First Awakening | Only God can Lift the Fog

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I am aware of and recognize the raw reality and responsibility individuals bear in their conception on this earth; no one is capable of genuinely caring for my well-being and spiritual ascension toward God except myself. No one else should. This universal truth is my first and most important awakening.

My thoughts are constantly about my grave and how the preparation begins now. I value the imperative of understanding this lesson before being partnered.

I will always cry to God first. Though, there are times I can be confused and yearn for human love, affection and touch. I yearn for it so I may also give back and share in the struggle; individual but united. One of my thematic strengths is being restorative; and now I’m learning the power of disengaging not only with the material world, but also people.

My narrative feels chaotic to me and has been disruptive to my healing. I have self-blamed excessively which hindered my growth. Are we not imperfect? Are we not flesh and soul, forgetful insan? So I focus on the present, because the present is His. Repentance begins when you feel shame. There is a lesson of love which God is teaching me in the most important and beneficial way. There is a hikmah intertwined with pain and it is calculated accordingly.

As I linger in a mysterious silence, I grow to see my beauty. I need not prove it to any other to feel whole. This is a painstaking but necessary process. My heart is not mine. It is His. And I will return it to Him in the most beautiful way.

I remember these Qur’anic verses:

وَمَن يَتَّقِ اللَّـهَ يَجْعَل لَّهُ مَخْرَجًا ﴿٢﴾ وَيَرْزُقْهُ مِنْ حَيْثُ لَا يَحْتَسِبُ ۚ وَمَن يَتَوَكَّلْ عَلَى اللَّـهِ فَهُوَ حَسْبُهُ ۚ إِنَّ اللَّـهَ بَالِغُ أَمْرِهِ ۚ قَدْ جَعَلَ اللَّـهُ لِكُلِّ شَيْءٍ قَدْرًا

Whoever is wary of Allah, He shall make for him a way out [of the adversities of the world and the Hereafter  and provide for him from whence he does not count upon. And whoever puts his trust in Allah, He will suffice him. Indeed Allah carries through His commands. Certainly, Allah has ordained a measure [and extent] for everything.

There is great beauty in finding and bathing in stillness during immense sorrow which carves into your being. The test bears witness to our faith as we are asked and pressured to rebuild. Surely that glimmer of hope during our shipwreck is none other than the Almighty.

There is a language between life and death. Only when we die will we truly have lived. We live and we die in every moment. Socrates has suggested that one cannot truly fulfill an examination of their life until it has ended.

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountaintop, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

-Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

Yes, only He can lift the fog.

Light as a Feather

While the seasons will undo your soul
Time forgives us and it takes control
But separate our things to put us back together

We’re light as a feather
Heavy as the weather,
If it was raining stones

Put our hands together to applaud or pray
It’s like a show was over but we’re too scared to walk away
All for the better, worse for the way

We’re light as a feather
God, You and I together
Meanwhile inside me, it was raining stones
You didn’t know
God bless your soul

We’re light as a feather
Heavy, as the weather
We’re light as a feather
God, You and I together

Wild Woman Mosaic

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i shatter again
so i collect my new parts
with a smile;
cheeks rosy – the wilderness of Wild Woman within reflecting back to me –
the prophecy.

She is a noble wolf;
teaches me the indigenous Natural Woman
and my uncontainered
compassion, fierceness, intuition, and protection.

pieces on the soil glimmer back to me, not at me;
they call out to the Mother inside,
“rebuild us, nourish us”

my pieces are me and i my pieces.
Lo and behold,
i am a mosaic!
my sharp interludes welcoming each other
driving
hatred
up the forest trees
exhausted up an opening.
and a new reality
to love
lies before Us.

She is raw Wild beauty;
and so she howls back to the Moon
and runs to the Wind.

