There was a time when I thought I knew how to find myself. I thought I knew where to reach to find me. I thought I knew which version of me to pull from the drawer and put on my body. There was the woman who could explain herself, the woman who could become whatever the moment required. I knew how to reach inward and find something that felt safe enough to hold and to be seen. Until one day, I reached, and there was nothing there. Just this sense of vastness where all walls had seemed to of disappeared. I panicked and thought: “Where did I go?” But after some time, I wondered if maybe I hadn’t gone anywhere. Maybe something I had mistaken for myself was simply no longer available.

Today I was surrounded by people and that old instinct returned to reach inward, find an identity, find the shape that will make me safe here, find the version that knows how to belong. But that reaching found nothing to grasp. So I closed my eyes and just breathed. And in that moment I stopped trying to become anyone. The room continued to move around me. All the voices became distant, all the bodies became out there, and I was somewhere beneath everything. Just inside this well within myself. This deep, still, dark well. In that moment, I thought about how darkness has been misunderstood. I don't think darkness is always where things disappear. Maybe it’s where things gestate before they're given some concrete name. This void does not owe me an answer. I’ve come to see it as a place and space where answers have not yet hardened. 

So I am learning to sit here. No longer reaching or rushing to name. I am learning that there exists a difference between absence and spaciousness. I am learning that I can feel empty without feeling abandoned. I can feel uncertain without being lost and I can feel undefined without that meaning I am nothing.

My life is not meant to be figured out. It is meant to be lived, explored, experienced, felt. I came to embrace the beauty of being alive, even when that beauty is woven together with great love and unforgettable loss. I honor the people in my life who have also chosen to adventure. They are endless light clothed in human form, and I want to love them as fully as I can for as long as we are blessed to walk this earth together. 
I don’t understand everything. I don’t know why grief must carve such deep places within us, or why love so often asks us to endure unimaginable loss. I guess that is the price of loving so profoundly. Even so, I will continue to walk…continue to live so fully in honor of my loved ones. I will live boldly in their honor. I will laugh, create, wonder, and keep my heart open. I will carry their light forward when they no longer walk beside me. I will continue this great adventure with gratitude, courage, and reverence. And when my own journey is complete, I trust that somewhere beyond this horizon, we will meet again.

Mother

How does this Earth we call Mother hold the grief of her children?

The work of a mother is no easy task.

Mother, how do you continue to hold each of us despite the constant contentions, wars, bloodshed, rape, trafficking, discrimination, and pure heart-wrenching suffering and injustice?

Mother, I don’t understand.

How do you continue to hold your children amid such madness?

I feel so weak, so tired, and all I have to hold is my own life, along with the hearts of my family and friends.

How do you do it?

Millions upon millions of souls,
for thousands of years.

Do you know something that we don’t, Mother?

Is there a secret to your magnificent mothering?

Is there a secret to the way you continue to nurture us despite the seemingly endless pain?

If there is a secret, you must share it with me, Mother.

I need to know how to do this,
how to hold all of this,
how to endure when my heart feels it cannot.

Tell me, Mother, please.

Tell me what I am to do to make it through this journey,
this life,
this mortal experience.

Maybe one day I will be like you.
capable of an endless compassion that knows no enemy,
that fills every cup despite what stands before it.

I hope to be like you someday, Mother.

Holy Mother Water 

You who take on many mighty forms, 
from the micro to the macro.
Deliverer of the essential element 
that gives life to life itself. 

You who houses the marine worlds
while quenching the land’s thirst. 
We are left speechless in the presence of your vast beauty that is both terrifying and awe inspiring. 

We honor you, Holy Water. 

Giver and sustainer of life 
since the beginning of time,
awaken our remembrance 
at the cellular level. 

Praise to you carver of mountains 
and keeper of the grand mysteries. 
The one who houses all memory.

Awaken what was lost to the mind,
restore us to coherence and wholeness.  

You who reflect the infinite light of the cosmos, never ceasing to take our breath away 
as we stand in witness of your magnitude. 

We praise you, 
and with our love, acknowledge you 
in every form.

Holy Mother Water. 
we honor your supreme majesty 
with these words. 

We are not meant to harden.
Not meant to seal our hearts
in stone and silence.

Even as the world trembles,
even as sorrow howls through the cracks,
we are asked to stay soft.
to stay present.
to stay human.

It would be easier to turn away,
to close the blinds of the soul
and let apathy rock us to sleep.
But we were not born for numbness.

We were born to witness.
To meet ache with listening,
to greet despair with hands that offer,
even if only a crumb or prayer.

For every thread of love we weave
is one more strand of coherence.
one more stitch in the torn fabric
of this aching, beautiful world.

So we do not wait to feel whole.
We begin now,
with what we have.
With the smallest kindness.
With the softest refusal
to close our hearts.

Thank you to these lands we walk upon
that once held our ancestors.

What history you hold,
what beauty,
what majesty and mystery.

I do not want to own you.
I only want to commune.

To love.
To offer what I can,
and in return receive your nourishment,
your awe,
your love.

I hear whispers from others
that your land provides a gift at night.

