En-light-ened

The stage is set...

This time I trust in Thee.
This time I know it is all facade.

This time... I KNOW.

I feel that my wanting to remain in Spirit has caused me to lack the humanity I was seeking to become when I came here.

Can there really be times when you're running too quickly towards en-light-ening yourself?

Does one really have to go through the charade of living through and being human and having these dense emotions and really nonsensical impulses and thoughts?

Sometimes, trust is a feeling.

Sometimes, one cannot trust until Thou grants me Grace and allows me to trust.

And even that is ephemeral.

Hope. There is always hope, little one.


It is all play, though. All not really real, yet so real.

This is the work.
This is the work.
This is the work.


Let go, trust, keep the faith... you are being guided...

Am I? How can I possibly know that? All is chaos.


Ask your heart... ask it how it feels today. 
Not how it felt yesterday, or a year ago. 
Or how it might feel in the future.


How does your heart feel now?

Steady,
at peace,
blissful...
calm,
trusting,
happy!

It is unbelievably light... and I'm thriving in this state now. I like this feeling. It is my natural state. It is safe to feel this expansive :)

Is that not grace from God?

'Tis indeed... something I have hoped for and wanted for years now.

And the ego chirps: you're still not psychic enough, you're still where you were a year ago.... you still haven't accomplished a single thing, look at them all! Look at what they've all gone and done!

And I say shhhh.....

I have grown. 
I may not be where I'd like to be, 
but at least I am not where I was.

Today, those words don't seem hackneyed, or cliché.

I trust, I have faith... have I surrendered? There is ever such a fine line between surrender and resignation.

He knows best.

I feel loved, lovable and loving - even though there is not a single person here.

Even though all my relationships have gone for yet another massive overhaul.

It is not about the externalities.

I need to stop using those battery jacks to use other people to ignite me....


Relight the inner flame... there really has got to be something in there, somewhere....

Or am I really just a carcass... destining myself daily to wander the hallways of this earth,
without grace, without a trace of purpose... without any fire left in the heart and belly?

Why do I still forget?

Why, in the perfection of all things, do I still forget?

Flares, retrogrades.... me....

I am not the personality... I am much more than that.

Transcendence means pain, and going through all of it one last time... or more than once, depending on how masochistic one is!

What a system!

I am supported, I am not in this alone.... all I have to do is ask for help.

So please... help!

Help.... me... if only because that makes me feel like helping those others I am meant to.

But next time, God, next time, I choose to be pure light - none of this light worker business.

Too darned complex and confusing.

Can't understand a damned thing!

Flicker

It is a flicker, this Light.

It bursts aflame then peters out.

One forgets.

When transforming oneself,
one forgets who can be trusted.
Who is genuine.
Who loves you for who you are.
Regardless, even when you're
being a prime idiot.

I may be a light-worker,
I may be entirely deluded.

Either way, I am still a girl inside,
a breathing human being,
a woman in the making.
A goddess-to-be.

Learning, falling down.

So why would I put so much pressure on myself?

The extra knowledge,
or upcoming awareness.
Anticipation of greatness.
Pffffftttttttt!!!

Greatness comes through humility.
My ego creates mirages of greatness,
Ascension with a capital A.

Tears me away from myself.

Numbness, disillusion
repeating that which has
hounded me my entire life.

Disconnection, isolation, hermitising.

Assuming that my dear friends would
judge me as harshly as I did myself.

And then I finally did pick up the phone
and wondered.... why?

Why would I do this to myself?

You can't wash away all of the past,
nor would you want to.

Walks in the woods by Glendon,
hanging out in the cafeteria,
or praying salaat in the Women's Centre,
on the rare occassions when
we were all there together,
when our schedules all conspired
for us....
we would talk and laugh and talk....

I used to speak sometimes, other times I'd
be silent and observe.

A dead sinking in my heart.

"Why is it so hard to connect?
Why can't I FEEL anything, the way they do?!?!?!
They have passion, where is mine?!?!?!"

