The rocky path…

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“Bless me, Father, for I have erred. My last post was 15 months ago.” How quickly time flies, and the irony in that phrase, is how valuable a resource it is in life, and how minimal an influence we have on it. This brings me to yet again question some of the cliché statements, we so quickly utter without actually giving it some thought. “When you eat with the devil, ensure that you do so with a long spoon.” Why on earth would you even want to dine with the devil? “The devil you know is better than the angel you don’t know.” Yet again, how and where on earth, would you categorize good and evil as not just being equals, but we push the limits even further by inferring that there’s some goodness in evil.

It’s being a while, and I apologize however, I still write, but I just started posting directly on Facebook. I decided to come back here because I had auto-renewed the fee, but more importantly, as I watched the darkness of the night gradually give way to the dawn and light of a new day, I could see my kids in slumber because we decided to go camping yesterday. One about to leave the nest, and the other about to be thrust into the maelstrom that usually qualifies life. Each representing a dynasty, each unique and yet different, but the love that so tightly binds them together being tested severely and all I can do is watch, unable to do anything but trust the One who made me, and has kept me thus far even when I really contemplated the insouciance of the struggles, the fights, and the unrelenting pummeling.

I mean it does fill like I can write a few movie scripts from just the events of the last 6 months. “Stay on course, mate” I mutter to myself even as I catalogue events and categorize them, futile in keeping pace with time. I did realize, for maybe the first time, that I cannot move from the front door of where we call home, to the back door in 11 seconds. Screw dystonia, and every malady that plagues man. Well, that’s going to be the subjects of some other posts that I hopefully get to write before I no longer can. Is it fair to call vulnerability a strength? It is impossible for one to have all the answers because we would just re-create the ice age or the era of the caveman. That’s how limited we are, so what’s better than entrusting all of our cares and worries to The One who created all things.

Rocky road

For some reason, as I watched my kids sleep (the next generation, my descendants) and mused over recent events, I was thrust back to memories about 40 years old. I was raised Roman Catholic, and so the first sentence was paying homage to that. We would wake up by 5am, usually with the help of the rod of correction. Nothing, I can assure you, drives sleep away faster than the painful lash of the whip. How different today is, kids sleep in on weekends, corporate punishment and discipline are on the verge of becoming extinct with the tweaking that society compels you to do, as a parent. Oh, yes, back then, sleeping in wasn’t even imagined, least of all having a vestige of what it is today. Thank you, 7Up, the difference is clear.

Even on weekends, we woke up by 5 am and then we would herd out to the sitting room, of course after making your own bed, and we would say or pray or recite the rosary. No offense meant to my brethren under the authority of Pope Leo XIV. Weekends usually meant there was time to say the Joyful, Sorrowful & Glorious mysteries, that’s 15 beads comprising of 3 recitals of 5 beads. Then, my dad would read or have one of us read a page from ‘Just a Moment Please!’ by J. Maurus and then we would ‘discuss’ it and round up family devotion with a prayer from one of the many prayer books. Then it was off to the races, each of us going to the section of the house where your chore demanded your presence. The external chores were dreadful, but I remember this story.

A man watched a farmer harvest his potatoes and just throw them into the cart with the donkey hitched and patiently waiting, in what seemed like a very disorganized manner. It bothered this man so much because he knew sorting it would be better because it could be sold faster, that he politely asked the farmer why he was not sorting them first. The farmer took a break, looked at the man and responded, “Oh, I always take the roughest road to the market and by the time I arrive at the market, it would be sorted.” The man thought about it and asked for more clarification. “Oh, I take the roughest path, because with every bump, the potatoes would move and ultimately by the end of the trip, the largest ones would have made their way to the bottom and the smaller ones would remain on top.”

The fascinating thing about the explanation was that farmers back then were usually not very educated but today schools charge an arm and a leg to ‘teach’ what the farmer was already applying; the law of gravity, Newton’s laws of motion etc. And till today, I’ve never forgotten the ‘moral’ of the story (usually real life events) and the moral for the day. You see, life is that rough road and we are the potatoes. Every obstacle we face; separating men from boys, the strong from the weak, the leaders from the followers. However ,the true takeaway is that the big ones get to the bottom because they can bear the weight of the smaller ones without being crushed. Till this day, the objective of society is emphasis on getting a ‘better’ bargain and so most people choose to sorting, putting the smaller ones at the bottom so that you get a ‘better’ bargain.

Cart of potatoes

At first glance, the cart looks great with large potatoes but at the bottom are crushed potatoes, and that by any standard is a bad purchase. We can not live life without figuring and accepting our identity and purpose. Some of us are made strong, not so that we flaunt it or bully others weaker than us, but rather to help elevate them. We’re blessed with wealth, not to have men kowtow and gravel before you, but so that with those blessings and riches, you pull others up and empower those who are in need. It’s a difficult concept and thus John Ruskin captures it aptly, “A man wrapped up in himself, makes a small package.” Each day, we get to choose how we impact the lives we encounter as we bounce around on life’s rough road. We must choose what is more important to us, getting a better bargain through deceit or getting a better bargain by selling the smaller potatoes first.

