In my body

I wish that… the broken pieces in me be animated with the life of my soul.. that they get to feel love even as they are broken. I always pursued a dualistic kind of healing where wound and love were mutually exclusive.. I hated my pain and I didn’t want to feel it, much less make it feel love. This, while the parts of me in pain were the most parched and desperate for Allaah’s love. Yet I banished it into a purgatory limbo.. Away from the shade of divine mercy. Twisted huh? This body wasn’t meant to be holy. It’s hollow. It’s meant to be grounded in the imperfection of this world, while holding space for the soul to animate it. I… never envisioned such a coexistence. Perhaps because it’s not a model I’ve ever seen in the world. A true inner balance of feminine and masculine, of heaven and earth, of day and night, of dark and light. I wasn’t supposed to attain perfection, but I was supposed to connect to it through Allaah. But how can I do that when I’m steeped in war against what Allaah created me to be? How can I connect to Allaah through aspects I vehemently reject and blind myself to? How do I see that nothing is out of order when shame clings to my every fibre and is reflected back and reaffirmed by the outside world whenever I lag or miss a beat? How can I see what’s in the distance when I’m running for my life, from my life, frantically trying to enact the illusions forced down my throat in the hopes of acceptance?

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