Ifayinka

I am finally getting up the nerve to write about the Gregorian year 2019 and what is was for me.

At the beginning of the year, I was in a very fragile state. I had just come through the tragedy of my father’s illness and transition. I was not sad about his transition. My father and I did not have any unfinished business with each other, and we were sure to give our flowers to each other while we could smell them. I gave him my word, that when he left this earth, if I was still here, although I would miss him, I would honor him and celebrate him until my last breath. I intend to keep that promise.

The reason his illness and passing was so tragic for me was because of some of the truths I had to face about my relationships with some of my siblings. 

A little bit of background, my mother gave birth to two daughters, both of us my father’s children. My sister transitioned sixteen years before my father. However, I am the fifth elder child of my father’s sixteen, so I have fourteen half siblings. As most families do, my family (or tribe as I like to refer to them as) goes through and has gone through many changes in our lives together. We have had our share of fights, love, challenges, rivalries, bonds, betrayals… etc. for many different reasons. I have certainly had my share in, and contributed in some of it. Well, as life happened and I took the task on earth of being the mother of a child who transitioned at eighteen years old, the core of me began to change. In this change, I eventually lost all interest in the type of rivalries with my loved ones that once fueled my interest. I made a pact with myself that dishonoring anyone who I loved was a waste of my life. Although it was perfectly okay to have conflict with loved ones, it was never ever okay to allow those conflicts to grow into anything that could not be worked out or resolved. I have lived by that code since the passing of my daughter seven years ago.

I love all of my siblings. All of them. However I do not have a very close relationship with many of them. I wondered at times, if it was because of the fact that I left home at such a young age, married and had children of my own? Some of my children grew up as peers to my siblings. I have wondered if it was because after returning home for some years, I eventually decided to move my family hundreds of miles away from my tribe. I really don’t know. I have no regrets about the life choices I made for myself and my children. I have learned to carry the love in my heart for my tribe. I have learned that we will miss being part of many of the big events in our lives because of physical distance. Things like finances, timing and ability just get in the way. It is no reflection of our love as far as I see it.

My father became ill and transitioned right between my initiation into Osun and Ifa. It was a great test for me. I had to be obedient and follow the guidance of Orisa and not my emotions. I could not fight, or defend myself, or explain. I had to stand in it, feel it, and eventually flee from it for the sake of my own spiritual safety. So many boundaries were crossed. So many trusts were violated. So many lines were drawn in the sand. I had to absorb and accept things my heart just did not want to accept about myself and about the people I love and considered part of my fabric. My heart was truly broken. When my father transitioned, so did many of the false and unhealthy ways of relating to the people who were connected to me through him. I spent most of my time in 2019 healing from it.

I can now truly say that it is well with my spirit and I have peace and acceptance around it. I am grateful that for the most part, I was obedient. Ogun fought for me and protected me, Osun healed and comforted me and Ifa was my guide and showed me the truth. Ase!

2019 was also a year of changes for my family. My husband and I received our Ifa together in Nigeria, one of our ancestral homelands, on our fifteen year wedding anniversary. We also stood on the shore of West Africa at the point of no return and our hearts were filled with gratitude for our Ancestors and all they endured so that we could be. We returned together. Our bond of marriage and our spiritual bond has been strengthened far beyond what we could have imagined. We are learning as if having access to a wonderful treasure chest filled with rare gems.

With the blessing of Ifa, we made another long distance move across the country. We have been able to see our blessings begin to manifest in so many ways. Our family received the blessing of new life. We watched as our prayers for our children were answered. We witnessed my mother breakthrough spiritual bondage and free herself. We created new bonds of friendship and family that are healthy. We ended the year with all of our grandchildren and most of our children, together, under one roof, sharing love and laughter as the beginning of the new year and decade began to rise.

For me personally, I have seen my growth. I learned to be still. I learned to be quiet. I have grown in my relationship with Orisa. I have learned how to feed my Ori goodness and truth. I have learned to have not only sight, but also vision. I have learned to breathe again and enjoy life. I have lost my taste for gossip. I have lost my taste for sorrow. I have lost my taste for unhappiness. I have lost my taste for complaining. I am learning to place my trust in Orisa for all things. I am learning to walk in my purpose and my power. Ase.