Oh, not again, why are his posts so grave and serious? Well, my friend, I talk about life and my experiences, I’m not a circus owner, so do forgive me because my objective is to help at least one person who reads this. I want you to know that I see you, and I may not understand what you are going through at the moment, but I can say to you, “Keep your chin up, and never give up because life is not fair.” The market is closer than you think, and all the soreness, all the pain, all the anguish, is about to end as long as you don’t give up. You have got value, and if you have been told contrary all your life, take this one statement from one who has been through stuff that you can not even imagine, “You are valuable!”

I’m in no way saying that my road is rougher than yours, that would be ignorance, all that I am saying is that you are in charge of your life. You’re the only one whose decisions really count because you’re going to face the consequences of your decisions. So stop, take a breath, look around, smell the fragrance of the flowers, listen to the twittering of the birds, and remind yourself that the future will always be better than today, as long as you don’t bring the mistakes of the past into today. Today’s all we have, let us make it count for something great because there’s someone out there that could use a smile, a kind word or a hand extended in assistance. Remember that you have a smile, a means of communication and a limb, prosthetic or not.

Adieu!

עד שניפגש שוב, תרימו את הראש ותחייכו אל הסערה!

Lightening Strikes…

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“What keeps the earth in place? Do you do a pre-trip inspection each day as soon as you open your eyes from sleep? Nay, it’s that which we take for granted, that which we treat with utmost contempt that truly matters the most.” R.E Dzhis

Yet again, I’ve been named on a law suit, in a different country, to be before a judge who will most likely remember me even though she knows nothing about me just yet. To the few who know me, they can acknowledge that this is true of me. I don’t go looking for conflicts, but please don’t look at getting into conflicts with me. I’d rather appeal when I can, which is rarely because I don’t control time, but by courtesy of my childhood, if you choose to pick a fight with me, there is usually one result; it’s kill or be killed, no survivors are allowed. I say this because even though it’s 0251 hundred hours, there’s someone who’s gasping at what they just read.

Let me attempt to make it less frightening. Growing up on the streets of one of the, arguably, roughest cities in West Africa, and attending a reputable public high school (until my class turned it into a school that people still whisper about today.) We were bad, and I mean bad and ugly. So bad that our peers and below, in sister schools who had never even been to Warri, heard about us and cringed at the stories they heard. Most were actually worse than what they heard. But I digress. I usually walked to and from school, and that entailed walking through the back of people’s houses, cutting across overgrown lots, keeping a reasonable space from outdoor restrooms with a shit of zinc acting as the door, and being very present in case you came across a couple doing adult things or navigating through a melee.

Throwing down

So, if I ran afoul of someone on my way to school, there was no avoiding that person on my way back. I believe that I’ve shared the tale of a mother who was thumping her son for his lack of interest in going to school, and used me (I was 12 years) as her reference point of acquiring knowledge so he could be a better version of his dad, although, if memory serves me well, I wouldn’t wager a cent on the probable fact that neither of them knew him. Summarily, I encountered him and his friends as they ‘waylaid’ me. Waylaid would most likely be a semblance of the synonym, ‘ambushed’. There was the choice of getting a beat down or a throw down (I’d have to take off my uniform because my mother banned us from fighting at home, so having a plausible reason for bloodstained clothing was not an option). It was kill or be killed, meaning that after the slugfest, you either acquired a new friend or you would create a feud that would involve anyone related to you. Most assuredly, the latter wasn’t a good option.

So, you can take the boy off the street, but you can’t take the street off the boy! I’m still working on myself, no scratch that, God’s still working on me. Despite the fact that I’m on the peak of celebrating half a century, I was once that preteen/teenager who was ready to brawl before the word, ‘brawl’ was completely verbalized. Now, the brawling is done in courts or related facilities, and I am teaching myself and my kids about “letting go, and letting God”. He’s the One who says, “Vengeance is mine.” and so I know enough to ask Him to stay my hand because He’s undefeated and His judgement is swift with consequences that you can’t run away from. The good news is that I can resonate with Jonah, God always has the option of mercy, I don’t, naturally, but I’m a work in progress. His call to me is to reconcile men to Him, not judge them, or criticize them, or fix them, or tag them ‘persona non grata. I can’t be a Christian without walking alongside Him, in surrender and obedience.

It’s like deja vu, but in a different location. Similar players, but the same reason; being nice to someone who has no idea of their purpose in life. They actually have no inkling as to what death looks like. Then, you can understand the folly in the heart of a man/woman, death is staring them right in the face, but they’re so caught up in their premeditated role as well as the deafening chant of the crowd that’s pushing them on. They fail to realize that much wisdom is learned in the house of mourning, and that the path they’re on has just one destination, destruction. I was once capable of patiently waiting to avenge myself, but that me no longer exists, there’s much more fulfillment in changing the world by being kind to just one person at the minimum, whether it’s through listening to them vent, or writing this for someone to read, or even giving the last $3 in my wallet to the young lady with two scrawny kids in tow, yet another victim as evidenced by her badly bruised face, and wounds that are trying to heal.

