Ifayinka

In the months leading up to our journey to Nigeria, my husband and I would occasionally speak about some of our fears. Some things we realized were completely silly and we laughed at the fact that we entertained such thoughts. Other fears felt completely rational and wise to prepare for. One of the personal fears I had was how I would feel emotionally having my feet touch the ground in West Africa. I knew that going to West Africa was a return to my homeland, one that my ancestors did not leave voluntarily, as most of them were enslaved in order to promote Colonialism and create wealth for those who enslaved them. It is on their backs and due to their sacrificed humanity that we have the current society we live in. However, I often longed for connection to who they were before this great atrocity. I just could not accept slavery as the beginning to our story of being. Prior to our trip, I had been researching and investigating my ancestral history and genetic roots for a few years. I discovered that most of my genetic makeup was West African, with a great percentage rooted in what we now know as Nigeria. I also knew that both of my maternal grandparents were southern born, and direct descendants of enslaved Africans. I also had knowledge of my paternal ancestry and lineage which has roots in slavery, as the slaver and the enslaved. I began to read slave narratives and stories. For the period of almost a year. It is all I read. I was extremely emotional when doing my research and reading these stories and narratives. So my fear of overwhelming emotions on my visit to West Africa felt valid.

It was our last day in Nigeria that we visited the slave port in Badagry. We were on the final leg of a journey that grounded our faith, our beliefs and our practice in Ifa/Orisa Tradition. As we stood in the tiny rooms where only a few hundred years prior countless people were kept prisoner before being loaded onto ships that would carry them thousands of miles from everything they knew, I was surprised that I did not feel sadness. I took notice of the walls, the darkness, the lack of enough space to hold fifty people comfortably. I was preoccupied in my own thoughts of what the people who were brought to that place may have been thinking at the time. Why am I here? What have I done to deserve this? What is going to happen to me? There must have been countless prayers, tears, and reflections. Our tour guide was doing such a lovely job with explaining the history of the place to us, but I carry this history in my blood and my bones, so I was free to soak in my own thoughts. My husband was far more engaged in the details than I, which I am grateful for because later I would be able to learn some of the details of what we saw.

As we left the place where the holding cells were, and traveled by a small motor boat across the swampy waters to the island where the well of forgetfulness and for some of my ancestors, a cargo ship awaited. I again wondered if the emotions of sadness would rip through me, but they did not. It was a very hot day and it was a long walk to the shore but I was determined to take it. We rested at the well, and were given fresh coconut. We sat and we drank the water of the coconut and ate it’s flesh. I could smell the ocean in the air as we moved closer to the shore. 

As we reached the shore, and watched the waves come rolling in, our tour guide explained to us that we had reached what would have been known to our ancestors as “The Point Of No Return”. If people had survived up to this point, if they drank from the well of forgetfulness, if they remained docile, they would cross the threshold of the large iron bars that provided a ramp that led to the belly of the cargo ship that awaited, docked in the ocean to carry them to what we now know as The Americas. I took that thought in, and still not a tear dropped from my face, not one emotion of sadness crept up in my spirit. I removed my shoes and drew closer to the water. I stood as the waves tickled my feet. I began to feel emotion. The emotions flooded me. It was not sadness I felt. I felt reprisal. My thoughts were clear. I was standing on the shore where I had stood many moons ago in shackles. I was told that my feet would never touch this earth again. I waited hundreds of years, I went through countless obstacles to find my way back home, and I am here. I have returned. Now I must remember who I am, who I was and live in my true power. My spirit was strengthened in a way that only I can understand. I have carried the warmth and clarity of that moment with me each day since.

As elder women, we must do a better job at nurturing younger women. We have lived in our younger years making the decisions and choices we made to be positioned the way in which we are currently positioned. We did the very best we could with the circumstances we faced. Growing into womanhood and learning to stand in your own power can be quite the challenge, and we know this because we have lived through it. We also know that it was replenishing when we received love, support and encouragement from those women who came before us. 

