Isle of Skye

He would have made a very good friend, had there not been so much rage within me and had he not had undiagnosed ADHD. When I think back to my efforts in getting to know this man, I realised that he was yet another person who was really friendly, had a good disposition, had some ethics within him - and yet was quite like a child, not really aware, seriously lacked the wisdom and the masculinity I desired in a man. And, to make this more of a universal statement, I need a certain level of masculinity for all the men in the world that I meet. I feel that this has been eked away at through various ways and means. I am very much aware of the facts that male testosterone has severely decreased on an average over the decades. This is due to diet, estrogen in soya products and the tap water, as well as an almost non-stop education of us about political correctness and what is a beta male. This has resulted in males wanting to be much more feminine than any truly feminine woman can deal with in...

I cried in the shower today. These were the tears of genuine grief. Of genuine loneliness and sadness.  The grief that I feel is moreso the existential grief of being alive in such a messed up, harsh and dark world with so much that is wrong and not working well for me. That the people I meet are so messed up - because they are. They are not the people who follow any proper scripts on manners and consciousness and one cannot control a single thing. Which would be okay if people were sane and had some divine consciousness and their true authentic essence within. But they don't. This timeline is one where good and evil are becoming so defined, whereby we MUST clear all the rubbish we are carrying. Today I feel more like myself, and that is why the tears were coming. It was homecoming. The love I feel in my heart is my love, my true energy - the energy of Allah swt. And I don't want to let it go,  I don't want all this crap energy that these people in London keep generating an...

As I finally put the book down, I can once again feel my heartbeat pacing at a much quicker pace. The voices whisper, "call me by my name" and once again the thought slides across my brain, the part that is always comparing my life and creative force with that of others. I really wish I had come up with that concept and that title myself and had written a most beautiful work of fiction that would give honour to the beauty that the words emanate and pulsate out whenever I read them or speak them aloud. Something very physiological has occurred to my brain with this book, this story, painstakingly written down for me to remember what it feels like to be innocent all over again, to be in really close physical contact with other like-hearted and like minded humans. To be interested in the human condition all over again, its superficialities and dramas.  I often wonder what it feels like to be a regular human being with regular emotions, regular experiences, regular relationships ...

My awareness of where I actually had travelled to became acutely precise when we all finally disembarked from the shuttle bus and walked into the customs section of the airport.  The heat smacked at us in all directions, sucking the breath out of us as well. It was a really small room, and there were three armed officers standing in wait.  A part of me, that really young part that still hadn't been able to feel comfortable in the adult world, became instantly afraid and I could feel my shoulders life up of their own accord to solidify into tense little mountains. These soldiers were American, as American as the ones I have seen on the television screen, dressed in dusty fatigues and projecting a lot of loud energy out, two Caucasian men and one Black American female. Fit and fully aware of what their role was and how to perform it. Filled with confidence, which I immediately interpreted as bordering on the side of pure arrogance.  I became more silent, and held onto the b...

It takes me a while to recover from these instances of dealing with various strangers in London. I am always on high alert, and I feel emotionally drained from even sitting next to people on the underground. This feeling is like being grated inside a cheese grater and being wrecked into pieces. I have done a lot to ensure I have better experiences. From the point of view of my energy practices, I use certain dark crystals such as shungite and tourmaline to deflect back the negative energies.  This sometimes works, sometimes doesn't work. I had a considerable meltdown last week during my writing class due to the fact I had not only written on a topic that was so alien to people, I didn't write it correctly and I didn't use all the tools for making the writing enjoyable. It was more as though the addictive part of me wanted to share my story and gain some sympathy or understanding from people who have never experienced the darkness that I have. The thing is, I used to be able...

 I had a choice between writing fiction or non fiction.  From a realistic perspective, writing about real life would mean talking abut things that could not be proven, and put me in danger of being sued for libel. And so, I asked God to guide me how and what to write about. It is a shame to have all this talent for writing, and the willingness to write and make screenplays, or documentaries or books, and not knowing what exactly to write about since most of my life has been in survival mode. Being totally unable to manifest and make things happen, such as finances, career, a home of my own, friends, family. And then embarking upon the Sufi path just allowed me to take it easy on myself.  I don't like how the people lie and cheat and are so disconnected from any sorts of things. It's draining being around all of these people with unhealed traumas. I hate that I didn't write properly and wrote when fasting - don't do that again. It pains me that I can't think about th...