of true love and assistance, not just fluff and words and lies.
I love you. In spite of myself.
You said as much about your love for me, my soul sister. What else is there, save for this thing called Love?
***
Dante's Prayer (Loreena McKennitt)
When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone
I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and fire
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars
Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Please remember me
***
Written in the stars
This one she sent him. To explain the inexplicable, and make him understand. It didn't really explain much, in the end. Or people choose not to understand.
Sometimes, people choose to not read long letters written to the Beloved...
15 September 2010
The Emotional Alchemy book said it was good, the body releases that
which needs to be released. I felt empty and unlovable for a bit, then
the waterworks transformed into a soothing balm for the heart.
I couldn't sleep, for the most obvious of reasons, even after listening to an hour of Darren Hayes, Keane and Atif Aslam. That's also partly because I shot down 60g of plain dark chocolate in one go yesterday while going through the emotional release.
So, I went to the kitchen to make some chamomile and then I noticed how clear the sky was after the rain. So, I opened the back door and went into the garden and....
If any of you have a chance, meditate at 2:30 in the black night on the little grid of stars that He has put there for us. Add the cooling wind for a calming sound effect. And I looked, and I gazed, and I regarded.
And I contemplated.
And, slowly, calm and trust and acceptance came into the heart. Once again, the stars and the winds and the velvet sky whispered:
"He has a plan. You are small and insignificant and don't understand.
He, who made this, who continues to add to the Creation, who is so loving to you and to the object of your interest and to the people flooded out in Pakistan and to everybody - He knows what you don't.
Now, put your trust in Him. If it is meant to be, it will happen in its own time, perhaps the timing is off.
If it's not meant to be, there is no ownership. You all are One in the Realm.
He has taught you so much. Take those lessons and reflect on them. But, more importantly, trust in Allah's guidance and end it. Something better shall come from this. Let go of attachments to this world.
Touch your dreams and let them go."
And I managed to feel so much gratitude towards myself and towards God that, five months on from being a complete whack-job and bed-ridden due to severe depression, I have been able to find my voice again and open up my heart so much that I allowed someone into my life and loved him and could imagine a life with him and not focus on his flaws, but on his absolute beauty and perfection for being who he is.
So, I'm going to cease being a twat to myself and to him, and do the cerebral, rational thing and just stop thinking that this is going to happen. It is not. If I'm lucky, we'll still manage to remain friends. If it doesn't happen that way, I smiled and sang and danced for 22 solid days.
I will always remember and always be grateful for that, you dear man-boy. You've made me grow exponentially and I've just had so much love and affection and compassion for you.
I have just become a joyous little bundle of light.
It's so unusual and novel.
Me, attractive.
Me, desirable.
If someone was to check out my mind and Soul and have compassion and unconditional positive regard for those parts of me, he'd have me through and through.
I thought I had found him. But, God says otherwise.
So I was wrong and have to seriously start working on the third-eye and crown chakras now. Because my intuition and inner voice and the ability to listen to Divine guidance (without resorting to flipping random pages of the Quran) is seriously shot.
Always has been.
Now, that's all I will say today on this.
It will take time to grieve and I accept that.
***
October 2011
***
29 November 2010
***
I tasted everything.
I found nothing better than you.
When I dove into the sea,
I found no pearl like you.
I opened all the casks,
I tasted from a thousand jars,
Yet none but that rebellious wine of yours
Touched my lips and inspired my heart.
~ Rumi
***
Eighteen months is quite enough time to grieve, little soul.
Touch your dreams... and then TRULY let them go...
***
The Tyger (William Blake)
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
by Sukaina Juma
13 April 2012
Introduction (William Blake)
Hear the voice of the Bard!
Who Present, Past, & Future sees;
Whose ears have heard
The Holy Word
That walk'd among the ancient trees,
Calling the lapsed Soul,
And weeping in the evening dew;
That might controll
The starry pole,
And fallen, fallen light renew!
"O Earth, O Earth, return!
Arise from out the dewy grass;
Night is worn,
And the morn
Rises from the slumberous mass.
"Turn away no more;
Why wilt thou turn away?
The starry floor,
The wat'ry shore,
Is giv'n thee till the break of day.''
- ***
"... but you haven't found a way to earn money from it. Whenever you feel inspired to write, just write. Don't worry about the fact you should, logically, be doing something more practical, like looking for jobs."
