Green Canvass Shoes

Green Canvass Shoes

Waxing moon
Yet I am losing and letting go
May this fragile ego accept how
Everyone who was dear to this heart
Has gone
Traversed the Red Sea
I am drowning in

For five years I have been eating my grief and anger.
His name still fills me with unknown terror
My heart still shakes in the abyss

Her name fills me with rage
Lump in my throat equals
Cords in my stomach

Lies. You ought to have known the lies
By the looks in their eyes

Maybe being purer than most
Means being stupider than most

Illusions of movement and progress
Only to be contrasted by
A dark silent room
Single lit candle
Silently doing the Bands of Power
And hoping it works this time

Because my legs feel like jelly
I felt attacked being outside around people
And another life has ended.

He looked forlorn last week.
Mostly it would be my imagination.
But at least he inspires me for my short story.

Maybe it's him I wrote about five years ago.

He looked like he really wanted to speak.
I wasn't inviting that day.

I have my own insecurities, you know?
It pisses me off I am still so scared and shy
I won't smile
I won't ever say hello
But feel the heartbeat go irregular without any just cause
Save your presence
In your savvy suit and green canvas shoes

(I can't wear canvass shoes any longer
Due to a protruding bone in both of my feet
Yet another paternal gift)

I was having another sucky day.

The married guy was back and I had to pretend I hadn't noticed
he'd been away for a month creating babies.
Correction: hiding the fact he was creating a baby then disappearing when she was due.
Liar.
All Geminis tend to manipulate and hide. All of them.

So I wasn't entertaining lame silent gazes.

I wear a lime green uniform and am contortioned
into a role that is sucking away all my vitality.

I feel ashamed. You can be intelligent as heck, a healer,
educated and mess up so badly,
every day is a struggle to speak and to be your true self.

You're probably another harsh lesson who will leave me
after I've given my essence to you.

So why entertain someone who ignores me?

So he looked on forlornly.

Rumour has it he's engaged to be married.
I sure have ridiculously horrendous timing.

Instead of getting soul retrievals,
it feels more of me is dying
and being siphoned away.

Just like me, doing the opposite!

As a light, we seem to always have to clear, heal, protect...
What a life. What happened to being?

To all of them I hold grudges against,
thank you for helping me.
I don't know how... But the energy shifts.

I don't like it when boys look sad and forlorn, by the way.
It makes me want to scrunch up their hair
and tickle them to cheer them up and make them smile.

I do have kindness.
I'm just still messed up like all of us.
Perfect aura is an illusion
I now admit to having.

I'm having a serious chat in the higher levels.
Enough of the bs.
Thank you.

Sukaina Juma
- 27.07/2015

Remembrance

Sukaina Juma

25 July 2014 · 

 

Surely there are people who have chosen REMEMBRANCE instead of this world, so that neither buying nor selling diverts them from it.

~ Imam Ali (a.s.)

What is really cool is that remembrance is more multifaceted than we have been led to believe. So, once you open up your heart and energy to something even more profound, expansive than you've allowed yourself to experience, you pop open an entirely different universe. Every time you remember who you truly are as a multidimensional, powerful soul, the more you awaken the inner prophet and recognise yet another facet of your Lord. 

Rejection and approval both mean nothing, because you have accepted yourself wholeheartedly. You like yourself and you love yourself infinitely. You are your own guru.

Let's keep remembering and reminding each other of who we all truly are and why we are here. Diversions are many, but the pure, shining, beautiful ones are those who keep reminding each other (Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Rabba Sacheya).

Just felt like sharing that :)
Much love xx

For Mere Trinkets

Danielle MacKinnon

2 hrs ·

We're still in a "stuff is going on behind the scenes" period so don't freak out that everything isn't clicking together quite yet - there is a lot happening that we all can't see and it's all for our benefit. Want it all to show up faster? Spend time now enjoying yourself! That speeds up the "good" coming in!




*****


This sleeplessness is a sickness... which turns into sleepiness and the soul continues to trail behind everyone else.


I just began to listen to Coke Studio Season 6. Oh, if my life was different, I could at least be a backing singer for Atif's Channa. My God, chaa gaye again.


http://youtu.be/Se3YjfBCVbQ


Well, at least my prayer to find new music to stir my soul into action has been answered. Thank You, Allah. Seriously. You know how music is an integral part of my life.


