Djs, Prophets, Muhammad and Me

Is there Anybody out there?

Of the seven closest Ancestors to me these days, literally skin-to-skin close as it were, Muhammad is the one who merely holds. Holds space, holds me. He demands nothing, asks nothing, expects nothing because he remembers what it was like: the confusion, the angst, the going-against-the-grain, the humiliating struggle between what is and what Is, the doubt, the surety, the suicidality, the desire to be sovereign and simultaneously surrendered unto The Great Conductor, profoundly alone yet surrounded and touched by what others cannot see, absorbed into something that others can’t reach but deeply, deeply yearn for.

He knew he was but a man being pushed, pulled and dragged into something for which he had no plan, little support and no imagination for building something from it: only clear and distinct direction.

When I am physically still and in deep physical quiet and hold a pen, the lightness fills my body, the pen and the physical space around me. There is no push-to-perform in the way Mother Mary did in 2020 where I was forced to write Into The Lion's Den. There's a whole other story in that but this is different (at least so far).

I know the why of the unfolding and the impact of it but I don't know how or when it will connect with people. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other while letting all of these distinctive threads be pulled together: artist, healer, MMIW shit-pot stirrer, human remains finder, interrupter of dastardliness (sadly, it doesn't come with a stylish cape, bullet-bouncing bracelets or an invisible airplane) and whatever else is going to be thrown my way.

Muhammad has been walking with me intermittently since the summer of 2017. In the past six months he's been with me daily, though, while I call one of his predecessors an asshole and muddle through figuring it all out and not losing my sanity in the mix. When he makes contact, I ask for space and it's given. He expands it around me and offers me the only solace there is: being quietly held with no expectation. Today, I ask him: is there anyone listening? Does anyone really care? Within all this noise of meanness, vitriol, advertising for more and the celebration of cheap nazism, does anyone really care to know that which they've prayed for has been answered?

His response: A quiet, still 'Yes. this is why we are made. Keep on. Be still.'