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.

Peeking through the veil

I have been debating within myself whether or not to publish public blog posts about the inner transformation I am going through.

There are quite a few reasons why I wouldn't want to, why I'd rationalise that it is not for "the greater good". Mostly it's to do with the wonderfully rigorous conditioning from family, culture and certain interpretations of faith. And my fears chase me round and round the garden, like an enormous teddy bear.

Some voices scream "Stay out of sight! Be unassuming, modest, in the background. You have nothing of value to say. You are no authority and you are in no way pious or one of the blessed Chosen Ones to even begin to share your insights with others".

Others whimper "If you tell other people, you'll jinx it. They have the power to take it all away and ruin your happiness. You must not share this sacred knowledge with everyone. It's akin to offering pearls to swine".

There is also the overwhelming and loud and clanky chatter which repeats: "It's all rubbish, you've entrapped yourself in an illusion, a fragile spider's web of your own creation, you're delusional. Stop before you go off the deep end and never find a way back to 'the truth'. If you don't, wait and see what happens when things fall apart."

Well, at least I can truly say I'm not alone in the world, if I've been lugging around all of the world and their opinions and disapproval in my invisible, energetic backpack!

So, then, why am I jumping off the precipice, slinking out of the shadows and into my Light?

A few reasons:

I feel compelled, the inner urge, to communicate this. I am obeying my intuition. I've been struggling to understand when I am being impulsive and when I am being intuitive. Someone told me to sleep on it, and if the urge is still strong, still makes sense, still resonates with you and you 'know' you must act upon it, then it's intuition or your guidance. But if you're in the throes of Ego and you're more attached to the mind and not the heart, sleep on it again. Or do nothing until you get an answer from somewhere.

So, I've slept on it. I feel peaceful. I'm still typing away, word after word, in a steady flow.

This, my dears, is Inspiration.

And, in the grand scheme of things, if you stumbled upon my blog somehow and are reading these words at this very moment, and what I have to say resonates with you, it shall resonate. You were meant to read this and open up to yourself and something vaster than that.

And if it does not, it does not. I hereby liberate myself from my persecution and martyr complexes ;)

Secondly, I finally came up with a title for this post during a funeral I attended yesterday. The funeral triggered a lot of insights and I could feel my stunted creativity and communication begin to flow once again. If you have been so kind as to be unaware of this, it has been a long time since my last personal post.

At the family funeral, I was once again smack bang in the middle of the East African/Indian/Pakistani Shia (or Shi'ite) Muslim culture I was brought up in. And I realised that I could no longer accept nor relate to a single thing.  The customs, the decades of conditioning that is still being promulgated as the way to salvation and inner tranquillity, the (dare I say it?) charade of a fulfilling and spiritual existence when all I could register was layers of automatic responses.

Yes, I think I can say this in a most compassionate and empathic and loving manner: what I have noticed in myself and in the cultural community that I was born into is that we are still reacting in our lives as a result of automated conditioning. We are, once again, forfeiting the dignity of free thought, exploration, insight, a true openness that recognises that all paths of inquiry eventually lead to God. We lack the certitude that even as we stumble and trip up and get confused, if we hold the strong intention and trust that He will gently and lovingly guide us back to our own truth, we will get there.

I shall, of course, greatly temper my loving observations and say there are many adherents to Islam who have leapt far beyond the place I currently am exploring, and whom I would greatly benefit by connecting with. Sheikh Arif Abdul Hussain is one. He's the head of an Islamic educational institute in the UK. As yet, I haven't been able to attract these key persons into my life in order to learn, grow, share, create and discover. Oh, well, "when the disciple is ready, the master will appear."

I suppose I had other learnings to master first, hence my teachers have come in different guises and forms, and up until now, pretty damned painful and spirit-breaking. And yet, "they" say that the most difficult people and the most painful situations and experiences are your most needed, valuable and even the most loving of teachers. They really challenge you to cleanse your soul and to reach deep within to find that little point of Light which allows you to truly forgive and love unconditionally, to break into your independence and your own truth, to truly be that wonderful, powerful, beautiful spiritual being you know that you are.

And these situations will keep recurring and these similar types of people will keep appearing until you experience what you need to and learn that which your Higher Self signed you up for. This can be changed, of course (but that's for another post!).


And this has been put into extremely harsh relief this past year.


At some deep and fundamental level, you can be subtly aware that you're missing something essential, that you only have to read or hear or see or experience something that will unlock the vault, grant you the keys to the Kingdom and truly remove the rust from the heart, the fog glasses from around the eyes, the blocks towards accessing your intuition, your unity consciousness and your knowingness (the 6th, 7th and 8th chakras) - so that you can TRULY, TRULY see, hear, feel, connect, know and BE.