Atif Aslam also got married last year and recently had a son. This is all news to me. After all, I've been under a rock for thirty odd years. It saddens me that my life distances me from all of this. I had prayed so hard to somehow meet him when I was in Pakistan. Now I understand how could I, he was busy becoming a father. I've lost out on so many things, all in order to gain a soul and a heart that is filled with the love for Allah. Once that happens, then all this celebrity and fame,  I won't really care.


But until then, my ego cares. I saw what I did to myself in Pakistan.


We don't really love them, we love the shadows they portray us. If we were channelling fully and training in the arts and expressing our inner essence in totality, they would not feel somehow above us, or somehow better than us. They would honour our light just as much as we honour theirs. We would hear the cheering wherever we walked, rather than dote over someone else who found their own unique channel.


The decent, humble teachers constantly remind themselves that it's a group effort, and that they are nothing in their identity. That it only for the grace of God that they are who they are.


The arrogant ones, like myself, are then forced to fall.


The light dims from my eyes,
the rust congeals upon my heart,
my soul is in agony,
and the simplest of things...
are difficult to create, to bring into existence.


All of this is done with Love.
Your heart is so precious to me,
I cannot let you regress or retard...


I doubt this Allah.


I have perpetuated a cycle of self abuse, violence, deprivation, stagnation, blindness and ignorance.


Not only am I disconnected from the purity and the life that is the true core of Islam, I am disconnected from myself and from the outer world.


It is a full moon and I am least bothered about going outside to meditate.


I am encaged, whereas others travel without a royal butt kicking, take the healing courses they need to take - such as ENLP and Sidra's course and Divine healing and Soul Plan Reading and


My heart really wants to go into music and singing, learning the piano or violin - is it too late, not really. But all I find myself are in strings and chains.


For the most part, all of my dreams seem to be just dreams...


The full moon is in 12 or so hours and I'm meant to be doing releasing and allowing. That's what we do, consciously. I just can't see, to want to do anything, just so tired and cannot concentrate. Maybe that is the releasing.




******


An hour later.


Wow, I was listening to Paimanah Bideh by Zeb and Haniya, and wanted to post on Facebook to honour my shedding of the last remnants for the full moon. Suddenly have a craving to be seen. Very full moon like behaviour :p


Then this flowed through.


WOW.

http://youtu.be/gIi6vf4433A

In honour of the full moon in Capricorn (tomorrow, 1pm - ish BST), which is about healing and honouring the divine feminine. I love how I've been doing it without realising I was doing it, hahaha.

I honour my inner divine goddess and the inner romantic urges... I allow my emotions to wax like the ocean's tides, I heal those parts that are still festering, and I melt those frozen parts of my heart. I clear all contracts, pacts, karma, beliefs that keep me and anyone else stuck and unable to move and progress and expand. I unleash my creativity and my gifts and talents, for music, for dance, for expression. I remain silent and allowing, and nurture those aspects which need it.


Innocently enough, it began.

A gentle hum
of sweet innocent kinship
 
My light shimmers in your eyes,
because I reflect your brilliance in my smile.

You fear I will devour you entirely,
and I fear that I shall lose myself and
succumb to your charms.

We both say we love God,
yet we both know our lips betray our true intent.

We lie.

We feel ashamed at our weakness,
that we have made each other our god,
and the cravings increase with each nuance, each sigh,
each healing glance,
each murmur in the throat,
each careful caress of the pliant hand.

This tenderness will be my death.
I try to run away from it,
leaving my sandals at the tombs of the saints
resting upon the bloodied, purified sands.

I cannot hide,
the people on the streets can smell
the scent of my devotion a mile away.

The smoke of ardour is hardly ever hidden well.

"There goes the crazy one,
She has lost her senses.
She glides upon the earth,
we cannot see her footprints anywhere.

She stands in the sun,
yet casts no shadow upon the earth.

The junoon has her fermenting all over.

This young, shy, naive grape
is fermenting.

She is becoming wine,
a deep ruby red,
in just a fleeting instant of being
crushed under Love’s feet.

She has now become intoxicated
with her own image of beauty,
charm, tenderness, endless peace and tranquillity.

Let us go near and drink of her nectar.
Let us become immortal within her lilac flame.
Let us become divine just by gazing upon her
as she gazes at the stars in the dark, still nights.”