Yes, I feel the scorching heat from the lightening strike, my seared skin, the torrent of nemories, the sad realization that I’ve been here before, but I also see the kindness of God because I’m still standing. I can’t lose because of Proverbs 12¹⁹. I am a winner in the long run, and every good gift comes from above, and He gives with no shadow of turning. Does it hurt? Absolutely! Can I redirect the lightening strike because it ought not to strike the same place multiple times? No, but I know The One who controls everything, and so I can choose to forgive, and let go. I have known quite a few people who died from their mistakes because they did not learn from them. However, what do you say to a 3-year old child who was born with a medical condition? You and I just have to pick ourselves up and keep pressing on, the morning is almost here. I want to thank Linda, Shawn, Didi, Hilda, and the few who have chosen to obey. The borrowed axe head will float, the scattered bread will be found, and soon, someday we will tell the story of how we overcame through blessing others as we have been blessed.

Adieu!

עד שניפגש שוב, מי ייתן ונוכחותו תהיה אמיתית עבורך!

Broken; in the darkness…

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I was Barnabas, with a skip in my steps on the sun dappled streets and words of encouragement on my tongue. A twirl around the school poles, daring and mischievous, inclined to evoke purpose as I grew up. My dreams were huge, unafraid and impenetrable…a pair of twinkling eyes, with not a thought given to the sorrow that introduces itself inevitably. Did I ever think time would be that unshakable companion even when I saw all I dreamed and built gradually collapse into piles of debris. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.

I dreamed of buildng a world where wisdom and joy intermingled with no care or burden. It was my masterpiece, every line carefully drawn, every brick precisely positioned. It was more than just a building, it was my abode even as I basked in the abundance of His blessings. Age was my driving force, as I triumphed over little challenges, each trophy so elegantly woven into the tapestry of my life. Money was a resource to bring some joy into the lives of those that I encountered. Eyes with no hint of life, hopelessness and despondency so tightly clutched around their bodies. Why did they grasp so tightly to it even as I offered solace? Questions unanswered, grief abounding, hope lost.

Light beckons

Oh but the tide rises and it falls, even more unpredictable than I would ever imagine. Now I clutch tightly to memories of a life once dreamed, careful not to err nor accuse My Creator falsely. Why me? Why not me since life is known for her unfairness?, even as I once walked to the lyrics of Wisdom’s songs….now it’s all but silence. There’s no point in looking back because nothing stands, a life bereft of all the fineries life can offer. I need not be instructed, I know that it’s futile looking back because physically it’s almost impossible, thanks to Fahr. Where was that body, sculpted and tenuous, striving to become just as pleasant as my soul? It’s almost like it never existed but for the intermittent flashbacks and memories that seem to be gradually taking longer to show up.

It was all at my feet, everything I dreamed and strove for, assertive in my demands without the stench of arrogance. Did I prepare myself for this? No, I was Barnabas, encouraging and propping up lives as i journeyed. A crack, then a crevice and all the glamor went plunging down unchecked and assisted by gravity. Can Humpty Dumpty ever be put together again? It took but a fraction for it all to come crashing down and now I’m tasked with picking up the pieces, trying to make something from the rubble. In the effort lies the victory however I don’t see the victory yet, even though I know it’s there, will time be gracious to me?

My body’s broken and darkness calls out to me with the offer of silence because I just want to be left alone as I see the deceitfulness and desperate wickedness of the hearts of men. Once they clamored like kin, now it’s just the silence and with nought but empty pockets, the clink of coins is gone, exaggerated by the silence of the dark. Even my kin are nowhere, just a repetition of their absence because independence was my strength but now the strength wanes each day. My throat hurts, my voice is hoarse from calling for help because in the darkness, there’s nothing but my own arms. Mockery tumbles around like a court jester, gloating on what’s temporary however this darkness will not be my home.

Gone are the voices of those I held dear, now the cacophony of crickets is the symphony that ricochets all around me. Did I love enough? Can I love for just a bit? The cares of this world are loud in their drumming and even with my eyes shut, I can still hear the noise. Broken and bruised, the darkness seems to be the best place….just to rest a bit before I continue stumbling forward; the sand in my face, the winds buffet agonizingly. “When will it end?” reverberates in my head, the answer I must hold onto or else my life would be for nought. You can take it all away, my faith is all I’ve got and prepare to pry it from my gnarled dead hands just before the fires consume this body to birth another. Can I balance the horrors of this side to the perfection on the other side? Is that an option too? Do my actions betray my thoughts? Still I know that as long as there’s breath in my lungs, my purpose isn’t over.

Besmirched and forsaken, yet will I strain for that glimmer that marks the end of this darkness. With knowledge clinched tightly around my waist, I know it’s for a season however the times are beyond my capabilities though I know who does. Just as I draw a fresh breath, I’m pulled under the surface as the experts revel in their superfluous unending diagnosis. My strength is best served for the journey before me rather than foolishly engaging in discussions that are frought with ignorance and selfishness. Walk in your shoes, let me walk in mine and even when all around me, the darkness tries in deceit to offer some rest to my broken body, I know that my current path would make it easier for those behind me. And when the bell tolls and my tale is told, may it bring hope, strength and inspiration to another. My name still remains Barnabas, and for now, I will yet encourage myself in Him who presides over the affairs of men.