This causes great unease. When you try, you search, you struggle and yet cannot seem to break free. You cannot see beyond. You're missing that which would help you completely transform your life. You may read the books by Wayne Dyer, Deepak Chopra, books on receiving angel guidance, books entitled "You Are Psychic", books like Tomorrow's God by Neale Donald Walsch which open up to the sentence, "Ask yourself why you picked up this book out of all the books and you're reading, and continuing to read this page right now." (Yes, the books are starting to talk directly to me - giggle!)

I have been searching for a very, very long time. I had to start from a very low vibrational level. And when you are unaware of the cage, you don't seek to break free. And when you begin to sense that you are not leading the life that would express the true You, the you that comes to the fore in your most humble and pleading moments with God, or whilst playing with the wisest of children or the friendliest of kittens, the most brilliant of mandala colourings, the most magical of romantic or platonic soul mate moments, the sense of connection you feel when visiting a mosque or cathedral or place of trees and water and duckies, when writing an email, letter or a blog post from the depths of the heart.... there are many more, but you get the drift.

And then, someone or something, or a chain of events wake you up. Brutally or gently - depends on how you made your soul plan.


***


And, now, the brilliant phoenix observes the gilded cage she is within. It's comfortable, familiar and she's managed to survive so far. But her wings have been clipped, and they want to grow a lot more than the space she has allowed herself. She may be regularly fed, but it's all manufactured food, having no real taste, nutritional value or imagination in it, whatsoever. Bugs and snails and other creepy crawlies in the enchanted forest are what really whet her appetite. She's heard they exist, she dreams they exist when she sleeps and she may have even seen a sparrow or parakeet flying outside, in the real world with one in firmly grasped in its beak.

And she pines and is wistful and, if I'm honest, envious: Look at this magnificent kestrel's shiny, healthy plumage, look at how large her wings are, listen to the lovely songs they sing and the wonderful acrobatics they perform in the still, blue sky. They fly like birds, as they should. I am a bird, too. I have my own destiny. So, why am I the unfortunate one still in this rotten, limiting, cage which confines me in every possible way? Boo to all the people who put me in the cage. And locked it so I can't get out.

But, wait. As her physical senses become more sensitive and receptive to all that is around her, she notices that there is a way out. Actually, there are several. The lock is ancient, ancestral and was not made of the best material. This is no impenetrable metal, it is easily malleable, shaky at best. And she spies the keys are actually, hanging on a tiny hook on the outside of the cage. She moves towards the keys outside her current sphere of influence, and what does she see?

She's been sitting on an egg the entire time. She had to move her butt in order to know it was there! And her first instinct is to peck the egg open. But she is again distracted by some birds outside the window and the keys glinting on the hook attached to her cage, just out of reach.

She sleeps on the impulse and when she wakes, she sees that, actually her sitting on her ass for so long was the right method and time duration in order to allow the egg to hatch of its own accord. Some outside help is definitely required, but she only does that after the chick inside has actually broken away most of the protective shell and has drunk the nourishment that nature provided it.

The chick flares into being, in a gorgeous red, yellow, orange, green, blue, purple and brilliant white sacred fire. It is such a sight to behold. The phoenix is speechless. She needs to remind herself to breathe. And, suddenly the memories of the inherent knowingness, wisdom, intuition and, most importantly, Love all come flooding into her heart, her blood vessels, her entire being.

She remembers.

She takes one step towards the mystical, magical and newly hatched bundle of spiritual joy and potential. It hops and jumps towards her.

She whispers tentatively: Are you who I think you are?

The chick gives her a fierce, glowing look of such love and acceptance and forgiveness that nothing else needs to be said.

The phoenix opens up her beak and the chick hops, skips and finally plops inside of her beak. No chewing, no effort is necessary. All is within.

And she is now alight. She is aflame.

She is burning, burning, burning.

And it's the most magical, wonderful and peaceful feeling in the world.

She is Abraham burning in the coolest of fires.

It is first a green flame for healing, then a pink flame for allowing herself to give and receive all that she was fearful of touching or experiencing on any meaningful level in the past.

And now it is a steady silver and violet flame. For complete transformation.

She opens her eyes, still surrounded by the Divine light in the form of an alchemical, catalytic, powerful, absolute, healing, loving and guiding flame.

And the cage is no longer made of metal. That was the illusion, a super magic trick of the analytical mind.

It is a veil. It is a veil of shadows and light and sparkly bits. It's not structured at all. It's not overwhelming at all.

Most of it was made of distorted love, confused ideas of security, protection, guidance and uprightness.

The ideology has congealed into idolatry.

In a certain sense, it never existed.