When you run too far from the beloved,
the beloved becomes tired of chasing after you.
It is easier to love someone who
knows how to receive it.

The mirrors all shatter,
and distort the truth for even more lies.

And, years after a continuous falling back asleep and being
shaken awake, until the veins bleed,
the chosen woman finally understands
that the divine is a benevolent, yet jealous benefactor.

Anything that takes her away from Him
is seized without warning,
leaving a trail of regret, harsh words,
unforgiveness,
and unfulfilled vows.

She prostrates upon the dust.

She becomes dust,
crushed under the weight
of aeons of solitude and confusion
until, finally, she looks up and
instead of crying tears of blood

her vision has been cleared with saltwater
and everywhere,
she can see the One who needs no one but Himself to sustain the All.

The forms change, their essence remains.

Slowly, slowly, her heart opens again
and the Beloved is her, her saviour is within her -
and they are magnetically drawn to her once again.

Yet, this time, it matters not what they do.
The repeated patterns are evident, amusing,
both those of hers and those of the Other.

As long as she reminds herself to remain true
to herself and her Lord,
she will remain safe from further humiliation.

She may have to pinch herself every day
to remind herself.

Yet, her battered feet have travelled upon shards of rock,
her skin has been ravaged by the desert winds
far too long
for her to now forget Who She Is
and revert to her former state.

Her gift to them is the knack to love with a sincere
o  p  e  n  n  e  s  s
that is also her very protection

To be loved sincerely and truly in return,
with them seeing her as her truth.

This is God’s grace.

To demonstrate the profound good opinion God has of you,
to reflect His deep, soft, undulating
sweetness,
so that your curled bud may
unfurl into its full glory.

“We have written it all in a Manifest book”.

Yet, she is the Book, the writer and the reader.
As is each of us.

A mirror has mirrors too.

When everyone remembers
they are their unique version of the light,
and each of very high value,
how can any sense of inferiority or superiority exist?

Open your palms to receive your own light through this vessel.
Let the words scrawled upon the page refresh your eyes,
so you may see....

And although she grieved,
those she lost came back to her in different forms.
All the more dear.
For their worth has been realised, as has her own worth.

And, this time, We remind ourselves
We do not gamble or trade the love of our Beloved,
for mere trinkets any longer: a glass of wine,
a life of companionship and mercy,
many a whispered word of tenderness,
respectability,
conformity,
functionality...

Be the state you wish to feel.

Be Love, then you will experience it.

Be Peace, then you will exude it,
causing their eyes to water at the sweetness
of willow,
of honeysuckle.

Be the healer,
the vessel, the channel:
then you will understand
your true worth.

~ Sukaynah Juma, 11 July 2014


WOW.

The Wrist

THE WRIST


Who are you? The inner vision of consciousness?
The heart? A sacred half-light, are you that?


Do you grow gatherings? Are you a friend
of the sun, who comes and goes so quickly?


Do not forget your vertical passage,
the night of power,
and don't hide from the one
for whom all our secrets are down in the pillow under
his head, doctor of lovers, soul
for this thick world,
the one who spirals iron
like dough and makes the body lightedness.


No belief is necessary to enter this tent
where one love story changes to another.