There is this part of forgiveness that we don’t often talk about. It is the part that speaks to the power of what it takes to not be placed in an inhumane prison of emotional and spiritual shame. Most of us at some point have said things and/or done things that have been the source of causing harm to another. For some of us, it is difficult to even look at our own actions outside of justification of them, let alone come to terms with the reality that our actions call for forgiveness.

Being able to identify how we caused harm and making the choice to rectify our behavior is a humbling experience. If this is done with a sincere heart, often we find that there is much to learn and plenty to grow from for ourselves in it. When we are able to ask for forgiveness, which is accepted, and we do the work to change the way in which we relate to and behave towards others for the better, we have to forgive ourselves. It is equally important not to allow ourselves to be placed in a box to be constantly reminded of our wrongdoing, or wear it as a label of who we are. We shouldn’t do this to ourselves nor should we accept it from another.

Part of forgiveness is understanding that the other person has the choice and the right to handle the results of your actions or behavior however they need to. You have the right to move on once your sincere effort is made to rectify the wrong and heal the part your hand played in causing harm. It is very possible that the relationship with that person will change. Sometimes that is part of the process and we have to learn to be okay with the truth of it.

Wounds can heal as long as we are caring for them with healing energy, healing thoughts, healing words and healing behavior.

A few weeks ago I made the decision to take a month long break from social media.

I thought that taking the break would provide me with more time to learn prayers and practice rituals. I felt that I could build my spiritual strength, in hopes of being prepared for the one year life celebration for my father, and the seven year life celebration for my daughter.

At first, I struggled most with trying to program myself to be okay with my decision. I was trying to talk myself out of it most of the time. I would think, “I don’t have an issue with social media, is it really capable of distracting me from what I want to do?” Eventually those type of thoughts faded and I began to turn my attention towards spending more quality time with my little people and going for morning walks for alone time. When I thought of a loved one, rather than finding their profile on social media to “see” how they were, I started calling or texting them. In the quiet times between tasks, I started to listen to music rather than pick up my phone to “see” what was going on in the news, via social media. So here I am, about two and a half weeks into this temporary break. I have not learned any new prayers nor have I studied rituals. I have grown an appreciation for reading and listening to music. I have enjoyed long talks with my mother. I have laughed with my little people. I have reached out to loved ones that I have not spoken to in a while. 

What I have noticed is how socially isolating this has been. I notice that many of my friends and relatives would probably not know if I were dead or alive because we just do not communicate outside of social media. We don’t pick up the phone to call or text. We do not eat meals together. We do not plan gatherings. We do not touch in on a personal level. Now I certainly understand that this is my experience, and I cannot possibly speak to someone else’s. The reality of this experience has left me to believe that I should rid my closest relationships from social media in an effort to build more personal connections with those I love dearest.

I wonder how it I will feel about it by the end of the break. Until then I plan to continue enjoying the gift of life.

I am growing into an older woman. I am discovering and uncovering many truths and continuously developing myself in an effort to embrace this truth. Feeling as though I have arrived at an age where I no longer have use to grow, discover, and open up, can possibly hinder my ability to be rooted in wisdom and peace. I find no benefit in cursing what is a gift and that gift is to grow old.

In the climate of social media and mass sharing, there are trendy quotes of truth that I am able to access and at times cling onto. I sometimes have a tendency to get lazy when it comes to developing myself and being the inspiration that I seek. I become afraid to walk in and trust the truth of my own life and enjoy the fruits of my own labor in life. 

I sometimes find myself searching for outside influences to find validation because of insecurity. The stark reality that my mind is not as quick as it once was. My body is not as young as it once was. My ways of thinking feel comfortable and I am resistant to changing them. I tend to lack patience with myself. I tend to become sluggish with forgiving myself.

I am learning that with age can come wisdom and peace. I am learning how to become a vessel that can hold them. I am learning that wisdom and peace are not about having an influential title or gathering material things to show that I have arrived at some point of maturity in life. Wisdom and peace are not about being of a prominent social standing. Wisdom and peace aren’t attained through the approval of others. Wisdom and peace are not found in the years spent reading books or learning verses while lacking life experience and practice of virtue.

