To believe Allah is enough for you and to actualize it are very different things…
I know one and sometimes cannot even conceive of the other.
I know that people are people, but people can sometimes seem like mountains. Move! Move! Move! (But they only speak sedentarism)
perhaps, to believe that wholeness can be felt is a radical thing. I am just pieces & pieces and if any of my parts are complete things, you certainly cannot touch them…
I wade in and out of the water of grief. things are cold. I sink to the bottom of the sky, I twirl (quickly, quick feet, floating skirt) on the broad shoulders of afternoon, of almost-evening, of almost soon the sun will set and everything will fade to Black.
on a bench in my mind I sat with myself and wept and still felt lonely. you do not have (real) arms in your imagination. I (desperately!!!) want to be cradled but I hiss at everything with limbs… (rage I have rage I have a hundred thousand ounces of ocean water for tears I have a black man who isn’t dead yet for a father I have a brown skinned sister who still smiles at the kitchen table I have the names of my ancestors I have some of the (my!) story I have half a moon’s worth of hope only half now, waning waxing waning waxing….)
Allah is enough for me (I hope to say one day with no parenthesis).