If we truly want to leave a legacy behind, we must accept that being an elder isn’t about correcting someone and flaunting what you know and have been through in the name of sharing wisdom. Wisdom often calls for us to be steady and strong in uplifting, encouraging and being of service to those who are younger. There is no room for envy or malice concerning the blessings of our youth. That way of thinking is poisoned fruit and we cannot expect to survive as a people if we continue to serve poison to the young. It is something that is contributing to tearing our communities, tribes, and families apart. As women we know how to use our power to create or destroy accordingly. Let us utilize this ability with true wisdom.

Let us strive to be the support that we needed and in many cases was given in order to establish the esteemed lives we enjoy. If we are not willing to do that with compassion and understanding, then we should move aside and continue to expect the compassion that we refuse to show (see what I did there?) 

We must decolonize. We must tell the truth about ourselves. We must question the source of the beliefs that keep us enslaved. We must release them, and understand that we have the power to change ourselves. Ase!

2020 was a year of balance for me. I did experience some personal losses, in the beginning of the year my daughter gave birth to a stillborn son. At the end of the year my husband lost his last living grandparent to COVID-19. The old and the young returned to Orun in our family. The emotional toll of constantly being informed of the illness and death due to the pandemic was especially difficult for me. I am an emotional person and as the numbers were announced, all I could think about were the people who were left behind to deal with such an unprecedented means of coping with such losses. How can one possibly bear the burden of losing two, three, four or more family members this way? My daily prayers included them. 

As the fever pitched unrest due to the racial injustice in this country was displayed, I found myself intoxicated with yearning for the dismantling of the foundation of racism that this country was built upon, weeping for lives lived in and lost in it’s corruption. I lost my taste for politics years ago, so I found no resolve in political resolutions for spiritual problems. My prayer for my people, those of us who are descendants of the African people stolen and enslaved to build this corrupt place, is to decolonize ourselves and return to our true essence and power so that we can heal, strengthen and elevate.

Through all of these situations that gave me reason to pause, my faith was strengthened. I was blessed profoundly in 2020. As I relied upon the wisdom and guidance of Ifa to help me navigate my emotions, thoughts and actions, I was able to experience many moments of happiness and joy. I have appreciation for the wealth of having a strong family. I am grateful that we decided to ride out this past year together. I am blessed to have a life partner who loves me the way I need to be loved, and walks beside me with care and consideration. I feel blessed to mother and raise children that love each other, respect each other, and uplift each other. I am blessed to have the grace to appreciate what seems to be the smallest things, like having a yard for my beautiful grandchildren to play in so that they could enjoy fresh air, or being able to gather safely with my family, and supporting each other through our difficult times. I enjoyed the blessing of watching my mother grow older, profoundly quiet and reflective as her wisdom expands. I was blessed to be obedient to my body on the days it needed to rest, by making better choices to cultivate good health. I was blessed to successfully finish projects that were mere ideas in my mind for years, including publishing my second memoir.

There was so much to bow my head before Orisa in gratitude for. There was so much to dance with my Ancestors for. There was so much to appreciate my elders for. There was so much to rejoice with my friends and loved ones for. 

I am beginning 2021 with the light of Ifa surrounding me, blessing me, lifting me, guiding me. I sit in gratitude for all that was sacrificed and all that was received. Ase!

Iba Olodumare, The Source and Creator of all life of spirit and nature in the Universe. Iba Ori, Egun, Egbe, Irunmole, and all Orisa. Eepa Ifa! Ore yeye Osun! Ogun ye!

It was 30 years ago… 

Most of it is still fresh in my mind. I was sixteen years old. At the time, I was homeless. I stayed with friends of my then husband, who was also sixteen years old. The night before, I received a phone call from my grandmother informing me that my mother was in a coma and on life support. I was hundreds of miles away and I felt so helpless. My in-laws at the time, allowed me to stay the weekend in their home with my husband. I didn’t know what a contraction was, but I slept through most of the weekend, not knowing that I was suffering from a kidney infection. That Monday morning, I was alone in the house because everyone was working. A neighbor came to check on me, realizing that I had a pretty high fever she encouraged me to drink water. When she asked me if I was hurting, I told her that my back was hurting pretty bad. When she went to feel my back for the area, she being a mother of six children realized that I was having contractions. She put my hands on my belly and said “Do you feel how your belly is getting hard, that is a contraction. I want you to write down every time you feel one. I will try to get someone to contact your husband, and I will come back to check on you.” I was alone once again. She checked on me a few more times, insisting I drink. 

