Taherah

Holding the hand of this child in her palms, she felt the sweetness of connection with a soul mate.

Taherah felt that all of the struggle to get here was worth it. As such, it was not really struggle, not if she was to compare it to how this child's soul had chosen to live this lifetime.

She opened up her energy system to feed the heart of this abandoned child. Such a sweet grin that grew brighter with every passing minute in the liquid sunset time. A few crows were heard... and the buzz of mosquitoes energetically making their way toward them was increasing in intensity.

there are times when the words that drip from our mouths,
as well intentioned as they may be,
are empty as the wine caskets of the intoxicated

we all desire to save the world,
to be the fullest expression of ourselves,
to save,
to heal...

and then we finally allow ourselves be pulled to the destinations we feel we can handle.

whereby the drama is still in full play...

the fight for a dignified life is even more convoluted
the desire for expression is stifled

they eat kidney beans ad infinitum, and not even allowed some green bananas

an orphanage for those who have been left to their own devices


It is harsh here. To use the toilets, she feels like vomiting.

"At least they have toilets, dear. Not just a hole in the ground"

She remembers once she had projected herself to one of the survival camps in the north part of Pakistan straight after the first earthquake in 2009. She could only stand the shock of being there for a few seconds and then left.

It petrified her to the core.

So, one reading of Cause Celeb is enough for her to travel 5 hours to live with strangers in the hopes of being on a white sandy beach and turquoise seas... all alone? In the hopes of enjoying her life the way others do?

And to pay her way in the world, she decided to go to Kibaha to put her money where her mouth is. To experience the bare basic way of surviving, of living: bringing water, disinfecting it to drink, washing clothes by hand, going along with the rhythms of nature. She has been in London for three long years, and parts of her divine nature have fallen asleep as a result.

Red earth, brown mud, grass, tribal singing... mosquitoes, malaria, malnutrition, dehydration, AIDS, death.

Her throat felt constantly choked up and her prayer mat lay undisturbed ever since she arrived here. She asked for the blessing of the clear blue sky and the hot sun and the furious onslaught of rain for everyone here... sending an army of angels too help the angels here help themselves.

His hand is calloused, dry and the cuticles were cracking. She had only been able to bring money to help them, and was able to bring them the locally produced Cadbury's chocolate that tasted much better in Africa than anywhere else: a much higher cocoa content.

"Oh Allah, feed every single person who is hungry, clothe every single person who has no clothes"

How? How could they choose to live like this, why couldn't they wake up from the illusion?

Oh pure one, are you awake? Why are you here using your father's money? If you were truly awake, you would be earning enough income to sponsor this child up until he was 18 years old. As such, you do not earn enough to even pay contributions toward your own pension. Or to pay the one fifth to help kids like him.


Wake up from your illusion of wanting a holiday, of resenting others good fortunes. Of wanting to drag yourself down to the poverty line so as to not feel guilty that this boy hasn't much to lead a life of full expression.

Bow down to Thy Lord. Much shifting is required.

She kissed Ali dotingly on the head, delighting in his tight curls.

He ran off to play and she was the one who was healed.

Again.

I expect the highest outcome and only good from Thee. 
Guide me... and protect them and grant them their Love and their abundance.

such a beautiful boy

She was floating just above the ground. There was no need to stay aground.

She had witnessed the loving power and embrace of the Divine coursing through her hand and heart and eyes and words.

Her pleasure now came from just observing and experiencing the experience.

She managed to set the security alarm, switch off the lights, turn the blinds and lock the door.

There was someone on the other side of the door. Odd.

And she realised that that synchronicities had begun to flow once again.

He was so beautiful, so handsome, so sweet, so warm and so gentle. Soft.

She was able to function in his reality and talk about his day and the weather.

"How was your day?"

"Long... and it's been raining."

Hmmm, she was able to let that go...

"Yes, apparently it's going to snow."

"It's snowing in the north."

"Oh, really?"

"You're leaving work late."

"Um, yeah..." Charming smile.