I remember that with these words brought here
by a falcon from the wrist of Shams,


~~~~~~~~~


If the beloved is everywhere,
the lover is a veil,


but when living itself
becomes the Friend,
lovers disappear.
 ~ Rumi


****


And therein, lies the real quest of my soul.


REMEMBER. REMEMBER. REMEMBER.


You are meant to be in society, but you do not have to be like any one of them.


That is NOT your role, so remind yourself once more.  Quit falling back to sleep.


And ask for where to go from here, because you are running conflicting desires.


Either desire to shift  entirely and be down with it, or desire to fulfil your tasks here and learn the lessons that they annoyingly tell you you aren't learning.

If the beloved is everywhere,

the lover is a veil,

but when living itself

becomes the Friend,

lovers disappear.

I burn with the love that I lost/ When I lost you

I can't remember if I posted this earlier on. I went through a phase in winter of watching as many Beverly Hills 90210 episodes I could, mostly the ones with Brenda and Dylan in them. I find those scenes the most fulfilling to me.


In Season 3, Dylan reads this poem out, with Brenda in his heart... :)


With you, the earth was a bed of grass
We slept in it like two seeds
With you, I was more than I am
Your mouth, the sun
Made everything possible
I burn with the love that I lost
When I lost you


~ Jack Grapes

the Tyger's jaws

the Tyger's jaws (temporary title)

What does it take to not be a lemming in the world?
To be free to be yourself?
To feel safe to speak, to see, to hear....
What does it take to inspire yourself?
Outside of parameters, systems, rules, myths, laws of attraction, protocols,
And all the rest of it?
What does it take to remember who you are?
That young girl who went to Canada with misty eyes full of hope?
They opened an entire world to her,
Full of Romanticism, analysis, kindred spirits,
Potential, never really actualised.
North America, for all its faults, has an ever expanding energy.
You go there, you feel liberated, like the eagle.
Nothing to do with amendments, laws, spying.
Just Earth. Mountains. From sea to shining sea.
A yawning canyon that swallows up whole the entire calm sky.
A drawl that loosens the inhibitions.
Fantasies perhaps.
Yet, pioneering in a sense.

I always think I've understood,
I've caught on to the elusive fabric of reality.
An eighth energy centre, sparkling clean.
They say I live outside my body too much.

I can't seem to paint upon this canvas,
nothing meaningful,
Droplets, squiggles, a half hearted pear.

I do not remember agreeing to this,
nor do I understand how I could be so blind and closed up, walled in.

Yet, here I am, this husk of a woman,
Breathing before you
Disoriented.

I have forgotten all.

"Where are my soul friends?
Where is the flint to ignite my fire?"
She asks forlornly.

Who are those who truly understand? Hopes, dreams, passion... ou-etes vous?

Sometimes, we agree to things,
To delay things.
To abstain.

To attain vertical height and levitation,
To do acrobatics in the higher realms,
at the risk of any horizontal progress at all.

We forget that both are possible,
And that self punishment and self denial,
and this unbearable sense of pining for that which has been lost,
Or for that which will is not to be.

Is futile.

Futility in existence...
And yet,
Lilacs bloom every spring.

And she remembers how Chicken Soup for The Teenage Soul
saved her life. 
Continuously revived her,
After countless mini deaths.

The ones who artfully sliced her heart,
then mended it with cookies, milk and
a book for teenagers going through angst.

Poetically messy and artful in decimation.

When do we stop regenerating as lemmings,
and start Being fearless individuals,
unswayed by energies and stardust pelting down upon the earth,
unceasingly, cutting up into ribbons,
then carefully piecing us all back,
raw, bloodless,
Real?

Time and space do not exist.
The cycle is endless.

First, there was the Word.
And then,
Chaos reigned.

Such is the pattern.
There is measured kindness melted into
the Tyger's jaws.

~ Sukaina Juma, 6th February 2014

merging

Life felt mystical, in a dream.
The liquid indigo seeped into her pores.
A sense of infinite peace, beauty and tranquility permeated.
Urdu poetry called itself into her awareness.

She felt like laying down on soft, sultry, seductive tufts of green grass.
Giving in to the night, succumbing in entirety.
To be caressed by the wind.

The next tram to Wimbledon screeched to a stop.
A lot less packed with humans.
She stepped into the metallic cage as the doors slid shut.
And drifted safely home on the tapestry of safety and reality or illusion seeping and merging.

The veils were certainly thin that night.

The stars beckoned again, the moon undressed her yielding body until she lay trembling in ecstasy, begging for more to fill her... more to fill the void.

She came multiple times with only the temptress a witness to her whimpers, groans and orgasmic screams.

All she wanted was to make Love to the Universe, to become Whole.

All she wanted was to become alive on this earthly plane.
To rebirth herself.

To do it properly this time.

The merging of male and female is necessary before any birth can occur.

***

First attempt at fiction this year. I just need to let go of fear and allow the words to flow.