A few hours later my mother in law returned home. By that time, I was contracting regularly, about every four to five minutes, but I was too weak to get out of the bed. My mother in law, realizing what was happening, encouraged me to shower and dress for the hospital while she got my husband to secure us a ride. After getting dressed, I sat on the stairs waiting for my young husband, worried about my mother, unaware of what was only a few hours ahead for me. I was a little shocked. I wasn’t due for another five in a half weeks. I didn’t know if this was normal or not. My mother in law looked at me and asked me if I was ready. I said shyly “sure”… She chuckled and she began to try to explain to me what to expect as the hours passed. I could not hear her words, as I was exhausted and by this time in such terrible pain that I couldn’t form many words. 

My husband arrived and we began our journey to the hospital. In the back of the car, he held my hand. His hands were warm and sweaty. We did not say one word to each other. When we arrived at the hospital, I was met with a staff of frustrated nurses and doctors. They were upset at my age (another uninformed teenager) They were bothered by my religious beliefs (they hoped I understood that there were male doctors who were going to care for me) They were bothered by my ignorance (why didn’t I get there sooner so they could stop this early birth). Their frustration was felt in everything they said and did while I was in their care. As the contractions grew closer and the pain increased, I began to scream and cry. My young husband stood by my side helpless trying to comfort me to no avail. I asked him to please not touch me. Finally, a doctor came to check me. I remember him saying “We are going to break your water” I remember the warm gush and looking at my husband proclaiming “I don’t think I can do this!” 

The doctor began screaming at me “Stop pushing! Stop pushing!” but I couldn’t stop. They immediately begin to roll me out of the room and into an OR where with two pushes my very first child emerged to take her first breath on this earth, and I my first breath on a profound journey of motherhood. 

We gave her the names of her two grandmothers, Safia Zuleyka.

They did not allow her to stay with me for long after her birth. Her breathing was not steady due to her immature lungs, so she was whisked away to a special nursery. In the little time the two of us did share immediately after her birth, I remember counting her fingers and toes, inspecting every inch of her, and knowing that she was perfect. I knew in that moment if I was faced to decide between my life and hers. I would choose hers over mine without hesitation. 

My daughter decided to come to earth through me, a very young woman. She has seen me grow up right before her eyes. She has experienced me fumble through motherhood as a clueless teenager, and she has seen me stand strong and decisive as a mature woman. She has seen me at my very best and my worst. She has been one of the most constant forces of love in my life. When I look at her, I know that my life has had purpose and meaning.

Happy 30th Birthday to US!!!

She had run away again. This is what she would do when she faced difficult situations. She would run. All of the therapy, all of the meditation, all of the long talks, all of the punishments didn’t stop her from running. When she would return, she would assure us that it wasn’t a lack of love or support from us that motivated her to run. She would tell us that what she was seeking could not be found in our home. She called it adventure. Her therapist called it impulsiveness. 

We tried to address her need for adventure in a healthy way. We helped her to travel abroad. We even sent her to live with my sister in Colorado with another sister’s daughter. We enrolled her in an online charter school to give her more freedom with her time.

This time it was different. She was running because her heart was broken.  

When she returned home this time, I was emotional, and fresh out of patience. I met her with anger. I was angry that she allowed someone to push her to act careless and reckless. In my usual fashion, I began to lay out how her behavior made me feel and how disappointed in her I was. She met my fire with fire of her own. She began to tell me how she didn’t care about my feelings, and how she desired death, and ran because she needed to feel pain. She blamed herself for what she saw as a failed relationship. I didn’t listen to her. I couldn’t hear her. I didn’t understand what she was expressing. All I could see was her youth and a natural dissolve of young love, but she saw devastation. She was the perfect mixture of me and her father. She would self destruct before hurting someone else, not realizing how hurtful it is for those who love you to witness such a thing. 

