Tools of violence

Identity violence

Symbolic violence

Communication violence

Historic violence

Revisionist violence

Repetitive violence

Infantilising violence

Nostalgic violence

Communication violence

Prejudiced violence

Tiring violence

Destructive violence

Sexual violence

Gendered violence

Religious violence

Spiritual violence

Class violence

Linguistic violence

Colourist violence

Male violence

White male violence

Co-opting violence

Toxic violence

Co-opted toxic violence

Ideological violence

Paternalistic violence

Patriarchal violence

Symbolically patriarchal violence

Promotional violence

Just violence

Violence violence

Tiring violence

Too tired coz I’m broken and it’s the result of all the above and more violence

Mental violence

Inferred violence

Implicit violence

Bright-eyed violence

Broken souls violence

The once you had bright eyes but then you got co-opted and are stuck but still need peeps and I get it but don’t you get that I get it, so why you gotta erase the stuff we excavate and stop us entering and flinging open the doors-no revision check, not open the doors break all these fracking symbolic capitalistic colonial walls – so that we can all evolve together and your tired eyes can weep and rejoice in celebration with us all, bold beautiful and brave and bound to the forward March of completing our shared ancestors abolitionist principles and journeys to create a new fair fresh deprogrammed society so we keep being we and us, and you and me, happy and free together… urgh! Gah! For f***! *sigh* but you can’t and that’s violent, violence.

So instead here we stand. Ina pyramid and I keep trying to educate and create and collate and collaborate while we survive and you thrive but I don’t even cry coz I’m proud inside that at least someone who got one part of our ancestral spirit souls good side to the table where it’s all about whose there to dine, and whose outside… not about our fellow people who die and are also pushed towards pipelines to die. Whether quickly or slowly, that’s for us all to see with our eyes.

I’m too tired to speak, so I’ll leave it to that… and sleeps for the night.


NaBloPoMo #5 “Life Happened” and Prayer

I hope this post still counts as day 5 of #NaBloPoMo , “Life happened”, which I think will soon ebcome an overused and often occurring phrase to describe that feeling of knowing what you have to do, making time for it or rather thinking you have. Then things inevitably lead to things. Feelings bury other feelings. Intentions are married with expectations and after all that.. all you are left with is the crippling knowledge that you haven’t done as much as you set out to do.

In the past, I probably would’ve scurried away and hid. Maybe until I got called up and said sorry and explained Ev-errryyything that occurred. But for now and (hopefully) always – Life happened.

I want to use this post to change up my format a little. It’s just a general post to pose a few questions and hopefully share my thoughts. I want to talk about life, breathing and prayer. Ultimately Prayer.

So as it’s the early hours of Friday morning here in UK. I finally resolved and read my first prayer since being back in my hometown. During praying, my mind travelled to my childhood. I consciously felt myself unpicking and rehashing old learnt knowledges. Past lessons. People’s comments and instructions or how to sit, how far I should bow my head. What way my feet should point. I also felt myself swipe away. Trying to push through all these memories and additional fluff for want of a better word. Stuff that leads me to Angst Central.

To clarify I am a Muslim. A young Muslim women, who is fast becoming an old one. I love the focus of individual connection to God, whilst actively maintaining a cohesive community. This is how I read and respond to my religion Islam. For me all these things are really linked, yes I know the label ascribed to my religious community is being bandied around for all sorts of reasons and believe me *I WILL* go into addressing that in the near future. But first, life is a fleeting thing, one in which we are all constantly praying. Even those amongst us so adverse to it. Those who refuse.

I think we all pray on some level. Whether its over a cup of tea. Whilst your having a cigarette or on a walk through some beautiful part of the world. Even if it’s when your laying down next to a loved one. Even when your sweaty as hell in some smelly gym. It’s the breath I think that is most important. The breath and the hope. Moments like those are moments that I have had. As someone who goes through the ritualistic motions very rarely from time to time, but has always felt connected to my God Allah in other moments of life. Particularly during long walks. So, these are all time when you attempt to clear your mind. Where your breath is generally more relaxed. You are at one in your thoughts, in your mind and with your place in your world as it is – and how you wish to see it.