Tarry on, I whisper, for there’s little trust in the arm of flesh. Tarry on, I whisper, the chariots of men cannot take my burden. Tarry on, I whisper, my race isn’t over and so from the shadows, I must emerge and press on because the shadows tell me that light is just at its fringes.

עד שניפגש שוב, יהי חסדו לפרנסתך!

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Gratitude?……Yes!

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Undeniably it’s been rather tumultuous times recently however sometimes the joys we seek is not a thing but a process; the process of letting go because it is when we let go that we are able to see.

Today makes it 8 years, I encountered an amazing individual; funny, charming, intelligent and creative. He’s become one of the reasons to encourage me to keep going on even when the storms are at their worst. When the little glimmer of the skies are completely eclipsed by the darkness of the storm, he can still make me laugh and realize that there’s more joy in the process regardless of what’s going on. His childlike faith and compassion is worth learning from.

Gratitude

I don’t know what you’re going through however I do know that pulling the plug is not something that is an option because a thief is one who takes something that isn’t theirs without getting permission to. I don’t think ‘it’s better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission..’applies here. Somethings are sacrosanct; our lives are gifts from The Creator and the only way we express our gratitude to Him is by the way we live our lives so rest assured suicide is not an option. I promise you! There is no adroit weaving of words that can justify not being intentional in our lives or choosing to end it.

I like shoes, one of the few things that I can still like….it’s a choice too; to like or not to like. Yesterday presented me with another option to grab that lungful of air that will keep me alive whilst I’m submerged by life’s unpredictable waves. And yet again I must apologize for not being faithful doing this, I am still flawed and imperfect in more ways than I would want to know. There’s a generational transition currently taking place and it is inevitable because life must go on and in order for that continuity to occur, there has to be that anguish that’s associated with losing a parent or parents (whichever does apply to you). In that anguish, some of the best things are learned! I promise you that as a parent, it is so much better to be buried by a child than to bury a child.

In times of war, parents bury their kids however in times of peace, children bury their parents. Let that simmer in for just a tad; we all crave some peace whether it be publicly or privately. Having veered off, I’m redirecting. With more than one, comes the need for choice and sometimes choosing can be a pain, that for me is one reason I don’t like shopping or eating alone. Yesterday I met Dwayne as I made my way to the neurologist for a sleep deprived EEG and I realized that I have been lacking in my expression of gratitude. A fellow ex-trucker, he made the few minutes we spent together, nostalgic and yet humorous because while I vacillate between what shoes to wear (and usually seek help), he doesn’t have to because he’s an amputee so now I thank God for both my feet and then my shoes.

I’m grateful that I am able to see a doctor because I can appreciate what he and his team do for me. The years of preparation, just for lil ‘ole me. I’m grateful for my medication because it gives me some respite from this horrendous journey as well as the opportunity to say thank you to the pharmacist who spent all those years and money studying to become one, just to help me. I’m grateful for the time in the valley because at least I have a tent and can extend a hand to those who are homeless. I’m grateful that I’ve never been homeless because sleeping in a car is better than sleeping under a bridge.

Hospitality

Honestly, I said this was going to be brief however now there’s so much to be grateful for and so I’m grateful for you, sacrificing the time to read this. It is tough however it’s easier to act like an entitled (I just don’t like that word but oh well…) buffoon than pause and take stock of what you have and don’t have. Vulnerability demands that we be true to ourselves in order to trust the process and also be thankful for the process. I wasn’t singularly close to my mother however it’s been 3 years since she passed and I still miss her so much. 5 days ago would have been my parents 50th wedding anniversary; my mom’s up in heaven and my dad is battling dementia however I’m thankful for all their sacrifices because we might not have made Forbes list but they instilled in me, self confidence and much more than can be bought with money.

I’m not grateful for dystonia however I choose to be thankful on the journey because I have encountered and built a home filled with remarkable individuals. The storm rages on however I’m grateful because I know someday it’s going to end and what an expectation and hope that’s being built with each new day. I choose gratitude every day, whether it be in letting go of something or someone or in being hospitable to a stranger because I know therein lies yet another opportunity to touch a life with no condition attached and no guarantee of reciprocity.

And so I dare you to choose gratitude, and let’s see where the cards fall.

עד שניפגש שוב, יהי רצון שהפנים שלו יזרחו בטובך!

Adieu!

In the waiting room…..(2)

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Thanks Nina for being my muse and more importantly for just listening. I’ve discovered that forgiveness and forgetting are often usually expressed in the same sentence however there is as much difference between them as is light from darkness. I must sincerely apologize for the protracted silence because life happens and whether it’s infected congestion in my lungs or the tennis elbow, we each must tackle one issue after another in order of gravity as is unique to our life stories.

Get Prepared.

So what’s new besides the few I mentioned? My body is taking a whipping and there’s so little that I can do about it because pity parties are sometimes spontaneous however you will not lack attendees. There are no guarantees of a life that checks every good box, we must learn to roll with the storms of life and even as I’m confronted with the rapidly debilitating effects of dementia on my dad, I’m thankful that we made things right before it hit. Yet another reminder that time cannot be controlled in its passage and now is our time to cater for those that nurtured us, in their best interpretation, and made us who we are today. Yes, the map to Valhalla might be all worn out and unusable however we all have our end coming even as we prepare to handover to the next generation, whether we like it or not. It’s that time and how prepared we are really doesn’t matter, the show must go on.

