The price of your awakening was paid in Gaza’s blood. Don’t you dare forget that.
These words has sliced through me today as once again I opened my laptop to be faced with overwhelming ignorance from people claiming to be woke. I honestly didnt know that after all the exposure, after 589 days of Genocide that people could still be blind to what is unfolding live right in front of their eyes.
Yet as the rest of the world blinked open its eyes to the machinery of empire, to the savage clarity of colonialism laid bare, it was Gaza who paid the toll. Gaza — not just a place, but a people, a breath, a prayer buried beneath rubble — handed you the gift of sight. You didn’t wake up on your own. You were dragged, screaming or silent, into awareness by the sound of children being obliterated on livestream.
And yet.
There are still people pretending to be awake.Still trying to intellectualise their cowardice, still preaching nuance while bodies are turned to dust.
Still speaking of Hamas as though resistance is terrorism, as though occupied people owe their colonisers compliance. Still choosing the side of genocide while wearing the mask of enlightenment.
This did not begin on October 7th. That date is not the start of anything but your discomfort. Gaza’s struggle, Palestine’s pain, predates your timeline. It is layered with decades of theft, murder, humiliation, and siege — of a people imprisoned in their own land, punished for refusing to die quietly.
You talk about humanity, but only when it serves your politics.
You cry for peace, but only when the oppressed raise their fists.
You condemn “both sides,” but only when the side resisting dares to survive.
This isn’t awakening. This is performance.
Real awakening means rupture. Grief. Accountability.
It means recognising that what you now know came at the cost of a child’s life, a mother’s scream, a city flattened.
And that you owe them — not your pity, but your voice. Your alignment. Your truth.
Because yes, the price of your awakening was paid by Gaza in blood.
But the price of your silence — your ignorance, your willful blindness — will be paid by your soul on the Day of Judgment.
May you not be among the liars who claim they didn’t know.
May you not be among the cowards who claimed neutrality while genocide marched on.
And may you remember — every time you speak, every time you post, every time you choose sides — that someone else died to show you the truth.
“To the Spiritually Woke: You Are Not Who You Think You Are”
by Ink and Intention
In an age where everyone claims to be awakened — bathed in incense smoke, steeped in divine feminine wisdom, draped in crystals and cosmic truth — it is bewildering to find that so many remain deeply asleep.
They chant about liberation, about rising consciousness, about the sacredness of all things. They speak of universal love, of goddess energy, of breaking ancestral chains. And yet, when faced with a people being bombed, starved, and erased in real time, they somehow manage to take the side of the oppressor — or worse, they suggest solutions that are nothing more than polite ethnic cleansing.
This morning, I encountered a few such voices. Sisters, supposedly. Spiritually awakened, allegedly. But what I heard from them wasn’t truth. It was empty, packaged rhetoric. They suggested that Palestinians should simply leave. That perhaps Libya could offer refuge. That somehow, the people of Gaza must want to leave this devastation behind.
Let me be clear: this is not awakening. This is not alignment. This is complicity.
To suggest that the people of Gaza — who have endured unimaginable violence, who have chosen to remain rooted on their land even as it is turned to rubble — would want to leave, is to expose just how far removed you are from truth. It is to misunderstand not only the political reality, but the spiritual force that binds them to their home.
They are not enduring this genocide because they lack options. They are enduring it because they refuse to give up what is sacred.
They stay because their land is not a piece of negotiable real estate. It is not something they can sell or exchange for safety. It is home. It is legacy. It is prayer and history and covenant.
Their grandfathers planted olive trees that still bear fruit. Their ancestors are buried in the soil they walk on. Every stone is part of their story. Every inch of land has witnessed their love, their prayers, their blood. This isn’t nationalism — it is a spiritual, historical, and divine relationship with the land.
And more than that — they stay because of tawakkul. Because of their trust in Allah, subḥānahu wa taʿālā. Because they know that every hardship, every death, every loss, is written. That there is no true safety except with Him. That even in the face of bombs and starvation, what matters most is not survival at any cost, but submission to the Divine Will.
They sit on the ruins of their homes not because they have nowhere to go — but because to leave would be to betray everything they believe in. Everything they’ve lived for. Everything they were entrusted to protect.
And you — you in the West, with your temples and your tarot decks, your moon water and your sacred baths — you dare to speak on this? You, who live in lands built on the blood of displaced peoples, dare to advise the oppressed to become refugees again?
You are not awakened. You are not enlightened. You are parroting settler-colonial logic with prettier words and softer lighting.