Wisdom and peace, I am learning, comes through embracing and accepting what is. I have to be willing to let go and trust what life is showing me. I sometimes have to look under, see above, and feel around to discover the many hidden treasures that are laid about in the gift of today and waiting to be realized. 

As an older woman, I am waking up inside and I feel far more free than I ever have. I am learning to laugh more, especially at myself. I am learning to expand my way of thinking. I am learning to let go without losing myself. I am learning to accept what is with compassion. I am learning to find ways to live and walk in truth when it is realized. I am learning to trust in love and the many ways it is revealed. I am learning to embrace my emotions and trust the lessons that life teaches me.  

I pray that I am able to continue to do the work that enables me to grow in grace and be a true vessel of wisdom and peace. Ase

In a period of less than 24 hours, I had gotten into major arguments with people I love very dearly and consider part of the fabric of my inner circle. This left me exhausted and emotionally spent. My eyes were red from crying, my mind was clouded from anger. I felt unheard. I felt misunderstood. I felt abandoned. I felt ignored. It was very difficult to put together any type of explanation of exactly what was happening and why it was happening.

My very first impulse was to go into survival mode. I wanted to justify and solidify my position. I wanted to make sure the message came through loud and clear that I was hurt. I thought of ways to strike back in defense of myself. I wanted to make them feel the hurt that I perceived they were dishing out to me. All of these thoughts happened in a matter of minutes and then the difficult work of healing began.

Once I was able to calm myself down. My first thought was “How can I possibly fix this within myself so that I can truly embrace the ones that I love and I know love me and truly meant no harm?”

The first thing I did was pray. I asked for the help of my dearest ancestors, the ones who have advised me, held me when I needed it. THe ones who were never afraid to speak truthfully and who stood up for me when I needed it. I asked them to help me see what I needed to see. I asked them to help me identify what I did, said, or thought that needed to be adjusted. I called on Obatala to allow me to see clearly with a cool head. I asked Osun to wash away anger and hurt, and replace them with compassion. I asked Orunmila to show me what I could not see so that I could move forward with wisdom. I asked Ogun to remove the obstacles of false pride and ego. After praying, I sat and I waited. I stopped trying to defend and deflect. I decided not to make it someone else’s responsibility to resolve what was living inside of me. I understood that I had to have the strength to turn away from anything that was going to fuel the fire that was feeding negativity into my emotions. I realized that this was mine and mine alone to resolve. My loved ones served as messengers of what I needed to see inside of myself. The true conflict was within me. So I decided to shut it down. I starved it. I was able to turn toward compassion which opened me up to understand what I needed to do to restore health to my spirit and my mind. It was a lesson in letting go. It was a lesson of acceptance for what is. It was a lesson in respecting that there are many ways to get to the same destination. It was a call to give. It was a call to be quiet and listen. Lesson learned, conflict resolved. Ase.

Hunted and carried away in shackles to a land where violence and brutality stripped away humanity.

Generations upon generations upon generations of torment and toil in every way possible, spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and physically.

I wish that I could cling to the skirt of my greatest grandmother and ask,

“How do we survive being hunted?”

I imagine her soothing my worries, I imagine she would say

“Baby no matter how many times our bodies and our blood has mixed together with theirs your black skin was produced and black skin aint safe in a white land. The only way to survive is to return.”

I have held tightly to the illusion that we could blend in, fit in, be in.

Our minds are washed thoroughly so that we give in.

We have mistakenly forgotten that layer upon layer of hatred

has carefully been handed down, like a gem, so that the security of the enslaver could be preserved.

Somehow our torture brings them peace.

The birthright of this land is not freedom for us.

Our birthright in this land is being the hunted.

Love is probably the one word that can be argued of its meaning by any and everyone. I wish I could simplify what it means to me. In an effort to do that I can say this.