"Do you like being alone?" she asks me.
The automated response is YES.
But then, "I think it's mostly habit, a pattern,
and also, I get to be safe
and come across as a "cool" person "

What I forget to say is "of course not!"
But the past has affected my perception:
only child,
parents not too bothered about me,
never really fitting in with the kids at school,
betrayals, jumping off window ledges,
locking oneself up in the cupboard
in the hopes of being safe....

Being invisible is safe;
not moving, speaking or wanting anything
will lessen the burden on the earth and the parents
and the people upon whom she is dependent.

Hide from the giants.

Save oneself from humiliating oneself and making a fool of oneself.
If they got to know
the real me.....

And absorbing other people's
energies and patterns.

Instead of maintaining a high frequency
and lightening their energies, releasing their grief
as is my purpose for being,
I tend to absorb all the confusing stuff,
and become ego-ic and morose and crabby:
their shadowy mirror!!!

After everything, surely I can do just this much.
Since I obviously can't do anything else.
That other people are easily doing.........!!!!

I forget the good bits of me,
I forget that even when I was
only 8% me - it was still a good
8% of me there.

Who does crazy stuff like drink
an iced cappucino from Timmie's
and then dance to the Lumberjack Song
while waiting for a bus,
who walks 1.5 hours in one of the biggest
snowstorms to hit Toronto
that year just because I couldn't stand the
slow bus.

It might have been me.
It might have been an adverse reaction
to St John's Wort.

I pulled through for the MSA that year
when it mattered.

I learned French well enough to speak it when it matters.

I did my best.


And, with everything,
after all of it...
I graduated.

Do I enjoy being alone?
No, not really.

But all my soul sisters,
the ones who have truly been
a manifestation of Divine, pure love,
who have sheltered me when I couldn't go home,
who have held my hand and witnessed my
inarticulate sobs,
who have given me, unasked, what I never
thought I'd be able to ask for...
they live in other countries.

And currently, my new relationships have very short
sell-by dates.

Either I outgrow them and
can not be nourished by them or
they were meant to be as they
unfolded.

Smack, crash, bang.

Give me a piece of identity,
a shadow of a smile,
a bit of kindness,
loving words,
chocolate, ducks and cats in images,
a rollicking good time and hot chocolate in Cafe Nerro
a few astute compliments over magnetism and then....

A question of detachment.
An understanding that although I am indebted,
they gave willingly.
They were authentic in the moment
and are authentic now by not caring or bothering....

What decision does she make this time?

Does she wail "I have been abandoned!"

Does she mistrust men and women more
after these people have left?

Or does she pick up the phone,
call a friend whom she hasn't spoken to in ages.....
remember what oatmeal cookies are
and remember that,
as her postcard says,

Someone loves me very much
in Canada

as they do in Pakistan, and in London too?

She still plays to the illusion that strength comes from being alone;
I can control things then.

I won't inflict myself upon others.

The Medusa or Ice Maiden effect
that makes them all run away...

If they were ever to find out how
soft,
vulnerable,
and the expansive yearning
that is within this Soul-heart of mine...

it would all fall apart!

How can anyone handle such intensity?
Why would they want to bother?
Why would they bother with me?

But people who like being alone,
do not complain to their Lord in the dark night,
tears streaming down their cheeks:
"I complain to Thee about my loneliness!"

I am part of the collective.

As much as I need people with me,
physically as well as energetically....
they, too, must need me,
or even more importantly,
they must crave and enjoy my company.

I have some dharma to serve here.
Therefore...

Only children cope with being alone.
There is no other choice.

It is more a learned helplessness for me.
You try, you fail.... you try, you fail.
Then you resign yourself to your aloneness.

Even if it scrapes your innards from within.

And you seek release.

You'd rather be with anybody rather than alone.

Or would you? I think not.

For the one who has no one, she has God.

He has proven it to her.
She forgets, but He remembers.

She may fall, but always remember the safety net is SECURE.

He is conspiring in your favour, not against you.
Whether you know it or not, even when the surface
illusions are harsh enough to kick you in the head.

Flicker back,
oh youth of mine...
there are redeeming qualities in you yet.

You were you when in the woods,
when receiving hugs from children
at the school,
when saying Merry Christmas to the
lollipop man,
when renting The Snowman and
listening to that mesmerising song.