She didn't need to say more. She forgot what she would have said, anyway. Half in her body, half exploring the astral realms and loving it.

Scintillating conversation, the words poets can only dream of stringing together.

One can't really blame him, he was going from one job to another job, number crunching and not really getting paid for it. And not knowing how to release himself into a place of ease and growth, into the true nature of his essence and existence.

She did not intuit this. Usually, this channel received her knowledge and wisdom from the mouths of others. There were too many coincidences today.

It tasted really sweet today.

She had already spoken to him twice on the phone that day, and had even had the cheek to tell him off for bugging her with his Post-It notes all over the office.

And she had been wanting to meet him for ages, since she had heard so much about him... and, now, there he was.

A block related to meeting men had definitely shifted.

A lot better looking than she imagined him to be. That is usually the case.

Electricity.

At least, this time around, the tall, dark and handsome man was staring her in the flesh. There was a physical presence she had allowed into her life.

They talked a bit about work, she was in a confused space and then realised that... it was all okay. So what if she was babbling nonsense about boring accounts? So what if she was talking about work when he was tired and possibly didn't want to talk about it?

She was being her genuine self. And she really craved to speak with him. As it stood, they didn't have much to say to one another apart from the basic niceties and figures and payroll.

And then the heavens opened and poured God's mercy upon the both of them, upon the office space, and upon the mosque two doors down.

"Well, don't stay too late."

That tickled him a lot. He laughed aloud, "I don't really want to be here!"

She couldn't stay longer: there was no excuse, plus she was tired. And he had work to do.

And she was becoming acutely aware of the sexual attraction he had kindled inside of her. Five years younger than her, from her own ethnic group and possibly related in some intricate, entangled mess. Plus, he had the same energy as her first love... absent mother and father, violence, hurts, betrayals, he is yet to grieve and to heal.

Thank goodness she was the psychic one, and she hoped he didn't pick up too many of her 'come hither' signals.

She could feel the familiar pull of wanting to take him, as she wanted to with all of the little boys she knew, in her arms and open them up to feelings they were unaware they could feel with a nurturing, protective, safe, gentle, delicate love.

Opening their hearts to feel, to release it all, to live, to then scream in ecstasy and to breathe free.... to be the true nature of themselves...

And that's when she knew she had to go.

The bodily and emotional responses cut through the sense and wisdom like a samurai's sword.

She knew better this time.

She sang out "God be with you" in what had become an automatic formula that had lost it's meaning and he replied the same.

Retroactively, as she travelled home on the bus, exhausted, she really sent him divine Love and wondered if he had eaten his dinner. She loved him. Purely. Just like the first one. Programming can be such a powerful thing if one is unaware. Thankfully, she was aware now.

This little serendipity was such a blessing. Such a sweet, unexpected blessing.

Such a beautiful boy. Like honeysuckle. She could see herself in him, of course. That is why her heart spontaneously opened up to let him in.

"May he receive the help he needs in perfection... may he be able to reach his fullest potential. May he know true Love."

Just contact with the divine masculine or with those she could pray for... was such a blessing now.

Her heart continued to sing and asked for more tall, dark, handsome men... some of whom she could have a spiritual partnership with.

Well, that was her ego talking.

She needed just the one true love this lifetime.

Promiscuity may have been in her energy, but the way she had been living her life, it would seem she had taken a vow of celibacy to counteract the chaos of previous lifetimes.

These tiny signs from God were so sweet, as though He had tucked away tiny presents for her to uncover along this treasure hunt of reality.

And sometimes, she got whacked by a big smack of humiliation.

ebb and flow....

grace and justice...

karma must be balanced...

She allowed for herself to be in the space of neutrality and non judgement.

she is the one whom he could not love

She creates such beautiful pictures in her head. The world and all its timelines are malleable in her hands, just like the gooey substance that clay is made of.

She enjoys playing in the mud, making a mess of something when, if she chose, she could stand  up and walk away.

Or could she?

She had really wanted him. She had really, really wanted him.

