Ifayinka

In the way I believe, colonization is rooted in racism. If we were ever to be truly free, we must be willing to do the very difficult task of decolonizing and detaching from the very thing that keeps us enslaved. It isn’t my work to teach the racist how not to be one. Racism to me is a spirit much like greed, envy, and malice. It’s an unhealthy, addictive and intoxicating spirit. I find that people who believe in it are so deeply confirmed in it, they have no desire to let it go. 

My dear, beautiful Africans in America, I know that we are tired of this racist environment that has caused so much pain and distress since its inception. I know that we are weary from being captives in a society that uses our bodies, intellect, and creativity as the table it eats upon, with no consideration for our humanity. I also know that we must help dismantle it, detach from it, and heal. I also know that there is no such thing as a one size fits all when it comes to healing. Sometimes healing is through the tests of Esu, the winds of Oya, the fire of Shango, the coolness of Obatala, the wisdom of Orunmila, the strength of Ogun, the sweetness and comfort of Osun, the generosity of Olokun, and much much more. I do not sit in judgement of how any of us are processing this moment in time, because I trust in Divine providence and destiny.

My work is to continue to decolonize my mind, spirit and body from this destructive force that does not serve balance to me. My work is to stand graciously in honoring the knowing that my Egungun passed to me, which lives through the memories encoded in my DNA. My work is to love us, to love everything that is decent, diverse, and wholesome about us. My work is to do what I can to help uplift us, by creating an environment of awareness and accountability in my home, with my family, with my tribe, and with my community.

May Olodumare bless us to walk in goodness and stand in truth. Ase! May we have the support of Ori, Egbe, Egun, Ifa, Irunmole and Orisa to do what we are meant to. Ase!

I think that one of the most difficult yet rewarding things to go through is transformation. While I do acknowledge that there are some things in life that have the ability to transform us the moment they happen, I find change to be a long and strenuous process. Sometimes it seems that as soon as we become comfortable with our way of thinking and how we relate, we are prompted to dig deeper, go higher, and see broader so that we can continue to evolve. It is a process of constant evaluation and gut checking that we go through in order to change the habitual thought process that keeps us stagnant.

For me personally, it was my children who brought this very important understanding to light. My children challenged everything I thought I believed in. I carried firmly (or so I thought) my beliefs in many things. Most of it was based on how I perceived myself in the world. My view was limited, but it was the reality I created for myself and what I thought was my duty to teach. I would lay down the law and sit in agony as my children would tear away at my demands, and force me to take a long hard look into my own self. Most of the time it was I who had the lesson to learn. I was constantly faced with the possibility of changing my own perceptions and beliefs. I found this to be difficult yet liberating. I began to understand that our children are oftentimes our best teachers.

In many ways I feel my children helped to prepare me for my current walk with Ifa (Divine Wisdom). They help to keep me humble and open to true acceptance, and compassionate correction. When I bow my head in submission to Divine will and understanding, I know that in order to have a balanced life, the only one I have the power to change is me. One positive thought, one healthy choice, one difficult moment, one glorious feeling at a time. Ase

For our mothers, who lived and who loved and who bore daughters. Therefore we are.

Our mothers, strong by definition. They endured, hoped , and dreamed as young girls do.

Our mothers, who created and danced. They laughed. They smiled. They flirted. They chose.

Our brave mothers, surviving the horrors of captivity, bursting with uncertainty while chained in the belly of boats. Clinging to life as they hid the secrets of all that was left behind.

Our mothers, the survivors of the great atrocity. Who gently whispered hopeful words and stern teachings into the ears of their babes. Praying while being preyed upon. Loving on babies that may be taken in the darkest hour of the night, just as some of them were given.

Our mothers, who struggled through poverty and despair. Who learned to walk with heads held high, making love, ways out of no ways, and ends meet. Who celebrated their victories and felt their mistakes.

Our mothers, who sang their song. They poured their voices into Earth’s beauty to hold. If not for them, how could we be? Here we stand, therefore they are. Ever present, ever watching from the fields of eternity. Flowing through our blood, our spirits and our hearts.

