Meaning towers over you

In silence, I hear the deep pain reverberating through the earth, absorbed through the aching feet of people whose bodies express their pain for them. Through the noise I feel the extreme incongruence embedded in social conventions that like a game of Jenga people are hoping they can keep playing without it collapsing on them.

It never made sense to fixate on a compartmentalized life when I can hear the din over the walls. I tried, but I could never fool myself into believing the illusions. Maybe that’s also why I haven’t married yet. It’s impossible to believe someone’s hollow words that are meant to seal me off into a niche.

I don’t know if pain brings clairvoyance or if clairvoyance brings pain but I realized too late that all my peering into the voids also magnetized to me the shadow forms and unclaimed pain that are like massive land fills of the collective’s energy.

The other day I joked with my therapist that it’s not only I that come to these sessions but all the unhealed aspects from ancestral trauma and unresolved conflicts in Somalis. I bring them to my sessions to release what I couldn’t metabolize through my intellect alone. It’s through these alchemical transmutations that I often gain insight into us, into our people. The noise has been tuned out to reveal the harmony in the sound. The image has been made symmetrical. It’s easy to see the potentiality in all things then.

I thought this path was going to be easier, but I accessed things that carry a hefty import tax, and I’m still paying off the debt of insights that I’m not entirely sure what I’m meant to do with?

I asked myself the other day if I’d have felt fulfilled in the conventional realities I so often compare myself to, and I wouldn’t. I guess being filled and feeling full also means that you don’t get to cut out what you don’t like. You have to taste all the flavours to develop a rich palate. You have to allow the opposites to co-exist because they give each other meaning and definition. I’m not here to define things, only to experience things as they already have been defined.

Perhaps the grief of our age is that definition often decontextualizes the opposites. Detached intellect compartmentalizing what was created concurrently. The connection is lost, and all we’re left with are pieces stacked on each other, like the Tower of Babel, like a game of Jenga. Building constructs that no one can inhabit or embody.

A fear born of love

Taqwa is not a dread of God, a hypervigilant fear of the unexpected things He may decide to do to you. It’s the fear of losing the wholeness and protective love you’re immersed in through His awareness because you crave it and need it to tolerate this worldly life. It’s the fear of falling from grace, of being shut out from that garden, not through being booted out, but through blocking out awareness, slipping into walking sleep.

Love makes you vulnerable because your heart is exposed and attached. But a taqwa that comes from a preemptive self-punishment because you think Allaah punishes by default unless you give Him a reason not to – that isn’t taqwa. It’s a rigidity that leads to hate eventually. It always does. Always.

إِنَّ الدِّينَ يُسْرٌ وَلَنْ يُشَادَّ الدِّينَ أَحَدٌ إِلَّا غَلَبَهُ فَسَدِّدُوا وَقَارِبُوا وَأَبْشِرُوا وَاسْتَعِينُوا بِالْغَدْوَةِ وَالرَّوْحَةِ وَشَيْءٍ مِنْ الدُّلْجَةِ

Abu Huraira reported: The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “Verily, the religion is easy and no one burdens himself in religion but that it overwhelms him. Follow the right course, seek closeness to Allah, give glad tidings, and seek help for worship in the morning and evening and a part of the night.”

Source

Ease. Closeness. Glad tidings. Seek help. Seek. Help.

The praxis of the deen may be summed up in those words. But that won’t sit right if we have healing to do, if our fitra has been tampered with and traumatized such that we are attuned to a hellish reality that makes the divine reality seem like a wistful fantasy.

Postmodernism and Islaam

I wonder how postmodernism has changed Muslims way of relating to Allaah and the deen.