I believe that in order for me to fulfill my purpose in life, I must find love in all things. Love for me is the essence of divinity. It is anchored in wisdom. Even though that may sound fluffy and airy as if it lacks substance, it really isn’t. When I learned the difference between the way I relate to someone or something and how that can change, I came to understand that changes have to be made sometimes in order to maintain love. My heart opened up and I felt a freedom like I had never felt before.

When you have lost someone that you love so deeply that you can not imagine going another day, another moment without them, it forces your heart to open up in a different way. I have experienced this type of loss and I can declare that the love does not die. You must relate to that person in a different way. The way you relate may now be lighting a candle or dedicating a few moments of your day to their memory.

For me, this has shown the ever changing waves of life and relationships. It is most important to keep the love and change the relationship if it demands to be changed.

When I have been deeply hurt or violated by someone whom I share love with. I have learned that the violation served as a way to get my attention. I may need to shift the way that I am relating to that person. They may hold a position in my life that is no longer needed. The way I am relating to them may be hindering the ability to grow for both of us. The relationship may require space. It may require less time spent. It may require gaining a closer connection and understanding of each other. It never ever requires to throw love away, not for me. It does call for me to find where the love is and to nurture that. It does call for me to be willing to make whatever changes that must be made to maintain that love. Change is hard and scary sometimes. Change can often give the perception of losing something valuable, when that isn’t the case at all. In evolution, there is preservation. When love is what is being preserved, we are able to grow beyond what we thought possible.

I have no desire to leave this earthly existence without knowing that I stood strong and true in loving. It is imperative that my loved ones know without any doubt that I walked in the spirit of love.

I am not ready to declare what should be or should not be for anyone else. I can only speak to what is true for me and share that in hopes that someone who reads may find some light in a dark space.

Relationships change by nature

And love…

Love is love by nature

I am the Mama who fled in the night from an abusive relationship, with my infant daughter in my arms and my sister at my side. I was sixteen years young. I am the Mama who three years later, handed that same daughter over to her father because I felt that she needed him in her life even though he and I had not healed our brokenness. I am the Mama who has eight children with five men, seven of my children were born before I was thirty years old. I am the Mama who sat in a car as my daughter’s father drove 100 mph threatening to kill me and my unborn child if I did not get an abortion. I am the Mama who attempted suicide while pregnant because I felt hopeless and ashamed. I am the Mama who weaned and left my five month old daughter with my mother and went on a missionary trip to Europe for two months. I am the Mama who pushed my first born son out while I was emotionally removed and suffering a broken heart from an unimaginable infidelity. I am the Mama who held onto the door of a moving car while I was pregnant begging my husband at the time not to leave our family. I am the Mama who had an abortion although I did not want one. I am the Mama who carried and gave birth to the child of a man who told me he would not live to see thirty, a few days before his 27th birthday I stood at his casket and sobbed with our eight month old son in my arms. I am the Mama who went through IVF to conceive and give birth to a child with the man who loved me and married me while I had seven children.

I am the Mama who would spazz out over a dirty kitchen. I am the Mama who wouldn’t allow my children to stay the night over their friends houses, I am the Mama who would wake everyone up in the house in the middle of the night if their chores were not complete. I am the Mama who threw legos, yep at a child. I am the Mama who had long talks about life choices and made my children watch documentaries. I am the Mama who had girl talk and discussed anything my daughter’s needed to talk about or had questions about. I am the Mama who chose to allow my son to have thirty-three eye surgeries to save his eyesight and questioned each time if it was the right thing to do. I am the Mama who allowed my daughter the choice to leave home to live with her father’s family when she was just six years old. I am the Mama who lied to my daughter and told her she had HIV as an attempt to keep her from being promiscuous when she was just thirteen. I am the Mama who allowed my son to go live with his father for a few months even though I knew his father was an alcoholic. I am the Mama who allowed my eighteen year old daughter to drive up the interstate, even though I did not think it was a good idea, my daughter didn’t make it twenty minutes up the road before she lost her life. I am the Mama who who wandered lost in a state of grief for years, completely emotionally unavailable for my children who were still here and needed me. I am the Mama who made my son go to rehab. I am the Mama who made another one sleep outside while he was high, refusing to allow him in my house. I am the Mama who has spanked each and every one of my children at some point. I am the Mama who couldn’t imagine why I would ever spank a child now.