A mere plot device

Right now, she allows the dark tones and lyrics of the song Atlantic wash over her. A few hours prior to this, her body had curled into a tight foetal position in an empty office. She had clutched onto her stomach and wailed out the hurt, the betrayal, the grief that wracked her being.

The triggers don't really matter.

It doesn't matter if it is a small child, an older man, a young handsome fella... God uses all people and all souls as mere plot devices.

She played the villain in so many other people's stories.

And... she was tired.



I hope all my days
Will be lit by your face
I hope all the years
Will hold tight our promises

I don't wanna be old and sleep alone
An empty house is not a home
I don't wanna be old and feel afraid

I don't wanna be old and sleep alone
An empty house is not a home
I don't wanna be old and feel afraid

And if I need anything at all

I need a place
That's hidden in the deep
Where lonely angels sing you to your sleep
Though all the world is broken

I need a place
Where I can make my bed
A lover's lap where I can lay my head
Cos now the room is spinning
The day's beginning

atlantic... keane

She Walks To Thee Barefoot

She walks to Thee barefoot.

Her destiny is changed:
she now seeks Thee on this plane of humanity, 
of duality.

Thou asked her for so much.

To love unconditionally in the places where there was none of Thy light.

Thou asketh her to love herself first. 
How does one love oneself with the passion and the purity 
as Thou dost?

How does she keep her soul intact, 
her dreams alive, 
her love a never-ending source of comfort and softness
to those who seek her out?

She walks to Thee barefoot...
on the sands of Kerbala...
on the sands of Turkey, Egypt... 
all over the world she seeks Thy face.

She walks to Thee in trepidation,
for she is nothing as You envisaged.

She is broken, she is mangled,
bits of her being are still embedded in the hearts of others.

She needs release... she cannot find it.

Please bring her back to the place she calls Home.

Take her back into Thy arms... she finds great comfort there.

Thou art the only recourse when all else falls away....

Why is there such separation, such emptiness?

I ask Thee, of my free will, to bring me back to thy pathway, 
to prostrate to Thee on the muddied turbah that brings my heart such peace.

Ala bi dhikrillahi tatma'3inal quloob...

Your child seeks Thee, surely you cannot deny her her home again? 
Surely Thou art the Merciful, 
the One who brings her to Thou holiest of places and anoints her 
with the powder of Holiness, of sanctity

Of Purity....

She seeks to become 
Taherah... 
Zahidah... 
Saajedah....

Deny her not.

You did not deny those who love Thee, nor those whom Thou loves....

How can you deny the sinner,
the wretched, the unoriginal,
the blind, the slave to man,
the one attached to this world and all the illusions?

The ignorant are in more need of Thy love than those who know.

I walk to Thee barefoot...
may I soon fly to Thee with glistening wings of light...

This is not what I had thought my pathway would be.

Allah... ou-es Toi?
And Who Am I?

Sukaina Juma
24 March 2013

such a beautiful boy

She could feel the familiar pull of wanting to take him, as she wanted to with all of the little boys she knew, in her arms and open them up to feelings they were unaware they could feel with a nurturing, protective, safe, gentle, delicate love.

Opening their hearts to feel, to release it all, to live, to then scream in ecstasy and to breathe free.... to be the true nature of themselves...

And that's when she knew she had to go.

The bodily and emotional responses cut through the sense and wisdom like a samurai's sword.

She knew better this time.

She sang out "God be with you" in what had become an automatic formula that had lost it's meaning and he replied the same.

Retroactively, as she travelled home on the bus, exhausted, she really sent him divine Love and wondered if he had eaten his dinner. She loved him. Purely. Just like the first one. Programming can be such a powerful thing if one is unaware. Thankfully, she was aware now.

This little serendipity was such a blessing. Such a sweet, unexpected blessing.

Such a beautiful boy. Like honeysuckle. She could see herself in him, of course. That is why her heart spontaneously opened up to let him in.

"May he receive the help he needs in perfection... may he be able to reach his fullest potential. May he know true Love."

Just contact with the divine masculine or with those she could pray for... was such a blessing now.

Her heart continued to sing and asked for more tall, dark, handsome men... some of whom she could have a spiritual partnership with.

Well, that was her ego talking.

She needed just the one true love this lifetime.

Promiscuity may have been in her energy, but the way she had been living her life, it would seem she had taken a vow of celibacy to counteract the chaos of previous lifetimes.

These tiny signs from God were so sweet, as though He had tucked away tiny presents for her to uncover along this treasure hunt of reality.

And sometimes, she got whacked by a big smack of humiliation.

ebb and flow....

grace and justice...

karma must be balanced...

She allowed for herself to be in the space of neutrality and non judgement.

she is the one whom he could not love

