What Sense?

What good is there in seeing and still be blind to the mountains of human need peaking every horizon, to pass the broken spirit and shut your eyes from the glare of hurt and injustice. What good is sight when it is not awakened with the light of truth. Does justice, like beauty, only lie in the eye of the beholder?

What good is there in hearing and be deaf to the scream of decadent devastation, to still our ear drums to the pounding beat of wretched slavery. We hear and leer, as if showing contempt will remedy the disharmony that plagues your ears.

What good is it to touch and be numb to compassion, to snatch love away from those whose only survival is affection. To forget that being held in your infancy, jolted your neurology and gave life to your biology. We are relational beings, ever seeking connections.

What good is it to taste, when gluttony, supersedes the will to save another life with a tasteless meal. Your constant nibbling insecurities, piling indigestible conceit into a sadistic gut. Your temporary pleasure unfolding into an incurable slave master.

What good is it to smell when the odour of rotting hope fails to disgust you, you walk on, filling your nostrils with the scent of pride and selfishness. Your nasal cavity is wreaking with feigned ignorance and one day the stench will stop your breathing.

What good is there in that idol that you worship called Self, when no one is left to give you that identity. You live for the self, you will die by yourself.

“While the thirsty dig wells; the greedy dig their own graves.” Old Proverb.

Shut the door!

Shut the door! Go on punish me. Push me into the room and wag your finger in my face reminding me you rule. Limit my access to the World beyond the frame you stand in. Shut the door. But I will not be begging to be let out. I will not be leaning against my barricade. I will not be peeking through the keyhole searching for a heart easy to persuade. Not me. He taught me better than that.

Shut the door. And I will turn away and look into the World inside. What you thought was punishment is a soul’s refurbishment. There is a planet in here. There are creatures never seen, crawling in corners. There is a battle to be waged and won. My back is to the door, I have forgotten the confinement and now roll my sleeves up for mindful refinement. You shut the door and opened my soul.

Shut the door. Your restriction has never been a limitation but a situation for transformation. Your locked rooms have been my cocoons. Your detention has only aroused an attention to what I have, not what your locked doors deny.

Shut the door and the walls disappear. Shut the door and the ceiling becomes a sky leading into a galaxy. I do not weep and you think it’s the rebellion in me. I do not plead, as you drag me up the corridor and you think it’s the stiff necked demon in me. But, this has happened too often and my arrest has now become my attest of freedom.

Shut the door and I will find a World not just a window. Shut the door and I will awaken to a treasure innate in every human soul. Shut the door and I will find my wings. In the darkness of your oppression, I will metamorphosize into the flight of the free. In your imprisonment I will find my liberty. Doors do not shut mind. Keys do not lock dreams. I am roaming every inch of our home and you do not see me. I am in the sun. I am dancing under the tree in our back yard. I am scaling walls and parading paradigm perimeters.

You shut the door and you taught me true freedom. Now I am grown and many doors will not be opened to my knock. The colour of my skin keeps me shut in. My feminine frame traps me into ignoble attitudes. But you taught me well because every inaccessible right is now a World to explore. They shut the door and Martin Luther King Jnr had a dream. They shut the door and Wangari Maathai saved a forest. They shut the door and many more minds flame up with new jewels of social transformation. How can you shut in a soul?

Shut the door and you’ll see how I will change my World.

All that matters

The truck crashed into their rear. Their two children sitting in the back, safely tucked into the seat belt, parted from this World. Today hold those you love near. Speak no words of injury. Be all the mother and father you can be, now. Do all you can do. There are turns and twists you cannot unravel nor prevent their winding or unwinding. So love. Hold. Fight. Fold them into your heart.

There is a parting. It may be of distance. Or for an instance. The journey’s end is persistent. Whatever may come. Love my friend. It is all we take with us. It is all that counts and matters. It is all we are left with. Life is a fleeting thing. Its end is but a breath away. Take in each breath and let your exhale be love. Love is everything even beyond the end. I know they have walked into the embrace of love and now wait on the other side. Soon my tears will stop falling. Soon my heart will calm from its fretting. She will never forget her now cherubim children. Time will heal nothing, she will remember and in her musing she will wait. She knows she will feel again. He knows he will breathe again.

