Buried injustices

Excavate this sadness

All the injustices

Not quite laid to rest

Jump in the graves of them

And exhume the body of grief

For your consumption?

Let’s be clear about what you’re asking for here

In my own time

I tend the graves

Of anguishes past experienced

You, grave robber

Desecrater

Have no right to visit here

It isn’t for me to dredge up the soil

Unearthing it all

Leaving the soil upturned

For what?

For you to confirm

That yes it is legitimate pain buried here?

I’m past that,

Way past asking for scraps

I’ve come to understand

That there’s a reason

You weren’t there for the burial

So when I tend the graves

Of all the injustices

Half buried before

Don’t turn up

In funeral blacks

Facimile fragility

Leaking from your eyes

You didn’t know the deceased

And your abject sadness

Are only theatrics

Done for the optics

More to the point

I don’t welcome it

Leave me to my grief

To the laying to rest of

Anguish and injustice

Stop demanding

That I uncover it

For your voyeurism

And vouchsafing

Be on your way

Stop not at these graves.

There is space for this emotion.

Take The Globe

 

person uses pen on book
Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

 

As a writer, I’ve decided to give myself freedom and permission to admit that I don’t exactly know how to write. I just know that I do. The rules of grammar, and story plotting often times escape me, I feel it’s why I do so well with poems, and perhaps essays, and very short stories, yet have struggled historically with longer stories. I have grand schemes and ideas, and things that I know are important in the story, like flashpoint in the history of the novel, and yet a very bumbling sort of meddling through method  of conveying it all.

I’m admitting this to myself, and to all of you, in the hopes that pulling down the walls of perfection that entrap my writing, will allow me to be more open to learning, and perhaps improving.

The fear of not getting things right, I’ve allowed that fear to prevent me from writing longer stories, or at least getting to the end of one, for a good too many years now.

I’m doing away with that now, and pivoting. I’ve decided to begin sharing (and complete the writing of) a novel that I started to create in 2016. It has been languishing on my desktop for a long while now because I don’t know how to bring it all together in the perfect way. I have accepted that it will not be perfect, it will be messy, and perhaps it won’t make as much sense as I would like, there may be potholes, and things won’t go exactly how I wish, and that is okay. (So far it’s been a daily practice of reminding myself this.)

If you wish to read the story you can read it here. Perhaps you could encourage me, and join me in this journey as i go from a very unpolished yet meaningful novel, to something slightly more polished.

Take The Globe

Take care,

Fine Words Weave

Money Mastermind

One of my amazing and brilliant friends had the bold and visionary idea to start a money mastermind group. It was an inspired idea to get our respective finances and money mindsets in order and we’re a couple weeks in and going strong.

Something that someone said on one of our group calls really impacted me, you know those moments where you hear something and you have to stop because the words resonate so much that it feels like they’ve physically taken hold of you and changed your perspective? So in that moment you’re silently re-examining everything you’ve ever experienced with this new possibility in mind. It was a big moment.

On the topic of something that scared us/dragged us far out of our comfort zone, I mentioned that spoken word definitely feels a whole word of scary to me, I wasn’t the only one who felt that way, on a tangent it’s interesting to me how many of my friends are “private poets” let’s call it (expressing the feelings through poetry in a very personal and not for public consumption kind of way).

The thing that blew me away? To paraphrase: “poetry is a means of you expressing how you feel, there’s no need for you to be comparing your poetry to anyone else’s, the thing that you really have to ask yourself is whether you believe your feelings matter.”

.

.

.

Wow!

Just wow. Even writing this out again from memory i’m still taken aback by it, their is so much truth in this statement, and when I ask myself, I know that on some level along the way I did learn or take on board the messaging that my feelings weren’t important.

I felt the words in my chest. Naturally I had to write about it. I’ve got some idea of where some of this messaging came from, certain life experiences etc. Saying that I also think that’s a large part of the messaging of our society, at least historically, I think things are starting to change, (though the pendulum effect might be taking place and it seems to be overcompensating and swinging really far in the direction of “my feelings matter more than anyone else’s”) .

Even still it’s such an important thing to consider whether on some level you hold a limiting belief to that effect, then having identified that, what will you do about that?

Take care

Find Words Weave

Met my Deadline, the fanfare sounds hollow

(Current background on all my devices courtesy of Knit picks with slight modification by me)

So I finally met my deadline. Yay I got my two thousand word essay submitted on time, just barely.

When coming up to a deadline does anyone else feel the pressure building and building and building… no one? Just me? *flops down with a dramatic sigh*

In a way I think I normally thrive on that pressure. The tension builds up, and I bolster myself by looking forward to that feeling of relief and joy that I usually get as soon as the essay has been submitted. However today that feeling was nowhere to be found, I submitted my paper in turnitin and I just felt like okay. That’s good. You got it done… okay.

