I’ve been a pioneer of one kind or another my entire life – always thinking for myself, always listening deeply to my body, which has always been inextricably intertwined with my brain. I don’t just think. I think/feel/experience. And I listen. And I act upon – allowing myself to step into the vast expanse of uncertainty, to dive into the black abyss of “not there,” but not quite knowing yet where. Figuring it out by trusting my inner guidance and dancing with each moment – evolving over time, one revelation leading to another, learning on the fly.
I’ve often started a thought process by feeling something off in my body – contraction, a sense of unease in my gut. And then I ask what that’s about, and listen openly for answers. From there, I begin the process of contemplating, imagining, and allowing for new thoughts and possibilities that I don’t see expressed or reflected around me. That’s where my imagination comes in, and the dance between my imagination and my body. It’s a conversation of sorts – is it this? how about that? I ask. I listen. I feel.
My Body knows. My Body tells me. And then I do what my Body says, no matter the risk, no matter the loss. I trust my Body implicitly.
Having fled the Jewish community for over a decade, and having reconnected with it in recent years, it’s been wild to see people casually tossing around thinking, points of reference, consciousness, and paradigms that I introduced back in the 1990s – with no idea of the origin story. Watching them experience these things as obvious, self-evident, as if the dots always had been connected in that formation.
But I remember the risk and nervousness of daring to allow myself to connect those dots in those ways, to carve out space for those thoughts and possibilities, amidst the black void of nothingness – “thoughts without the prospect of a home,” as author Christina Thürmer-Rohr put it, in her book, Vagabonding. I remember the process of mustering the courage to utter those thoughts audibly – especially as a girl, a young woman, who are you?!?! – inherently challenging the status quo and power structures through my heart-felt invitation to consider another option.
And I remember the cement-like heaviness of speaking those thoughts publicly – asserting new ideas that were unheard of, outrageous, taboo. The back splash, push back, resistance, outrage – being called names, scorned, ridiculed, or shut out for thoughts that now fly so easily off people’s tongues.
Choosing, again and again, to pursue and persist in asserting those thoughts. Relentlessly pitching Jewish media and organizations, at the time solidly-entrenched Ashkenazi establishments. Kicking in the cement walls and breaking down the doors for those thoughts, because I knew, in my gut, that they were right. Even as I questioned myself or my sanity – becasue how can you not, when everyone around is saying you are totally and completely wrong, and that your thoughts and ideas are crazy?
I recently wrote a poem, “Back Splash,” about the totality of this experience, for my Patreon site – where I share original and unpublished work with those who support my art. It’s also available in a spoken word performance and as a bare-bones, vocals-and-bass foundation of a new song. In addition, there’s a photo of the original journal entry wehre all my poems and songs begin. Everything is available on my Patreon site. If you’d like to check any of it out, you can get a 7-day free trial, cancel anytime. Explore the membership tiers at Patreon.com/IraqisInPajamas.