January Cleansing

I didn’t know I had so many dry opinions collecting dust under old friends. Friends like furniture I hadn’t used for years. Relationships like books I hadn’t opened in forever. I wondered why I felt so trapped in my house. This was once a haven but I hadn’t sorted the unwanted, the unimportant. The rooms shrunk from a whorish hoarding of useless judgment and meaningless condemnation. No wonder I couldn’t breathe. No wonder misery was clogging my respiratory circuits and short circuiting my dreams. I opened the window and God breathed into me. His whisper finally kindled the fire that was causing a choking from all the smoke of despair. Strength seeped into my arms and my legs returned, revived from a Holy command.

Here I am bent over but not in sorrow. I am lost in the excitement of cleaning out and cleansing a soul long forgotten. Here I am burning stories others wrote for me. Here I am uncovering long forgotten treasures covered in Holy sheets. Treasures that feel me with pleasure and awaken a hope beyond measure. Here I am exhausted from searching for my pieces, yes, I was shredded by what all others compelled me to be. Some wanted to domesticate me, others to degrade me and others to dominate me. But it’s all coming back to me now. It is all working for my good. In the cleaning I see a meaning in all their dealings. Though they meant ill, they did not kill my will. I begin again and in my genesis I find a sweet revelation in this situation of purification.

Muscles trembling from lifting lies and breaking skeletons. Throat dry from speaking secrets and silencing the sickly shrieks of shame. Hands blistered from carrying broken promises and false love. Back aching from bearing forgiveness of the unforgivable. Eyes wet with anguish mixed with relief. Ears sifting and dispelling the sounds of sycophancy. Mind numb to the finite facade of falsehood. Here I am. Reborn. Not out of innocence but a refiners fire. Here I am. Proven. Tested. Redeemed. Here I am washed in the waters of a January cleansing. Now, you, step into the river. Wade into its healing waters and leave it all in the currents of change. Be all you know you can be. Leave their opinions on the banks. Come.

Only Time

How many of these lights and trees have you seen go up and down? How many times have you sang these songs? Do you know? Do you wonder about how many more?

How many smiles have you given? How many hugs have you received? Do you count, does it matter?

Don’t get lost in the questions that life often asks but take in the moments. Time is all we have. The lights will go out. The tree will die. The gifts will become old. The family will fade into daily chores. But time waits. Time stays. Time stands. Time will take your last breath away. Time will hover over you even after all else has moved on without you. Use what little time you have left and scatter your soul through the service of love, let the winds carry your offering to all who will receive.

“Only Time” by Enya

Who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows, only time
And who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose, only time

Who can say why your heart sighs
As your love flies, only time
And who can say why your heart cries
When your love lies, only time

Who can say when the roads meet
That love might be in your heart
And who can say when the day sleeps
If the night keeps all your heart
Night keeps all your heart

Who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose
– Only time
And who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows, only time

Who knows? Only time.

Living on Horror

Evil is when that which we wish to possess ends up possessing us instead. That which we longed to wrap our fingers around, coils itself around our heart & suffocates love out of us. That which we thought would fill us, robs us of all we thought was not enough. It is a reaching out, a grasping after what you know you cannot own or keep but a shadow mission within you, will not relent and you will not look away. It is a creeping, crawling, careening, sometimes carousing contemptuous complacency. It is sweet to the taste but a bitter swallow and a poisonous assimilation.

In the end it will rend you of all good. And as your light dims and your breath befogs your lingering hope, you will know. The possessor is now possessed. The ruler is ruled. The drinker is drunk. The injector is ejected. The owner is owned. The free is dominated.

In dark tunnels you will lurk, a framed portrait hanging in cold corridors, waiting for kin to look and remember. In flooding eyes, you will see drowning pain, of those who love you still and know there is still good in you. And when your wings of hubris meet the sun, maybe you will fall into their waiting arms. When the licentious scales fall from your eyes, then you will see the road you ought to take. And then, your hand will not grasp and grope but it will find guiding rails, strong hands and gentle touches. And when you are empty and worn. When all wrong has left you spent. When no more lies lure your tired abode. Then will you hear the stirring of an innate hum, one that never went silent but always reached for you, day and night. Then on your bended knees, no longer racing outwardly, you will fold inwardly and fall into the embrace of awe.

‘Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.’ Ralph Waldo Emerson

My Wish For You

By Ralph Waldo Emerson

This is my wish for you:
Comfort on difficult days,
smiles when sadness intrudes,
rainbows to follow the clouds,
laughter to kiss your lips,
sunsets to warm your heart,
hugs when spirits sag,
beauty for your eyes to see,
friendships to brighten your being,
faith so that you can believe,
confidence for when you doubt,
courage to know yourself,
patience to accept the truth,
Love to complete your life.