All of this, may not be
the coolest of recollections from the past,
they are pretty embarrassing -
but they were everything you did
that helped you survive it.

You're here, aren't you?


Do not deny that the flicker augments...


Do not deny that He has given you friends
And some of them live so close
you could only wonder at the benevolence.

People drift in and out of my life.
There are more outgoing than incoming, actually.
As with most areas of my life!

Just be careful that you don't drift 
out of your own life.... 
by disconnecting so much, 
for whichever reasons you create for yourself.


This is NOW. Create anew. 
You cannot be deprived
of something that is an inherent need.


Does it feel light or heavy, this aloneness?

Why are you playing a part that you feel is the best version of you
rather than the authentic you? 

Which feels more comfortable, lighter?

Ripples,
re-runs of old episodes,
a feeling that you've wasted time,
and nothing to show for it.


Not true.


You're spiralling up, and the bottom is different
from the one you were at last year.


Trust and know that all is well.


See the Divine in everything.


Make efforts to get to where you want to go.


Connect.


End of story.

- Sukaina Juma (c)
18/12/2011

Streams of Consciousness

Streams of consciousness

by Sukaina Juma
20 November  2011

***

Streams of consciousness
to focus the thoughts

Oh, but I'm better off
not having any thoughts

Oh, there's another one!
It's the same thought I had last year
Again?
Yes, again

Streams of tears that fall down
the delicate cheeks of
each of my friends
at different times, alternate realities
and situations

Do I love those less who do not
or can not show me
their tears?

Leaking again, I am
and does it matter?
How is it I can allow others to be
and not myself?
Another day ends
and the tears are dammed
The flow is stopped

The trust dissipates
Yet I know there is no trust
except Thine!


Streams of beautiful golden and pink
and emerald green fountains
wash away my Self
wash away all selves
from my sacred space that is

And yet
they all rush back
to show me to myself in another dark, shadowy form
I wish not to face

And face it I must

I travel, oh how I travel long distances
to belong to that which I thought I belonged to...

And I see a prism,
characters and personalities,
using language and communicating nothing
from the heart.

And, so, I look like them
And I almost sound like them
And they look at me and know that
I do not belong
As I know all too well.

So what happens then?

where do the lost souls gather?
where do the lost souls find solace?
when their only soul connection
is with the Divine
and that is a myth, that is Real and True
yet intangible.

One cannot belong to God.
Can I belong to Him?
Certainly not to the God
they still
ordain
as my Lord.

And the all-encompassing Creator
I want to believe exists
Is a stranger, or is too loving for me to accept!


Fascinating!

I want unconditional acceptance
and love from my equals
of denser flesh.

And when I am shown that
He that is All
is the only one who would
ever carry the capacity to do so...

I balk.
I defend.
I reject.

Surely God cannot love me all the time,
in all states and all conditions!

Such a God cannot exist,
such a God,
any God
cannot exist!

But my fellow creatures,
with the same talents and limitations as myself
surely can
give me that which I seek...

And when they decry otherwise,
I ask again from he
who has nothing in his cup
to give me

C'est absolument fascinant!

And I, the humble healer,
Am I still the vessel when my cup is empty?
Am I still the channel
when the slightest thing can
lift me out of my body and make for unreal experiences?

Am I still lovable
when everyone rejects me
for who I am or what I do
or just because they can?

Ahhhh!

They do it because they can!

And anything other than
forgiveness and acceptance and love
is repeating the cycle
and enduring the suffering.

Have I woken myself up
only to go back to sleep?

Because awareness is futile,
uncommon,
turns me into smoke without direction,
a heart without healing,
an actor without a Soul,
a being without Beingness.

Shall I ever make sense?
Do I want to make sense?

Or do I secretly enjoy
speaking deep truths in
all contexts, in order
to watch them watch me
as though I
do not understand
and am not understood?

Flow, ebb.
Ebbing away...

This life is ebbing away...
My time is still precious,
even if my life no longer is.


My heart still seeks to speak out, to be heard
even if my voice decides to hide
because it is unsafe to be spoken.
Yet.

I don't know
what the message is,
anyway.

So why would I say anything if I didn't know?
We have enough of those well-meaning
speakers out there...

There is enough mayhem!