Things just rang a bit hollow. You know? I talked myself into doing a little happy dance, just because one of my commitments to myself is to celebrate milestones along the way.

I’m wondering if the recent chapter in my life’s story book beginning its conclusion overshadowed my joy. Im not sure because in terms of that I feel very much at peace and have a deep sense of clarity and acceptance.

Maybe I pushed myself too hard towards the end and my brain just needs a reset. That happens quite often. I mean as much effort as I put into the planning, and as much as that made theessay writing easier, I did still end up writing up about one thousand eight hundred of those words between the hours of 1pm and 3:52 pm this afternoon. That’s pretty radical when i think about it.

Hmm, okay I’ve got it now. Writing is such an illuminating process. My conclusion and introduction were both very rushed, and I have a sense that they may bring my grade down, however a late submission would mean an automatic 5% deduction of my mark. So I chose to submit on time. My takeaway? Even if you have a great planning strategy, you still need to factor in time to write, proofread, and submit your essay.

Ah it’s good to have gotten a handle on my internal thouggt process through writing this. .

All day I just noticed myself being a bit slower, slightly more thoughtful, so very aware of my need in front of my Rabb, and grateful for the small things. Whilst these are all good things not being able to put my finger on why was sloghtly agitating.

Now I can happily get bavk to be grateful for things like taking my kids to nursery and not needing to lug the buggy up and down three flights of stairs, my youngest bubba is getting to be a big boy 😭😭Alhamdulillah

Take care

Azeezat Adeola,

Fine words weave

P.s. another commitment to myself is to get some writing on this blog once a week. At the very least.

Week 1 ✅

An Unstormable Knowing

One more round with the tempest.

She stands,

arms outstretched

in a daring embrace,

as she locks gaze with the eye of the storm.


Energy jitters up her spine,

and her tongue is dry.

She’s danced this whirl wind before.


Spun out over and over,

leaving breathless and dizzy,

that’s if she even leaves at all.


The tempest calls her name,

blowing temptingly in her ears.

Drawing her in just a bit.


One foot forward,

without conscious thought,

she’s already in forward motion,

Pulled in by the deceptive calm.


Still the weathered shawl of foreboding

settles on her shoulders,

and her skin pinpricks with that quiet

un-nameable sense,

that something is just out of step here.


She’s been around this tempest before,

this isn’t her first spin,

and lately she’s tired

of letting herself be reeled back in.


Emotionally battered,

mind windswept,

she’s intimately familiar

with the post-storm landscape.


The tempest howls,

the wind buffets at her mind,

the noise is reaching crescendo.


She turns inwards to the quiet within.

And asks a single question.

The answer makes steel rods of her legs

and she is at a stand still.


The question?

Is this, what you want, for your life?


Lightning fizzles

from within the tempest,

aiming at her stock still legs.

There is pain and tingling,

and the metal taste of hot electricity.

As the bolt hits at where she is grounded.


Is this what you want for your life?


Honestly,

the answer is so quiet,

it’s hard to hear it

beneath the roar of the storm.


Still it matters not,

because the answer becomes her vision.

She feels it right in the gaps.

She unstormably knows the answer

in every fiber of her.


She is steady as the tempest rolls over.

It flails and roars,

wails and hails.

Steadily drags at her core.


It comes with dark

and thunder and shuddering.

Shaky teeth,

and the shivering.


The storm is a mighty thing.

The knowing within is mightier still,

and she does not let the storm in.


She draws deep from within herself,

The strength to weather it.

At moments her legs falter,

and at times she is almost carried away

by the force of the storm,

still the unstormable knowing is her steadying.


The storm does its worst.

The knowing is unstormable.

The tempest passes.

She stands, still.


Her arms outstretched in an open embrace.

The storm has subsided.

And faintly in the post-storm ozone

she hears a new question.

What do you want for your life?

End of term

Hey loves,

 

It has been such wild twelve week ride. I’ve finished my first term of university, and it has been quite a journey.

 

I was wild with excitement at the beginning, buzzing and full of fuel, and so excited to get underway with my course. I had a beautiful moment of running up the stairs in our empty lecture theatre and calling out loudly “Counselling degree here we come” or word to that effect in my very first week. I literally could not wait to get started.

 

Then the work began, the assignments, and group projects, and reflective journals, coupled with family drama, and the usual parenting work, by week six, I’d gotten to a real low point. Just then the whole family caught the flu, at one point I was physically too sick to look after my boys.