You speak of divine feminine energy, but you cannot recognize the raw sacred feminine power of a mother in Gaza holding her baby in the rubble and refusing to leave.
You speak of vibration and frequency, but you do not feel the frequency of truth in the voice of a father who has lost everything and still says, “Alḥamdulillāh.”
You speak of ancestors, but you deny the dignity of a people walking the same streets their great-grandparents walked, even if those streets are now bombed-out shadows.
You say Palestinians should leave. But where, exactly, should they go? Libya, which has been torn apart by Western war? Jordan, already overflowing? Egypt, whose gates remain closed? The very idea is absurd. And yet, more disturbingly, it is exactly what Israel wants: an emptied land. A silent Nakba. A second expulsion, disguised as a humanitarian gesture.
And you — in your spiritual self-righteousness — are carrying that message forward.
You want to talk about hostages. Fine. Talk about them. But talk honestly. Hamas has repeatedly said: “We will release every hostage, all at once — if the bombing stops.” But the bombing hasn’t stopped, because Israel doesn’t want peace. It wants submission. It wants annihilation. It wants silence.
And every time you repeat, “Why won’t they just leave?” — you’re doing its work for it.
You are not neutral. You are not compassionate. You are not spiritual. You are colonized. Mentally and morally colonized, dressed in the language of awakening but devoid of substance.
Being truly awake means understanding the weight of oppression. It means standing with the oppressed even when it makes you uncomfortable. It means dismantling your illusions, not reinforcing them with incense and ego.
Real consciousness demands that you understand this: the people of Gaza are not martyrs because they want to die. They are martyrs because they refuse to abandon life — real life — a life of honour, of faith, of rootedness, of resistance. Their lives are drenched in meaning. In sacred defiance. In belief.
You, on the other hand, are asleep. And worse — you think you’re awake.
If your version of spirituality does not include the oppressed, does not understand the holiness of land, does not weep for the children buried beneath rubble, then your spirituality is a lie.
So sit with your discomfort. Sit with your hypocrisy. Sit with the realization that you are not who you thought you were.
Feminism, at its core, is meant to champion the rights of all women — to protect their dignity, autonomy, and voice, no matter where they come from or what they wear. But where are these voices when hijabi girls are beaten, stabbed with pens, and left in critical condition simply for being visibly Muslim?
Recently, a disturbing attack took place in the U.S. — three young Afghan girls, still in school, surrounded by more than twenty students. They were assaulted, their hijabs torn off, their bodies violated — not just physically, but symbolically. This wasn’t just bullying. This was a hate crime, an act of Islamophobia, misogyny, and racism all in one. Yet the silence from feminist and women’s empowerment groups is deafening.
Why is it that the moment a woman covers herself, she is no longer seen as worthy of protection? Why does her choice to wear a hijab disqualify her from sisterhood in the eyes of the West? These so-called “goddess collectives” and “mystery schools” preach divine feminine energy and women’s freedom — but that freedom, it seems, is conditional. Conditional on how much skin we show. Conditional on whether we fit into a Western mold of liberation. Conditional on whether our choices look like theirs.
To wear a hijab is not to be silenced. To cover is not to be caged. But the Western media constantly paints Muslim women as oppressed, even when they speak for themselves. This narrative is a form of colonial feminism — one that claims to uplift but instead erases and excludes.
Real feminism should be expansive. It should stand for the girls in hijab just as loudly as it does for the girls in crop tops. It should mourn the wounds of Afghan students as passionately as it would any other act of violence against women. If your feminism has borders, if it only fights for women who reflect your own lifestyle, it is not feminism — it is a performance.
Where are the voices now? Where are the protests, the candlelight vigils, the viral hashtags?
We will not be silent. We will not let this hypocrisy go unchecked. Our hijab is not a symbol of oppression — but your silence might be.
There’s a rise of women in these spaces calling themselves fierce, calling themselves warriors—but what I’m seeing isn’t strength. It’s ego. It’s being dismissive, controlling, unwilling to hear any view but their own.
That’s not power. That’s not maturity. That’s not sacred.
When you shut down conversation, when you bulldoze anyone who doesn’t mirror your beliefs—you’ve narrowed your mind. That’s the very definition of being closed off. And that kind of self-righteousness? It kills growth.
When you’re unwilling to be questioned, you can’t evolve. When you attack others publicly because they dared to disagree, you’re not holding space—you’re holding a megaphone. It’s not compassion. It’s not truth. It’s a performance.