People who we love very deeply, and who love us as well; people who we are happy to share life with, transition from this earth. 

We don’t always get to say goodbye. It leaves some of us to sleep alone in beds we have shared. It leaves some of us to never hear the voice that encouraged us the most. It leaves some of us to extinguish hopes of seeing the young become old. It leaves some of us feeling abandoned and alone. Most of the time, we are able to push on, and push forward, even though it hurts tremendously. For some of us, it teaches us to appreciate life and its precious moments. We understand that in most cases, if the choice were given to stay behind with us, and enjoy sharing one last hug, one last phone call, one more meal, cup of tea, walk in the park, drive down our favorite country road, kiss goodnight, long afternoon conversation, or applaud of our accomplishments, our loved ones would. 

So I have asked myself, why is it that we have such a hard time letting go of the people who are living and breathing but choose to say goodbye to us? While I feel that it is a privilege that people allow us into their intimate circle of being. I also believe that it is gracious to respect their choice to shut us out. If true love and connection is what binds us to them, then isn’t it fair to say that even if our last moment spent with them has come and gone, we can still carry love and goodwill for them inside of our hearts, and move on?

I used to struggle with this. Sometimes, I didn’t want to move on, and felt hurt that I was shut out. I held onto people who I should have let go of. I justified this. I felt since I lost people through natural death, it was important to hold onto everyone I love, regardless of how they treat me, or truly felt about me. I felt that I owed it to myself to hold tightly to those who are still here, no matter what.

One of the blessings of understanding, that has been granted to me through the transitioning of many close loved ones, and growth in my trust in the way of Ifa, my Ori, my Egbe, and Orisa is that; when I pray and ask for the things and people that are meant to be a presence in my life to draw closer to me, and for those that are not to be removed far from me, this is my prayer in action. I am granted peace with what is. I can no longer be harmed emotionally by false expectations. I find appreciation in knowing that who is with me, is exactly who is supposed to be. It took me a while to become free from the guilt and expectations that shackled me to connections that faded away. May we remain grateful for all true relationships and respect their time and place in our lives. Ase

She ran about in her bare feet

Soaking up the earth

Climbing the trees

Eating fresh berries

Dancing in the rain

And she learned to play

Called upon ancestors

Whose names she knew not

But whose stories flew from her spirit

She was mocked 

Oh, she is one of them

One of his

You know, that strange man 

Who lives on that hill in those woods

Lawd only knows what they up there doing

Find your own voice

It is deep inside you

It is beautiful, he insisted

Her voice was weak

At first

Then it erupted

Like a volcano

It was a beautiful, clear and strong

She was mocked

Oh, she is one of them

One of his

You know, that strange man

Who lives on that hill in those woods

Lawd only knows what they up there doing

I am old

She said

I am ugly and unworthy

She said

I am fat and shallow

She said

He advised her to dance

She danced from her core

Five, six, seven, eight

Dancing to the beat of his drum

Healing her spirit

Leaving her cares on the floor

Hours upon hours upon hours

Talking, resolving, reconciling

Learning the language of love and acceptance

Learning the importance of character and responsibility

She was mocked

Oh she is one of them

One of his

You know, that strange man

Who lives on that hill in those woods

Lawd only knows what they up there doing

You hate him, he betrayed you

Resolve it

You hate her, she hurt you

Resolve it

You hate them, they envy you

Resolve it

You hate you, you’ve disappointed yourself

Resolve it

Forgive for the sake of your own peace

She decided to understand

She was mocked

Oh, she is one of them

One of his

You know, that strange man

Who lives on that hill in those woods

Lawd only knows what they up there doing

They were up there living

They were up there loving

They were up there learning how to be

They were up there being free

They were up there healing

They were up there watering roots

They were up there growing trees and fruit

They were up there studying

They were up there working

On that hill in those woods

With that strange man

They are the sixteen

She is one of them

They are his

They will always celebrate and honor their King

When I was a little girl, I was deathly afraid of running water. My grandmother said it was because one of my older siblings tried to drown me when I was a baby. I don’t remember where the fear came from, but I knew that the only water I found solace in was bath water. Somehow I knew the power of running water and it resonated with me through fear. It was my godmother who eventually helped me to break my fear. When she would wash my hair in her kitchen sink, she would say to me that the water couldn’t hurt me. Anytime I became afraid she would stop washing until I was comfortable. I trusted my godmother, and eventually began to enjoy the flow of water running through my thick hair and cooling my scalp.

