Silver Beads

Every time I set out to write, I ask myself, “what is the story that wants to be told, why tell it now, and why are you its teller?” This month, I intended to write about April’s Hierarchy of Needs, about Ramadan and spirituality, about finding myself during a time of energy depletion and (hopeful) heart-surplus.

I have been putting off writing this. Namely because talking about spirituality is hard, and the stories of my religious history are rich, complicated, and at times, painful. There perhaps is not a more body-, self-, God-, community-conscious time than Ramadan-April for me, and I suppose part of me thinks putting this off will somehow save me from feeling it. Gentle reader, whether you hold your breath, close your eyes, and stick your head in a cloud or move closer to the river, you will always feel it. No amount of bargaining or denial will change that simple bead of truth. I hold this in my heart (it’s silver).

Another bead of truth is that I’m graduating in a few weeks. This will be the last piece I write as an Iris intern, for this powerful magazine, continually inspired by this tribe of women. Early in November, I referred to our team as “My Island of Iris'' because it's where I could swim to the shore when the waters became too intense. Writing here, I got to watch everyone’s thoughts move and shift, those lonely moments I felt before logging on to Google Docs and gently folding myself into stories of loss, life, childhood, hope, RipStiks, zucchinis, racism, regeneration, astrology. Chloe, Sadie, Pasha, Lexi, Juliana, Kim, Cady, Mary: each of you, to me, is a silver bead too, your stories have colored my life and are cushioned in my core. Thank you for letting me witness your work, for making me laugh and for playing in these sands with me. It has been the most spiritual ride, to feel such profound connection in a time like now.