Talib Hussain 6/9/25 Talib Hussain 6/9/25

Jigsaw

Is there another way?

At some point, at some number, we need to pause and ask: Is this it? Is this the way?

The gauge is fear and stress. The higher the fear and stress, the more likely it’s not the way.

Or maybe it’s the other way? That’s for each of us to decipher.

A calculation I’m still calculating.

Left or right? Flip a coin and walk in the direction it tells you. Heads—left. Tails—right.

Upside down. Inside out.

It’s all a zigzag, back and forth. It’s the illusion of a straight line that brings pain to our hearts and minds.

Nothing about you is fucking straight, and in this jigsaw of a world, you want to walk a tightrope.

There is a guaranteed fall—and nothing below to catch you.

Embrace the upside down, and only then can you know what is right side up.

Talib Hussain 9/20/24 Talib Hussain 9/20/24

A Moment of Reflection

At the Hart House for an R&B concert.

I feel like I need to be here, but I’m looking for some guidance, something more than just this déjà vu feeling.

What is this?

Is there anything I need to do beyond what I’m already doing in this moment?

Simply be as you are.

I am.

Your heart.

How is your heart in this moment?

Are you happy with your choice to come to this event tonight?

I feel a little emotional when I sense this feeling.

You know the one I’m talking about?

Like I’ve been here before, or that I’m exactly where I need to be?

Is that it? Is that the story for this evening?

Listen to music and go home?

Seems like a small ending to such a big feeling, doesn’t it?

“Beauty of artists is to seek for truth. Each note is a search for truth.”

I can relate.

For me, each word is my way of searching for the truth.

Searching for the truth from within.

It’s 10:45 now. The concert’s over.

I saw the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a while.

I liked her energy; she naturally embodied the feminine.

Her smile shines as brightly as the ring on her finger.

The kind that lights up every room she enters.

Talib Hussain 6/10/24 Talib Hussain 6/10/24

Tearless Cries

I'm beginning to understand that emotional maturity and emotional expression are different things. We can articulate our feelings and still behave immaturely. In my writing, I’m projecting my journey towards greater emotional maturity. I’m learning to express and communicate my emotions better. If I'm happy, I can express it; if I'm angry, I can communicate that too. Now, I can even communicate sadness.

Before, I would suppress sadness with food, drinks, or media. Now, I recognize sadness and feel where it resides in my body. However, I don't know how to release it. Yesterday, I explored this: What happens if I don’t release my sadness? It fills my body with heaviness. This unreleased sadness often leads to despair and sometimes to a depressive state. For a long time, it has taken me there, except for a couple of months ago in India. I know that when I feel heavy inside, movement helps, especially lifting weights. Twenty to thirty minutes at the gym lifts my spirits. I think it’s the combination of movement and the release of endorphins.

Identifying emotions and communicating them to myself and others is a step toward further emotional maturity. But I’m still blocked when it comes to releasing sadness. Somewhere along the path, I suppressed this emotion. Over the years, I've learned that when we suppress one part of ourselves, like sadness, we also suppress its opposite—joy. If I can’t express and release sadness, I can't fully experience happiness and joy.

I've felt this deeply. There have been times and places, like recently in Valencia, where I could fully express both sadness and joy. Here in Toronto, it's a bit more challenging, but I’m working on it. I am better today than I was a year ago—more emotionally evolved. This means I don’t react to others' actions that trigger past pain. Instead, I can feel the emotion, observe its rise and fall like ocean waves.

These reflections have surfaced as I open myself to dating again and seeking a dynamic, expansive life partner. Someone who understands the layers of being, who has an insatiable curiosity about herself, others, and the world. Someone proactive in her day-to-day life, moving forward and upward.

Observing other couples, I realize there's no one-size-fits-all solution. Advice is based on individual experiences, and every piece of wisdom is unique. I listen, observe, and learn. I admire those who sustain long-term relationships. It’s never easy, yet some couples find a way to return to each other. It’s inspiring. I see that with the right partner, there’s an opportunity for greater freedom than I’m experiencing now.