Have you ever stood in the river, or sat on her banks? Have you ever felt her power and strength, or listened to her song? Have you ever observed how the river takes what it is given and carries it away with her current? Have you ever bathed in her fresh water and feel the grime fall from you? Have you ever taken a moment to observe the abundance of life sources that grow from her essence and give to us? Have you seen how she is able to flow through the most difficult spaces and transform them?

I am grateful for my godmother, who taught me to be at peace with who I am, a daughter of the river. Ase.

I was a young girl. Probably about ten or eleven years old. I had spent the weekend with my father. I do not remember the details of this particular visit, but what I do remember is that my mother was hospitalized so it was a friend of hers who was coming to get me and take me to see my mother in the hospital. Well before my mother’s friend arrived, my father asked me to make sure I returned the room that I had been staying in to a clean state. I began to pack my things in anticipation of hearing the horn of the car from my mother’s friend, as there were no cell phones then, and I had to estimate the time of arrival and listen out for the horn of the car. In my rushing, excitement and anticipation for that horn. I quickly made an attempt to clean the room. 

My father comes into the room and begins to point things out to me that were not cleaned properly. Although I didn’t dare protest, my mind and heart was anticipating the sound of that horn. The only task left was to sweep the floor. As I got the broom and began sweeping the floor, I realized that the time for the arrival of my mom’s friend was fast approaching. So I quickly, and with much attitude began to sweep. My father then stopped me. “No,” he said. “You cannot treat my floor like that.” I stopped for a moment, but his words did not penetrate me. I began to sweep again. “Stop it,” he said. Again he tells me that I cannot treat the floor that way. I start thinking that possibly he doesn’t like the speed in which I am moving, and if I sweep extra slow, maybe he will let me get out of there. So I began to sweep again, very slowly this time. Again he stops me and this time I burst into tears because I hear the sound of the horn. I finished crying. I look at him and I tell him that I have to leave. He then tells me that I am not going anywhere until that floor is swept. He then starts to explain to me how he would not give me permission to come to his home and abuse it, by using things without care. He told me that I had to love the floor. At this point I am thinking that my father is crazy and I am never going to leave his house. As we stood there, me holding the broom but not permitted to use it, he began to explain that when I arrived at his home, I arrived in a room that was clean. I arrived in a room that had a clean floor, a floor that had been cared for. I used that floor. I slept on it. I walked on it, and while it was in my care, it accumulated dust and dirt, and it was my responsibility to take care of that with the right spirit. It took me about an hour before I was able to hear his words, understand his lesson, love the floor, and sweep the floor.

My father planted a seed in my spirit that day. He was teaching me the importance of taking care of the things that take care of you. He was showing me that nothing should be taken for granted or handled carelessly, and that tempo has nothing to do with substance. He taught me that the only way to get to the thing I am in anticipation of is to let it go, and complete the thing that is in front of me. It took awhile for the lessons of that day to bloom into my understanding.

There are times in my life, when I am moving in haste or rushing through things just trying to get tasks done. There are times I move out of obligation and not care. I have learned to stop myself, and correct myself. Every time I have applied this lesson to my life, and moved from a place of compassion and understanding, I have been blessed abundantly. This lesson is part of the foundation of my understanding of Ifa and my responsibility as a priestess, a gift given to me at such a young age by my father. May I always remember to love the floor. May my father’s spirit be elevated and blessed each time I remember.Ase

On the eve of living for 45 years on earth, I sit in gratitude. 

