yoga studio. upstairs from the mate factor. drinking on the prespiration that drips from my frown, smile, Om, udjahee in the vinyasa my students and i flow through to commemorate the full moon. at the end i share the moon ceremony friends and i do back in the old country kemet, nyc.
khemet, nyc is the avenue of ancient philosophers wrangling star sightings and lunar eclipses over the pyramids in giza.
khemet, nyc is between bk, q-boro, bx, les and harlem. its where men and women stand with their shoulders back and chests broad, their heads bowed in islamic humility.
khemet is where we slip through the cross fire of police and politricians, fake-thugs, and self-destrutive gangstas, experts and media, to look at astrological signs noted by isis and isa, isaiah and muhammad mustafa sallallahoo wallaihe wasalam. names that move through tongues from seekers on the path to decode the maya.
the maya that i let go of this full moon is this fear of rejection. the idea of rejection has me wearing bright suede dc's with bengal jute, and make it fly. the soar of fly is cool, important, if your stylistics emanates from Source...but if it doesn't then, watchout. mines goes back and forth.
pana nanan nab, na na na na...the music of Soul governs these threads, says Om from Om, regardless of dhaka mumbai tokyo addis abbaba khartoum or nyc, and for that matter 1598 or 2015.
rejected by the mainstream, i adopted the costume that let me in the door of the party everyone was packed and smoking and drinking themselves into subconscious therapy talk on back in the day, and them-hate, and love you's and chest beating, and hair-dragging to bathroom sex.
paid half my check to the pusherman behind the counter at the tavern for liver depleting potions like long islands and greyhounds to knock me into acceptance.
that was then. then was between nyc-babylonotics and sumerian cuneiform. yogum lead me to Surrender, to this path of of the Great Surrender to the Source of Peace (Islam)...so all praise is due.
now, this full moon, i Am that i Am, unapologetically.
can't allevate the disappointment of others when they find out i sip coffee, or bow down, or recite mantras, and sing blackmoon lyrics right after a bangla baul chant, or that my feet are sometimes size 8, sometimes 7.5, sometimes 8.5, that i am the sun of immigrants who love so deeply, they still make last supper meals for 144 with $12.
i goto the salvo with 12 bucks and walk out with stitches from the mens and women's section that fit my me in a way that fashion industry new does not. used clothes shroud my lithe frame like a masai, like a baul if he were tossed into 1980's nyc with broke parents with values richer than the materia-aesthetica shah jahan detailed for the masoleum begum jahan and he lay side by side in.
i am the nephew of petty bourgeoise merchants selling incense and oils and knock-off perfumes and shoes in innercity america. i am witness to the sometimes financial success of my kin of the immigrant desi/muslim community and educational degree accompplishment. i am the son, brother of activsts, and believe in a less vulture-driven system.
this is who i am. i am sometimes 5'7.65 inches, sometimes 5.8 depending on samasthiti. i am challenged with narration of yoga sequences although the words come like ghee when i am in the flow. i don't feel like i'm good enough to teach. i forget methodology and inhales and exhales, going more through momentum and this is something i want to change.
i am bangladesh, muslim and outcaste hindu, a vedantist, and follower of the teachings of the prophet muhammad. see my people with saddened eyes, think we are trying to hard not to be us by forgetting our outcaste roots. and i forget and sometimes, and instead i embrace dalit so much that i fit in all too well to outcaste america and this keeps me in contrast to class ladder hoppers in the desi community and in some ways. assimilated into consumer-cool.
this full moon, i am clear that i struggle with commitment, and want more than anything, a woman who i can build family and community with. this full moon i am 125 pounds and sometimes 135.
this full moon i was a teacher a youth program coordinator, a video editor, a retail clerk, an education consultant, a can-collector, a man without a job, unemployed and surviving without government assistance. this full moon i recalled that i decided to pave my own path forward.
this full moon, this is how i look without make up. this full moon, did i tell you i love you, that i really appreciate our convo. this full moon i recalled how i was jealous and how those moments passed, like all moments so i let go of those strings...love to see you shine in however that is, and give thanks to our brief encounter in this matrix...and prayers for your way in this manifestation of being...
thiss full moon i speak and walk from ALLAH whenever wherever however, so there is no dishonesty when we engage, so i ask questtions and listen, really listen, to worship this divinity, and take every opp to do work, however challenging and dirty, so i could serve, be of service, grow...
this full moon...shhhh...quiet...real Quiet...this is who i am, letting go to get to who i AM.
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