However, I needed to release the patterns I absorbed as a child. Growing up in a traumatic household, we may intellectually reject it, but our minds are already programmed. We may not want what we experienced in childhood, but we’re drawn to the familiar. I replicated my parents' toxic patterns in my relationships. It took a lot of therapy, coaching, reading, and practices like yoga and meditation to deprogram and start reprogramming myself.

From my last relationship, I realized I was as emotionally immature as my parents and attracted similarly immature partners. Mature partners didn’t work because I wasn’t ready for them. I wasn’t even attracted to them because their energy was unfamiliar to me.

I am getting closer. All this work isn’t just to be more successful in my career or a better friend, sibling, or son. I do it because I’m preparing for her. It’s hard at times, but I know it will be worth the wait when she arrives in my life, and I in hers.

I recently listened to an interview with Esther Perel where she talked about “tearless cries.” This perfectly describes my experience with sadness. Most of the time, I wish I could cry and truly release my emotions through tears. Instead, I either suppress them or try to shake them out through physical activity. But what I really want is an epic, tearful cry.

Talib Hussain 10/19/16 Talib Hussain 10/19/16

What is the Difference between Mind and Brain?

I was curious for a long time about the difference between the mind and the brain. I asked around, but nobody had an answer. So I continued on with life, occasionally pondering the question. Without answers, it became more of a fleeting thought.

Over the last few years, though, I’ve been diving deeper into myself. My experiences have taught me to differentiate between the mind and the brain. The mind is like a river. It needs to flow. If you block it by building a dam, it overflows and drowns the nature surrounding it.

In our case, the brain is that nature, and it’s being drowned by the power and overflow of the mind.

We’ve built a dam around our necks, trapping the mind in our heads. I wonder if this was necessary for the brain's evolution. If the mind hadn't been parked in the head, would the human brain have evolved to where it is today? Would technology and science have reached these heights, and at such speed, without the mind's focused development of the brain?

I don’t have answers to these questions—just perspectives from my experiences. But I see another part of human evolution unfolding right now, and I’m not sure enough people are noticing. We’ve been driving our brains in fifth gear for so long that we’re wearing out the engine. Just look at the rise in mental illnesses. Is it a coincidence that yoga, meditation, and group activities like CrossFit and marathons are gaining popularity? These activities help us reconnect our minds and bodies.

To me, this is our body saying: it’s time to break the dam. The next stage of human evolution is to bring the rest of the body on board—the heart, the gut, everything from the neck down.

How? By sharpening the mind through meditation.

Display in the basement of Rooms Cafe on Ossington Street in Toronto

Many people say, “Meditation isn’t for me—I can’t stop thinking.” But meditation is exactly for those who can’t stop thinking (myself included).

Yoga, CrossFit, and running are amazing for connecting with the body, but they aren’t enough. Meditation sharpens the mind. Once learned and embraced, it takes us to the next level—full mind-body connection.

Parking the mind in the head was necessary for a time, but the systems we’ve built (corporate workplaces, for example) are outdated. We’ve lacked the courage and awareness to collectively change the systems we still play in. The importance of bringing the entire body on board is that, at a mass scale, we can start building systems from the heart and soul, not just the head.

Even religion is being run from the head—not the heart, not the soul. For most of us today, religion serves little purpose because it was designed as a system to access the soul, the spirit, our true being. But we’ve boxed it in the brain, trying to make it logical. Prayers aren’t logical. They’re mysterious and magical.

There’s no access to the soul, to the source, unless our minds and bodies are synced.

My grandmother was my guru. I see clearly now what she was doing. She was a simple woman—no hijab, no fluff, none of the nonsense that surrounds religion today—just simple prayer, five times a day. She used a tasbeeh (prayer beads), which, by definition, involves repetitive utterance of short sentences (thank you, Google). The tasbeeh was essentially a counter. My grandmother repeated mantras.

I only developed this awareness after training in transcendental meditation last year and experiencing the power of mantras. Through meditation and prayer, she opened the doors to the soul and dropped her prayers into the fountain of the Universe.