Compassion over judgement.

I shall not judge this litany
that probably cannot
be considered a great work.

At least I feel open now.

Unburdened.

Chuck, chuck, chuck it all out...

If we are all connected on a intensely deep
level
and on a infinitely high
level,
why do I disconnect
or encourage others to do so?

How is it there is either no one here?
Or that they are here,
and I choose to disappear?

Ca ne fait pas du sense!

When is one ready to let go?
Let go of the ideas that
we are helpless and small

and embrace that everything is perfect?

All came down out of choice.
All remain out of choice.

Breathe, breathe,
for crying out loud,
please breathe...
my little one.

It all goes back to the breath.

Someone told me, a dear person,
that it will get better tomorrow:
it always does.

I hope your tomorrow has come,
because I still await mine.

Balance.

Balancing the emotional upheavals.

And the rejection with acceptance,
And the self-sabotage with compassion,
And the arrogance with the realisation that
a person can be connected to the source
and still mock a people for believing in
healing.

And all of this is just to show

This is all stuff and substance...

I am connected to Thee at all times
Even when their words and their beliefs
unground me.

When I feel invaded.

Thou art always there.

And on the occasions when I
disbelieve
That means I am one step closer
to believing.

I may actually suffer the worst
and end my last breath by not believing.

And yet, Thou Knowest that Thou Existeth
and that everything is unfurling perfectly.

And funnily enough,
that is all it is.

It is all that is needed

Thou Knowest that Thou Existeth

Bring me back towards that which
eludes me.

Or to that which I defer.

The spirit is willing, oh so willing.
But the flesh is weak.

I defer to Thee
My Lord, my Life, my Light.

I end in silence
gratitude for these senseless words
that override the senseless
violence
ravaging my soul
yet again.

Walk, just walk...

But where is this gathering?
- I don't know, my little angel
But do the others know?
- No, they don't know either
How can you go to a gathering without
knowing where it is?
- It suffices to walk, just walk.
Those who are invited will find the way
(from a Sufi story)

Clear

Clear
by Sukaina Juma

31 October 2011

She is clear.

Untainted and searingly clear,
dangerously beautiful.

Magnetic.
Compelling.
Attirant.

She's been shown how to change cellularly
to crystal.

Ruby, emerald, sapphire.
Brilliant white light.
Fiery.

Clear.

All the fractures of her being,
dissipate.

She reclaims
her smoothness.

She pursues
clarity.

With the determination of the lionness that she is.

The past is repelled,
it can no longer cling.

The future is forgotten.
She has no future.

She may not really be the pivotal
person in her own life.
She may still be
the onlooker, the bystander.

But at least she is clear.

This may not be her best piece of poetry to date.

But at least, she is clear.
Clean.
Untainted.
Unhooked.

She's made mistakes.
Some of them for the first time.
Others she chose to revisit;
so as to remember.

Some niggling things,
she clutches onto after having
attempted to
release.

Clear them, dear one.
Become clear of them.
They do not cease to exist sans toi.
You do not cease to exist sans eux.

Thou thriveth when thou art clear.

Am I not the most Clear?
And the most Mystical?
Am I not the Truth?
And the Unfathomable?

You want to be close to Me.
This I know. This thou knowest.

I am embedded in your living soul.
Yet you are still sensing distance.

Clear thyself, little one.

Canst Thou not do that for thyself?

I can, said she.
But how?

There is no how.
Say Yes.
Say I am clear.
Be clear.
Say "be" and it is.

Thou, my little gem,
shalt get murky
and smoky
frequently.

That is the effect of living on the physical plane.
It is not undesirable, it just is.

You just need to dust and shake yourself off again.

You plead to me in the dark,
curled up on the prayer mat,
the earthen place of prostration,
muddied with your tears:

"O Lord, make me as you like!
Ali was always as you liked,
as was Muhammad.
Make me like them,
Or at least make me as you like!
I beg thee, remove from me my
flaws, my desires, my frailty.
Let me become the highest version
of myself, not the low and base
creature I am now."

Little one,
You are as I like.
Dear one,
thou art as I Love!

I told thee this before.
Hast thou forgotten so quickly?
My answer withstands
the vicissitudes
of time.