The world is upended right now, and in many ways I can understand and feel this energy to my core. I know to sit in patience. This past year has been much of that for me. Having to sit through, sift through, process, endure, and face many truths. It is part of living, being faced with the choice of what is salvageable and what must be left behind. It is discipline to sit in the uncomfortable feeling while taking your time to work through the details, refusing to leave any stones unturned. This year I learned how I have limited myself in so many ways. I learned how much I got in my own way of growth. I worked hard to change that by carefully working through the depths of my own ugliness and beauty. 

It has been the daily prayers, and daily work with my Ori. Along with Ose, divination, ebbo and ritual with my Orisa is what helps me to break down the walls I built up all around me. 

I am ever grateful to Olodumare, The Creator of all. Just as the sun is the source of life for this world of nature, may I always remember to honor The Source of all life in Orun (home of spirit). May I honor Earth, nature’s mother and all that she holds and sustains. Ase

In honor of my Ancestors, if not for them I would not be. In honor of my Egbe, my guides and keepers of my unique nature. In honor of my dearest mother, who accepted and carried me with love to live out my destiny. In honor of my father who called my spirit to earth and breathed wisdom into it. In honor of my children, their children and all those who are to come. I speak this prayer. 

May I walk on this earth aware of my destiny and purpose. May I have the courage and strength to live by it. May I be reminded each day that to open my eyes, and breathe air into my lungs is a gift. May I remember that I can choose to be better than I was yesterday. I am not obligated to be chained to my failures. May I know that even through the most difficult struggles, I can be my best self. May I be thankful for all of the blessings that have been granted. May I remember that balance of mind, spirit and body is true health. May I remain teachable and open. May I keep a forgiving heart while remembering the lessons that conflict brings. May I understand that ego, arrogance, selfishness, jealousy, pettiness, fear and carelessness may visit my being, but they are never welcome to stay. May I feel peace in my life. May I learn acceptance of my choices. May I be kind. May I be honest. May I be healthy. May I be generous. May I be an inspiration to those whose paths cross mine. May I walk in spirit and in truth with care and consideration. Ase!

May I have a successful and blessed forty sixth journey around the sun. Ase

How many of us care about the quality of the time we spend each day, and who we are spending time with? How many of us care about making sure our loved ones feel our love? Are we being appreciative of the love that is shared with us? Do we care about how we move in the world, knowing that we have to go to sleep with and awake each day with ourselves. How many of us care about what we are leaving behind for our own future generations?

How important is being known? Does it mean that we are ambivalent about meeting new people or making new connections if it isn’t our focus? It is truly okay if our energy and time is not focused on how many people know us? Oftentimes our world is very small and that feels right. When connection is made and people come, or when our spirit does not connect with another’s, it can be counted as grace. Do we measure our worthiness around who we know or who knows us?

Is it our focus to have a “successful” business in order to feel value in what we give of our time and energy? What does success mean to us?  Is success measured by how much our bank account increases or how popular we become? Is our drive to work felt in how effective we are in providing service and support? Will we refuse to lose sight of the importance of walking away from someone, another human, knowing that they have been helped and supported by us?

How often do we take on what others expect of us based on their ideas of us? People will always have their opinions on what we should be doing, what we should be focused on, what we can improve on, how we should feel about something. Are we learning to be motivated by spirit and truth, and not the expectations of others? Have we learned to trust our own intuition, our Egbe, in Ifa and our own personal destiny? Can we truly learn to honor our  walk on the path we chose before coming to this earthly realm with our shoulders back, heads high, and with a smile on our faces?

These are the questions that dance in my mind on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

There is no way to capture the entire picture of the strength it takes to live through and survive being sexually assaulted as a young child. The mental anguish, the fear, the secrecy, the insecurities, the confusion and isolation are tremendous. I have heard countless stories, and I will probably never understand and definitely never accept pedophilia as part of a society in which I live. I have often heard it stated that one of the evils of being assaulted as a child is that the child is not given a choice. As a person who once was such a child, I can tell you that it wasn’t the lack of my freedom of choice that haunted me. It was the choices that I felt compelled to make at such a young age in order to get through such trauma, with no true concept of the self destructive consequences those choices would bring. I chose to accept something that felt wrong and filthy, which taught me to lack value in myself. I chose to believe the lies that were being told to me because it felt easier than facing the truth, which caused me to develop a habit of feeling powerless, helpless and empty. I chose to believe that I could challenge the sexual desires of an adult man on my own. That taught me to accept being hunted, preyed upon and used. 