Of all the things that confused her, the way he made her feel safe and gave her comfort confused her the most. Just by thinking of him, just by growling his name in her throat, she called him to her. He would be there besides her, comforting her, nurturing her heart and body in a way she couldn't do for herself.

He had had good intentions. He used fancy ways to express himself just to woo her. Just to make an impression on her bloodstained soul.

"I like you just as you are, little one. I am not going anywhere. If we have a connection, why are you hiding from me? Why are you rejecting me over and over again? Why won't you let me love you?"

Her heart responded, even though her lips could not, " You don't know how to love yet, my boy. You think you do, but you only love yourself, and even that... not fully. You pick and choose whom you love, when you love, and how you love. Is that what you wish me to settle for?

You said I am one of the few people you can tolerate.

Tolerance? Is that what I ask from you? Tolerance? Is that all you can give me?

I fucking love you, boy. Can you not feel it in your veins, in your pores, in every breath you take?

Does my voice not haunt your dreams the way yours does mine?

I. Fucking. Love. You.

It fucking scares the hell out of me that I can love you with such a deepness, with such a desperation, with such a falling and lack of control.

I feel guilty as hell for not letting you love me, be near me, touch my cheek, the small of my back, the beating of my heart, I can't even let you hold my hand. I want you to slowly rub the insides of my thighs until I orgasm my wetness all over your hands: your silky soft, dangerously attractive hands.

Have you seen how beautiful your hands are? Have you really seen yourself? The moment I saw them, I wanted to hold them, to feel them stroke me all over, until I vibrated and meshed inside of you.

Do you know how gorgeous your eyes are?

They are molten, alluring like a gazelle's.

You are soft inside. So soft, so vulnerable. I saw you, I wanted to take you in my arms and just hold you until you stopped hurting so much. That's all.

And all you have shown me is facade, bravado... and I can't break through to you. And, in spite, I choose not to let you come near me. Because... you will HURT me and I am done with hurting you."

He left. Because she loved him. He actually left the moment she told him she loved him. It was puzzling, it was interesting. She thought the boy she fell in love with would be immune to the cliche of giving up the chase. She thought it was a spiritual union.

She thinks too much.

An interesting exercise.

The dusk falls upon the town she lives in. She is tired.

Why did she think of him today? Because she did something she did a year ago.

A year ago he married his soul mate, the right one. She tried to rise above it and understand that he did not want to be with her. It was too much for her to keep inside, though.

Because it was her fault. She drove him away. There was something inherent in her that he did not like, for which he could not open his heart and love her with the soft tenderness she felt for him.

And so she bled. She made herself bleed and experience a searing pain.

"He can love someone else, commit to her, marry her, make love to her repeatedly, penetrate her body, buy her groceries, they will soon have a boy who will look exactly like him... so why not me? Why was he not the patient man he told me he was? Why did he not wait for me to grow open?"

She remembered him today. Just in passing.

We do not control the thoughts we think. They just enter our minds, then leave if we allow them to. We are in a big cosmic soup, a melange of energies and intentions and barriers and experiences.

He liked to play football and cricket. Those facts somehow aroused her at the time.

Sleep is vital for the undead. Their pallid souls revive with sleep. Their aching heads heal, as Raphael weaves his green threads through the night.

Healing the girl who still aches for him sometimes.

She is the one whom he could not love.

An unfathomable silence permeates.

The veils are many, the barriers interject. Rather than focussing on all of them, she sticks like glue to the one thing she can think of. She cannot see.

When they do meet, he will be safe from her and she from him. Neither of them will speak; it will be clear and manifest in luminous writing.

Tolerance and safety cannot be a foundation for a relationship.

Let it go. Do not listen to the mind which says you are Lady Macbeth. Barren.

It is only as true as you wish it to be. Mercy and grace are forces which come through your sleep. He is kinder than you give Him credit for.


She bows her head down in submission to the Lord of the Worlds. She may be far from Him, but that does not mean that she is damned for eternity.

Two things can happen, both are acceptable once she truly surrenders. Awareness comes first, though, my dear.