I am the Mama who demands my children love each other, respect each other, show up for each other. I am the Mama who has fallen short time and time again. There were times where the only thing I had to give to my children was my love, my heart, and my truth. I am the Mama who always gave that much and will continue until I am no more.

I sat in her recliner next to the hospital bed she was lying in. I held my breath between each one she took until she took no more. Those were the last moments I spent with my maternal grandmother on this earth. Before she even knew me she loved me because I was hers. I have heard the stories repeated many times about how when my mother and great aunt informed my grandmother and grandfather that my mother was pregnant with me, my grandfather quickly reacted to the news of his young unwed teenage daughter’s pregnancy with harsh words. My grandmother’s reaction was just as quick and harsh as his were. The only difference is that her harsh words were directed towards him for daring to admonish my mother about my pending appearance earthside. That was the first time my grandmother fought for my life but it certainly was not the last time.

In her lifetime she was often described as “ A good christian woman who was a mother figure to everyone.” To me she was simply Grandmom, hers was the first lap I remember sitting in. She was a southern woman who believed in God and goodness even when it felt like those principals were not serving her well, she held onto them. She was a woman who fell on her knees and prayed regularly. She believed that in prayer was the answer for every problem, hardship and affliction. She prayed even when it appeared that her prayers were not being heard or answered. She believed in taking good care of other people even when they did not take good care of her. Years of hardship and heartache wore down her softness into a quiet sternness. She suffered watching two of her sons die within eleven months of each other. She sat helpless when my sister died from Sickle Cell Anemia after twenty seven years of defying everything the doctors felt impossible and with my grandmother praying at her bedside every time she was hospitalized. The only man my grandmother ever loved and shared a bed with abandoned her after 30 years of marriage. The stress in her life often peeked out through a habit of filing her fingers down to the bone. I only imagined how these things affected her because she didn’t open her mouth to complain about them. She would sit in her recliner and just pray and file.

As a young girl, growing up in Alabama, she understood many things that she never wanted us to truly understand. She had to learn to live without her own mother because her mother died of tuberculosis when she was just fourteen years old. Being the middle child and the oldest of two girls, she took on the responsibility of being the backbone of her siblings. She took care of them from the moment her mother passed until she buried most of them. She didn’t sit around and mourn the death of her mother, who was her rock, because she didn’t have time for mourning. She lived with an aunt and uncle after her mother’s death. She was treated harshly and married my grandfather to get out of the situation. She bore him five children. She conceived ten. She hardly ever spoke about the heartbreak of miscarriage. The only time she did was when she wanted to share her experience to uplift or encourage someone else who was going through it. The migrations of the 1950’s is what brought my grandparents to the northeast where my grandfather could earn a good wage and my grandmother could raise her children without the shadow of the Jim Crow south that she grew up in. She carried deep in her spirit the hope for her children and grandchildren and their children to be the very best in this world. She took it as a personal obligation to ensure it.

She was always there for me even when I didn’t appreciate her presence and took it for granted. She was my comfort. When I was sick, or sad, or confused, or troubled in any type of way, I would find myself wanting to hear her reassuring and encouraging words. I knew I would feel better just hearing her voice saying that whatever it was I was facing was never to hard for God. Most of what I learned from my grandmother was what I saw. She was not a woman of many words. She was a woman who believed “I can show you better than I can tell you.” She showed me how to love because “love is what love does”, she would say. She showed me how to give with my whole heart. She showed me how to put the very best of myself into anything that I do. She showed me how to take pride in goodness. She showed me how to look for goodness in whatever situation I face. She showed me how to be loyal. She showed me modesty. She showed me the value in being consistent. She showed me the wisdom in saying no. She showed me how to never give up on myself and my children. She showed me the value in forgiving myself. She showed me how to trust what I knew was there even if my natural eyes could not see it.

After her last breath was taken. After the funeral. After the burial of her natural body. I took the time to understand that as I sat there next to her dying body, she was giving me something to carry on. She was giving me something to pass on. She was giving me her. I see her reflection in the joy I feel that brings a deep smile while loving on my grandchildren. I hear her voice as I sing while preparing my food or getting dressed. I feel her comfort when I fall on my knees to pray. She comes to visit in my dreams reassuring me that she is still there, loving and supporting me. May I always honor, appreciate, uplift and elevate her spirit. Ase.