The Qur’aan was expressed in a medium that is based on the balanced and healthy perception of fitrah in a time that centered the fitrah. Any internal fragmentation of the whole, whether through trauma or narcissism, distorts the very medium through which we interact with the Qur’aan through. This isn’t an individual pathology, but a social one where we’re socialized into discarding the wisdom of the organic self (fitrah) as primitive and reducing the self to adapt to a reductivist worldview. What was previously integrated and symmetrical becomes displaced and interferes with the central space where we receive and digest information: the heart. We gain a boatload of information that is decontextualized and boundless. It adds noise that distorts the sound of truth.

هُوَ ٱلَّذِىٓ أَنزَلَ عَلَيْكَ ٱلْكِتَٰبَ مِنْهُ ءَايَٰتٌ مُّحْكَمَٰتٌ هُنَّ أُمُّ ٱلْكِتَٰبِ وَأُخَرُ مُتَشَٰبِهَٰتٌ فَأَمَّا ٱلَّذِينَ فِى قُلُوبِهِمْ زَيْغٌ فَيَتَّبِعُونَ مَا تَشَٰبَهَ مِنْهُ ٱبْتِغَآءَ ٱلْفِتْنَةِ وَٱبْتِغَآءَ تَأْوِيلِهِۦ وَمَا يَعْلَمُ تَأْوِيلَهُۥٓ إِلَّا ٱللَّهُ وَٱلرَّٰسِخُونَ فِى ٱلْعِلْمِ يَقُولُونَ ءَامَنَّا بِهِۦ كُلٌّ مِّنْ عِندِ رَبِّنَا وَمَا يَذَّكَّرُ إِلَّآ أُو۟لُوا۟ ٱلْأَلْبَٰبِ

{It is He who has sent down to you, [O Muhammad], the Book; in it are verses [that are] precise – they are the foundation of the Book – and others unspecific. As for those in whose hearts is deviation [from truth], they will follow that of it which is unspecific, seeking discord and seeking an interpretation [suitable to them]. And no one knows its [true] interpretation except Allah. But those firm in knowledge say, “We believe in it. All [of it] is from our Lord.” And no one will be reminded except those of understanding.}

[Aali-Imraan:7]

When our will is split, so is our focus. We become ungrounded in truth, and illusion invades. I’m reminded of Søren Kierkegaard’s book title Purity of Heart Is to Will One Thing. That’s the fitrah. It’s to be tuned into the reality of WHAT IS and not a second-order of illusion projected on the world to escape what is through representation, interpretation, expectation or anticipation. It’s the perception of reality as it is in this present moment.

To the degree that our focus is split, we become increasingly automated and unconscious in worship. It becomes a mechanical process signified by a linearity that leads back to the self instead of connecting the self to Allaah. Worship then becomes an instrument of blocking out awareness and numbing the discord that exists within.

The fitrah remains buried in the unattended rubble, and a false self takes on a managerial role of simulating worship where the person does what they THINK worship is and should be like. Their heart is nowhere in the equation, and neither is intention which is mindfulness. Instead worship becomes absorbed by the current day epistemological crisis of meaning brought about by postmodernism and late stage capitalism where reality has to be visually represented to be real. Only what can be ascertained and assured is pursued. Only what can be tokenized and consumed is deemed real. Only what can be measured and has some sort of exchange value has value. The end goal of worship then is mediated by this hyperreality that dictates how we interact with and navigate our subjective experience of life itself. We then find ourselves fighting to scrutinize ourselves for fear of losing the image of a productive worship that gives us a consistent identity (I’m the one who seeks knowledge/teaches the Qur’aan/prays tahajjud/wears niqab). Worship is aestheticized.

