Typewriter Confessions: Claim Yourself

Begin again. This time with feeling.

I let everything and everyone into my backyard. They brought with them chainsaws, sledgehammers, and their opinions. I thought if I was able to please everyone, that surely something great would happen. It didn’t. I pleased no one. No one won. Although no human being won the title to my life as The Ultimate Influence, I still greatly feel as if some unknown entity succeeded in throwing me off balance. I tried–because of my childhood to be–excuses are everywhere. I have a choice here. Become the woman with a pen or chase the woman I thought I should be.

I love God. Before I knew God, I loved her. It was when I began to know God through other people and institutions that I thought my knowing wasn’t enough. My knowing has carried me here. Here is a place that is uncertain yet good. Uncertainty at this point gives birth to exploration. I’m trying on pieces of myself in hopes that something sticks. However, I know explorations to true self-hood are always divine journeys. Always. Rarely do these journeys make sense or are clear, but they are divine and sacred nonetheless.

Where am I going now that so many things are done? Unfortunately, nowhere. Right now, I am cleaning up all the brush and debris, removing clumps of my hacked up trees, and chasing away any stragglers. Someday, there will be room for flowers, but you can’t put flowers in rotten soil. They won’t flourish, and them, like you, will question why you wanted to grow anything in the first place.

So, what does this mean for Elohim&Esh? It means that I include everything that is currently in my soil, in an effort to purify my life, my spirit, and my relationships.

In an effort to be transparent, here’s five things about me:

  1. My name is Aisha. I believe in embodiment, especially when it comes to names. I am life. My name means beautiful. I believe that too.
  2. I believe that life is a cosmic dance. It will never make sense because we, as humans, don’t get the privilege of knowing every little detail of each others lives.
  3. I am a womanist, with no retractions to the original four part definition written by Alice Walker.
  4. I hate going to church, but I love taking communion.
  5. About a year ago I asked God to make me a tree. Since then, trees have become vastly more intricate. I don’t know how yet, but I definitely do find myself becoming more tree-like: Resilient.

Metamorphosis III

July 21, 2019

They lied to me. They said I would sprout and I would be aware of it. That didn’t happen. I felt a coldness under my shoulder blade. I felt a scratch from the inside out that I couldn’t reach, and I knew: It was time to fly. I did everything that came to mind consciously, continuously, and passionately. Every little detail I held dearly. Every decision I made rested well into my soul. Night after night I tossed and turned. Flying should never be this restless. It was worse than restlessness. It was falling knowing you were able to keep yourself up. It was Icarus. What is wrong? What is wrong? I asked myself. And what poured out were dreams deferred. Dreams that I had buried and held wonderful ceremonies for. With every decision being made firmly and no new whims, I was able to refocus on the reasons I began my shift in the first place. I recollected all the reasons why I wanted to be where I was at, and I remembered the goodness of those dreams. How me then thought that I wouldn’t get to where I’m at now, but knew I had to get there. I’m here now, and it was hard, but it was worth it. I’m doing internal and external work—spiritual and supernatural work—to be made whole in the image God has promised me. With each resurface of a dream, I cry. I cry for stagnation, frustration, uncertainty, unplanned resets, and children I wish I had. I wail for children I wish I were prepared for. Then I rest, and the scratching in my back has left. Wings don’t grow at the same length. They’re like wisdom teeth. One finally broke the skin, and I am able to get off the ground, but not for very long, and it cannot carry me. So, now I wait. I wait to see under what circumstances and when the other will break the skin. But they lied, they said I’d know my wings when I got them. I won’t, and you won’t either. I can’t be sure, but I do believe that no one’s wings grow in symmetrically perfect and full and lush. It takes determination and faith for them to sprout, and honesty and consistency to water them.

Tell me Papa, tell me that it’s not wings.

Someone recently told me that I am one of few people she knows who she believes thinks things thoroughly through. Because she associates that with a connection with the Spirit. The Spirit of God that pulls these wings out of me. It was one of the kindest things anyone has ever told me. She may not know it, but her wings are growing in quite nicely too.

We don’t know it because we don’t remember, but we are angels entertaining one another. We are magically divine because the Source of the Spirit that we come from is the most of all magically divine creatures to exist. The Spirit without creation, without birth, birthed us into forgetfulness to encourage one another to believe that we are all divine.

My, Sundays are always whimsical.