a w a r e n e s s

To sense. Intuition. Words are not enough, but it’s in your bones.

Imagine this.

Sand between your feet. You bend to pick a handful of it. The scent of salt and warm air, the humidity around your face like a warm sauna. You open your eyes and there are miles and miles of ocean as far as the sun rises and sets. You can almost taste the salt of the water.

You have an awareness that this is the beach. You’ve felt all the elements; sand, salt, humidity, heat and water. Given these five combinations, it could have been anything else. But you can feel it in your bones, this is the beach.

Today, I feel tired. Not particularly sad or happy. My being is just tired. I know this because things are a bit slow today, and writing this took a little longer. I can tell because last night was such a long, long night and I was exhausted from the sheer effort of existing.

Moving forward, I would like to feel strong. I’m not asking for happiness. The happiness I seek is constant and not for this world. I know my depression will be a constant and this is my cross to bear. But I don’t know what it means to feel strong, to feel like I’ve got this. To feel this way, maybe I have to ground myself to the earth. To grow roots when wounded. To know me through knowing God, and till the fertile earth of God’s love for me. To grow roots when wounded means planting myself in this fertile earth and dousing myself in self-compassion — a sympathetic consciousness of what my pain is and working to dismantle and alleviate it. To truly break this down, this means developing an intimate relationship with my prayer, and God’s word for me (and all of mankind). This also means learning and affirming who I am in God’s eyes. But also, breaking down my ego [nafs] and understanding it’s a gatekeeper of my trauma. In short, there is so much work to be done and it’s a journey of a lifetime.

I don’t know when the journey will end, or where I’ll be when it does. But I hope at the end of this journey, my Rabb will help me make sense of this pain and give me the things my heart wants.

A retired pandemic blog. Find me on substack at The Fajr Collective. Still writing about Loving Him, reconciling myself and healing.