Regardless of how tightly we reinforced the fences surrounding our nest, it must be empty as life evolves. I am reminded by Phoenix that ‘soon’ is just shy of 2 packs of a baker’s dozen and 1month and in clear terms, the results of my task as a father will be on full display for all of creation to see. In truth, I’d say that the reins have almost completely being eased from my hands and no matter how much I desire this pasture to be greener, she’s finding (found most likely) her pasture and all I can do now is guide and give counsel when called upon. The countdown is on and Cap’n requires everything I’ve got and more than I think I have. Parenting is not procreation; both are abilities however like forgiveness, the former is a call to arms and not dependent on our natural tendencies. “If any lacks wisdom, let him ask freely….” and the beauty of that promise is that the wisdom given comes without criticism or judgement. There comes a time in every life when some ropes must be cast off and new ones prepared in order to sail the path laid before us…..if we must attain any vestiges of fulfillment.

In war times, fathers bury their kids while in times of peace, the roles are reversed but what would you do when the season of battle seems unending? Results are gotten when you’ve found ways of improving yourself in the waiting room because nothing and nobody lasts for all eternity. It’s in the waiting room, we must choose to make our scars shine as beacons of a brighter future or get submerged in the despondency that comes with not knowing your identity first. Clichè or not, I am prepared for the unexpected; whether it be in the quiet room of the 309th or in the virtual room of long grown relationships. Now is when we look back to see a path beaten down by the soles of our feet but adorned with flowers or just a path beaten down but stark, no beautiful memories to show. Inadvertently, the sands of time will completely eclipse the latter however it’s better late than never.

Stay sharp.

“Give me 6years to cut down a tree, and I’ll spend 4yrs sharpening my axe.” – A. Lincoln. Remember that in the effort lies victory and so no matter how long we spend in the waiting room, we must prepare ourselves for what lies ahead and forge for that time, a sinuous relationship with He who controls all! Now with braces snapped on, I will persist in making hay while yet the sun shines and despite the withering heat, I must make my life count for something because the other option is no option at all. Bit by bit, sweat streaming down my brow, I’ll swing my axe knowing that every swing is a change at the very least. And if I can but touch just one life, then therein, I’ll find recourse.

Deep down, the hurt remains however I refuse to be a prisoner of my conscience and hastily forgive and ask for forgiveness. And because I’ve been given what I didn’t earn or deserve, I’ll still extend as much as I can because in giving lies continuity and reward. Not the reward that is seen and posted on social media, a masterful work of deception but rather the reward that cannot be comprehended by what we can only see with our human eyes. Each day, I remind myself that this is not just a human journey but rather a human experience by spiritual beings. Therein lies the unique purpose for every life, the attempt to grasp the why and the strength needed to rise again when I’m knocked down. We’ve only got shot at this, I choose to give it my best shot and some.

עד שניפגש שוב, זכרו שיש בחיים יותר ממה שנראה לעין!

Adios!

Wave upon wave…

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Adrift

“You can’t wait until life isn’t hard anymore before you decide to be happy!” – J.M ‘Nightbirde’

It’s not about the decision but rather the elusiveness of happiness. Battered over and over, each wave harder than the latter, yet the stone quietly disappears still glistening, every encounter ripping a piece of my soul. Would you let me see beneath your beautiful, each shuddering breath anticipating the usual no? You don’t know me, you don’t see me but you clamor like the earth and its fullness is yours? How much longer can I bear this weight? How broken am I? Perfection, an oasis in the shimmering distance, unattainable yet teasing.

My clenched teeth hidden behind a smile is the only visible sign of the agony that besets me with every breath. Love surely doesn’t live here anymore however beneath my tent, I still hear the raucous laughter of the naive, the barely concealed glee of ill gotten weight, pockets weighted down that they burden you unknowingly. Here today, gone tomorrow; saddled with the burden of keeping count, I’m almost terrified to look at pictures just to acknowledge the spaces that once were occupied. How much longer can I go on? My question is rhetorical because the silence just magnifies my inability to comprehend.

Dreams disabled? It takes nought to do and still the dreams shatter but not the ability to. It’s eerily quiet at the moment and despite how hard I try, this is a moment that just won’t disappear. Where do broken smiles go? Where are they buried? Forget the fading applause, the night is certain in its duties. Disregard the glitter, they are but crumbling dust in my hands. The whispered terror, the blood shed, the victory won; it’s a maze I’m in but with each passing second, my limbs can barely function. This can’t be my home because I’ve walked the streets of grandeur once, hope is all I’ve got now and like the sand in the hourglass, it trickles away.

Just before this flame is extinguished, I grab the next candle, all but wax….hope remains surely. In the twinkle of an eye, the breath ceases and with the silence, I can hear it no more. Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest? Begone vile ones for he too deserves some peace. Your rum laced breath, overpowering as you prerorate, nothing is yours, you seem to forget. Naked you came in and naked you’ll depart, how do you so easily forget this? There’s no mountain high enough to shelter you, no valley low enough to hide the echo that resonates with your foolish gestures.