She creates such beautiful pictures in her head.
The world and all its timelines are malleable in her hands,
just like the gooey substance that clay is made of.

She enjoys playing in the mud,
making a mess of something when, if she chose,
she could stand up and walk away.

Or could she?

She had really wanted him.

She had really, really wanted him.

Of all the things that confused her, the way he made her feel safe and gave her comfort confused her the most. Just by thinking of him, just by growling his name in her throat, she called him to her. He would be there besides her, comforting her, nurturing her heart and body in a way she couldn't do for herself.

He had had good intentions. He used fancy ways to express himself just to woo her. Just to make an impression on her bloodstained soul.

"I like you just as you are, little one. I am not going anywhere. If we have a connection, why are you hiding from me? Why are you rejecting me over and over again? Why won't you let me love you?"

Her heart responded, even though her lips could not, " You don't know how to love yet, my boy. You think you do, but you only love yourself, and even that... not fully. You pick and choose whom you love, when you love, and how you love. Is that what you wish me to settle for?

You said I am one of the few people you can tolerate.

Tolerance? Is that what I ask from you? Tolerance? Is that all you can give me?

I fucking love you, boy. Can you not feel it in your veins, in your pores, in every breath you take?

Does my voice not haunt your dreams the way yours does mine?

I. Fucking. Love. You.

It fucking scares the hell out of me that I can love you with such a deepness, with such a desperation, with such a falling and lack of control.

I feel guilty as hell for not letting you love me, be near me, touch my cheek, the small of my back, the beating of my heart, I can't even let you hold my hand. I want you to slowly rub the insides of my thighs until I orgasm my wetness all over your hands: your silky soft, dangerously attractive hands.

Have you seen how beautiful your hands are? Have you really seen yourself? The moment I saw them, I wanted to hold them, to feel them stroke me all over, until I vibrated and meshed inside of you.

Do you know how gorgeous your eyes are?

They are molten, alluring like a gazelle's.

You are soft inside. So soft, so vulnerable. I saw you, I wanted to take you in my arms and just hold you until you stopped hurting so much. That's all.

And all you have shown me is facade, bravado... and I can't break through to you. And, in spite, I choose not to let you come near me. Because... you will HURT me and I am done with hurting you."

He left. Because she loved him. He actually left the moment she told him she loved him. It was puzzling, it was interesting. She thought the boy she fell in love with would be immune to the cliche of giving up the chase. She thought it was a spiritual union.

She thinks too much.

An interesting exercise.

The dusk falls upon the town she lives in. She is tired.

Why did she think of him today? Because she did something she did a year ago.

A year ago he married his soul mate, the right one. She tried to rise above it and understand that he did not want to be with her. It was too much for her to keep inside, though.

Because it was her fault. She drove him away. There was something inherent in her that he did not like, for which he could not open his heart and love her with the soft tenderness she felt for him.

And so she bled. She made herself bleed and experience a searing pain.

"He can love someone else, commit to her, marry her, make love to her repeatedly, penetrate her body, buy her groceries, they will soon have a boy who will look exactly like him... so why not me? Why was he not the patient man he told me he was? Why did he not wait for me to grow open?"

She remembered him today. Just in passing.

We do not control the thoughts we think. They just enter our minds, then leave if we allow them to. We are in a big cosmic soup, a melange of energies and intentions and barriers and experiences.

He liked to play football and cricket. Those facts somehow aroused her at the time.

Sleep is vital for the undead.
Their pallid souls revive with sleep.
Their aching heads heal,
as archangel Raphael weaves his green threads
through the night.

Healing the girl who still aches for him sometimes.

She is the one whom he could not love.

An unfathomable silence permeates.

The veils are many, the barriers interject.
Rather than focussing on all of them, she sticks like glue to the one thing she can think of.
She cannot see.

When they do meet, he will be safe from her and she from him.
Neither of them will speak;
it will be clear and manifest in luminous writing.

Tolerance and safety cannot be a foundation for a relationship.

Let it go. Do not listen to the mind which says you are Lady Macbeth. Barren and bloodied.

It is only as true as you wish it to be.
Mercy and grace are forces which come through your sleep.
He is kinder than you give Him credit for.

She bows her head down in submission to the Lord of the Worlds.
She may be far from Him,
but that does not mean that she is damned for eternity.

Two things can happen:
both are acceptable once she truly surrenders.
Awareness comes first, though, my dear.

~ Sukaina Juma
9th March 2013