***
Day and Night
The television flickers shut. I lay my weary body onto the bare floor. Stare out into the dusk. You know you're in trouble when you switch on the telly and watch Coronation Street, then switch over and start watching Eastenders.
Another day, another night.
The twenty-eighth year ends. I know within my heart that... at least I am not where I used to be. I hang onto that thought.
I have some of that clarity back, although I know it keeps leaving me for long, inexplicable periods of time.
Why would you do that, God?
***
Don't Leave Home
Tonight, this feels as though it is her home. It used to be her home. It isn't any longer. Neither is anywhere else...
The memories have been melted and chased away... the little six year old girl no longer peers at her, trembling, from underneath the sofa. She is around... not yet completely at peace.
She still lives within her, staining the wallpaper with her handprints.
She hides when he comes home. She waits until he leaves before she leaves her bedroom. Different country, same survival strategy.
Yet, this is where she chooses to stay. Year in, year out.
London used to haunt her dreams. She would walk the streets in the snow. Walk aimlessly down roads and pass many terraced houses.
Sometimes the sun would shine upon the tree-lined avenues. She was possibly walking alone. Except when she was not. Her soul did this. Granting her hope that, in spite of all, she would return, the prodigal daughter.
And she walked the same streets when physically here. Parts of St. John's Wood reminded her of having been there before, as did the tiny passages along the Embankment and Victoria.
She walked past a place from her dreams, it ended up being the road on the other side of her old primary school.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. And that was it. No epiphanies. Just a simple, "Yes, I dreamt of this" and the mystique was no more.
***
She walked the streets today. She walked twice the length of the Common. She passed the house of her second mother from when she was three, entrance now only by invitation.
Self invitation.
She could no longer stand the solitude and asked for shelter. She silently blessed them and asked for guidance as to how to live a "functional" family life the way they did.
The alien needs to be retaught, retrained into the ways of the world.
Her warrior planet, Mars, had retreated for a few months.
Artemis had lost her footing. Her arrows missed their marks, piercing and wounding those she was charged to protect.
She cannot feel her fingertips.
Lips are still parched.
The pavements are just pavements. Not hers, never hers. But at least she stands tall on them now.
They still do not make way for her. It must be her impregnable invisibility cloak.
***
London (William Blake)
- I wander thro' each charter'd street,
- Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
- And mark in every face I meet
- Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
- In every cry of every Man,
- In every Infant's cry of fear,
- In every voice, in every ban,
- The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
- How the Chimney-sweepers cry
- Every black'ning Church appalls;
- And the hapless Soldier's sigh
- Runs in blood down Palace walls.
- But most thro' midnight streets I hear
- How the youthful Harlot's curse
- Blasts the new born Infant's tear,
- And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.
***
Wake Me Up Before You Go Go
They tell her she is safe, loved, protected.
They look with harsh eyes, not really human and say,
"You need to wake up! Wake up! You've lived your entire life disassociated, you can change it. It need not continue that way... you are avoiding living the truth, you continue to avoid becoming your authentic self! You're just not bothered... you will need to make a choice soon.
...WAKE UP!"
She doesn't understand. Obviously.
The sleeping have no clue what it means to be awake.
Which annoys those who are, who can see.
Of course, it also annoys the one who is asleep, who is desperately doing her best to wake up. But she's not only responsible for herself, she's fighting a crusade for the entire lineage, the entire line of souls afore and aft... at least, they tell her so.
She's clearing and healing for them all.
"When I asked my uterus why it was there, I'm apparently carrying the rage, fury, anger, resentment, vengefulness and frustration of millions of women who have been cheated, abused and clamped down upon, humiliated. Including the experiences of my mother... it started when the second husband was messing her about. Left her cold."
She wears glasses to hide the truth. She can't hear that well, either.
As for feeling anything...
***
Rogue
She is Rogue. The one who poisons, harms, destroys and annihilates upon being touched or touching. The one who has been invisible for so long, people just bump into her in the street - still.
The only one who finds herself in the places where they gather and can clearly understand that she's only there because of Divine plan, not because she is needed or wanted there.
And so they do exactly what she fears: they do not care. They are not present. They do not touch her.
Untouchable.
How she aches to be touched, caressed, loved poured into the heart from the Source. She knows she carries none of it within.
No one can be who she has been or continues to revert to being if they could truly love, accept and give of themselves freely and without a second thought.
She holds the gathers of her cloak close, shield upon sheath...
She still chooses to manifest that which she manifests.
Vacancies. No contenders. Regurgitated conversations, places, faces, situations.