This time she was running from rejection. She needed to do something dangerous and dirty to make herself feel that she deserved to be rejected. She ran because she knew that if she sat still, those of us who loved her would convince her otherwise. 

So a year later when she faced another breakup from one she loved, I didn’t stop her from running. I knew that I could not. Running was her way. I felt that if I provided a safe place for her to run to, then maybe she would not fall into the pits of self destruction or danger. So I helped her run this time. I did not fight her. I did not argue with her. I did not try to convince her to stay. I supported her running. I held her in my arms as she sobbed. I wiped her tears. I kissed her face and her head, and reminded her that she was loved by me. It was only a few hours after that when she ran for the last time. She ran to her death that night. 

One of the last things my daughter said to me was “I know that you want me to stay, but I have to go.” Almost eight years later that means so much more to me than it did when she uttered those words. I am learning to accept her destiny. 

May Olodumare, The Most High, continue to heal my heart and open my understanding. Ase! 

I remember a little while after my Iyanifa initiation, an elder priest asked me about my lineage, my odu, how long have I been initiated. How long have I been practicing Ifa? Who introduced me to it? My hesitation in answering the questions was not for lack of knowledge. My hesitation was because none of that information would adequately describe my personal journey. None of that information helps one to understand who I am, and how Ifa manifests in my life. Having knowledge of someone’s odu does not replace this, unless you were there on the mat with them and privy to the messages they received concerning their personal destiny. 

None of that information tells of my own spiritual walk or the work that I do on a daily basis to develop and grow. It doesn’t speak to my work ethic, my integrity, or my character. 

None of that information sheds light on the deeply rooted teachings that have been handed to me since birth, from a tribe of elders, most of whom have transitioned to Orun (Realm of Spirit), who walked this earth with impeccable character. They were not priests, yet helped to form my own core belief system. It was their teachings that led me straight to my own priesthood. They were such a force in my life, that everything I learn, and do has their fingerprints all over it. I would not be the woman I am without their love and guidance. I would not be the mother I am without their love and guidance. I would not be the wife I am without their love and guidance. I would not be the priest I am without their love and guidance. Without them, I would not be the gem I am.

My beloved Egungun (Ancestors) has been heavy on my mind lately. They were the people in my life, who many would consider as an inner circle, I think of them more like a core circle, because I feel that without them, there is no me. They are the ones who have generously shared their understanding of love and wisdom with me. They poured the richest parts of themselves into me with grace. I am thankful. I pray that I am able to embrace those who are placed in my hands to care for with integrity and warmth, just as I was. Ase

If you truly have interest in knowing someone, spend time with them, have conversations with them, work with them. It is distasteful to me that sometimes Ifa/ Orisa Tradition is understood like an Africanized version of Abrahamic religions. I am in no way saying that there is no substance and form in Ifa/ Orisa practice, but far too often it seems to be forgotten that Ifa is life. It is alive. Life is lived in each moment of existence. Having a map in your hand and looking at it can never replace the experience of being on the road.

May we develop true bonds of kinship based in compassion and understanding with each other. Ase.

I wonder how on earth was I able to give birth seven out of eight times, in a hospital safely without any major medical intervention? It is nothing short of a miracle. I remember being told that I was high risk and needed to be induced with six of my eight times giving birth. I later learned that I never had the condition they suspected, Lupus. With each conception, pregnancy and birth, I learned something. I carry those very dear lessons with me and am grateful that I was able to learn them without losing my life in the process. Far too often this is not the case.

At the age of sixteen, I gave birth without any support. I was hundreds of miles away from the women in my tribe and completely unprepared for the gravity of childbirth. The only thing I remembered was the pain and feeling helpless. I was determined to never feel that way again, so I began to try and understand from a spiritual perspective the ins and outs of birth. 