You always have been as I like,
every single moment of unskilfulness.
Every single imperfect action and thought,
situation and relationship.

And guess what, dear?
Thou shalt always be as I like.

For thy essence is clear, pure, loving, healing.
Ever searching your Truth.

You are as I like.
You are as I Love.

You are loved.
Accept it.
Truly accept it in that
closed up heart o' thine.

Clear your heart from anything
that indicates otherwise.

Open it up to receive
from thy Lord.

Thou art now ready to receive more.

Remind thyself.
I can only shine
in true form through thee;
only when thou art clear.

Clear thyself,
little one.

It is easy for thee.

Clear.

"And when My servants ask you,
concerning Me 
indeed I am near. 
I respond to the invocation of the supplicant
when she calls upon Me. 
So let them respond to Me
and believe in Me 
that they may be guided."

She is clear.

Sacrosanct

Sacrosanct
by Sukaina Juma
19 October 2011



 

I sit under this loyal tree o' mine,
Gazing at the azure sky that beams at me with benefaction.

Today I focus on the ladybug who decided
my heart was soft and open enough
to be trusted.
She ventures her tiny feet upon
my calloused fingers.

One full moon ago here I lay,
nursing the hurt I felt as a result
of a letter written to me in ire
by a rejected suitor.

The hurt was more
because I had to decline his interest,
than it was to do with those harsh
words of little consequence.

Sitting here, my bare feet on the grass,
I thought of the boy
who wrote one hysterically funny note,
and then chose not to respond
to my witty repartee.

This young laddie from the Midlands
encouraged me to release
and transmute into your roots,
the layers of bitterness and resentment
for all they've ever said or done.

And many full moons afore,
I found myself here, in the cold
and the velvety darkness,
humming devoted prayers
from a holy book
for the eternal peace of the brother of my beloved,
who had drastically departed from this existence.

Leaving behind exquisite memories,
a grieving wife,
a life yet to be born,
a lazy, good-for-nothing cat,
and a vibrancy I still pine to experience.

And afore that?
What else didst thou witness, o loyal companion o' mine?

My back, bent and trembling,
my eyes continually leaking
those forbidden tears
for a myth, an unfathomable sphinx,
a Soul so beautiful,
so cold,
so harsh,
so cerebral,
so heartless.

Impervious
to the the very dregs of my soul,
to the very last pearls of myself,
for which I dove into the hidden chasms,
delved into the deepest recesses,
and offered them as bribes;
everything I had of value,

I gave to him.

Sacrosanct

He intoxicated
the untouched nymph within,
paralysed her.
Artemis stood still in fear of all that was possible
- it couldn't really be this easy, could it?
Could she allow herself
to be joyful,
to feel loved,
to belong?

Sacrosanct

He made her aware of all that she lacked,
of her naivete
that couldn't understand his intense
attention,
which then flickered out,
and sought out another
to ignite;
whilst she deliberated.

Transfixed.
 
He held her transfixed.

Just as Izrael transfixes
the soul he is charged
with destroying,
at the moment of
reckoning.

O humble Izrael,
at least thou bringest a sweet smelling flower
to those whose innocent hearts
lead them to shame
and regret.

There is still some mercy, some absolution
when thou breaketh apart
all fabricated realities,
as thou teareth apart all carefully woven illusion
into slivers and shreds,
as thou cracketh open the hardened shell
o' erected barriers,
to bring forth the
Ascension,
overdue and catalysmic,
to reveal that magnificent
Essence of Spirit,
and reveal it unto itself.

Sacrosanct

In my folly,
I declined my right to a solitary rose,
and chose to remain a solitary reaper
of that which I had sown,
in the moment and even afore
my present incarnation.

I shunned a marriage enfolded
in His compassion and mercy.

Sacrosanct

Merging, healing,
mutual and tender,
a third bloom,
imbuing the cosmos with
the delicate scent
of
ultimate Union.

T'was too mundane an occurrence for me.

Love was forbidden.
She could not allow herself to partake of it.

Her imagined strength
lay in her solitary existence.

Quelle erreur!