When the sun goes down
and the stars come out,
our cosmic ancestors light up the sky for our remembrance.

What a gift.

To witness the wonder that exists above our eyes.

Milky Way,
starlight so bright.

I love the night sky.
It always reminds me that:
“There is more…
so much more, my sweet child.”

I lay down the hunger to be more
and return to the holy that already lives in my bones.

No longer must I grasp for the light
I remember I am lit from within.

I release the maps.
I untie the rope from my will.
Let the river take me to where only love has dreamed me.

I surrender not in defeat, but in sacred offering.

I give you my timing.
I give you my fear.
I give you the part of me that always needs to know.

And in return, I take nothing
only the breath of now,
only the stillness where your presence stirs.

Here I am.
No longer the seeker.
I am the flame, kneeling into itself.

What are all the eyes looking at?

Do they have the ability to interpret what they see or do they just observe?

Are they my eyes? What would it mean if they were my eyes..

What would I want to witness? What would I want to observe? Would I just learn or would I also get to experience?

If they belong to someone else, who? Does that person or people know me? If they do, why don’t they do more than just watch me? Why don’t the eyes help me?...Or have they?

Are these ancient eyes that have witnessed it all?

Voice 1: What if I don’t want to be seen?

Voice 2: Why not?

Voice 1: Because if I’m seen, I have to be something that the eye wants me to be and I don’t want to be something I’m not. That’s exhausting.

Voice 2: Then why not just ignore the eye and be whatever you want?

Voice 1: Because the eye will still watch and I cannot be comfortable until they look away.

Voice 2: But what if the eye doesn’t care the way you think it does?

Voice 1: But what if it does?

Voice 2: Fair enough…What will it take for you to stop caring so much about the eye?

Voice 1: …Complete solitude

Voice 2: But that doesn’t sound fun.

Voice 1: Ehh, maybe it won’t be so bad once I get used to being alone.

Voice 2: That sounds so sad and lonely…

Voice 1: Yea…but at least I won't have to feel like I have to perform for the eye!

Voice 2: But…is it worth it? To not be witnessed by eyes that do care?

Voice 1: …What do you mean? Are there other eyes?!

Voice 2: Yes, didn’t you see them?

Voice 1: Well, no…I only saw the one eye.

Voice 2: That’s because you chose to only see the one eye.

Voice 1: Well…I don’t know what to do!! How do I go back to being seen by the other eyes if I know certain eyes will still demand I wear a mask?

Voice 2: Honestly, I don’t know. All I know is you’ll never be at peace in this solitude…and maybe there’s something big on the other side of your fear.

Voice 1: …

Voice 2: You can do it.

Voice 1: … Maybe you’re right.

Voice 2: Maybe.

Voice 1: Will you be with me while I try?

Voice 2: Of course. It may not be obvious that I’m there but I am…

Voice 1: Okay…I’m ready.

———-

At the heart of my heart, I have always been a spiritual seeker. Praying, asking for guidance, feeling spirit in various layers of my life and my experiences. I’ve always had a passion for spirituality and loved pondering deep questions about the mysteries of life.

Growing up, I was raised in a very high-demand religion. Most people know of it (especially now that there's a popular reality show about it), but they often misunderstand the high level of indoctrination and the all-consuming experience of being programmed to experience yourself and your life from a Mormon lens. Yes, I was Mormon. Most people look at me wide-eyed when I share this information, and I understand why. Not only is it kind of uncommon to come across an ex-Mormon, but a black ex-Mormon?? A damn unicorn.

My childhood was pretty normal, and I have deep gratitude for my parents. I have done so much inner work that has gifted me the ability to hold deep grace while reflecting on those times.

My religious life felt mostly normal while growing up. I questioned certain traditions, teachings, and rules that seemed to conflict with my inner knowing, but it was never to the point where I felt I needed to look behind the curtain. I knew Mormons were different, and most people thought we were weird, but that didn’t push me to ask deeper questions about my religion. It wasn’t until marrying my husband in the temple and having our first child that I began to question things and experience this raging tension between my intuition and my Mormon identity. 

On top of this inner conflict, attending church each Sunday began to feel empty. It was the same conversations, the same lessons, the same questions, the same answers week after week…after week. I remember sitting in a sacrament meeting one day and thinking, “Do I really have to do this for the rest of my life?” I had done it my whole childhood, so what was different? Not only was I feeling this sense of dread with the monotony of my church/religious life, but I was also constantly battling this deep feeling that I did not belong here nor did I fit in. This was not new for me. I had been experiencing this inner tension since leaving for college to Provo, Utah, where I was completely engulfed in a predominately white world. This time of my life was such a challenge trying to figure out who I was amongst so much of what I was not. The more I tried to blend in with the culture around me, the louder my inner critic screamed, “You don’t belong!”

The same year my husband left for basic training, I was hired to work as a Mindset Coach for Geeta Nadkarni’s company, Impact With Influence. I was extremely excited to start this new role because I knew it would require me to grow in my field, but what it actually did for me was wake me up to a reality I knew existed beneath my religious conditioning and programming. I was working alongside women who were profoundly spiritual and fulfilled in their personal lives, and they weren’t Mormon…My wheels began turning, and the parts of me that were seeking freedom, belonging, and spiritual fulfillment were waking up.