Screaming unto the crowd.... which only sees itself and gives off theories, philosophies, personal anecdotes that she has surpassed long ago. And she cannot tell them this.
How can the sleeping know that they are asleep?
How can the stirring know how to be awake, when they've only known slumber until a year afore?
She feels.... quicksand... trick mirrors. Apparent progress, falling back, stagnancy... what is this path?
***
Treading water, so as not to drown - she remains where she is.
The others swim, glide, across the seas of fortune...
And all of it is okay.
"You don't have to wake up... no.... you can remain as you are."
They pretend. It makes her skin crawl.
She needs an upgrade in her entourage and her support system. The old system no longer works, Lord.
***
Notorious
Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.
~ Rumi
She cannot sell these writings. She is no Virginia Woolf, no Sylvia Plath. Well, even if she did what they did, she's still not white enough.
The world no longer works the way it used to.
No amount of stones in her pockets can save her reputation.
The image of tortured genius no longer appeals to the masses. They all want high vibrating literature. Ushering in the New Era. Anything vibrating at a frequency lower than Love need not apply.
The amount they spit in her face fascinates her.
Random strangers are regaled with tales of her doings when she was the tortured, wretched, dead one.
She buried those echoes of herself today - 23, 24, 25, 26, 27...
***
Zombie
They appeared to her as pallid, crippled, bleeding, malformed foetuses.
Each of them wailed and screamed: Why did you do this to us? Why did you kill us? Why did you choose this?
Why are you STILL killing us, torturing us, making us suffer?
She was sobbing loudly: I don't KNOW! I'm sorry, I don't know why I did it! I don't know why I'm still doing it!
Ho'ponopono is muttered.
The heart releases new waves of grief.
Come into present time... be who I am now. I am not that any longer. I can think. I feel the earth under the soles of my feet. I giggle, I literally laugh out loud and can shift the sadness. It dissipates.
Please heal me, Raphael. Make. Me. Whole.
This no longer resonates. What still keeps me chained?
I gave them all up... every single one I couldn't be my true self with... without a fuss, they left, I left. I asked them to treat me in a manner that was full of dignity and respect. They couldn't, so they left.
How could they but leave?
The shards of all my mirrors of horror splice my face into ribbons.
***
Scars in their eyes
"Can they not see?"
Canst you not see? It is safe to see the Truth.
No, she wears fog glasses around the eyes... she'd rather not see the truth. What is it, anyway? She's forgotten.
All of it... fallen from Grace, she is.
***
Losing My Religion
It started out so simply.
What did we start out as?
"I bear witness that there is nothing but that is Allah,
that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah and...
that Ali is the friend of Allah..."
***
"Call upon Ali,
he is the manifestor of miracles,
All the hurt, pain and grief,
he helps to remove them.
By the greatness of Allah,
by the apostleship of Muhammad
and by the authority of Ali...
help me, help me, help me!"
***
You are just as I want, so make me just as You want me to be...
***
Naive
This was her first mention of him in written words. The first time she had created poetry for a man. This was one of the many she actually did not send him later on.
Small mercies.
Not quite so naive, after all.
12 September 2010
Hello, you!
I want you to know my entire Soul, my entire being.
I want my smile to be imprinted in your memoire for eternity.
And yet.
I seek the best from God.
And it seems that there's a flaw in the system.
I knew it was too easy to be true. The first time, with you ticking almost all the boxes?
Cosmic playthings, we are. And He's laughing at our ignorance. Yet not ready to show His cards.
Eh, ben. Quoi faire?
Je lache tous les attachements à la mémoire et l'idéal de toi.
Que sera, sera.
***
In Transition
" ...it is hard for me to see your beautiful soul as anything other than that....beautiful and in transition. You will work it out. You are strong and know fully what you are up to on a being level. Love you honey x"
Pure Shores
Sand. She is covered in sand. She lies in complete stillness, cocooned into the warm, pulsating womb of Gaia. Her limbs are supine, she does not break free.
Incubation must follow its due course.
She is one with the Earth.
She is being reborn. Again. Archangels Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Haniel, Chamuel, Uriel and Zadkiel are the midwives.
The ocean whispers her name, calling her to baptise herself in its sparkling, redemptive waves - to wash herself of herself.
To free herself from herself.
The sound of the ocean haunts her in her dreams, in her quiet moments.
Come home, dearest mer-maiden, come...