This ordinary romance could not compare to
the intensely possessive,
jealous,
vengeful love affair
of self-abuse and unfathomable disconnect
I had co-created with my dark paramour,
who ravaged me from the very core of my being,
chewed me up and spit me out,
who had carefully wiped blank any remnant spark o' life
behind these eyes o' mine,
flung me into a chasmic void,
filled with those oft-mentioned scorpions and beasts of horror.


Whimpering, bedraggled, supine
with bleeding wrists.

The empty, sunken eye sockets
saw nothing.

Empty hours and days,
spent underneath a sun that couldn't
warm that miserable, shrunken and unused appendage,
my nebulous heart.

Some say I luxuriated in this.

I concur,
and I also beg to differ.


Sacrosanct

She had nothing to offer him.

She saw herself from afar;
she experienced herself from within,
and she knew that he could not love this...

Thing.

A bare husk of a girl,
clutching
onto anything that would bring her
back
to living her life
instead of existing it.

Sacrosanct

He woke me up to myself.

Against my will and my reasoning,
he set my soul, my entire Being,

a b l a z e.

My lips remembered how to smile
and they gently whispered his name
into the receptive night sky,
sharing my unexpected fortune with
the myriad points
through which Thy Light shines through.

My eyes beamed ether and rose quartz
unto anyone who came under my
catalytic and doe-eyed gaze.

I embodied Love.


His love? Thy love?
'Tis all but one, n'est-ce pas?

I discovered a heart, my heart.
Pulsating.
The fluttering wings of
an essential, core missing piece of my Being
that finally answered my call and made its way

H o m e.


Click.

The pieces fit.
An almost-perfect fit.

Wholeness,
peace,
fullness,
merging,
melding,
fusion,
expansion,
containment.

Home.

I came home,
to him.

As for he, I cannot say...
What part I played in this cosmic game,
Thou keepeth it hidden still.

T'was solely me who chose this
Awakening,
the unfurling of
my hedgehog heart.

T'was solely me who
needed to grow,
to devote,
to love in a manner that
begets description.

To love indiscriminately,
Infinitely.

I chose to experience the abandonment,
the rejection by a first love,
a mere mortal,
a humble creature
lovingly fashioned and chosen for me
by Thee,

so as to
Understand.

It is Thou who matters, not him.

Never him.
Never any of them.

But it is him I worshipped, not Thou.

He has no control over his faith in Thee,
nor over his next breath.

He could not force himself to feel
that which he did not,
just as I could not force myself to not feel
that which I did.

Thou nurtured me before any of this
existed.

How does one forget this simple truth?

Surely Thou hast forgiven me for this idolatry by now?

Sacrosanct

O carefully guarded heart o' mine,
It now wants to be seen.
It wants to shine His love
unselfishly, unguardedly,
expansively.

O Lover, love Thyself,
O Healer, heal Thyself.

Sacrosanct

Nothing is sacred anymore.

All that was
is now done and dusted,
irrelevant,
forever archived in the Mythology, Fantasy and
Harsh Learnings sections
of my personal Akashic records.

All evidence is deleted,
all fondness, attraction,
trust, hope and
connection...
Retracted.
Voided.
Dissolved.

Wisps.

Wisps of...
Wisps of...

Only wisps.

Did it even happen? I ask myself.
Why should it happen?
To someone like me?
A Nothing.
Untouchable.
Undesirable.
Unlovable.

"You chose to remain unknown.
You accused the world of making you unlovable,
Without removing the
barriers to love you had
erected within yourself.

He, a microcosm of the world,
reflected that which
you thought you were worth.

Detachment,
rejection,
disrespect,
harshness,
cruelty,
disconnect.

And there is no blame,
all is perfect.

Your pain is perfect.
The words inscribed upon this page are perfect.
The lump in your throat,
perfect.

Your remorse, your forgiveness,
your Love,
Divine."

I shall curl underneath your e'er-reaching branches, o tree o' mine,
On some future day.

And perhaps dream of yet another beau,
ponder upon a life of little purpose,
envision pilgrimages to the cloistered tombs,
or gaze one again at the azure,
seeking Him without,
when He is only to be found
within.

Dreaming,
pining, wistful,
obsessed,
killing off
bits of my Essence
for anything that is
out of reach.