The years go by, and I find joy in the seed of my loins. Nothing can be done that hasn’t been done, yet still I refuse to cease my search for light in this overwhelming darkness. It’s not my garment of choice, each gust of wind blowing away a piece of my tattered cloak and still I must choose. When will the end come as I continue on my journey? What companion awaits me ahead is a question I cannot answer however I must ask. And if the ire is unleashed, what do I fear cos there’s nothing left.

70% hypothesized, but the tears so fast-flowing gives room to doubt. In my lament, I know there’s a message for any who cares to listen. You cannot cry me a river, the drought has been long and severe, cruelty is its driving force. The cold gnaws to the inside and all warmth is almost gone, and still I’m here; hope for the future, my only respite. In Your Arms, I find refuge and although comprehension might not be there, I’ll take what I’m given and yet hope. My strength has since depleted, the hollow echo bearing witness however it’s not by strength.

Cast adrift like flotsam, the waves are even more brutal, a purpose to be fulfilled regardless of how empty I fill. My journal has more endings and I hope, still I hope that there are also beginnings. Not the beginning of a journey, this one I’m yet to complete but rather the beginning of a restoration. I’ll yet hold on even as my sinews come apart and my ligaments give out, it’s nothing new but this I know “A man who has not prepared his children for his own death has failed as a father.”

Rest in peace, GED, OEBI, CD, RCB, PKW, NOC, CJO, JNM, KL, PZ, WS and may your memories be blessings to us.

In the waiting room…(1)

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No shortcuts

2yrs to the day, my mom passed from here to the other side where time ceases to exist. A side where the hope of eternity is finally made manifest. Devoid of drama, pain, disappointment and anguish, what could come close to comparing. She’s gone and yet a piece of her remains, not to spite us but hopefully to guide us through memories created together and shared. I am a Christian and come what may, I pray the first words out of my heart in every situation is “I want to give thanks to my personal Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” Now just before you rush off in righteous indignation, my choice is to thank Him IN (not FOR) EVERY situation.

So today just seemed like a good day to get back into the saddle, having been incommunicado for like forever, and for that I apologize. And in retrospect, a tea party can be better than writing a dirge depending on what the outcome is. Again, much wisdom is learned in the house of adversity. This is me taking back what’s left of my life and pushing away the depression that so eagerly awaits, ready to submerge me in a litany of woes. It never really is about how much you have but what you do with what you have that counts, and I’m talking about the long run, people!

There are no waiting rooms for short cuts, and it’s the waiting room experience that I’m going to dwell on just a tad longer than a pensive note in a musical drama. It’s been a long time and still I am unaware of where or when the end will come however instead of just passing away time dwelling on frivolous tasks, I need to apply one of my own lessons – there’s truly nothing as frustrating as spending energy on stuff that’s beyond my control. So with each new day, I am thankful that God’s not done with me yet.

A couple of days ago, I came across the well documented story of the exodus of the chosen people (God’s very own) from Egypt. This isn’t the first time I’m reading it but something was just different. There are mysteries to the life we are passing through that will never be understood. It’s a mystery that some have already been foredestined for destruction, why? I don’t know however I know I’m not one even though every waft of breeze seems to have a contrary opinion. So, here’s the most powerful leader that existed at that time and for some mysterious reason (which in this context was God hardening his heart), he just refused to see reason.

Now I’m talking about a rod turning into a snake (and for those of us who understand that there’s more to life than meets the eye), you can sit back and say other rods too turned into snakes…..but hold on just a second longer; the rod now a snake swallows up the other snakes and then returns to being a rod. No girth added, even after swallowing up other ‘ro…snakes’. Now that sure would catch even my attention but not Pharaoh’s. That snake exercise was just one of several extraordinary events – water turning into blood, frogs competing with the entire populace for space, painful boils, flies and still Pharaoh was unperturbed. Just another day in the office? Now permit me to interject this, “woe to anyone who decides to be God’s adversary”……there’s no coming back from the dead on that one.

And then it strikes home, his son (the heir apparent) is recalled by His Maker and then suddenly, it’s no more a negotiation exercise. Rather it is about how fast can you get out of our land so we may have some appearance of peace and stability? Now I truly can relate to the next part, those who had been marginalized and oppressed for centuries, left richer than they could ever have imagined. They were ‘paid’ to leave and then right after their exit, Pharoah as though waking up from a trance, asks himself, “what have I done?”. For me, the uniqueness of the situation, is that there was no history of mental illness on Pharaoh’s part and so I would categorize that question as being rhetorical.

So as most would, he reacts to the situation by countermanding his own authority, to save face. Now, while many are enthralled by the actions of The Sovereign God, Pharaoh embarks on trying to save his face and re-establish his authority, which at this point would be clear to any rational mind, that it is subject to a higher authority. He puts together the largest, most elite army at his disposal and gives chase. Reaction is equal and opposite, but wisdom teaches that it’s best to respond in the face of challenges because a response is borne from a process of careful thought and sought counsel rather than acting impulsively.

It is so much easier to be part of the crowd because being different is not an easy path…..

The End of the Beginning.

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Inevitable

How are you supposed to feel

When everyone looks at you with pity?

How are you supposed to feel

When everyone calls you a survivor?