I don’t know how I did it, but I am so proud of that nine year old little girl who also made the choice one night to fight. Who foolishly thought the nightmare was over because this man, this person she was taught to obey and respect would never physically touch her again. I was in no way prepared for the psychological damage that came along with what had taken me two years to finally work up the courage to speak on. I wasn’t prepared to be called a liar, and treated as such. I wasn’t prepared to be forced to become a prisoner in the only home I knew, as this man walked around flaunting the fact that his behavior and violation of me did nothing to destroy his acceptance by the people who I looked to and depended on for help, safety, and comfort. I marinated in that reality and it nearly destroyed my life. It was the beginning of self destructive behavior in which I chose to allow myself to be available to any of the older boys and men who sought out my emptiness as a place to dump their illicit sexual desires, well before I completed puberty. I learned that there was no power in the word no. I had become comfortable with complying and suppressing the sick feeling it left inside of me and the thoughts I created in order to feel some sense of normalcy. 

I often wonder how it was that no one seemed to care enough about me to see my deep suffering. It was a darkness that accompanied me everywhere. How could people accept the smiles on my face and the laughter from my voice when they were filled with confusion, hurt and pain? Almost every person I once had love and respect for was hated by me. I simply did not believe that they cared for me or the quality of my life. My hurt turned to anger and my need to destroy myself  intensified. There were times I would take long walks alone and cry to God to please release me because I was weary of pretending that I was okay. I knew that I was not living the life I wanted, I knew I had to change, I just did not know how that was even possible. I would never have childhood innocence again. My unsuccessful attempt to take my own life led me to take pride in the fact that my innocence had been long gone. That pride led me to live dangerously and carelessly. I was thirteen years old, it would take a miracle to change me, and somehow a miracle is exactly what happened.

My miracle came in the form of a woman who was a kind stranger. A woman who went through her own personal hell by losing her own daughter to the sexual sickness of the man she was married to. A woman who met me when I was completely broken and in need of Divine healing. She found peace in helping me to heal and I found healing in her way of living in peace. 

It took a few years, it took the sacrifice of being hundreds of miles from my own family and everything I knew that was familiar. It took two years of having no contact with anything that was part of the world as I knew it to be. It took long deeply honest conversations, meditations and confrontations to be able to understand the depth of the trauma and my power to change me.

It took someone loving me, and having the patience to hold my hand while I found a new normal. I was able to shed the destructive belief system of being a victim. I was taught the possibility of living the rest of my life with a healthy mind, spirit and body. It became my deepest desire to do just that. It took awhile for the nightmares to stop haunting me. It took some time before I began to believe that I was worthy of blessings, but time was on my side. Each day brought me an opportunity to bathe myself in healthiness until it became my habit to do so. I was able to face the ugliness that overshadowed my childhood and find all of the goodness that I had forgotten existed in my life. Eventually I was able to forgive and love so that I could be free. I was able to destroy the rotten foundation I had built for myself and develop a healthy foundation to build on.

I know that my story isn’t always the way the story ends for many of the young ones who face trauma. As I face each day, I pray that the reality of my existence and determination to live the very best life, breathes hope to all of those I encounter who have a similar story living inside of them. My prayer is that they find the path of healing. Ase!

I now understand that every single time I tried to destroy myself, it was Ifa (my Divine destiny) Eepa Ifa!! My Egbe (Heavenly Society), My Egun (Ancestors) My Ori (Inner self) and my Orisa (Ore yeye Osun! Ogun ye! Eepa Orisa!) who protected me and eventually led me to where I stand today. May I always be grateful for every experience and every person that helped me, noteably my beloved Ummi Asiya who transitioned from this earthly existence many years ago. My heart will forever be grateful for her love, her kindness, her teaching, her ability to reach into the darkness and pull me out. I know she sees my spirit and I pray that she is proud. May her spirit be elevated and honored. Ase!!!