Extraordinary Life

‘I suspect the truth is that we are waiting, all of us, against insurmountable odds, for something extraordinary to happen to us.’ Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

Has it happened to you? This extraordinary event? Would you know it, if it did?
This year I have spent time with individuals overhauling their souls looking for the extraordinary, clawing at their dreams, desperate to find meaning to their existence and purpose in their relationships. As I watched I wondered why they couldn’t celebrate the ordinary and in doing so it would be baptised into the extraordinary! We don’t get these splashes of miracles unless we’re willing to wade into the ocean of counting the little blessings. There is a vast ocean of things to be thankful for, even when our shores are darkened by storms. So take your daily ordinary life and season it with a little extra gratitude and you may taste the overwhelming flavours of an extraordinary life. 
It is time. Cast off that heavy cloak you wrap yourself in. It does not only protect you from the biting winds of disappointment but it also keeps you insulated from passing, sun kissed opportunities to know joy, to taste hope and to realise the peace that comes after the wreckage. 

Be somebody 

If you want to be someone to the World, then you first must be the World to someone. 

Life is often less complicated then we like to make it. Maybe we like hard because then, we have a reason to explain away our consistent failures. But failing doesn’t have to be about losing. Failure is just a hard lesson to learn but once we get it, it’s no longer a lose but an education. 

I love, I hate. Two sides of the same coin. I love, I bloom. I hate, I wither. Spring and winter. I hurt, I heal. I fall, I learn. I choose to learn from the lessons I gather in the dirt. I grow but change is a slow painful thing. But grow I must. So hurt I will. For the good things in life like love are a living unfolding thing. They injure to unravel but they heal in their full bloom. 

If I want to be somebody then I must learn to love somebody. That somebody is not just anybody. It is my body. My being. For how can I love another when my own soul decays from neglect within me? How can I connect with somebody when my own body is broken. 

To love me isn’t the self centred feeding of greed and narcissism, no. It is the denying of the harmful and the taking of the bitter pill. It is the carrying of the cross after the weeping in the garden of surrender. It is the taking up of a selfless will and the death of a careless soul. 

To be somebody is the somebody to be. To awaken the human in me. To lay down the need to survive and serve. Evolution does not drive me. My transformation is governed daily by a heart that beats for compassion. Cum Passio, the choice to suffer with my fellow man. To be somebody who lives in service. For to love is to serve. A great life is poured out in service. 

Desired Things

I have this poem hanging in my room and this morning I could not pull my eyes away from it. I read the words and reflected on the message and all I could think of, was how I had to share it. I hope it speaks to you and to your hurt. 


Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, 1927

What is legacy?

Legacy isn’t only about who will remember you or what they will say after you are gone. No. Legacy is mostly about what you will know you have done. It is those last scenes that leave a smile on your fading dimming life that will count. It is that truth you hold last, that will matter most as the darkness closes in and you are no more. 

What are great statues, chiseled out in your image, when your heart is weighed down with guilt? What are songs and symphonies when we know we are phoney? What are odes and poems, spoken in praise of a false hero? It is all but a stench to a lingering soul seeking repine for a fictitious existence. 
It is better to have lived one truth in sorrow then a thousand lies in pretentious happiness. All existence in a palace of false gold leaves all souls cold. What is all the wealth of this World when you are empty, no hand to hold, no beloved to behold and no hope to be told. 
May your tongue not spin webs of deceit because then you will be your own prey. May you never find your self wrapped in your own sticky words and the dagger of maliciousness draining the very last of you. Speak truth. To thine own self me true. 
Let the sword of truth linger in all your daily chores. Let the garment of kindness cover you. Walk in the light and even after you stumble and fall, in the light of truth find your way again. 
The greatest life lived is loved by the one who has lived it. In the fading of the light the darkness does not blacken such a righteous soul. Legacy is the soul speaking its truth and knowing it could never have lived or loved better. 
Live your truth. 

Some say…

I have heard this song so many times but today I decided to read the lyrics and…..OMG


“The Rose”

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed.

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed.

Some say love, it is a hunger,

An endless aching need.

I say loveit is a flower,

And you its only seed.


It’s the heart afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance.

It’s the dream afraid of waking

That never takes the chance.

It’s the one who won’t be taken,

Who cannot seem to give,

And the soul afraid of dyin

That never learns to live.


When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long,

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong,

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

Lies the seed that with the sun’s love

In the spring becomes the rose.


He a legend

Ever seen a beast in a cage? A creature that has lost all rage. A prowl with no intent. Empty eyes searching for nothing. Craving what it has not known. Longing for what it is. Ever watched a beast staying alive with no hunger to survive? Eating what it has not hunted and robbed of its reason for being. A hunter that does not hunt. Limbs full of worthless power. Claws that have never dug into any haunted, hunted prey. Fangs that serve to entertain. A king with no Kingdom. A roar jungle rulers would abhor. A lion behind bars is by far no lion. He has lost all purpose. A protector with no pride. Slowly he drifts, he takes all with him, leaves no legacy. There is no story to tell. Bars are degrading to a wild and free thing. 

Ever seen a man bound by his own needs? Caught up in a chasing after his own making. Building an empire of dust carved out of his own lust. Consumed with a hunger for the wind. Drinking up falsehood to quench a thirst for the truth. Have you ever seen such a sight? Strength that is spent on vain fights and self-centred rights. Intellect mechanised to serve fleeting wealth. All he creates is to feed the pleasures of multitudes and starve the bellies of the needy. He is a passing trespasser and his time is fading. All his treasures soon to be nothing but dirt. Dust to dust. From whence all things come, soon they must return.
Bars have a way of waking the soul of a wonderer. But in waking him one runs the risk of executing hope. No living thing likes to be trapped or compelled. Conviction can either sober the drunk or drown the addict. If the moral faculty is revived but no hope is offered then hopelessness is the final resting place. Like a lion is robbed of the wild, so too a man is robbed of his nature when self is all he seeks to serve. He was made for more. What good is there, if a man gains everything but loses the only thing that matters.
Let the lion in the wild roar. Let the man who serves the good of his fellow man live all the more. Everything is a passing but his deeds will be a lasting. His charity a legacy. He, a legend.


The world hasn’t heard about your presence but my World would wither in your absence. Your name will not be spoken by multitudes but calling it out fills my heart with gratitude. I may never read your autobiography but what does it matter when your my biography. We intertwine and cannot be unravelled from our ball of woes and wars. 

I may not walk on red carpets with you but I am glad to trudge on warn out roads and fading foot paths with your soul in mine. I may not applaud your moving speech upon receiving an award but I rejoice in hearing the words that cascade from your lips everyday. Your voice. Even your annoying noise, I encore, I underscore. 
I may never see your face shimmering on the big screen but you are imbedded in my visual mechanics, there is no seeing anything without you in it. I may not hear you crooning on the radio but your hums, bad minors and majors and crashing chords, win my charts. You are my bestseller. My chart breaker. My award winner. You are all the victory I need to know. 
We long too long for stars. We stare out into the void night sky. Whilst next to us waits a glimmering light, flickering for our eyes to see. A flame fighting cold ignorance and windy desperation, reaching for a searching heart and a fellow yearning soul. 
They may not know you. They may never know you. But you are known by me. And I am content in knowing I am known by you.