The second pregnancy brought me the lesson of following my own instinct, as I spiked a very high fever early in my pregnancy, my mother suggested I go to a hospital to make sure that everything was okay. At the hospital, I was told that there was no viable pregnancy, just an empty sac. As I was being prepared for a DNC, something told me to run out of that hospital, and I listened. I went to get a second opinion days later that confirmed through ultrasound my daughter’s beating heart. 

The third pregnancy helped me to understand that the energy that you carry while pregnant, manifests in the spirit of the child. I struggled with depression, and it took a great deal of inner work to create positive thoughts and loving feelings. I did it for the sake of my unborn child. I realized that the love and responsibility I felt for the human being growing inside of my body was greater than my outer circumstances. I did seek help, and get through the difficult times. In her lifetime, my daughter was one of the most loving people I have known on earth.

It wasn’t until my fourth time giving birth that I had the support of my mother, and realized the strength of her presence and support in the room with me. Having her support not only provided peace, but allowed me to relax and be present. I was able to harness so much strength, that with one push my daughter was born. I did not experience pain, I experienced spiritual femine power.

By the fifth time giving birth, I wanted nothing more than to give birth at home, but settled for a midwife and birth center that was connected to a hospital. It was the only way they would agree to take me on as a patient since I was labeled as high risk due to the Lupus (that I didn’t have). I was treated so well by the midwives that I first felt the call to do birthwork. With this pregnancy and birth, I learned that our babies are part of our body and when we effectively communicate with them, they respond. My son listened to my plea to come quickly. When he was born, he knew me. He knew my voice. No one else could touch him or communicate with him or he cried. 

During my sixth pregnancy, I learned about the power that we have over our wombs. I was going through a divorce. My body responded by bleeding, I was four months pregnant. A woman who was close to me at the time, spoke with wisdom and told me that I was the one creating the threatened miscarriage of my baby because I was disgruntled with his father and had no desire to carry him in my body. She instructed me to meditate and pray. She instructed me to fight for the life of my child by speaking love and life into him. I listened and within a week the bleeding stopped. 

I learned the patience while giving birth to my seventh child. I learned that babies come when they are ready. After weeks of doctors telling me how ripe and ready my cervix was, and to be ready to come to the hospital at any moment to give birth, that boy did not budge. I walked around for two weeks with a 4 cm dilated cervix. When he was ready, the doctor felt so bad that she planned to break my bag of water to get things “moving”. Just as she was prepping for that, it broke on  its own.

With my eighth birth, I decided to get an epidural because I had never had one and I knew that this would be the last time I would give birth. I had been on the road traveling. I rode six hundred miles in a car and I was exhausted. When an epidural was suggested so that I could rest, I did not hesitate to get it. I was able to sleep, but I learned that what is good for one person can be a total disaster for another. I also learned the importance of making informed decisions. The after effects of the epidural were a disaster for me. I developed a spinal headache that left me ill equipped to care for my newborn.

The birth that motivated me into becoming a Birthworker was the birth of my very first grandchild. With the birth of my grandchild, I saw up close and personal racial discrimination, medical negligence, and downright criminal activity. Although my daughter had the support of me and her sisters, our voices were muted. We were treated like a bunch of uneducated fools who had no knowledge of the intricacies of birth. We were helpless. We did what we could to support my daughter’s decisions, but each time a medical professional walked into that room they came with an agenda of their own. It felt like a war zone. I watched as my daughter was pressured each time someone walked into her room to get an epidural. Each time she refused, she was treated harshly and shamed. I witnessed nurses hold her legs while a male doctor forced a cervical examination on her as she cried and pleaded for him not to. I witnessed nurses attempt to undermine her decisions to give birth how she felt was best by attempting to guilt her and into considering their experience and not her own. I was so repulsed by what I witnessed. I wondered what would have occurred if my daughter didn’t have me and her sisters with her. What would have occurred if she didn’t have the support of us in her very reasonable wishes for the birth of her child. I knew that I had to respond to the call of being a birthworker. I knew I had to be an advocate and source of support and guidance for the women, who like myself once were forced to give birth feeling alone and in pain. 