I’m reminded of the verse in suraah an-nisaa [119]

وَلَأُضِلَّنَّهُمْ وَلَأُمَنِّيَنَّهُمْ وَلَءَامُرَنَّهُمْ فَلَيُبَتِّكُنَّ ءَاذَانَ ٱلْأَنْعَٰمِ وَلَءَامُرَنَّهُمْ فَلَيُغَيِّرُنَّ خَلْقَ ٱللَّهِ وَمَن يَتَّخِذِ ٱلشَّيْطَٰنَ وَلِيًّا مِّن دُونِ ٱللَّهِ فَقَدْ خَسِرَ خُسْرَانًا مُّبِينًا

{Verily, I will mislead them, and surely, I will arouse in them false desires; and certainly, I will order them to slit the ears of cattle, and indeed I will order them to change the nature created by Allah.” And whoever takes Shaitan (Satan) as a Wali (protector or helper) instead of Allah, has surely suffered a manifest loss.}

This is a crisis in epistemology that inverts the experience of truth and leads to the manufacture of what imitates meaning. False desires, desires that aren’t connected to organic need but that one is sold on hypnotically. Capitalism, hyperconsumerism. And it all stems from losing touch with reality, with not being able to discern one’s experiences to see whether they’re congruent. That split-off creates fractals of fragmentation on the macrocosmic level. Corruption.

The types of energetic blocks

There are two types of energetic blocks that create hinder in one’s life:

a) resistance to awareness for fear that it’ll dissolve control which is the ego’s only claim to power

b) sabotaging the flow of kinetic energy with an overly analytical mind that doubts what it can’t see.

The dissolution of a) comes from surrendering to Allaah, the Divine who is omnipotent so that you can feel safe knowing that the universe won’t crumble if you stop holding up the status quo

b) comes from the courage to shift your value system from extrinsic motivation which is rooted in imagery and codependence on the feeling that people generate from the images you put out. That’s why you’re outcome fixated. Your mind has convinced you that if an outcome ‘flops’ you’ll find yourself cut off and in an energetic purgatory. That emptiness is the dissociation from your own body which you’re constantly running away from and seeking out others who are more grounded and thus capable of movement which is basically generation.

Faith is what you need to overcome that abyss of doubt. Sow seeds of faith inside yourself. I don’t mean “believe in yourself” I mean, trust your heart and that it’s far, far more intelligent than your mind bc it can perceive things before they become patterns and tangibles.

Inthrough you

I had a dream, many years ago, in which I was back at my old school (Islamic) in between a group of 3 religious sisters wearing niqaab, and 4 brothers wearing khamiis. Before us, at a distance was a block of rocky hills that were quite steep. My eye caught something, someone, camouflaged very well in the middle of the rocks, with its side facing us. I realized it was Iblees. Just as I was about to raise alarm, he broke free from the camouflage, swiveled forward and started breaking off chunks of the hills to throw at us. I told the groups to start running but to keep close to me. I was reading Qur’aan, perhaps aayatul kursi, and it created a protective field of light around us as we ran. For some reason, the field was only emanating from me.

I remember this dream as I had a realization that evil is stagnant and exerts its influence through being hidden and not alerting people to its true source. Awareness can’t be contained and power is static. That’s why manipulation and mind control are tools used by these forces. They induce trauma to shut the person down so that they can’t move in a cohesive manner. They trigger the amygdala, which is the offswitch of the human brain because it hijacks the rest of the brain and in particular, the frontal lobe which houses impulse control, future planning (executive functions) sequencing and comparing, attention, speech, memory formation, analyzing feelings of others.

I speculate that the frontal lobe is the masculine energy and the amygdala (arousal, memory, hormone secretion, emotional response) is the feminine. When the feminine is triggered, the masculine is hijacked and made inept.

Perhaps the two groups represented the masculine and feminine energies of my psyche and that through balancing them and leading them, the demonic attacks would be harmless.

Rich in losses

I’ve been going to therapy for 3 years, mainly to understand this ancestral baggage of Somalinimo. What I’ve learnt through what was activated and constellated and entangled in my psychic drama I’ve never heard or read it explained anywhere.

Something really stranged entered my psyche when I felt compelled to go to Somalia on a whim in the summer of 2004. It’s like I’ve been weaving or sewing or knitting things I’ve absorbed and observed along the way ; baadiye, townships in Somalia, the diaspora in Kenya, The West and Arab countries. I didn’t know, but I realize I was on an extensive field research commissioned by the divine.