Everyone looks at you

But they don’t notice you

They refuse to look into your eyes

Because they’re afraid of seeing the shadows behind them

Afraid of possibly seeing what you saw

The red splatters that will forever be ingrained

In the very far corners of your mind

They don’t want to acknowledge it;

The emotions that tore through those four walls

The tension that caused every sound

To vibrate through the white-colored walls

You want to stop

But you can’t help reliving that very moment

The moment that everyone and no one talked about.

The moment that made you feel like

All the air was being sucked out of your lungs

Like your heart might just tear out of your chest

Like your ears were ringing from the piercing screams

You wanted it to stop

But it didn’t

Because you were drowning

In the repeating loop

Of the day your childhood ended.

– Red Phoenix

From Venus…

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Admittedly, resentment and bitterness only hurt oneself, so I may be a little bit unsteady but I’m still holding on because I don’t think He’s done with me yet. I’m not capitulating as I watch but it seems like something is unraveling and I just might have the power to slow it down because inevitability cannot be stopped. It’s mother’s day and the least I can do is share the memories we made together that I’ll forever cherish till we meet again. There’s some irony in God’s playbook because He made man from dust and woman from man’s bone. Now metallurgy not required, we undeniably rely on fact that bone is stronger than dust but there again in full display is our inability to grasp divinity.

It’s been close to 2years since you got called home however your legacy still lives on. Everything I am today, I owe to you in some way. I recall rolling my eyes when you inexplicably went into the tale of my childbirth to my friends but that’s the beginning of just how amazing you were because you made a choice, you had me. I tell people that I wasn’t your favorite but despite that, you poured your entire being into raising all 7 of us, 3 of us felt your ire directly however, that’s why I could contribute in those after me and that’s how I am the father I’ve become, ill-health or not. So thank you, because raising 6 sons is not a feat for the faint hearted especially when you factor in the cities we lived and grew up in.

We have always been dog-lovers but as a young kid, you bought me a night shirt that I still remember and it had the picture of a cat with the words, ‘I’m just PURR-FECT!’. That in itself marked the choices I made and still make because nobody’s perfect but I strove to be as close to it as I could because you showed me how. You taught me to acknowledge that I was in charge of my life’s story; you taught me to believe in myself. Nothing couldn’t be surmounted as long as I believed in myself and today, I pass that message to the next generation. You had your own flaws but when it came to us, you laid it all out and even though you banned fighting at home, I still got into it outside because the streets crush the feeble and I will never describe or be described as feeble.

You bought me my first tie, even though it was to placate me and little did I know that wearing ties would be a signature. My childhood pictures are replete with images of me in bow ties and I look at them today and appreciate the big picture you saw of me even then. Dining was a formal affair especially dinner because you had already committed to teaching even before motherhood and so dinner was always a family affair. With you, there was no defined roles determined by gender and I’m thankful for that. Notwithstanding the fact that we grew up with house helps, you always said, “I will never raise up another’s child to the detriment of mine” and so there was no distinction between what I or the house help could do. It was confusing back then but now I understand.

You took me to purchase my first pair of grown-up shoes (driving was still years away), standing by the side while I made my selection knowing there was a budget to abide by. And when peer pressure came, you never buckled because you taught me that it was more important to be different and true rather than being part of the crowd. You taught me that contentment and self-esteem was a choice, because the road less traveled was usually the better route to take. You taught me to treat ladies with respect even before I had a sister, a trait that’s fast disappearing in today’s world. Chivalry is still as important and more needed today where the battle of self-identity has been flipped on its head; what’s right is right regardless of time.

You took the time (how?, just another pointer to who you were) to teach me driving at 15, intricately weaving in the need to be responsible at the same time. Reading your crime magazines ensured that I could deal with fear and also understand that the heart of man is desperately wicked. Striving for excellence, I knew you were in the auditorium when I got my first award/scholarship as a freshman in high school, because even though I didn’t see you, I could hear your car keys jingle each time you applauded – that was your thing; wearing your car keys on your pinkie. Your ability to effectively utilize the network (and undervalued profession) of teachers ensured that I sought the straight and narrow even when the exuberance of youthfulness came calling with whispered lies and well conceived folly. You were strict and harsh when the occasion called for it and just the memory of the last ‘whupping’ was enough to keep the foolishness away for a season.

You nudged me to understand that salvation was important and essential, making my personal walk with God a decision I made entirely on my own. Acknowledging that there’s more to life than meets the eyes was the foundation of my Christianity and yet I’m still learning and paying it forward till date. Discarding ego, I learned crafts (it was your standard) that positioned me well enough to understand that being your own boss was better than being the best employee. I learned culinary skills from your glossy magazines and catering books as well as being in the kitchen with you. You taught me that adventure was good because curiosity could be a villain. You taught me that freedom was not the absence of rules but rather the opportunity to be disciplined and control myself at all times. You taught me that vulnerability wasn’t a weakness however, building relationships that bettered me would always keep me growing.

Thank you for being the best mother that I needed and happy mother’s day! Till we meet again in Zion, continue in your rest and I hope I made you proud.

Adieu!

A Perorating Knell…..