Today I shed tears. My heart broke, and I cried tears of frustration, knowing that shedding tears is not enough. Once again I learned of a pregnant black woman who lost her life and the life of her unborn baby. She didn’t get the opportunity to write her birth story. She didn’t get the opportunity to share the invaluable wisdom she gained through bringing forth life. That was taken from her. There are countless stories of how recklessly black women are treated from the moment they conceive precious life, until that life manifests through birth. We are not valued. We are not listened to. We are not believed. We are not cared for. We are not appreciated. One life lost is far too much of a cost. We desperately need to create a safe space for black women to create, carry and bring forth life in a compassionate and supportive environment. May those of us who are black women, and have been called to do birthwork have the strength to continue to uplift our sisters. May we have the strength to fight through the prejudices, and create environments of healing and acceptance so that we can live on.

Some of us have worked tirelessly for so many years to “fit in” and to “be accepted” by a system of living that does not truly work for us, or have our best interest at heart. We have become comfortable in the dysfunction of being hated to the point that we cannot imagine another way of being. We have learned to ignore the virtuous values handed to us by our elders and ancestors. We have replaced them with values that starve the very core of us, and intoxicate us with the false sense of security of thinking that if we only do a little more to feed the beast, it will not eat us alive.

I am urging us beautiful melanated people, to utilize this unique moment in time to do what we must to decolonize ourselves. Everything that glitters ain’t gold. It is a blessing that the coverings are being snatched off of every single institution in this country, showing the truth of what we have endured for centuries. Once the truth is revealed, I urge us not pacify ourselves back into a state of denial. I urge us to understand that, for every apology that is made and every racial injustice that is exposed, it is only being addressed because they have been caught with their hands in the cookie jar of systemic racism. It is a mighty egotistical feeling of power when you are one who is benefitting from it. Eyes close, mouths shut, ears plug easily so that nothing truly changes. We cannot afford for this to be the new short lived awakening with the life cycle of a social media minute.

I urge us to throw it all away, everything that does not work for our goodness, health and equity. We have to find a way to educate our own children and not just with information. We have to teach them the importance of and how to have healthy and strong minds. We have to learn our true history so that we can pass it along to them to learn from. We have to take care of our elders, we must listen to them, even as they express their mistakes. We cannot afford to dismiss the wisdom of those who have spiritual insight because they don’t have a degree. We have to be in harmony with Mother Earth again, her energy, and her remedies are what help sustain our lives. We have to lose our taste for the things that poison us. We have to remember how to love each other, and care for each other. We cannot accept abuse and violence. We must learn to protect our spirits, and pay attention to what we allow to influence us, and our children. 

I urge us to take this time to ask ourselves, if we are to return to this earth intact four hundred years from now, what do we want to see for our descendants? Then ask what we can do to make that happen? I urge us to widen the circle of communication, and have this conversation with each other, and find concrete ways to put our intentions and thoughts to action.

When you look at her, you may see an aging woman with a round smooth skinned face and silver gray hair. You may see that she walks very slowly with the assistance of a cane, dragging the right side of her heavy body. There are scars on her right foot, and her right arm dangles like a limb left frozen in time, from the many years of being impaired and paralyzed. You may see a lady who doesn’t say much, and when she speaks, her words are slurred and barely understandable, this all from a body stricken with strokes. Her mind and body ravaged by a deafening stillness. You may find her often draped in colorful materials, sometimes with her head wrapped in elaborate coverings of her own design. There is no shame in her smile, it is the most genuine. 

When I look at her, I see her story. I feel the memories of her. I see a young mother holding tightly the hands of her two baby girls on a night walk, telling them about the moon. Telling them about how alive it was. Telling them that it was powerful and present. I see a young woman who loved to take long hot bubble baths, and fill an old worn bathroom with lit candles, making it a magical place of calmness. Taking the time to oil her dark chocolate skin and dress it in the finest clothes. I see a young woman who loved her Africanness, and lived to dance to the heartbeat of her lover’s drum. I see a woman who walked a mile through a blizzard, walked three miles to and from work in dedication to her work as a cosmetologist and drug counselor for adolescents, because she put her whole self in everything she did. I see a woman who turned her deepest pain into strength and allowed her voice to be an instrument in helping everyone who could hear her music. She loved hard and true, lacking not one bit in creativity and craft. 