Still eventually I regrouped, and out of the valley, I decided to start a youtube channel . Gradually I started to get back on course, digging deep to rekindle the passion for my degree programme. I kept working, and stumbled on some study methods that worked for me, pomodoro being chief amongst them, along side study vlogs and study with me’s on youtube to help me stay motivated.

And now here I am already in the winter break, and awaiting my results for some of my modules, and a 2000 word essay due for january 6.

 

Still, I want to document all of these feelings, I know I’ll look back on them someday as fond memories.

 

How are you all doing?

Did I tell you I’m recommitting to writing? Too long I let this limiting belief around my writing take root, that two year bout of writers block really took the wind out of my sails. I am embracing the wordsmith within once more, and I want to return to my first love. Novels, and short stories.

Watch this space.

2020 is a year of taking action for me bi’ithni’llah.

 

See you on the flipside

Take care,

Fine Words Weave 

 

Honest Writing

person uses pen on book
Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

One of the things that sometimes hinders my writing is, I want my writing to be honest. I am aware that my truth may not hold true for someone else, and it’s in that difference that learning and interchange can happen. Why am I writing about this?
There’s been a topic that keeps coming back to my mind, and I guess in some ways I’m afraid to write about it, publicly at least.
When I think about the reasons why, I think a lot of it is due to the fact that as a child I was repeatedly taught that “it’s not everything, that you tell to everyone”, said differently, ‘keep your business your business.’ As a child how do you judge that? How do you know what are the things you share, and what aren’t? Sometimes you choose to follow the example of the adults/ caretakers who gave you that advice. Other times you become paralysed by the indecision and decide it’s safer to not share anything with anyone.
The thing is it that by the time you become an adult with the capacity to re-examine things and make those decisions according to your judgement, you have already formed the habit of a lifetime, and might not even consider re-examining the decisions that you made as a child, that likely no longer fit your current circumstances, or perhaps even work against the life that you desperately want to lead.
I recently finished reading (listening to the audiobook ) “Maybe you should talk to someone” by Lori Gottlieb, there were so many insights and lessons within it, and days later, I feel I’m still absorbing some of the gems of it. One such point of interest was when the author mentioned her therapists use of something I had come across before but inevitably fell out of practice with. Allowing for space between an action and your response, means you can intentionally choose what that response will be, as opposed to a reaction, (which from my view is more about neurological pathways that have been so travelled that they automatically come in to effect).

Sometimes it is okay to delay your response, sometimes it is okay for your response to be, I don’t know, or ‘I’ll take some time to think about that’.

So currently I’m not completely sure when or if I will write about this topic which is weighted, and emotional and really important to me. I’m going to allow myself to sit with that uncertainty no matter how uncomfortable a feeling that is (which i could write a whole other post about) and, not let it be a driver of my decision i.e. deciding never to write about the topic, or just put it all out there just to be rid of the feeling. I’m going to give myself time to formulate a response, and then take action accordingly, and also remember that if at a later date that decision isn’t working I can re-examine it and change my course of action.

Do you have lessons from your childhood that could use some re-examining? Have you done any un-learing? What was that process like for you? Do you make space between an action and your response? How have you found that practice? Do you have different thoughts to me?

I really love thoughtful conversations, please leave your thoughts in the comments, if you’re reading this.

Take care,

Fine Words Weave

Exquisite

“Stop Digging!”

You hear in your mind

You’re not going to find gold here

Only pain and rocks and dust.

Keep digging

Just go on

Excavate and go deeper

You will find the fine pure beautiful exquisitiveness

Of your young innocent soul

Under all the dirt and soil and debris

Take it out

Shake off the dirt

It shines

So pure and Golden

It’s still you,

You’re still her

Pure

Reading through your chosen lense

accessory blur book close up

 

 

Salaam alaykum, Peace be upon you, folks,

It’s been quite a while since my last post. Our youngest is starting to find his feet, and his interest in exploring various corners of our house has kept me on my toes. Anywho, today I was reading an email by Omar Usman who writes about the Fiqh of Social Media on Mosque Inreach vs Outreach, whilst I enjoy reading his emails and find them to be full of thought provoking goodness, (hence me feeling like I need to read them when I have the time and quiet to do so with at least a little bit of concentration), I realised that this morning, at least, I was reading the article with my parental sense on. Certain phrases jumped out at me, and seemed to me to be sound advice for parenting, achieving a goal, things to do with my business…

 

Here’s one example.

“Whoever is tasked with the spiritual leadership, or shepherding, of the community must develop a vision for what that development (tarbiyyyah) process looks like over time and how to achieve it.”

This could be applied in so many different areas of life.

How many times does the lense/ mindset we currently have affect how we read things and/ or scenarios?

I’m making a commitment to write more often.

Take care,

Write to you soon, in’sha’Allah.