This is the power of prayer.

The gratitude you can have for everything good and bad that has gone before. The thanks you have for all the people you have met, who have influenced you or helped you. For the places you have visited. For the lessons learnt. For the strength you feel coarsing through you in varying degrees of confidence for still being there. For still carrying on.

The faith that it will get better. That something will occur. Someone might intervene or help. Or that you will do better. You will work hard and push through all the stuff that is happening at that moment, to have made you so contemplative. In your thoughts you allow yourself to play with scenarios, to imagine and to put some small part of yourself into a mesh that is bigger than yourself. Whether it is ultimately God, in any form or whether it is in something else. It is here that the power of your prayer takes form. Where it becomes something bigger than even you, yet still so attached to you that you come out of this prayer feeling elated. Lightened. Blissfully clear.

Breathe. You are back in the world again. You’ve taken that moment to space yourself out. To add you power to something else and now you see everything just that little fraction clearer. Life looks a little more complete. A little less as an unfinished puzzle. You allowed yourself a momentary escape but now you’re back a more enlightened being.

To pray is to learn to breathe and to have breath is the reason to pray.


Simple as that really. Once you unpick the years of bad lessons, telling offs and unhelpful tips. Not to end on a down note but.. (Also I feel like I’ve just slipped into a prayerful daydream just now also where I am so sure I typed a load more, far better words!)

But anyway I think my relationship to prayer and to my spirituality may have been a thousand times better. Indeed my relationship to anything. If I was given an account of how and why we do actions like prayer. What are the feelings it gives people? Why are they doing it? I mean is it really only to have a “I’ve been good sticker” or a notch of good against some other form of bad you may have committed?

For me my belief in prayer isn’t that. I don’t talk about my spirituality enough, but if it could help another person similar to myself. A young or old person, who has a tenuous relationship to Faith, then I hope this fragmented and stripped down account is worth it.

Later I also want to talk about timelines and being at one with your place in the world. This line I hope to leave as a (self)reminder.

My Mourning Period. My self-imposed fate.

I have 40 days grace to mourn the hands of fate,
But did it begin when last I heard your sweet nectared voice refuse to sing?
Or when your strong and loving hands typed such embittered short goodbyes?
Or further still does it begin when last I held and kissed your face?
Though in this connected age I still cannot be sure if reality or pixels is the new norm.

But hark this and know that it is true.
Though its been a month since last we cuddled so forlornly in muddled blue.

Forever will I love and stay true,
To the vision I hold,
of Me and of You.

For me it is no frustrating jigsaw,
One of life’s many puzzling sideshows.
I saw and held it close,
Clear and red raw.
Together we once kept it afloat.
These wrinkling hands will be cut worse still,
As I cling on deep and hold it dearer still.

Though the clarity of you will fade,
Very soon as you as you slip,
further inside that darkened shade.
No hope from returning from the lights of “Individuality’s” bright haze.
know that you unknowingly, acknowledged, unwise a decision to remain adrift.

A lived personal “truth” on mental health and healing.

Emotions that rollercoaster severely often lead those of us between 15- 32 to widely speculate that we are flawed, mentally unstable, unfixable and an absolute failure. From experience, this is what “growing-up” is like for many of us today. As someone with a family of mental health issues I know this burden more than most. Coupled with the fact my lived knowledge helped me, empowered me even to become an intuitive carer, I was again blessed  to be a proximate therapist for many of my friends, loved ones, colleagues and even strangers, through the last decade. Though it could also be a curse  depending on the framing of each context and how I felt.

The flip-side of this knowledge is though that it is harmful. Toxic. It threatens your very being because it undoubtedly flaws your understanding and structuring of your environment, it’s cultures, people and most of all your own self.