And, so, she slowly opens up her wings. She sees green and gold and pink feathers are swiftly growing in all the places where she had once plucked them out herself, or where someone had clipped them with an opinion, a disapproval, an outdated and monolithic belief system or a non-acceptance of the evolutionary, ever-changing, ever-growing and ever-accepting Divine within.

The more she spreads her plumage, the larger the cage of shadows and lights and nothingness grows.

And the moment her feathers touch the walls of the cage, it is no longer.

She sees that the room is also an illusion.

Ethereal azure sky is everywhere. That is all it is. That it is all it ever was.

The phoenix dares to lift up those brilliant wings....

She flies.

Fearlessly trusting in herself and in God. That is all that is needed for the flight to the Heavens.

***

At the mosque, as we performed all the death rituals for my father's uncle, I once again didn't belong in that paradigm.

This, of course, is not the first time I have felt the sense of separateness. I've felt it for aeons, since I was 8 years old, perhaps. But in the past, it was hugely unsettling and disconcerting, because I and the people around me kept assuming there was something "wrong" with me.

I suppose society at large can, on a subconscious level, accept rebellion to a certain degree, because the underlying presupposition is that, on a subconscious level, you are attached to and you validate the majority culture and its belief system. You only rebel and formulate a subculture of your own when you feel threatened, betrayed or unappreciated.

But yesterday, as a result of all the self-work and the shifting and the releasing I've been doing in the last two months - it was perfectly OKAY.  I didn't feel attacked, or self-conscious, or left with the urge to be judgemental and condescending about that which my fellow sisters in faith did or said or believed. It was all as it was. And I allowed it to be so without an inner, automatic reaction.

This is quite liberating, once you find that place of beingness.

I didn't censure myself, nor did I censure anyone else for being or acting the way we did. I was in my space of being, and they were in theirs. I could completely connect with them, show them love and compassion and yet maintain my uniqueness, and I made sure they did the same.

I was really glad to be able to contribute by creating an energy space where true healing and releasing and cleansing could take place. This is thanks to all the learning and wisdom I am gaining from learning about Energetic NLP, my first step on the journey in this new phase of life of mine.

Another reason for my sudden outpouring of all that is within:

Yesterday, I recalled this part of Marianne Williamson's oft-repeated passage:

Your playing small does not serve the world
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other
people won’t feel insecure around you
We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us

It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone
And as we let our own light shine we unconsciously give
other people the right to do the same
As we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others

This stuff is not unique to me: I am not the creator of it, nor am I the sole recipient of it. We all have this inner wisdom, we all have this wonderful Light within. When one person finally awakens and begins to navigate themselves and their lives from their inner wisdom and spirit, it's the sole catalyst that is required for others to recognise their own true essence. And they will probe, and seek and perhaps one day, they will awaken in their own unique manner.

In my personal relationships or when reading the books of certain authors, I am acutely aware of those who are ahead of me on their personal journeys and how they inspire me. It is unusual for me to agree or follow every single thing that they say, do or become, but just the fact that they are courageous and brilliant enough to be the very unique expression of who THEY are.... makes me think,

"Hmmm, maybe I, too, can harness that confidence, that courage, that complete TRUST in self and can at least try this new way. I can try trusting myself. I can try expressing the person I may be at this time and see where it takes me."

I also came across the following angel cards yesterday:

Be grateful for those who have opened the door before you, for they have shown you new possibilities.

Healing, when properly understood, merely means casting a firm decision in the direction of your higher self's priorities.

And, so, here is the result.

I am peeking through the first of many veils that envelop me and can see that it is time for me to lift it and move ahead.

My life coach has set for me a 21 day writing challenge in order to facilitate my cellular reprogramming. I have to write certain phrases 21 times daily for 21  continuous days.

And, so... 

♥♥♥

I lovingly forgive myself for failing to love, heal, honour, respect, cherish, trust, value, validate, support, care for, empower, liberate and awaken myself in the past.

http://www.pocketonline.net/g2engine/d/17445-1/Baby+Phoenix_001.jpg

I AM DOING THAT NOW, NOW, NOW!

♥♥♥

Piece by piece...

How does one pick up the pieces of a life or the multiple lives that you think are yours; the ones you thought you knew inside out, only to be challenged again with the very essence of your own self-concept at every turn, with every situation?

Of never being able to trust what you think, believe or feel because tomorrow will show you how deadly wrong you were? A life that's been repeatedly shattered into smithereens?

Piece by piece.

You pick them up piece by piece... if that's what you desire.

Otherwise, you let things fall apart as they will...

This healer is in dire need of divine intervention at this point.

And I make this plea public, my Lord. I've been silent for too long.