Moisten and replenish yourself from the dryness of life, heal the cracked lines in your wizened visage...
Release your bondage, exchange your weary human legs and grow back your glorious tail.
Discard all your clothing, become truly vulnerable and succumb your entire being to the temptress that is I, the Ocean.
Surrender to my ravishing you in entirety: mind, heart, body and soul.
Allow my salt to be the balm to your wounds. Heal thyself in my arms.
Penetrate...
...and allow yourself to be penetrated... to your absolute core.
***
She never really had had an affinity with the ocean before. Interesting how things shift.
Like the sands.
But now, as she walks the London pavement, she feels the white grains of Mauritanian sand trickle through her toes. Grounding her in a most delightful way. Exfoliating the calloused soles to reveal the soft, tender flesh that is her true skin.
The left foot finally tingles with the life force. She is slowly agreeing to come out of the shadows.
***
They tell her to lighten up. To smile and laugh more often.
To live her life.
"I had to re-do my intentions. In a nutshell, my intention is to live my life. As so-and so has told me to do."
Laughter.
It is ironic, when you only choose to live your life after someone else tells you that's what you need to do.
***
Flint
"Can you kill a mammoth, make a tent out of horse bones and light a fire from flint?"
"Yes i can kill a mammoth, build a tent from horse bones, light a fire from flint??? Huh... woman, all i need is a tarpan slither, a stick and dry grass... Hahahaha... We’ll go camping one day and I’ll show you..."
***
The most powerful force on earth is the human soul on fire! Without passion man (or woman) is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock to ignite.
~ Unknown
The power of our unconscious thoughts and words: she had no idea that, in actuality, she was the flint, and he was the shock that her Soul had patiently awaited to ignite her... into an all-engulfing, all-encompassing, devouring and self-annihilating fire.
Thank you, O beautiful Soul.
May you find it within you to allow Spirit to ignite your own soul and activate the artistic creativity within you that yearns to express itself. Nobody can write so beautifully, to glow so brightly even when they desperately try to hide it and then continue to delude themselves into believing that they have no creative talents to express.
Your Soul is urging you to become totally creative, focused and to share your vision in the world. Allow this creativity to flow through you and share your ideas and visions to help and inspire others.
I love you... for the wonderful being of light you are. Up until now, I've only had that spark with you.
And if I am not the one to catalyse you into you being your authentic self, I give you to the Universe so that you can do it your way... under the protection of Allah. I love you that much. You matter this much to me.
You are doing a disservice to yourself, to me, to your loved ones, to the entire world by refusing to wake up, by refusing to unveil yourself, by breaking the contracts.
And that is okay.
Not really a disservice. Just making choices. Exercising your free will.
So much more she wanted to tell him, to tell them about him... and she chooses wisely this time around. Her ego was tired of playing about with his ego.
She's deflated that story, popped it for good. Burnt it into the ashes - yet again.
Unnecessary happenings. Another layer to shed.
Her heart contains the secrets...
but melt away the memories that no longer serve you, little one. He is lifetimes, time frames and dimensions away.
He healed himself, became whole, grew up enough to give of himself, open up his heart and commit to his Eve.
You still need to learn. You still need to wake up.
And that is okay.
Wake up. Wake up. Lève-toi, chère, lève-toi.
***
Nothing is truly hidden, or separate. He already knows it all. It is written on this page. The message has reached.
Everything is a choice.
Let go, child. Let go. Trust in the perfection of all things.
Have you truly woken yourself up, yet? Truly?
Wake yourself up from your illusive sleep. Become your authentic self. That is all that the world needs. You to be yourself. How can you be anything but who you truly are?
Find your passion, dissolve the fear, discover your Divine work in the world, and be amazed as I guide you to the unfolding of your heart's desires.
***
What is my own Soul Purpose?
To experience
creative endeavour, divine inspiration and a greater understanding of
the deeper truths of life through experiencing the challenges of
everyday existence in society. The experience gained and use of your
gifts and talents can help inspire others to connect with the
intuitive wisdom of their souls.
How do I achieve it, Lord?
***
And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.
If someone isn't what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.
Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity.
People are capable, at any time in their lives, of doing what they dream of.
~ Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Be like melting snow - wash yourself of yourself.
Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.
~ Rumi
***
In The Arms of The Angel
She is the rogue.
The one who loved her the most... the part of her soul... has set herself free. To be her authentic self. She soars.
She could see through the lies and deceit. The omission of truths.
The hatred and contempt.
