Cold is shocking

October has been so painful. Ayeeyo, detox/withdrawal, readjustment, feeling all my numbed trauma that my meds helped keep at bay… Whenever I go out I find myself having to make an effort not to burst out in tears in the middle of the street. And every step feels like the last step before I collapse.

It’s one thing to dissociate from pain, to create distractions. But to have it rain down on you while you sit there, with no where to hide or run..

I was the primary caretaker of ayeeyo for the past 3 years bc I shared room with her and that gave me structure and something to do. And now everything is a void. Absolutely everything. And yet it’s not? I feel a fullness that I’m trying to ground, for the first time ever in my life. As if I’m coming home with a newborn baby without having prepared anything for it. No crib or nothing.

I feel like my legs are lined with embers. I know it passes and I’m grateful for all the wisdom I’ve gained from my healing bc it’s the only thing keeping me calm and collected. I know it’s an ugly storm but I know its function and I know it’s benevolent and I know it’ll get better.

But gosh. Having to create new neural pathways when the old, trauma-laden ones threaten you with a repeat of the past 14 years…

You know what I hate the most? I’ve had to figure this shit out completely on my own all through my late teens and all of my 20s, battling it secretly, patiently. And when people get a whiff of it, they’re quick to throw words like smothering a fire with a blanket. I know those words are borne from restlessness and a knee-jerk reaction to seeing others in pain. But those words, had I taken them in, would have smothered ME, for I was the fire and I needed to burn down. I did.

Anyway, I count the weeks. This is 6.

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.

Torus

It’s ironic.

Everytime I do something that lifts me up, or I do something I haven’t been able to do before, I always have a week of depression that follows it. Longer depending on how high I rose. Without fail.

I only took note of that recurring pattern this year. It used to cause me a lot of despair before. It’s like a step forward, ten steps back. But that wasn’t what was actually happening.

When I’m lifted, I’m also opened and places deep within that had been out of the reach of my awareness come alive, like buds to the advent of spring. Lodged and lost memories rush to the surface as what was previously dead and stagnant is animated. The paradox of believing nothing will change and the change itself, creates a great deal of uproar and tension and confusion.

I’m acclimatizing. My psyche is adapting, recalibrating, trying to pivot. Much like jet lag or inoculation or muscle ache from a new workout. Any shift has to be integrated because it not only brings something out of you, it also imbues you with new energies.

When I understand this, it’s easier to calm the panicked thoughts down that think we’re going back in time again. I hold space for my thoughts through the liminality, and it’s the most vital part because that’s before the shift takes root and when it’s most likely to be discarded. Much like the body rejecting a transplanted organ.

Motion to survive

Hope gives me a continuity. It holds my broken pieces together until I can feel it all. It gives my focus a place to land while I feel stuck, so that I can know that the terror I’m faced with isn’t my fate. It’s not forever. It’s not where I’ll end up.

Let me sink in

When you accept the pain that you’re immersed in, you also accept the divine wisdom that surrounds that pain. And while you may feel lost and confused over the meaning of this, you’re held together in the wholeness of that wisdom even if you don’t see it or feel it. If you don’t hold space for the faith in this divine wisdom which is essentially to believe good about God, fear will fill the void and hold you captive in its space. So be intentional about your feelings. They aren’t inconsequential and every effort to remain grounded and conscious will alchemize what you didn’t even know existed. Let the dominoes fall in your favour

¿Hablas love?

I wonder if the people I loved who no longer are in my life felt that love and the sincerity or did they throw out the baby with the bathwater (i.e. me)? I wonder if the random acts of love to strangers has set root in anyone? I wonder if any of those strangers still think about me from time to time?

I always feel invisible under the baggage of humanity that dismisses my love as a parasitic hallucination or mirage. I always felt like a ghost. Love is how I connect and touch another’s soul. The texture shows me my soul isn’t alone, that there are others who feel and need what I feel and need. It’s not so much about them but how my soul speaks. I wonder if I’m just speaking in tongues, to others, or if there’s a primordial recognition, even if they can’t speak back?

I’ve been dying to have another soul to speak about God with, and this odd and bewildering existence we share.

No more posts.