-y

The Farm

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“there’s a certain quality of this land
it allows your heart to fall back and rest
a slowing that opens up the senses to a distinctively mannered rhythm

it’s the ease of waking up to light leaking through lace
something being brought out of you — something that perhaps is always there
but stays quiet when you’re constantly spinning your wheels

here it’s glass mugs and marbled plates
moonshine in the cupboard and apple fritters on the counter

it’s wall to wall woodblock prints in the studio
a prism of pastels and paints
and sketches offering a glimpse of things to come

it’s named and numbered bedrooms
their porcelain knobs opening up to distinct havens
each with a personality of its own

it’s an ocean of corn rising high above your head
and crunching gravel beneath old borrowed boots

sliding open a heavy metal door and breathing deep a mix of dust and hay
stepping inside the horses’ quarters before eyes adjust to tenuous shadows

it’s cows in the pasture calling out like a pickup truck
and a murder of crows squawking somewhere off in the trees

it’s climbing up hay bails and hiking up hills
walking through the zigzag paths of dragonflies and monarchs gone by

it’s looking out over the land from the highest hill it’s got, sitting on outspread coats

there’s a mix of old and new here
dusty books find their place on the shelf while the writing of another is underway

prints are poised beneath glass and frame while the outline of the next is carved

cows groan for their young in the hills as the soy beans dry gold for harvest

it’s our breath falling in sync for the first time
the pulse of our hearts beginning the tune of a rhythmic beat
cardinals diving past in pairs
our eyes shyly locked on each other
noticing something we hadn’t before

it’s not about finding something here
it’s about drinking in that golden light like fuel for the thing that’s already been born inside of you — that thing you’ve started but aren’t sure you’ll ever complete

it’s hard
and it’s beautiful
but there’s nothing for you to prove

sink back into your own skin
lean over the thing
and let it be born

because right now, this moment,
it’s all part of it
we’re all in the midst of the painstaking, glorious process”

The Art of Waiting

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nourish my art,
i will nourish your books

nurture my heart,
i will nurture yours

kiss my forehead,
i will surely plant a kiss between your gaze
soft, sweet, passionate,
supportive, and simultaneously deep and light.

i love you. i dare not explain in words.

i will give first.
i will meet you earlier
i will shatter my walls for you
i will melt into you
i will be our rock
because i can.

i wish you could see how much i would fight for you.

i’m being too forceful, though.

so,

i will nourish my art
i will nurture my heart
i will plant my forehead upon the soil,
first.

i pray for your sustenance & success to see His Face
in turn for Him to bless mine and yours.

وَأَلَّفَ بَينَ قُلوبِهِم ۚ لَو أَنفَقتَ ما فِي الأَرضِ جَميعًا ما أَلَّفتَ بَينَ قُلوبِهِم وَلٰكِنَّ اللَّهَ أَلَّفَ بَينَهُم ۚ إِنَّهُ عَزيزٌ حَكيمٌ
and united their hearts. Had you spent all that is in the earth, you could not have united their hearts, but Allah united them together. Indeed He is all-mighty, all-wise. (8:63)

 

The Blue Waters

An emerald castle
delivers her maturity.
Her mind, skeptical as
above her enumerable doves
enchant a melody.

A pen brings forth
her tongue, a playground
An undeniable tragedy.
Her ear, unknown to many.
Through speech
To testify truth too uncanny.

She plunges for The Blue Waters
Unexpectedly a deeper emerald emerges
from the shadows
of a new belonging.

Her liminal obsession
Now a preacher of heaven.
She torches a fire.
unapologetically.
And life sprouts from
a new Opening.

 

See You Sometime Soon

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I was a butterfly.
My heart was full of sorrow
My Creator knew.
Yes, He infinitely knew.

And as He relinquished
The dark that I had seen,
I flew high
So high and high.
I flew and I flew and I flew.

My yellow wings
Powdery
milk bittersweet;
flapped over timeless woods
and delighted over
the flowering of words.
How could I be amongst
A sanctuary of clouds?

My wings became seeds
My milk became sweet.
My sorrow became free.

At last
His Garden full of trusting tune.
His Garden full of  ‘See you sometime Soon.’