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Abducted as a child. Sexually molested as a kid. Witnessed domestic abuse up close. Bullied then learned street survival as a pre-teen. Knocked unconscious by a thrown discus in junior high. Survived an acid bath in high school. Survived two ghastly automobile crashes. Witnessed the violence of religious fanaticism. Been shot at by friend and foe. Betrayed by friend and family. Disillusioned by Lady Justice (oh, she’s blindfolded). Knocked from grace to grass. Saddled with an exotic neurological disease. We each have sullied memories but also démodé is the sincerity of our vulnerability.

Listen

Like most people, still I stand on this side of life, albeit reeling and wheezing from another blindsided body punch. My past played some role in shaping me but it will not and has not defined me, that’s an area where my choice counts and mightily at that. The truth is that I don’t know when my end will come however, what I do know is that even though misery loves company, I’m never going to accept an invitation nor be the celebrant at any ‘event’ of such. I have seen lives lost over little issues and semi-truck sized issues to know that you must make hay during the day because the night when human beings sleep is coming. I have grieved too many times but I know sorrow’s curtain call is still a far distance away, so the journey continues, to a destination that’s beyond my wildest imagination. Therein lies the hope that takes me through each day, good or bad.

Today, I mark another milestone; a unique gift that can only come from One Giver. I am blessed with another year and even though I don’t like surprises, He’s got a huge sense of humor and whatever the circumstances are, I know He knows my name and He’s not done with me yet. Today is a permutation of variables that I would never have imagined, yet I stand, not by my own strength (heck! I can barely get out of bed most days without assistance). I stand, not in arrogance, but in awe of the dexterity of my Maker so I celebrate Him because He alone is the essence of my being. It’s kind of ironic realizing that love hurts and yet, that is a debt we are inexorably obligated to pay to the lives we are given the opportunity to encounter as we each continue on our separate journeys. The irony lies both in the fact that you can obey or be defiant in your stupidity, and that most times the love is never appreciated, least of all reciprocated.

My head and heart hurt but even that cannot cast a pall over the numerous reasons why I must be thankful. Like a friend said, ‘choose to see the glass of water as half full’ so that’s still my choice. The juxtaposition of wisdom in sorrow cannot be comprehended by my feeble mind, neither can my frail body confidently attest to how I am still in one piece and therein lies another reason to be thankful. Every past traumatic event, just like being on a treadmill, burning off the fat and unhealthy parts of me so that I can withstand the current rigors of purposeful living. Today I have lost more friends than I ever thought I would have made but it has also revealed the few remarkable ones that remain. Spanning three generations, I see them and I am thankful.

Waft or Wait

What do I say to my Mother India who’s burying the last of her 2 daughters at the end of this week? It is well? Oh most definitely not, but in the face of the stampede we live in, where education is not about the acquisition of knowledge, we stride around with puffed chests and flaunt our ignorance. It is well, yes,……but with my soul! Go figure out how to speak to your soul and allow me relish in the absence of your persona and its associated superfluity of nothingness. There’s an intangible gravity to the word ‘woe’ so I always use it with trepidation, it does not convey the same tenuousness as sad or sorrow. However, I am in no way embarking on a pseudo intellectual debate on the shimmer and nitty-gritty of English grammar. ‘Woe to they who trust in the arm of flesh…..’ and right there, that word beginning the sentence is enough to dissipate even the fog of inebriation.

One of my favorite quotes is this, paraphrased, ‘row upon row of rowdy spectators, crowd the vast arena full but there’s only one man who knows and he’s the one to face the bull.’ This year, more than ever, I am going to remind myself first before others who permit me to speak (permit not indulge) that even in the face of stormy waters, I will tell myself this; “it is well….with my soul” and I’d rather you didn’t tell me because you don’t know me. No offense intended, I rarely indulge in soliloquy but those three words to some degree, conveyorize familiarity and I truly don’t know you. Nobody truly does but rather than putting in the work to listen so as to obtain a better purview, we often traipse the path most traveled. It’s easier!

What’s the easiest way to discern a fool? The inexplicable concerted effort of a human being doing the same thing over and over and over, and expecting a different result. This year, I’m constantly going to remind myself that woe betide me if I trust in the arm of flesh. There’s a time and place for everything, a time to be born and a time to die, I choose to entrust God with the time between those events. This year, I’m going to double down on the truth that silence can be golden, ‘if only a fool could his lips sealed….’ he and she would have a sterling career in the undercover world.

I can’t go back and fix the past, neither can I go to the future and set it up just the way I want (tried that and got knocked from grace to grass) however, what I will do, is to make each day count for something. I may be beleaguered on all sides but I will not stop to contemplate calling it quits, rather I’ll strive to ensure that I’m on the right side and make these words into a mantra; ‘MANY are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord will deliver him and her from them ALL!’ That’s how I choose to start this year and I’m inexorably convinced that this will be my best year yet. Sneer all you want, when you want, just be kindly reminded that there’s a spot at my banquet that’s reserved for you.


Remember, even if everyone gives up on you, it changes nothing until you give up on yourself. Enjoy your rest, Temi, till we meet to part no more!

עד שניפגש שוב, מי יתן והפנים שלו ימשיכו לזרוח עלינו לטובה!


Adieu!