Intense curiosity and passion that threatened to destroy me if I even thought about diverting from that path. You know I tried.

That’s why I trust in the divine wisdom. I see things playing out that I was being prepped for a decade in advance. I’d never have seen it if I gave up trust or hope.

Annihilation

I’ve had one singular desire buzzing in the backdrop of my life, ever since before I could even talk. It’s like an amniotic fluid, a placenta surrounding me, protecting me until I was able to handle the nature of this world without becoming of it.

The desire to bloom.

I interpreted this in various ways according to my level of understanding and consciousness, but also according to what wouldn’t estrange me from the society. There’s nothing I feared more than desertion.

But, this vision that held me together refused to be reduced to anything other than the true expression of its essence. It refused to conform to me, my ego, my thoughts, my dreams, my fears.

With it, I felt complete, I felt abundant, I felt resilient, I felt accepted, I felt loved. I tried walking away from that to just take my space in society, go through the motions, but having had a taste of that vibrancy, everything felt gloomy and dead. I couldn’t conjure up reasons to persist in hamster-wheeling.

After many detours and planting myself in backyards of others, thinking I could somehow *create* that garden by giving everyone what they desired (the naivety!), I finally realized that there’s simply no way around serving this heart that spoke in a language that was unintelligible but felt right. I knew the next step, but that was about it. I had to download each new phase, energetically.

I had to birth the path emotionally.

In the end, I found the configurations of my garden. It didn’t look like a garden. More like an obstacle course. If you’ve seen Annihilation, my “garden” was basically the inside of that translucent, rainbow dome. It was hella weird. Crocodile-infested swamps. Monsters disfigured from refracted signals of trauma that kept boomeranging back instead of being let free. A dark, humid jungle. The Land of My Shadows. And somehow at the core of it all is where I was supposed to go.

Against all odds, I made it. But there’s no garden! I spent how many years on this impossible odyssey under the impression that it’ll all be worth it because a garden was waiting for me, and now I’m basically faced with a unassembled IKEA universe????

I was angry with Allaah. I felt hurt and duped. Hoodwinked. I asked Him why? What was the point of this elaborate maze when You could just have let me die back then? What’s the point with all this suffering and wild goose chase?

I let it rip. I had carried it for so long, fearful of the repercussions of speaking it. The blasphemy. But I reiterated, I’m not blaming You. I trust and love You, but this doesn’t sit well with me.

Turns out, it didn’t sit well with me because I was carrying assumptions that my mind had drawn with the intention of being helpful by filling in the blanks. Remember what I said about only receiving one step at a time? Apparently, my mind had been tinkering with the negative space and filled it with logical or hypothetical sequences.

Bless you. Intelligence doesn’t work in this realm. At. All. Any more than lungs work in the ocean. It’s a different dimension. I have to be still. I have to make space. I have to listen. And how do you do that with an overactive mind that works faster than the incoming information?

This was my battle. Squished between that mind and this relentless heart.

I accepted the reality and necessity of what I was faced with. I had to clean out the land, change the soil, heal the soil. Pray for seeds of inspiration. Make room. Plant them. Pray for protection. For nurture. For rain. Fend off predators. Set up fences and boundaries.

Wait.

Fend off the acidic rain of doubt and hopelessness from my mind on my heart.

The resurrection of the divine feminine energy was waiting to bloom and I had to stand guard. The rejuvenation of the earth needed it. Needed to be protected from the invasive Mind that had mapped ever single inch and left no space for imagination or inspiration. Clogged.

I write to pass the time. I pray. I truly don’t know what the morrow will bring. I stay focused on the present moment and on balance to avoid getting sucked into the torrent in my mind which is tuned into the external world. It’s a shitstorm out there. But not in here. It took me decades to reach this place. I’m not letting threats on the horizon make me run now.

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