Thank You Dave

At least 2 or 3 times a month, I have a mental jihad, in the upper parts of Manhattan. As of lately, I’ve ben feeling very different, almost like a immigrant who’s morning bread and provisions, have gone uneaten. My staleness impacts all the baggage I’ve welcomed. My personal masculine and feminine energy balance my place in the world. Im so blessed that was never determined by the crowd, but nonetheless, feeling good is looking good, so God bless my barber. Shout out David.

On the 2 train I usually read. I tend to usually remember ideas, memories, and caution signs, that are stored deep in the marvelous parts of my mind, on the 1 train. As i walk up Broadway towards my hair cut, Im remembering more to pray.

The block is dark, but the shops are lit. Im extremely sensitive to any rush of energy. My lungs wanna scream to the top of my moment, but who will hear me? Now im here at the barber shop and David greets me with a smile, very sure of the steps that it takes to achieve how to shape my cut and Im thankful. Even how he preps each clipper, and keeps neatness as evident as his eye to hand coordination, is so important. And he understands this.

They playing Dominican music. But the moment I take my peacoat off and see the star & crescent pen I keep attached, I only hear “Pony Ride”, by De La, or I hear Farrakhan’s voice, messaging for us to position the people.

I sit in the barber chair after I dap David, and start to unconsciously feel guilty, for feeling so down and lost in my concerns. Im feeling unhappy, but somehow always proud. Feeling like I deprived myself. Sometimes I dont recognize my own face. I need all kind of bandages, but we will start with a good haircut.

All the barbers there speak very little English. Collectively there voices bubble up and erupt out like champagne. I rather hear Swahili or even Amharic, but Spanish? And there harsh volume, when they laugh and communicate, plus all else, is as unpredictable as is my nomadic life. I love it tho. There is an old man there always heating up the bacalao, a few YN’s in the back in plane sight, and the mama & 2 daughters duo holding down the hair braiding- mani pedi section.

Its 10 minutes into this haircut, and I try not to look in the mirror too deeply, and begin to feel all the scared relationships play out bold in my mind, so I shut my eyes and allow it all to fall off me, as my hair is. When I finally look at my reflection, I find myself veinly looking at each crevis of the girl braiding hair behind me. Im now thinking, I probably need a girlfriend to share the Al Green with. Someone to cook and do laundry with. I pray to stay healthy, no injections or pills to keep me alive. Inshallah.

I begin to see how official he has my fade now, same time I contemplate contradictory thoughts like am I almost dead or almost living? Its clear to me that Im definitely not a kid anymore but struggle to carry my own weight. I need a good hug on my heart, to put the person I’ll neva see again, behind me and the man I am to meet , in front of me. Shout out to all those who snatched me out of my own way. My mothers self sacrifice, saving my frayed rope, allowing it to become poetry.instead of stopping my spirit. I dont need Shatan back near me, I need Allah to hear me, help me, remove the cell Im in, remove the heartless and restore my family. I dont want to transfer this energy to my son and nephews. I want to be around them, but not as I am. The magnitude of this moment in life, has me constantly feeling so nervous. I have thoughts of maybe Im a kuffar. But the nature of Islam is implanted in my DNA so naturally, to eva be that. Alhamdullilah.

The time I spend sitting in this particular barber chair, brings light to my inner trials. As clean as my fade becomes, matches how clean my approach to restoring my life becomes. Its so vivid while being adorn by my barber, that I no longer want to pay for my own cell. I would rather of course pay for my freedom. My frakinsence oil soothes my peace,roobios tea gases how I connect my thoughts, and a good haircut refreshes my overall drive towards freedom.

Although the theatrics and excitement, and all the loud laughter and disagreements among Dominican barbers, can smother that pathway and almost bring me back to this 1 haunting question…is this the sum of my life? I still appreciate the encouragement to feel naked, vunerable,and renewed during my time there.

Now Im looking directly in the mirror and seeing a man of god rather than the gambler, a freeman and not ever in a cell of any kind. David is so precise with a razor, creating lines and perspectives that life can tend to shadow behind the insane misery life can bring. Before the razor is applied is my absolute favorite part of cut. My barber will get a white wash cloth, heat it in hot water and wrap this hot towel around my entire crown. And that becomes my full surrender moment.

I begin to hear Al Fatihah, once the steam settles in. Im mentally deciding to turn a negative into a positive outcome for my soul. I begin to recite prayers in my mind, with the knowing that turning a diamond into one, takes fire and time until something special emerges. Almost similar to how I define the meaning behind the power of a haircut.

As Im checking how my cut is matching my refreshed stance, and paying David, another barber stops to shake my hand and ask me if Im good? I stumble my response a bit, due to what felt as if a tear would fall, based on all my spiritual revelations. But once I took another glance at how fresh the cut complimented my peacoat and star & crescent button, that allowed me to regain myself.

As I walk towards the exit, David gives me 1 more fist to fist and flashes his endearing smile. I walk thru the door, back out onto Broadway with 1 thought, knowing that you cant move in 2 different directions at once. You must be obedient to 1 path and Allah will provide all else that you need. Alhamdullillah.

Thank you Dave

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