What compels us to create them?

Do we call on them out of our own need or do we respond to their need to come to earth?

Does the truth lie somewhere between the two?

Is being a mother the equivalent of being a vessel in servitude of volatile life?

As parents are we the teachers of our children or are we the students of our children or are we both?

These are questions I have spent much time and space contemplating. I did not contemplate any of this before the birth of my eight children. It wasn’t until I was pregnant with my youngest child that I began to consider these questions on a much deeper level. Instinctively I felt that much of the dogma I had believed and regurgitated was not matching the experience I was having being a mother. I have spent the majority of my life being a mother. I first entered into the realm of motherhood at the age of fifteen. Although there were people who assured me that I was going to be a “good mother” because I carried what they believed to be a motherly spirit, I quickly learned that having a motherly spirit and being the vessel of someone’s life are two completely different things. I do believe that they can co-exist but often times, especially in my case, they do not. To me having what is considered a motherly spirit is having a natural urge and inclination to nurture. Giving birth is not a requirement of having a motherly spirit. On the other hand, the act of carrying and birthing naturally makes one a mother. Even if her last breath is taken while in childbirth we do not negate the title, “mother”.

So, there I was a very young blooming woman, having much experience with changing diapers and talking sweetly to babies trying to make the connection to the tiny person I was holding in my arms. This person who had just spent thirty four and a half weeks in my body growing a body of her own. This person whose presence in my body caused what felt like complete havoc. My motherly spirit did not kick in but something else did indeed awaken inside of me almost instantly. I had no word for it at the time I experienced it, but it felt like a mixture of fear and desperation. I knew that I would move heaven and earth for the well being of this tiny person. The clarity of that understanding scared me. As I fumbled around, trying my best to care for the tiny person and keep her safe and learn what pleased her and what caused her distress, what I was having was a personal human connection. Although I was making the majority of the decisions in her life, it was clear to me that she was her own self with her own ways even at such a young age. Her wishes and her desires were not mine. It was the first time I felt such deep love for someone other than myself.

The lessons that my first child brought to me were that having a motherly spirit is not enough of a preparation for motherhood. I learned that human life is sacred and each person is here operating within their own free will even at their youngest age. I learned that it is possible to truly love outside of your own self serving egotistical understanding of love. I learned that loving that deeply awakens vulnerability and that can be a very scary feeling.

As time moved on and I continued on my path of carrying and birthing, countless lessons were learned. Each child brought with them a key that opened a different door to the inner workings of my heart that I never even knew existed. From the way they were conceived to the relationships that we have formed with each other, I have been learning. The lessons they teach have been lessons of the heart and not of the head. The lessons could never be learned in a book or taught in a school because every lesson is personal. Some things are difficult to face because they call on me to surrender. Oftentimes I have to surrender preconceived notions of what good parenting is. My children are the gatekeepers of my truth. They are always forcing me and pushing me to search deeper inside of my heart for what is truly there. They are always loving and exceptionally forgiving of my many shortcomings. They teach me that love comes in many forms. The list of things I have learned to appreciate because of them is endless.

Although I am their mother. I have grown to understand that their lives are truly their own. It can be so deceiving because of how deeply I love them, it feels like on some level I am going through what they are going through. I have recognized that this is not the case. What I am feeling in relationship to what they are going through in life is of my own creation. It carries its own set of emotions and is rooted in the fertile soil of my own life. The truth of this lesson came in the most difficult form when my eighteen year old daughter died due to a vehicular accident. If there was ever a time I felt like I was going through death, it was then. I felt like I had experienced death. What I have come to realize is that I am going through the loss of one of the loves of my life through the process of natural death. My daughter actually lost her life on this earth. She began a journey that I have yet to travel and I could not go with her there because it is simply not my time. My work on this earth is not completed although hers was. As difficult as it can be at times I am still responsible to live on this earth. It is a choice she no longer has in her human form.