Exploring Values ~ EXPRESSION

Listen to me tell the story here on YouTube or read the text below:

My Wake Up Call

The gift of expression has always been important to me. As a child I remember sitting in the window of my mother’s bedroom looking out at our green space. There was a tree in particular I liked very much. In that window, overlooking my tree, I would write poems few desired to read. Upon finishing I would make my way throughout the house, stopping in each occupied room to recite my newest creation proudly. All of the eye rolls, the pity and the giggles passed by me like whispers on wind. Now looking back I can see and hear the pity and annoyance clearly, but in my 8-year old heart space, I could only sense the delight that one feels when sharing a piece of their soul.

When I look back at Little Khadijah I can’t help but feel perplexed and, in the end, impressed by her willingness to live completely from her heart space. Whether writing poetry, teaching spiritual concepts to my teddy bears or reaching out to people in need, I lived my truth from the core of my being. There is a delicious freedom connected to being a child. If given the opportunity children have the power to just be.

Then as time passed that passion and self-assurance began to warp into anxiety and even paralysis. Bogged down by the flood of opinions and expectations communicated via teachers, friends, family members, colleagues and passersby, my love for expression began to dwindle. My deep and even instinctive desire to belong fell into conflict with my need to use my voice. Before long I found myself asking for permission in spaces that once belonged to me and me alone.

When I went to Kindergarten I experienced a disappointing beginning. We were just learning to count to 100. Having two older siblings and an ambitious mother, I could aIready count to 100 and even read very well for my age. So I took it upon myself to let the teacher know that I would prefer to skip the exercise and do something more constructive with my time… I spent a lot of Kindergarten in time out. She promptly told my mother that I was unruly. I probably wasn’t unruly, but looking back, most likely annoying. Overtime I met with teachers that encouraged my ambition and creativity and with some who didn’t or perhaps, due to lack of resources, couldn’t, in turn.

My experience in the working world hasn’t been much different. I recently christened myself “The Little Earthquake” because everywhere I go I seem to upset the landscape. In awkward moments of injustice, I could see my teammates looking at me sweating, like “please don’t say anything” and wondering why I had to open my mouth again, and in my mind, I am answering them saying with slight desperation, “I don’t know! It just comes out and there it is and now we all have to deal with it.” I love animals, and elephants especially, as a rule. If I see one in the room, I am going to acknowledge it.

For a time this realization sent me spiraling until I had a dream.

*Warning: graphic content! The dream includes very descriptive images.

A friend and I were at a farm and met at the bar (not sure why the farm had a bar…). We decided to go outside and take a look at the animals. I could feel that others were afraid, but I didn’t know why they should be. We would be safe, I thought, because there was obviously railing.

Outside, below the railing, I could see horses. There were two women with gloves on up to their elbows. I recognized them as a doctor and her assistant. The horses were all dark brown and in a terrible state of health. The doctor and her assistant were performing amputations, perhaps to keep them alive, I thought. One horse was sprawled out on the ground, its nose and mouth had been amputated, and when I went to check the pulse I noticed there was no need. The horse had already passed. It was all a terrible sight. When I turned I saw a horse leaning against the railing, its face and body covered in bloody sores. I thought it was dead but then it walked away.

I thought, “I would never bring my horse here,” and yet I was there.

I knew others had horses there. I felt the doctor was savagely irresponsible. I knew she needed to be stopped and still I said nothing.

I had been having dreams of maimed animals. It was not the last I would have. Shamans often work with Animals Spirits and recognize each animal as having a certain power or meaning. Animals as a whole represent intuition and instinct to me. Horses, in my heart, represent compassion and action, or even compassion in action. To see these beautiful, powerful beings being destroyed really shook me.

The dream woke me up to a new understanding of the gift that I had been given, this gift of Voice and Expression. I had always seen myself as a voice for the voiceless, or better said, a voice for those who are still finding theirs. Finally, I began to understand that it is my destiny to shake up landscapes and bring opportunities to build anew.

At the beginning of May, shortly after my birthday, I watched a report on the artist Rashid Johnson. In the CNN Style article “Rashid Johnson: ‘Anxiety is part of my life. It’s something that people of color don’t really discuss as often as we should”¹ he wrote about the anxiety connected to being Black.  His words pierced me as I realized that I had never really shared my suffering out of shame. As I meditated on what I could do to be a part of the solution, I genuinely felt the words in my heart “Talk about your anxiety.” I was surprised by this answer as it had never donned on me even to tell my friends about my experiences of being subjected to racism as well as colorism. Still, there was a great truth in the answer presented to me: Expression opens the door to healing. Rashid Johnson’s door is painting while mine is writing, and his words inspired me to fulfill my desire to republish this blog.

Today our voices and our individual gifts are more important than ever. When I think about George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery and the many other lives lost at the hands of violence, I feel such a sense of urgency. Our gifts, our talents, our voices are needed. Not only is it our responsibility to stop police brutality but also to look at ourselves and our communities. Trayvon Martin and Ahmaud Arbery were killed by civilians. Most of these men and women were taken from us before they had the opportunity to use their voices, making it even more important that we raise ours.

Like so many others, over these last days, I have felt restless, wondering how I can contribute. How can I be of service? So many have fought, given up their freedom, and died, so that Black people and women, both groups I belong to, can live a life of equality and liberty.

We each of us has some gift and in answer I have chosen to use mine and to make the necessary sacrifices in order to live that light. To once again have the courage to live fearlessly from my heart space just as Little Khadijah did in her innocence.

Many spiritual teachers teach that we have our spirit and our ego. Our spirit is our true self, the person we are and are meant to be. The ego is the self we learn while moving through the world and adopting habits sometimes harmful to the soul. In my journey of expression I have chosen to take off the mantle of the ego and all of the learned messages of shame and unworthiness and, instead, to commit to and embrace the truth of my being. I have chosen to forgive myself, my past and all of the stories one repeats in order to excuse one’s indecision and complacency. I let all of that go and choose to indulge in the freedom graciously given by Goddess and demanded by my ancestors.

When I think of you all, however many or few you may be, out there reading my words, I feel a deep sense of love and gratitude. Sharing with you in this time and in this world is a gift and one that I do not take for granted.

Tell me, what is your gift? What is it you desire to express?

Get to work sharing your talents with the world.

If not now, then when?

¹ CNN Style, Personal Essay by Rashid Johnson, May 8th

https://edition.cnn.com/style/article/rashid-johnson-personal-essay-anxiety/index.html

Please feel free to check out this story:

Challenge #5 Compassion in the Face of Racism