For it is all without,
and not within.

For everything else that has the essence
of prosperity and lushness,
of Life.
Of normality,
of the comforting sense of the mundane.
To bring me back to myself to this earthly existence,
And leave alone those
Astral explorations
Of which I am only barely aware.

They say my loneliness is
a construct, or
the result of karmic leaking.

I concur,
and I also beg to differ.

I complain to Thee about my loneliness.

Allow me to merge with Thee,
so I can forget myself,
forget them.

I need to forget him.
Show me how to forget him!

Sanctify my tears.

I weep now,
only for Thee.
I tremble now,
for Thee alone.

My relationship with Thee
is sacrosanct.

Ah, Madame Ladybug flies away.

My heart feels the void
once more.

Once more, I am alone
with Thee
under this tree.

And then, gently, my loneliness dissipates.

Yet another illusion,
up in smoke.

For the one who has gained Thee,
what has she lost?
And for the one who has lost Thee,
what has she gained?

Sacrosanct
Sacrosanct
Sacrosanct

'Tis done.

The Spiritual Guide

The Spiritual Guide

Rumi

The Prophet said to Ali: "O Ali, thou art the Lion of God,

thou art a valiant knight,

But do not rely upon thy courage: come into the shadow

of the Palm-tree of hope.

Come into the shadow (protection) of the Sage whom

none can waylay.

His shadow on the earth is like Mt. Qaf, his spirit is life

the Simurgh that soars aloft.

Though I should sing his praises until the Resurrection,

do not look for any end to them.

The Divine Sun has veiled Himself in Man:

apprehend this mystery, and God knows best

what is the truth.

O Ali, above all works of devotion in the Way is the

shadow of God's servant.

When others seek to save themselves by religious works,

Go thou, take refuge in the shadow of the Sage

against the enemy within thee."

Having been accepted by the Pir, give thyself up to him:

submit, like Moses, to the Authroity of Khizr.

Whatever thy Khizr may do, bear it patiently, lest he say,

"Begone, here we part" [Quran 18:78].

Though he scuttle the boat, be dumb!

Though he kill achild, do not tear thy hair!

God hath describe his hand as His own, for He saith,

"The Hand of God is over their hands" [48:10].

This hand of God slays his disciple, then brings him to everlasting life.

Mathnawi II 2959ff

She Falters, thy Phoenix

I falter,
I fail to trust this as my new truth.

Dost Thou loveth me so much?
Dost Thou Giveth to me such honour,

that which Thou hast bestowed upon
the brilliant sun and
the mystical moon?

The whispering wind,
the gentle mist,
the cleansing rain,
the transmuting fire?

Thou hast honoured me
by picking apart the threads of
my intricate plans.

I fell
I had to fall
I had to feel Your lack
so as to discover You anew
and to recognise You as

Real,
Infinite,
Love.

Not as the facade I had created.

I
  am
       still
             fall
                  ing
and
       I
          know
                   that
the
      earth
               has
                     been

absolved
               from
                       breaking
                                     my

fall.

If I do not acknowledge and

display

the beautiful plumage Thou hast bestowed
upon me,

If I do not shake these wings o' mine to ascend
or spread them around
Your loved ones
to shelter,
nurture,
protect,

Love,

Thou shalt not mind, Thou shalt leave me be

And replace me with another
who shall love Thee and
She shall rise and soar to Thy bidding

whilst I fretfully pluck
at my wasting plumage,
ne'er to be seen,
in shame and regret.

~ Sukaina Juma
15 October 2011

Irretrievable, Lost

Where to has their Spirit flown?
Why does the blankness behind their eyes afrighten me so?

Is it because I placed them above me as my gods?

And now, when I have toppled them and
hacked them to pieces,
in an attempt to excavate their core,
their putrid carcasses remind me of my folly?

I am bereft,
bereft.

I am afeared,
afeared of all those moments
lost into the nothingness.

I desperately seek them out.

I wish to reclaim those precious pearls;
those granules of Time I can now put to better use.

I call out to them, begging You for reprieve.
For redemption.

For a miracle through which I can reclaim
those scattered parts of my Soul,

a spare sliver, an empty husk
of the life-term of any of Your creatures,
to add unto mine,

that which was casually bled in vain.

