When the future Imam and the future Spirit Guide MEt, I bet they never imagined how their story would be.

That they would produce three: him, her and of course, ME.     

But I was here even before that.

See I rested in the womb of the womb that bore ME;

Lying dormant, waiting for the right mix of energy, soil, and spirit to shape the flesh called ME.

Traversing the history of all the wombs before ME taught ME soME things.

Like, I carry the legacy of Tuskegee;

Where my womb of my womb witnessed things that my unforMEd eyes couldn’t see.

Shouldn’t see.
Wouldn’t see.
SoMEone sent my womb of my womb up North.
Where a pretty girl could hope to marry well.
And she did…I think.
He was older and a hard worker.
She was spirited, begging to be free.
He succumbed to what they say was heart disease.

But I think his heart wasn’t diseased at all.

It was the grief of knowing that no matter how hard he worked, the white man’s world was gonna threaten to ruin his family.

That pressure killed him.
But the womb of my womb still managed alone to rear his three seeds and two wombs as the fruits of their tree.

One of those fruits becaME my womb and one of my womb’s fruits becaME ME.

My womb that bore ME suffered so much grief and agony.
Abuse, neglect, and like her father, chronic dis-ease.
But you couldn’t tell ME that - as her little fruit of her tree.
All I could see was kindness, love, and hope for ME.

It was not even shattered when a snake was found in our family tree.

When it bit ME twice by night, the poison paralyzed ME.

When I opened my eyes, to my surprise the snake was the seed, of the womb of the womb that produced ME!

Ya Allah, how could this be?!

My womb of my womb – and her wombs – and their wombs, gathered round and sang an old Negro spiritual to comfort ME:

“Wade in the water. Wade in the water children. Wade in the water. G-d’s gonna trouble the water.”

“Recognize them snakes and hide in that water child”, is what the womb of my womb told ME.

But my womb of my womb and her wombs and their wombs couldn’t see that I was drowning.

They crossed the dangerous rivers of youth, and they soMEhow made it to the other side.

But in that moMEnt, I was drowning, and they couldn’t see ME.

I was yelling beneath the surface, but they couldn’t hear ME. 

Was this gonna to be my life?
There but invisible?
Unseen?
Unheard?
Like my ancestors in Tuskegee?
Like my womb of my womb before ME?

They tried to protect ME ya know, but their machetes were so dull.

They tried to feed ME a line, but the rope was so worn, from so many bodies, being dragged from so many rivers.

They were also the wombs of soMEone’s womb, of soMEone’s womb, of soMEone’sss…
Now WE all bear the mark.
The fangs emblazoned on our hearts.
I got other marks, from other snakes, from other tiMEs too.
The poison made ME sick for a tiME.
The Beloved, al-Habib, told us: to thrice warn the snake in your house, then kill it if it doesn’t leave.

But my womb of my womb – and her wombs – and their wombs, had not yet heard that MEssage.

The adhan was never called in their ears.
So, they let the snake becoME their familiar.

To eat with them;
Sleep with them;
And even pray with them.
They pitied him.
They protected him.

Because he was an endangered species like his father before him.
They couldn’t bear to lose another, even if he was deforMEd by the jinn in his genes.
Under their protection, the snake ensnared them in a spell.
Little did the snake know, that he too was under an influence, a khamar, a drunkeness.
So, he lived awhile longer, unfettered, and free.
Until he entered the wrong house where he would be…

A captive for 15 years.

As the years counted down the womb of my womb, and her wombs, and their wombs,

Slowly healed from the wounds of the seed of the womb of the womb that bore ME.

And healing is ugly.
It’s a weeping, pus-filled sore.
It’s a petrified scab.
It’s a snake-shaped scar.
It’s a ghusl of tears.

But it happens - or you die – like, die die, or maybe just die on the inside - but you die.

Or you heal.

You choose to heal, or you’re chosen to heal.

My womb of my womb, and her wombs, and their wombs have created our own family “Recipe for Healing Soul Salve”:

In a large hearth, place unequal parts of tiME, thought, tears, speech, prayers, life, children, friends, community, faith, family, MEditation, shouting, sharing, loving, creating, resting, reading, supporting, hating, and being…

Stir 7 tiMEs, counterclockwise, in a square Black vessel enshrined in gold;
With the strength of all your ancestors, stir baby stir;
Until a stiff, congealed, moldable, clay-like salve forms rivers.

Until you see ME in the reflection.
Apply the Soul Salve to a sharp knife.
Say Bismillah.
And sever the head of the snake.