Happy New Year to all marking the start of this Gregorian calendar cycle. May this year bring you clarity, contentment, and meaningful growth.
A few years ago, I decided to commune more intentionally with my ancestors. Initially driven by my analytical mind, I sought understanding through facts, history, and logic. Over time, however, I discovered the power of knowing—a deep, intuitive understanding that transcends intellectual reasoning. My faith in Creation has deepened as my ancestors’ guidance has appeared in vivid, embodied ways: through visions, body tremors, divine cries, and intuitive insights. These experiences have led me to move beyond accumulating knowledge and embrace the wisdom that arises from deep, lived connection. What began as a curiosity has evolved into a quest to "find language"—to articulate these ancient teachings and personal insights. This allows the voices of my ancestors and my heart’s desires to merge, bringing new life from the old, and creating something both timeless and transformative.
This journey has not only been about understanding the sacred but also confronting pain—the pain of marginalisation, inherited trauma, and the forces that attempt to erase our stories. I began to see how pain, whether personal or collective, silences us. It disconnects us from others and from the words we need to make sense of our experiences. Elaine Scarry’s The Body in Pain offers a profound lens for understanding this dynamic. She argues that pain doesn’t just evade language; it dismantles it entirely. Pain exists in the bodies of people around us, sometimes just inches away, yet when pain is not shared with empathy, we create a divide. When our pain goes unheard, or we lack the means to express it, isolation deepens—leaving us trapped in suffering, disconnected from healing and understanding. When our pain is not heard, or when we cannot share it, we are left isolated, trapped in suffering without the connection or empathy needed to heal.
Poverty is not an individual failure, nor is trauma an individual burden; both are shaped by systemic forces that perpetuate inequality and exclusion. For Black, Indigenous, and People of Colour (BIPOC) communities, this shared pain is compounded by a linguistic fracture—a silence rooted in colonial legacies and anti-Black racism. The lack of language to articulate collective trauma hinders unity, leaving our histories, struggles, and aspirations unsaid. These systemic forces isolate us, perpetuating cycles of poverty and trauma. Too often, causing us to either ignore the suffering of others or inflict pain due to our own unresolved wounds, fostering an oppressive and pain-full cycle.
It is here that my story of resilience as sacred alchemy intersects with the search for language. For me, resilience is not just about overcoming adversity. It’s about envisioning and creating alternatives to oppressive systems and creating a language for new dreams. It’s about dismantling hegemonic structures while advocating for justice, equity, and collective healing. This understanding of resilience inspires me to view life’s challenges not as barriers, but as turning points on a transformative journey of growth and liberation. I shared these reflections recently in a conversation about resilience as sacred alchemy with Bold Journey, a community focused on storytelling and life experiences. Here’s an excerpt from that conversation:
“In every setback, I find the fire that tempers iron, the grace to rise, and the strength to move forward with purpose. My resilience is tethered to a sacred calling—a calling sustained by my heritage, supported by my ancestors, and guided by an unyielding belief in the interconnectedness of all that is.”
[The full article is available here.]
Pain, though overwhelming, carries profound messages about grief, recovery, and integration. It beckons us to pause, to listen, and to embrace it not as something to escape but as a teacher. In listening to the body and engaging with pain, we step into a sacred practice of wholeness. This healing is not just personal but collective; it involves reclaiming the wisdom encoded in our bodies and shared histories. Healing and transformation, I believe, are not isolated acts but are deeply woven into the collective fabric of existence, intricately shaped by forces both seen and unseen, personal and ancestral. Echoing the resilience that flows through generations, this practice urges us to rest, rejuvenate, and return to our full selves.
In tending to my wounds, I find inspiration in Martin Luther King Jr.’s belief in the transformative power of love and bell hooks’ vision of love as a practice of action. Love, in this sense, is an active commitment to justice, healing, and transformation. It calls us to create spaces where people—like me, and like those who seek deep reflection, growth, and healing—can walk their talk and embody the change they wish to see in the world with supportive and nurturing community.
Despite the challenges life has presented, I remain profoundly grateful for the resilience that has sustained me. This quest to "find language" has deepened my connection to Cosmic Consciousness—the unifying presence within all living beings, from galaxies to microorganisms. I am in awe of the billions of microbes within me, not merely as biological agents, but as ancestral messengers carrying the wisdom of generations past. These beings embody resilience and cooperation, reflecting the profound interconnectedness of all life. This resilience is more than a personal triumph; it is a testament to the enduring connection between ancestral guidance, Cosmic Consciousness, and the quiet forces that shape our journeys. These forces move through our bodies and stories, continually calling us back to wholeness.
“Physical pain has no voice, but when it at last finds a voice, it begins to tell a story, and the story it tells is about the inseparability of these three subjects, their embodiment” (Scarry, 1985).
This powerful insight reveals how pain—whether personal, political, or societal—speaks not only through the body but also through the narratives it carries. The story of pain is not simply one of individual suffering; it is deeply intertwined with the larger fabric of social and political structures, reflecting how systemic forces shape the very experience of the body.
On a personal level, pain becomes a vessel through which the individual’s internal struggles—be they trauma, emotional neglect, or the scars of past oppression—are brought to the surface. The body, which has long been silenced in its suffering, finally finds expression and tells a story of resilience, of inherited wounds, and its rewilding towards healing. It is a story that reveals how we are shaped not just by our personal experiences but by the historical and collective forces that permeate our lives. Politically, pain is often weaponised and used to oppress and control. The physical and psychic wounds of marginalised communities, particularly those affected by colonialism and systemic racism, speak to the interconnectedness of personal suffering and collective injustice. These injuries are not isolated; they echo the violence of history, the oppression that continues to affect generations. In this scene, the body becomes the battleground, where laws, policies, and social systems collide with the lived reality of those who bear the weight of inequity. Pain caused by neoliberal political systems in this sense, is not only a personal experience but a manifestation of structural violence that is woven into the fabric of society. On a societal level, pain embodies the collective consciousness of a community—its memories of trauma, its unresolved grief, and its ongoing struggles for justice and equality. It tells a story of how societal systems have fragmented the human experience, reducing people to numbers, statistics, or categories, while failing to address the root causes of their suffering. The body of society bears the scars of collective trauma, often unnoticed or dismissed, yet its presence is undeniable. The story that pain tells here is one of systemic failure to acknowledge the humanity of all people and the need for a collective healing that addresses both the individual and the societal wounds.
Ultimately, the voice of pain is a call to action, to listen, to heal, and to dismantle the systems that perpetuate suffering. It is a reminder that our bodies, our experiences, and our histories are interconnected, and that true healing—whether personal, political, or societal—requires us to address the roots of pain that bind us all.
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