The Scars We Call Humanity

From Forgetting to Knowing: The Anatomy of Our Wholeness

What is this play, this grand theater of existence? Should we mistake it for a straight road, a march towards some distant prize? 

No. It is the exquisite, cyclical dance of forgetting and remembering, a rhythm older than the stars. 

The deep forgetting was no sudden fall; it was a slow, creeping slumber. Many think they know, yet they speak of "black" and "white," as if the sun and the soil haven't sculpted our very skin, as if our bodies were not simply poems written by the earth's many diasporas. 

We have a choice, you see: to merely think, or to truly know.

The truth of humanity is not a concept to be grasped, but a rhythm to be lived. At the core of your being, of my being, of every single one of us, is not a separate, lonely island. The Divine itself, the very current of consciousness, has not merely crafted us from clay. It is incarnating, right now, as this unique expression of life, as this human being, as the very eyes reading these words...

This is the truth that ancient whispers have carried on the wind and etched into the silent stones of Alkebulan, the first garden.

The first footsteps on that motherland were not weighed down by separation. Life was a seamless melody, a dance with the cosmos itself. The wisdom of Ma'at and Ifa was not a reaching for something distant, but a profound alignment—making the inside mirror the outside, the individual a perfect echo of the whole. They did not see the world as a broken machine to be fixed, but as a living, breathing symphony to be honored. They were the melody, the song itself.

But something shifted. 

When some of those first bodies journeyed north, into the relentless cold and the long, starved nights of Europe, a deep fear took root. 

A scarcity of sun, of sustenance, of warmth—it re-sculpted their very biology. A constant state of fight-or-flight became the new normal, a primal anxiety woven into their very cells, passed down not through stories, but through the silent language of genes...

This scarcity became a lens, a distorted glass through which they saw the world as a zero-sum game: my gain, your loss.

And so, with this deep wound of lack, they eventually began to move again. They encountered a world of profound abundance, people living a holistic, non-dual reality. 

But a mind trapped in scarcity cannot perceive a garden. It sees only a rival, a resource to be taken. The act of colonization was never just a quest for gold. It was a projection of an inner famine, a desperate attempt to fill a void that only healing could touch. The true violence was not just on the body and the land; it was a systematic war on knowledge itself. An epistemic violence meant to sever a people from their own soul, to erase their spiritual blueprint.

Then, with the stolen fragments, they crafted a new story. The original vision of peace—an embodied state of being, a continuous expression of the divine—was twisted into a future prize, a distant "Zion" to be conquered. They turned a profound truth into a weapon, justifying war as the path to peace, and a holy place as a fortress for the "chosen."

But the true journey is not a walk toward some external light. It is a plunge into our own darkness. For since all of existence is a divine expression, then its shadows and suffering are also part of it. To deny the darkness is to deny the whole, and that, my friend, is where the real problem begins. 

This is why deep shadow work is not an option; it is the only way forward. It is not about becoming "good" but about becoming whole. The shadow, that repressed pain, that which we were told was ugly, remains unconscious until we face it. And what is true for the individual is also true for the collective. The trauma of colonization continues its dark dance until it is faced and owned. 

You cannot heal what you are unwilling to feel.

This is where the idea of spiritual bypassing shows its tragic inadequacy.... It's the temptation to leap to the mountaintop without first making peace with the valley. To say "we are all one" while refusing to look at the very violence that fractured our world is not a realization; it is a profound and damaging denial. A true awakening is not a blissful high; it is the quiet, unshakable realization that your unchanging essence is present through it all—the pleasant and the painful.

This is where love and objective truth must hold hands. The truth we cultivate here is not an opinion; it is a brutal, undeniable reality. The colonial wounds were not an accident. They were the consequence of a traumatized mind projecting its own scarcity. This is a fact, whether we choose to see it or not.

The only way genuine love can flow is when this objective truth is faced directly. To look at this dark history, at the inherited trauma, not with judgment, but with a clear, steady gaze. This profound act of witness is the beginning of love. It is the love that says, "I see your wound, and I will not look away." 

This is the real alchemy. The light of truth on the trauma does not make it disappear; it makes it whole. It transmutes the fear into wisdom, the anger into passion, and the inherited fragmentation into a fierce, new wholeness.

This is not bypassing. This is love in motion. This is how global peace happens: not by praying for it, but by living it into being, one courageous, honest look into the shadow at a time. The greatest rebellion against the legacy of separation is to simply exist in the quiet, overwhelming truth of your own unity. 

The deepest wisdom is not in a scroll, not in a book, not in a distant future. It is not something you must go and find. It is what you are, here and now.

The path to peace is not in fighting for a future Zion, but in the simple, profound act of remembering that you are the divine, here, now, in this body, in this moment. The moment you do this, you become a living antidote to the very trauma that has defined the last few centuries. What are you willing to see?

And so, what is the next step on this journey? It is not about a sudden, grand gesture. It is about a million small, quiet acts of courage. The path forward is not a loud march; it is a profound stillness within, an act of radical surrender.

We can try to bypass this moment, to look for a spiritual shortcut. But true transformation does not happen on the surface; it happens in the deep, subterranean chambers of our being. This work is not a hobby. It is the only thing that matters. We can either choose to continue the cycle of violence, fear, and separation, or we can choose to break it, one conscious moment at a time.

You see, the antidote to the wound is not a new belief system. It is a new state of being. It is the realization that the peace you seek in some distant future or in some other place is right here, within you. You don’t have to go anywhere to find it; you simply have to stop running from it. The moment you stop, the moment you become still, the moment you are willing to face what you have been running from—in that very moment, the great remembering begins.

The very air you breathe is a sacred testament to this truth. The wind whispers it, the earth holds it, and the stars sing of it in a silent, cosmic hum. The journey is not about finding the divine. It is about realizing you are the divine, walking on this earth, with all your flaws, all your past, and all your future wrapped in a single, timeless now.

So, I ask you: what are you willing to remember today? What part of your own sacred story are you ready to reclaim? The choice, as always, is yours.