Maybe it’s the sweetness of daybreak on a cool summer morning; the smell of brewing coffee; or the melodious sounds of the birds just outside my window- whatever the reason, mornings are my favorite time of the day. The physical body struggled to make it out of bed. The mental state was already racing, quickly compiling the list of to-do’s. Then it happened. The spiritual mind stopped me dead in my tracks with the song I kept hearing all through my dreams…
‘Where the ghost of childhood haunts me…walk the roads my forefathers walked.’
Every moment in my home is a constant reminder of my past and my story. I sleep in the room, once shared by my grandparents. My father was born in the room now occupied by my sons. I find solace and comfort in a rocking chair in which my great-grandmother rocked my aunt and uncles. The land that now hosts my garden bears the mark of four generations of my family. Everywhere I turn I am faced with another memory.
Just like any other house, this house has a story to tell, and the secrets that lie within its walls tell of a remarkable past. There are those who look upon the past with bitterness and contempt; full of sorrow, regret, unwilling to forgive, and never letting you forget. They place blame at the feet of those who they believe ‘wronged’ them; living in the misery of the past, and allowing the joys of the present slip through their hands. This morning, as this house speaks to me- and yes it speaks to me- I stop and listen.
I breathe in the energy that surrounds me; I find comfort in the peace that engulfs me.
Nicole is a mother of four, wife, doula, family lifeskills educator, and a writer from Baltimore, Maryland. She seeks to change the image of Islam by providing education and support to produce healthy, stable, prosperous, and happy families.