on piscean love
On Friday I listened to a really beautiful podcast by Ali A Olomi which explores astrology from the Medieval Islamic World. The episode I listened to was about Pisces, and the interpretation of Pisces season, and the corresponding jinn lore around Al-Hut.
The podcast was so moving that, like a bitch, I cried for a very long time after listening to it. I feel so moved by scholars, artists, mystics and people who really do the work of preserving the deeply complex syncretism in our cultures that so many dominant, violent forces—colonialism, heterosexuality, anti-indigeneity, religious dogma, and the state—try and wipe out. I feel so grateful to people who are in deep relationship with syncretic histories, spirits, the earth and its cycles, and the sky and what it teaches us. I feel really grateful to learn and listen and be reminded of some things that I did know but lost my way around, and just to ground into rhythms of relationship and being that exist outside of the dominant ways our societies think.
I’ve written about this often, but the wounds of the 1947 Partition are deep and cut across so many South Asian people, cultures, families, and diasporas. One of the reasons why I am so moved by Ali A Olomi’s podcast, and a lot of his work in general, is that it really is situated in the deep relationship between Islam and Astrology, and honors the ways so many of our cultures really rested in beautiful synchronicity prior to these extreme moments of violence that were designed around disconnecting us from each other.
One of the things that moved me most about this episode was the way Ali spoke about Pisces as the bearer of community. I think a common astrology joke in the west is to make fun of Pisces because of their perceived lack of boundaries, their watery-ness, and their deep belief in a divine and mystical love, one that is worthy of the Gods. And, I think, the archetype of Pisces can sometimes be dismissed as being too in-love, too corny, too open.
Admitting love requires such deep vulnerability. It risks so much corniness. And trust me beloveds, as a poet, I know I’m potentially one of the corniest motherfuckers on the planet. But I do love love. With my being. And I love the things I love, and I wish to live a life where I keep being in love, and finding more things I love, and keep that well of openness. May I always continue to soften enough to love, no matter where life leads me.
It’s always wild to me when poets use a kind of weird disaffected and distant approach to either their writing or the way that they read their poems. Once, I heard Ross Gay talk about this. I can’t remember if it was a conversation we were having or if it was at a reading and a Q&A he did where it felt so intimate that it felt like it was a conversation even though it was really in front of an entire audience. I remember him saying that when we talk about love, when we admit to loving, we risk being made to feel stupid about the thing we hold dearest too.
I think it’s very terrifying to think about loving something so much you lose part of yourself to that thing. That you’re forever changed by it. Then too, comes the process of coming back to yourself. Of re-figuring out who you are after something like that occurs. In the podcast, Ali speaks about this, and kind of poses the question of—is that such a bad thing? He says, “the ancients believed that loving someone so deeply you lost yourself in them was true freedom, and the loss of the ego, which joins you with God.” The conversation he has is very nuanced and beautiful, and he continues, by saying, “freedom isn’t about the independence of self, it’s about the complete relinquishing of self and it’s ego.”
So much of what I’m trying to learn about right now is how to love wholly and also keep my own boundaries. How to keep my energy mine and how to not unnecessarily take on others’ energy. How to love with forgiveness and compassion and empathy, but also with deep love and protection of myself. How to love interdependently and not codependently. I, of course, don’t have the answers to this. But it is a rigorous exploration that I am currently on, and one that has taught me so many lessons.
This podcast was a reminder to me though, in mystical love. And in learning to embrace the parts of you that get lost in someone else, the way that it joins you to something greater. And how beautiful it is, to see the God in someone else, the God in yourself, through that kind of open love. And once again, to allow love to be one of the most transformative qualities that we can aspire to, to allow it to change, and to allow it to remake us.
I am notoriously slow to develop crushes on people. I feel attraction often, but a crush, to me, comes with knowing. It comes with a deep knowing that is built out slowly, that’s a collection of conversations, of looks, of small touches, of time spent together, and of softening with and into each other. It’s hard for me to see someone and just have a crush—it usually takes me weeks of knowing someone to have one. And of course, there are exceptions to that—some people I meet and I just know that there’s something that connects us that I can’t quite explain. Some people I meet and it’s a fast burn, we can have the swings of an entire relationship over the course of a few hours. But mostly, I’m in romance with the slowness. The whole thing is such a beautiful and mysterious process that, even at my big age, I’m still learning.
A few weeks ago I watched We Are Lady Parts (which is incredible and I would highly recommend to folks) and I texted my best friend with the realization that I think that I lowkey really do love Halal Dating—where you’re friends, but there’s interest, and you’re just letting it simmer slowly. This is very much in direct contrast to most of western dating culture lol. In Ali’s podcast he also talked about the differences in Arabic and English when it comes to linguistically approaching both love and friendship—and how in Arabic there are so many words to convey the specifics of love and friendship, and words that are built specifically to talk about the deepness of soul connections and bonds—both romantically and platonically. This is the part in the podcast where I wept pretty uncontrollably, because it felt very right to me. There are so many relationships that I have and friendships I have that are completely undefinable in English. There aren’t the words to describe them properly. And while this has been a huge joy for me, there’s also a loneliness to talking about it, because it’s so hard to explain. And I was just once again hit with the familiar feeling of trying to force my love into language that perhaps was never meant for me to make homes in, but also the only language that I know fluently. And also the deep body knowledge of some of the cultures that are more aligned with the places that I come from, that I don’t always know the language or words for on my tongue, but know somatically and experientially.
Ali also talks about Piscean energy as being one that is deeply community led and community oriented, in that it recognizes the collective as inherently important to the self, and collective love as one that can dissolve the ego of the self and therefore lead to true freedom. And how our societies emphasis on the nuclear family and the hyper-individual is in direct contrast to so much of the way that love is, and has often been in so many cultures, cultivated for so long. And therefore, in direct contrast to the loves that we need.
This is something that I found deeply resonant during this Piscean season, for so many levels. On one, is the way that I felt so held and supported by community through this season. Our fundraiser for Retrieval closed a few days ago, and I was staggered to see the support that we got for it. We were able to raise $15k, which puts us at $5k over our stretch goal. That is incredible. And completely happened because of community, because of collective, because of people’s belief in the work and wanting to see it in the world.
Filmmaking is expensive and it takes a village to raise a film. In my experience as a filmmaker, getting funds is often one of the hardest parts of the process. When I was trying to find production companies and fundraising avenues last year for the film I was very often met with a ‘no,’ and the idea that the project was perhaps too unconventional to get funding. And then I started to ask my community to help me fund it, and they did. And then two incredible organizations also signed on to help fund it. And then, we were able to raise such an incredible amount through the Kickstarter. It’s been hugely validating to see that, and to see that there are so many people who want to see this work.
To which, I just want to say thank you, and that I am so so grateful for everyone who shared or donated, or even watched the trailer. It really means so much to me.
I also would highly recommend that you all become subscribers of Ali’s Patreon, which is incredible!