If we want to reach the level of the spirit—and that’s where we’re headed, whether we like it or not—we need to hit the tipping point of collective awareness. It’s happening, and the seeds are being heavily planted. Those already there are making it rain.

The brain (actually, it’s our ego) tells us meditation isn’t for us. The ego’s sole purpose is to keep the self suppressed. But sooner or later, it will be time for your ego to let your true self play, to break the dam and let the river of energy flow freely.

Parking the mind in our head leaves the rest of the body like a neglected garden, overgrown with weeds. I see meditation as the body’s Weedwacker. It sharpens the mind, resets the being, and clears away the weeds that no longer serve you.

Talib Hussain 7/9/16 Talib Hussain 7/9/16

Open the door. I dare you.

“Where a few great minds once acted, now the entire human race must struggle to save our world from the dangers of its own excess.”

While the world may seem chaotic, it’s merely a sign of the next chapter. We consume all this negativity and then wonder what happened. We base our perception of the world on messages projected from a square box. We ask why there’s so much hatred and violence, but it’s like eating fast food three times a day and then asking, “Why am I so unhealthy? Why did I have a heart attack?” We are all participants in the cycles of negativity and responsible for every act of violence. We mindlessly consume information from the outside and allow it to dictate how we show up in the world. It’s time to let the external world reflect each individual’s authentic internal self.

We fixate on the Saints and Prophets of the past and look to the future with the hope of better times, but in doing so, we ignore the human potential of the present. We turn a blind eye to our own abilities and power. We all have it. We all know and feel it—that deeper, underlying uneasiness, a sense that there’s something greater. If we simply open our eyes fully, we’ll see that an internal evolution is happening. No longer will there be just a handful of Saints and Prophets, but an endless number.

Stop looking outward and turn your gaze inward. That’s where all the answers lie. Expanded consciousness and awareness reside within, just waiting—waiting for you to pay the tiniest bit of attention so they can soar. Crack open that internal door. I dare you.

Talib Hussain 10/6/15 Talib Hussain 10/6/15

Conscious Mediocrity - The struggles of asking for what I truly want

Over the past year, I've dedicated myself to understanding what I don't want. I've learned to listen to my heart and soul, trust my intuition, and not feel guilty about saying no. Now, I've realized it's time to learn how to ask for what I want. I'm not entirely sure what this process entails, but I know it will require courage and clear communication.

Initially, I thought I needed a course in communication. However, as I write this, I realize that my challenge isn't in communicating others' needs but in expressing my own. The question is, why? The simple answer is fear of rejection. This explanation might have sufficed a year ago, but I believe there's more to it.

Growing up, my needs were often overshadowed by those of others. When I voiced my desires, I was met with scolding, dismissal, or a flat "no" without explanation. On the rare occasions I did get what I wanted, it took a lot of hard work and emotional turmoil. Can these childhood experiences affect us as adults? I believe they can.

Recently, a friend recommended I listen to an interview between Robert Augustus Masters and Tami Simon on her podcast, "Sounds True: Insights at the Edge," discussing True Masculine Power. Intrigued, I picked up his book, "To Be a Man: A Guide to True Masculine Power." Masters emphasizes connecting the dots between our past and present. He suggests that our default behaviours during difficult times as children often become our go-to actions in similar situations as adults.

We often justify our behaviours by saying, "This is just how I am." Compounding this difficulty, those close to us tend to reinforce these beliefs. However, many of our habits and self-perceptions are shaped by our upbringing, not our innate nature. My struggle to ask for what I want isn't embedded in my DNA; it's the result of my experiences.

I've been afraid to pursue my desires, both big and small. The numerous "no's" I received as a child makes me hesitate to ask for what truly excites me, fearing disappointment. I have no problem asking for something when I can frame it as being in others' best interests. I'm adept at convincing both myself and others that it's beneficial, reducing the risk of rejection. When I do get rejected, it doesn't hurt as much because it wasn't something I deeply wanted anyway. I call this "conscious mediocrity."

It only stings when I ask for something that truly lights me up because expressing what aligns with my heart and soul puts me in my most vulnerable state.