Unaware,
asleep and entirely void
of God-consciousness.

But Thou Knowest, as doth I

All of that is lost, fore'er more
And that there is infinite wisdom behind this.

The remnants of my being crumble
into the dust that I came from.

I surrender to Thy will.

~ Sukaina Juma
15th October 2011

Deity

And as my Soul dug into the grass, hiding away from the joys of the world
and burrowing itself deeply into the grains of mud;
I could see the sky as the light faded.
The blueness of sky, the whiteness of cloud, the pink of sun
No tears trickled down these cheeks of mine
I wasn't moved by the sight.

But I was grateful that I did not have control over the entire universe.

For He is able to create each day anew, while us hypocrites are left to
play around with His original idea,
and present it to the world with a different slant or angle
in order to make it ours.

I was grateful that I had no control over this black Labrador of mine,
whom I've decided to call Barney,
so as to make him seem ridiculous.

For if I were to control the vitality and the demise
of life and love and contentment,
I would never fall down so very, very deep
that my nails would peel off and bloody my fingers
as I tried without success to scrape myself back into the world of the Surviving.

My chin would never be attracted to that little dent in my neck;
I would not be so meek, that I could longer look anyone in the eye.

I would never know the satisfaction and freedom I get
from completely losing touch with reality,

Which allows me to chop off chunks of my straw-like hair whenever I wish;

Which allows me to talk to myself as I walk along the street,
even when I know someone is behind me
and is tripping on the marbles that fall through my skull,
which make a plonking sound as they fall onto the pavement;

Which allows me to scream and hurler and to wail and to be hollow;

Which allows me to sob loudly and weep silently for hours on end,
changing nothing in the process.

And so I see the sky, now plunged into darkness,
and just like magic the little silver dots appear
in ones and threes.

And I love to see them so far away, silent and durable
and oscillating in my mind. I do not control the stars.

But He does. And I am grateful for that.

Pusique si j'avais le pouvoir de contrôler les étoiles et mon déstin entièrement,
I would be the Deity and would have no one to pray to.

And then, surely, I would be bereft of hope, to the point of nervous prostration.
And just how can one prostrate to oneself?
Just how can one prostrate?



Sukaina Juma
27th April 2008

***

That time period feels light years away, and yet, by reading my work from that time, it is once again afresh. I may now be ready to gain insight from those vague and blurred years.

One incident that will remain with me for quite a while: it took me quite some time before I could sense the warmth of the sun. I was in the garden one day and felt a warmth on my back that seemed alien. And then I realised that for at least a month, I had gone so deep within that I had been unable to feel the sun's rays on my back.

How good it was to feel once again. And it made me wonder why I couldn't before then.

From the darkness cometh the bright pearls of my creativity and expression.

And yet, there must be a more conducive way to do this, mustn't there?

Qui sait?

O sighing heart o' mine...

I heave a mighty sigh.

I continue this sighing meditation for a variety of reasons.

I sigh to release all the stuck and heavy emotions within, to reset the body and balance it out.

I sigh in gratitude for the much awaited and much needed awakening I am in the midst of. And that which is to happen. As someone very wise said, premature gratitude works wonders for manifesting that which you desire. And it is healing in itself.

I sigh to release any judgements I have about myself, and God, and the process. I may still be unable to see with insight, foresight and plain ruddy sight (I'm physically shortsighted as well - typical, ha ha!). I may still be unable to manifest the things I truly desire.

I sigh to forgive myself completely. Utterly. Sans doute. Sans hésitation. Il n'y a d'autre chemin...

I sigh to accept all that is, all that I currently and temporarily am and more importantly, all that was. All that I was. I was a lot. I was in the dark, I had no clue. In certain Islamic esoteric terms, I'd call it major jahaalat (ignorance).

The conscious mind keeps telling me, "You should have known better. You should know better. You are ten year behind where you ought to be now..."

Fair enough... and I am here. Where I am. At least I finally woke up. At least... I finally realised that which I didn't even know to want, desire or need.

Moving on...

I am currently working on the challenge of healing my heart, and those of others through love. Accessing that Infinite love.