And when they said she would die, she lived. When they said she would die, she lived. When they said she would die, she lived. Her mother is gone, her father is gone, a daughter is gone, a granddaughter is gone, her brothers are gone, her lovers are gone, the closest friends are gone, and she is still here. She sits quietly, writing down her thoughts, keeping her emotions close to her, observing and preparing for the day that she can dance freely once more. Silently pouring all of her love and goodness into those who will carry her forward.

I am so blessed to have come to earth through the portal of this woman’s womb. My forever love, supporter, prayer warrior, compass, and shero. My Mama Dee.

When I first sat on the divination mat as a client, one of the concepts I had trouble embracing was that I had enemies. Let alone that they were hiding in plain sight, under the disguise of love. I remember going through the messages I received with my husband and saying to him that I couldn’t imagine that anyone who truly knew me would wish me harm. I do not have a great deal of close friends. There were very few people in my inner circle, and most of them were blood relatives. I struggled with the possibility of it. However, I knew that it was important for me to trust the answers I was given to the prayers I had made to be shown the truth. My motto was, “You don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to”. I did the ebo (sacrifice) that was prescribed and went on my way. Not fully understanding the power of the door that was unlocked for me, I turned my focus to working on the things that were told to me to personally work on to better my situation. The truth was not immediately shown to me, but eventually the coverings began to fall off, and I was shown one by one, every single message that Ifa revealed to me, including who my enemies were.

If someone would have told me then that the people who I was convinced were bonded to me would be who they are to me today, I would probably laugh in their face. 

I had to learn that some who see you evolve and make changes in your life that elevate your spirit, will attempt to diminish that evolution because they view it as a threat to the way they need to perceive you. I learned that some people want a front row seat to watch your pain and suffering, not because they want to comfort you or help you through it, but because they have a need to identify with that pain. I learned that some people are so encapsulated in their way of thinking that they become hardened like stone, and view your fluidity as a threat to their reality. I learned that some people want to learn your weaknesses so that they can exploit them for their own desire to feel that they are above you. Some people want to love you, but their addiction to envy, lying, gossip, malice, fear, grudges, disfunction, and self righteousness is far more important than having a true connection with or seeing you. I had to learn that the people who carry this type of energy are enemies, and Ifa showed me who they were in my life. 

Knowing who your enemies are is one thing, knowing what to do with that realization is another. I had to learn to be okay with the truth, and not fall into the trap of fueling the fire of hurt and disappointment. I needed to see my responsibility in keeping unhealthy relationships thriving. I had to learn how to protect myself in spirit and nature from the stench of ill will towards me. I had to learn that winning the war sometimes comes through losing a few battles. The war has everything to do with me defeating my own personal demons, and answering the call to walk in my purpose and destiny here on earth. 

At the end of the day people are people. As long as there is life, there is the possibility for change, redemption, and forgiveness. The wisdom in not getting caught up in what someone else is doing to you, or feels and thinks about you, is giving yourself the freedom of not becoming attached to the very spirits they are entertaining that cause them to not see you. Don’t feed the negativity with your thoughts, emotions, and behavior. Know that the true enemy resides in the spirits that the people feed, most of the time those spirits are so grotesque and heavy, the people are in need of being released from them. Pray that they find their way to healing. Remember that you are shown the truth so that you know what you are dealing with, and you are given a remedy of how to deal with it. There is power in being gracious and walking away with love in your heart for the person, while rejecting that which is meant to bring you harm. There is power in honoring where you truly stand with someone and accepting that truth. 

May Olodumare continue to bless all of our lives. Ase! May Ifa continue to show us the truth. Ase! May Ogun keep us strong. Ase! May Osun continue to heal that which hurts us and replace our hurt with joy. Ase! May we always have the support and guidance of Ori, Egungun, Egbe, Irunmole, and Orisa. Ase!