I’ve watched this for years. I didn’t just dip my toes in—I was in it. I held red tents when they were first beginning. I trained women to hold space before it became trendy. I used to run full festivals where genuine embodiment was the heartbeat of the work. We had deep trainings that prepared us for this path—how to recognise ego dynamics in circles, how to stay anchored, how to listen.
And now? I’m watching women pass through, cherry-pick bits of what they’ve seen at those festivals or trainings, glue them together into a “program,” run it for a while—and it fizzles. Because it’s not rooted. It’s not real.
It wasn’t born from the heart. It was born from the desire to make money. And when something comes from ego—it will collapse. Every time.
I stepped away from all of this over a decade ago. I saw it imploding even back then. I saw the packaging, the rebranding, the endless cycle of women copying each other’s work, selling it on again with a new name. It lost its heart. And I couldn’t be part of that.
But now I’m watching it burn down—and I need to speak.
This isn’t a callout post. This is a warning to younger sisters: Be discerning. Don’t confuse volume with truth. Don’t confuse polished branding with integrity. There’s a poison leaking into what were once sacred spaces. And if we stay silent, that poison spreads.
These spaces were always meant to be safe. They were meant to be nurturing. They were meant to promote growth, to support free thinking. Because while there may be a common goal in the collective, each individual’s journey is sacred and unique. There’s no one-size-fits-all model to empowerment. This push of “either you agree with me or you’re wrong” has to end. Two truths can coexist. Multiple truths can coexist. And that’s what so many women locked in this warrior-blindsided mindset need to remember.
But amidst all of this—there are women I deeply respect. And I can count them on one hand. I’m actually wearing a scared shawl by one of these very women in my picture, one of many I own as I respect the heart in her work.
So who are these women? They’re not the loudest. They’re gentle. They’re rooted. They’ve done the work. They’ve moved through the fire and come out the other side softened, not hardened.
They don’t even realise what they carry is wisdom—because to them, it’s just life. Just love. Just truth. They glow differently. Their words feel safe. Their work moves differently.
They took time. They let the teachings settle in their bones before they passed anything on. They bloomed in private before ever teaching in public. And to those women—I tip my hat. You’re the ones carrying the medicine.
So no—I’m not angry. I’m not bitter. I’m just deeply sad. Sad that what was once sacred is now a stage. Sad that rage is mistaken for empowerment. Sad that performance has replaced presence.
And no, we don’t need to go back to dancing around the fire. We need to move with the times, but stay anchored in our bodies. Rooted in humility. Grounded in love.
That’s what this work was always meant to be.
And this isn’t just happening in the spaces of feminine mysteries or red tents or embodiment circles. It’s happening in Islamic spaces too.
There’s a growing wave of Muslim women calling themselves coaches, mentors, guides—selling empowerment from an Islamic lens. And yet so many of these offerings are neither rooted in real feminine work nor grounded in actual Islamic knowledge.
They pull from hadith that may not even be sahih. They draw loosely from teachings that have been molded to support a personal narrative, not a divine one. And while they call it Islamic life coaching or Islamic mentoring, what you’re often getting is a confused blend of empowerment language and selective religious references.
It’s not empowerment. It’s not scholarship. And it’s certainly not sacred.
And I say this with love—but also with clarity—because I’ve walked both paths. I’ve trained in the feminine mysteries. I’ve held sacred space long before it became fashionable. And now I walk the path of Islam, too.
So I see it. The gap.
You can’t sell female empowerment in the ummah if you’ve never truly walked that path. Because that path isn’t born in textbooks or on Canva slides. It’s born in the body. In blood. In grief. In rites of passage that tore you open and rebuilt you from the inside out.
And in the world of Islamic female empowerment—most of that is missing.
You’re trying to empower women through a patriarchal framework—and yes, Islam grants women rights Western feminism still doesn’t—but the spiritual empowerment people are trying to create here doesn’t quite have a place in the tradition as it stands. Not in the way it’s being packaged.
Because the divine feminine? The goddess current? The womb as a spiritual portal? That’s not part of Islamic theology. And if you haven’t lived and understood that current deeply, you can’t pretend to translate it into a sharia-compliant package.
It doesn’t work. It confuses. And it quietly disempowers while selling the illusion of growth.
So this is me speaking—not from bitterness, but from deep, heartbroken experience. From the trenches of real sacred work. From the path of witnessing what happens when ego tries to masquerade as spirit.
It’s time we remembered the difference. And honoured it.
Seeking Sakina 