After about two months of working in my new job, the inner tension got louder. I decided to research the church’s history and do a deep dive into why certain rules existed for us Mormons. Initially, I was looking for answers to surface-level questions like why coffee was such a big no-no. But deep, deep, deep down, I was trying to find an answer to the big question I was not ready to ask out loud. “Was being Mormon the only way?”

Prophets and leaders taught that our church was the one and only true church on the face of the Earth and the only place where you’d find true joy and everlasting happiness. Having heard these phrases repeatedly for years, they fed this sense of existential dread that plagued my mind whenever I thought about walking a different path. If I left the church, that would mean I’d no longer have god’s favor, protection, or the Holy Spirit, and I’d never truly be happy (or so I thought). I’d be, “at the mercy of satan” (or so I thought). This terrified me because where would I go? What would happen to my family? Will something bad happen to me if I leave? Will God hate me? What if I get to the next life and get sent to the lowest part of Heaven where God doesn’t live? What if I go to hell? These questions haunted me for a long time.

I continued to do my research and found so many resources that illuminated the truth about the church. I discovered things about Joseph Smith, the temple practices (which I never felt comfortable with), racist teachings labeled as doctrine, early church history, the treatment of women, and many more serious issues. Many of these things I’d never known about. It became SO clear to me that I could no longer stand for this church nor would I raise my child in it. It was unsafe and we had to leave.

It was at the end of that same year that I finally decided I was done. Once that decision was firm in my heart, I felt free. I felt liberated. I WAS liberated.

It took a long time to release the tight grip those questions I mentioned above had on me. I spent time in therapy working to unravel the Mormon reality and rebuild my sense of self and my perspective on life over time.

It’s been about 3 years since we left, and since then, I have taken my spiritual life into my own hands and have crafted an active relationship with the divine in a way that resonates with my spirit. It has not been easy, and I don’t claim to have all the answers now. A lot of Mormons will say that people who leave the church are “taking the easy way out,” but it is far from easy. I’ve been through some dark nights of the soul, some periods of existential crisis, seasons of depression, etc.

There are still hard days, but I get to be me now…the real me.

I will never again put all my faith in a system that asks me to shrink, deny my intuition, and obey in exchange for conditional love. I refuse to go back to performing perfection in order to be worthy to enter “gods house” or be worthy of gods love & attention.

Now, I get to choose how I live my life and express myself. I get to choose how to commune with the creator and feel about the creator and experience creation.

I am sovereign.

I am reclaiming my right to decide who I am and what I believe as a spiritually curious Black woman in this world. I get to explore my own roots, my own heritage, learn about my ancestors, and cultivate a spiritual identity that aligns with my soul. There is a lot more I could say about my process of deprogramming all the religious indoctrination from Mormonism. I think many ex-Mormons have vulnerable experiences that they are not ready to share, and I would say that is valid. It is difficult to sum up the true mind-fuck that is Mormonism. There is deep inner work I have done around sexual shame, anxiety, what it means to be a woman, marriage and what that truly looks like, being a mom and what that actually looks like for me, body image issues, learning how to be okay with not being okay, and so much more. It even took a while for me to drink coffee without feeling like I was going to go to hell (this is super funny to think back on lol).

One of the deepest subconscious wounds I had to work through after leaving Mormonism was my relationship with my skin. Growing up and seeing only images of white angels, a white god, white-skinned Jesus, paintings of white people in the temples and in the temple videos, slowly began forming this belief in me that I was not good or worthy or beautiful enough, especially in the eyes on god. Since leaving, I have done such profound work to love who I am and appreciate my body and my heritage. I know the value of my divine nature.

No longer will I allow a white man’s self-made doctrine tell me how I get to move through this life. No longer will I allow anyone or anything to come in between my relationship with myself or with the Great Mystery of life. This is such a profound and personal journey that no one can take from you. Spirituality is deeply personal. It’s a beautiful, intimate journey that you have the choice in how you experience. I’ve really learned the truth of this in the last 3 years, and I am still learning so much (and still unlearning many things too…).

beyond skin,

beyond the physical,

beyond the flesh.

This unspoken, magical energy

that links us beyond identity,

beyond category,

beyond the boxes.

With a gentle

yet all-encompassing touch…

Hand in hand.

Our eyes meet.

Our souls speak.

Soft smiles,

deeply knowing hearts.

This unspoken energy has indeed spoken—

beyond words,

beyond language,

beyond conscious comprehension.

A moment

forming a memory.

An impression.

Of two souls

remembering

we are all

innately

one.

This poem came to me after a moment of soul-recognition with a complete stranger. I love the interactions and experiences in life that reach beyond words and right to the heart of what’s real. I attempted to capture the richness of this moment with a poem, hoping to convey the emotions felt by us both. Words aren’t always enough to express the subtle yet profound experiences of life, but we try anyway…

And I’ll keep trying.