I have found in the last few weeks that I am a multi-faceted being. Something I have run from, for… well a very long time. I shouldn’t feel the need to classify myself as “unhinged”, “emotional”, “bi-polar” (undiagnosed) or “mental”. However this is the lived reality for our culture. We are pushed to “process”. I myself love this term. But what does it mean? Is it not just another way for cultural perfection and the need for simplicity  to over-ride our individuality? Our autonomous perceptions? The nurtured genetic truth that every single one of us is different. Unique. My truth is not your truth. My mind is not your mind. My pain is not your pain.

This is where my criticism of mental health or rather personal mindfulness comes in. I am sick and tired of the world thinking that there are quick fixes. That time only exists to be spent not given. Because this the truth as I have seen in. The world is a quagmire of ideological paradoxes. There is no one truth, but this does not stop our governments, our organisational structures, our media, our communities, our schooling, our healthcare, our families and friends even from portraying that there is. No-where is it more evident than in mental health.

Healing can only begin until you, YOU learn the way that you can become grounded to yourself, to your loved ones, to your life and to your context. Only then can YOU move forward. Take those steps to realise and be content with yourself. The entirety of yourself. Meaning…. well meaning whatever that means for you.

Now this doesn’t have to be on your own. Please don’t think I am saying that. As someone who herself is a very communal being, I know the (at times harmful) disconnect that occurs when you are trying to heal the rifts you find in your life. Healing comes in many different ways. It could mean a darkened room you lying on a couch, or a drink with a friend where you literally spew, vomit, pour out everything that ails you. It could even be colouring, doodling, or simply writing a very long-winded [some might say pointless] piece of writing. Or something short like a pathetically simple bit of poetry that regurgitates old syntaxes and quite possibly taxes your souls and those that are joined to it. What I will say is that all of this takes time. The one commodity we never think of. The one we dedicate and plaster everywhere but never truly consider. Never appreciate. Time.

It takes time to learn what is best for ourselves. It takes even longer working damn hard to achieve that which is best for ourselves. Especially when at times it can feel that you are losing the battle with your own misgivings, or community-wide nay-saying. Particularly when professionality, or lack of it, is held out as a “Stop” sign to halt any healing you are perhaps in the midst of.  So what if I didn’t train how others saw the illnesses I see before me? Or if I didn’t learn how we as a species learnt to dissect, disturb and define our experiences – and then destroy the visions that were not held to be “true” enough, down the years? Or if I didn’t learn the language to decipher these encoded inherited knowledges, so I could further obscure, “cure” and minimise our hurt?

We as a people forget at times that there was a time when it was only us. The old saying; “You leave the world as you enter it- alone”, for me is a great way to start forging my inner-strength again. It reminds me that the only path and timeline I should consider is my own. Harder to do than to say. I think it is more difficult for me, being a person who believes unreservedly in spirituality, community, souls, soulmates, romance and familial contexts and love in all it’s forms. Doubly hard as a women who has internalised my oppression so that I find that I can easily sacrifice my time for others, without regret for my own path. (This sounds so weird to write, but it’s so true it’s scary. Anxiety and introspection overload)

I must end. This knowledge serves only to share my story. My re-found power, whilst I still have it and before my shame, anxiety and fear causes me to loose this clarity in which I find myself. Because despite my confidence and belief in my words here, I equally know that these self-affirming statements I start creating, often disappear in the face of my crippling inner-anxiety that I have learnt to mask, by learning from true masters of course (<3 Mothers). The me I kill every single day.

In short, we are individually a collective. We form a vast, confused, unknowing, educated, blinded ilk. We have many abilities. None more so to vocalise, describe and create. What we create better than most is oppressive ways to silence ourselves. Eradicate our existences. Our uniqueness. We must stop this communal self-harming by accepting our own truths. Whether it’s by arriving at a very individual system or process, or one that requires a greater number of people than just yourself. We must end the obscuring of our hurt and the ingratitude of time.

No-one must be allowed to capitalise on our basic human need to heal. To share, to oralise our hurt so that compassion can be given, in turn so that we may travel down our life-paths to attain self-knowledge and contented security, pass on our love and leave this world in the way that we arrived. Happy, free and with a primal breath.