And none of it matters. She let her go, to make her own journey.
A soul mate is an ongoing connection with another individual that the soul picks up again in various times and places over lifetimes. We are attracted to another person at a soul level not because that person is our unique complement, but because by being with that individual, we are somehow provided with an impetus to become whole ourselves.
~ Edgar Cayce
Perhaps they finally grew whole... and apart... after all those years.
She is the rogue who could not transcend into Love.
Perhaps in the next incarnation, my angel. I shall be in the arms of my angel, then. Perhaps I shall also be the sheltering arms for my angel, too. Of true love and assistance, not just fluff and words and lies.
I love you. In spite of myself.
You said as much about your love for me, my soul sister. What else is there, save for this thing called Love?
***
Dante's Prayer (Loreena McKennitt)
When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone
I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and fire
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars
Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Please remember me
***
Written in the stars
This one she sent him. To explain the inexplicable, and make him understand. It didn't really explain much, in the end. Or people choose not to understand.
Sometimes, people choose to not read long letters written to the Beloved...
15 September 2010
I leaked so much yesterday
I couldn't sleep, for the most obvious of reasons, even after listening to an hour of Darren Hayes, Keane and Atif Aslam. That's also partly because I shot down 60g of plain dark chocolate in one go yesterday while going through the emotional release.
So, I went to the kitchen to make some chamomile and then I noticed how clear the sky was after the rain. So, I opened the back door and went into the garden and....
If any of you have a chance, meditate at 2:30 in the black night on the little grid of stars that He has put there for us. Add the cooling wind for a calming sound effect. And I looked, and I gazed, and I regarded.
And I contemplated.
And, slowly, calm and trust and acceptance came into the heart. Once again, the stars and the winds and the velvet sky whispered:
"He has a plan. You are small and insignificant and don't understand.
He, who made this, who continues to add to the Creation, who is so loving to you and to the object of your interest and to the people flooded out in Pakistan and to everybody - He knows what you don't.
Now, put your trust in Him. If it is meant to be, it will happen in its own time, perhaps the timing is off.
If it's not meant to be, there is no ownership. You all are One in the Realm.
He has taught you so much. Take those lessons and reflect on them. But, more importantly, trust in Allah's guidance and end it. Something better shall come from this. Let go of attachments to this world.
Touch your dreams and let them go."
And I managed to feel so much gratitude towards myself and towards God that, five months on from being a complete whack-job and bed-ridden due to severe depression, I have been able to find my voice again and open up my heart so much that I allowed someone into my life and loved him and could imagine a life with him and not focus on his flaws, but on his absolute beauty and perfection for being who he is.
So, I'm going to cease being a twat to myself and to him, and do the cerebral, rational thing and just stop thinking that this is going to happen. It is not. If I'm lucky, we'll still manage to remain friends. If it doesn't happen that way, I smiled and sang and danced for 22 solid days.
I will always remember and always be grateful for that, you dear man-boy. You've made me grow exponentially and I've just had so much love and affection and compassion for you.
I have just become a joyous little bundle of light.
It's so unusual and novel.
Me, attractive.
Me, desirable.
If someone was to check out my mind and Soul and have compassion and unconditional positive regard for those parts of me, he'd have me through and through.
I thought I had found him. But, God says otherwise.
So I was wrong and have to seriously start working on the third-eye and crown chakras now. Because my intuition and inner voice and the ability to listen to Divine guidance (without resorting to flipping random pages of the Quran) is seriously shot.
Always has been.
Now, that's all I will say today on this.
It will take time to grieve and I accept that.
***
October 2011
"... there is always hope."
"It'll get better tomorrow. It always does... Yes, this is a random email. How are you?"
***
29 November 2010
"Sounds like you have a decent selection, but you cannot blame them as they dont understand what to say to a woman like you.
You are special, so i hope that you will find that person who will appreciate you for who you are.... (wow i sound different when i listen to my heart!!!)"
You are special, so i hope that you will find that person who will appreciate you for who you are.... (wow i sound different when i listen to my heart!!!)"
***
I tasted everything.
I found nothing better than you.
When I dove into the sea,
I found no pearl like you.
I opened all the casks,
I tasted from a thousand jars,
Yet none but that rebellious wine of yours
Touched my lips and inspired my heart.
~ Rumi
***
Eighteen months is quite enough time to grieve, little soul.
Touch your dreams... and then TRULY let them go...
***
The Tyger (William Blake)
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
