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Spirituality, Sufism & Starbucks: Energy Doesn’t Lie

Have you ever witnessed an exorcism?

In real life?

I have.

It’s certainly not a common event and not exactly the most ideal way to spend a Saturday night. There’s a significant difference between a possession and psychosis. Often times, the two get interchanged and the average person is left confused on how to handle either situation.

The Taoist Priest I studied under always cleansed his students at the beginning of each class. He did not tell us what negative energies needed to be removed, unless someone was actually possessed. Again, the occurrence of someone physically being possessed by demons is not as common as many believe. There is a gray area between being surrounded by negative energies and being spiritually/physically possessed by something.

Unfortunately, there was one particular student that was a sponge for negative energy – we’ll call him Jack. Jack did not have strong spiritual morale to begin with, thus he was left vulnerable to all kinds of things. I used to have this fascination with learning about that world but after witnessing a handful of exorcisms, I realized that realm is too dark for my beautiful yet naive eyes.

In the world of exorcisms there is not just one path. There isn’t always holy water or prayers in Latin and Aramaic. In Islam, there is a method for exorcisms which I will not detail here because I am not qualified. If this topic is of interest, please email me and I can put you in contact with a respected teacher.

As soon as our Taoist Priest began his group cleansing for the class, Jack’s body shook violently. His eyes rolled back and he started to convulse. I was so frightened and new to this whole situation that my key concern was catching whatever spirit was ailing him – as if it was a cold and he had sneezed into the air. In my fear, I started reciting the Shahada over Jack and haphazardly converting him against his will. Whoops.

Once Jack had settled, the Priest effortlessly turned his attention to the entire group to let the energies settle and continued class as if we all did not just crap our pants over what we had witnessed.

“Now, let’s continue today’s session on taking the energy you learned how to cultivate from last week, and transcend it,” he began but was cut off by our class mutiny.

“Wait! What happened to Jack?”

“Is Jack dead?”

“Who put a curse on Jack?”

“Can I have his rolex?”

The important questions always come out first.

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s just integrating from the exorcism,” the priest said continuing on with the lesson.

Oh of course, integrating right. It’s not like I didn’t just see someone writhe like a rattlesnake and then go comatose off to the side. But we were expected to not pay that any attention.

By the end of class Jack was back to a more normal state.

Following that ordeal I decided to visit the Shiite mosque in my neighborhood for Friday prayer.

***

It was my second time at a Shiite Mosque and I wasn’t anticipating anything different. Upon entering, I noticed an elderly lady to the far right corner. The Mosque was small, so men and women were in the same prayer room. She was sitting with laser focus eyes on the entryway. Her dark, almost black, eyes were set underneath thick black eyebrows. I met her gaze and smiled. She continued to glare at me with intense ferocity; it sent chills down my spine. Instinctively, I felt compelled to recite the 3 qul’s (Ikhlas, al-nas and al-falaq). After prayer, I took my scarf off upon entering the parking lot and as soon as I reached my car, I was pulled backwards. I turned to meet the lady face to face.

“Salaam, are you married?” She began.

With a heavy sigh and slight eye roll I answered, “No, Alhamdullilah.”

“Where are you from?”

“Cincinnati,”

“No, your origin?”

“My parents are from Egypt,” I said.

“Ah,” she tilted her head back and scanned my face. “I’m from Iraq. We are practically neighbors. Here, I have something for you,” she dug through her purse.

I’m not quite sure where she got the impression that Egypt and Iraq were bordering one another. But we’ll let her roll with it.

“Here, take this. Don’t open it. Bury it on your property,” She shoved the velvet satchel in my hand and forced my fingers to clench the bag.

“Oh, what is this? Why is it squishy?” I asked and started to massage the mysterious pouch.

“Recite this dua over it, seven times. Then say, ‘first tree, second tree, third tree, it’s buried’ and bury the bag. Then repeat the dua seven times a day for seven days.”

“What’s in here? Is this like the Islamic version of manifesting? And I already have a vision board ready!” I said a little too hopeful.

“That is because you have to do it through your roots. Trust me, it’ll work. I’ll see you next Friday and ask about the progress.”

She ran her right hand through my hair and brushed the hair out of my face. Under a normal situation that would be seen as endearing… if I actually knew her. But nothing about this was normal. I found out later that she had done so to catch a few strands of my hair.

She’s like the Iraqi fairy godmother! Minus the magic wand that could turn my Tory Burch knee-highs into Louboutin’s.

I did as she instructed that evening. I thought I had finally found a way to manifest my dreams, within the religion. As the days progressed, I started having nightmares. I continuously woke up startled from a vision every time. I would be in a full body sweat. When I would try to recite Quran, my tongue felt heavy. Thinking it was an aftermath from shock, I would reach for my phone to turn on Quran, instead. But my phone that would always be routinely placed besides my pillow always ended up on either the other side of the room or underneath my bed. I thought I had flung it in my sleep.

Thursday evening, I was nauseous. I regurgitated black liquid. Now I had the gut feeling, no pun intended, something was wrong. I knew better than to call my mom because she would somehow find a way to blame me for this. So instead, I called the next best thing, my Iraqi friend, Sabeen. After I relayed the week’s worth of events, Sabeen’s mother got on the phone to do what I was afraid my own mother would do, and scolded me for a solid 20 minutes.

“How could you be so stupid!”

“You signed your life away!”

“You sold yourself to the devil!”

“If you were here, I would hit you over the head with my shoe to knock some sense into you!”

Even if you’re not blood related, Middle Easterner’s feel like they have claim over you to treat you like their own. Don’t be alarmed, the threat of violence only meant that she cared.

“Just tell me how to fix this before she turns me into a toad,” I cried.

Clearly I had no idea I had partaken in black magic. If I did, I wouldn’t have been so trusting. I didn’t know what I had gotten myself into. I thought I was learning how to manifest, according to Islam. The Iraqi wizard had not only given me a talisman that contained an animal’s heart but she had also taken my DNA to coerce me, from afar. Which explained the nightmares and other bodily functions. When I asked about her in the community, I learned she had a son that was not married. From further conversation with Sabeen’s mother, I found out this type of work is common amongst Middle Easterner’s. In fact, there are certain villages and islands dedicated solely to the practice of magick. Mind blown.

Magick is real. There is a reason why the Quran gives us the appropriate tools to guard against the unwarranted energies. The topic of magick is another vast subject that I cannot even begin to cover this week. I will reiterate, I do not practice black magick (sihr) nor do I endorse the practice. While I respect all spiritual paths, I am simply sharing my story of my own personal experience.

Thankfully, this story has a happy ending. I saw a Sheikh in conjunction with my Taoist teacher for a removal and the process took 40 days for it to be completed.

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