Tuesday, 30 November 2010

My french connection...

Stockholm was at its busiest this time of the year. It was early spring and people poured out of the shops in numbers as they chased the seasonal fashion spree. Gerard and I could just manage to keep abreast with each other as we dodged our way through the crowds. We headed for the Indonesian restaurant that stood boxed in between a string of designer wear shops, our stomachs already grumbling in anticipation of what was to come. It hadn’t been a difficult decision to make as we had chosen the Saturday out from our usual weekly habitat in Gavle, a small remote city in the north of the country. We were already suffocating from the ciabatta bread that was served each day in the confines of our hotel and feeling more confident with the power of our Swedish Krona we decided that a day out in the country’s capital could do us some good.
Our morning had been spent combing parts of the city centre that headed towards the Baltic Sea. We had walked through narrow streets with very tall buildings that dwarfed even the likes of the tall Scandinavian population. Now we were a hungry pair drowning in our woes and looking for compensation of the nutritive kind.
We entered the Indonesian restaurant and immediately decided upon the top floor. The crowd was lighter and with the kind of day we had faced on the outside we needed the peace to hear ourselves talk. I could already feel the nerves in my feet screaming in agony at me and I knew standing in a queue as most of the other customers did to seek the best seats on the ground floor was out of the question. I needed to rest from our three hours trek and it didn’t matter to me whether or not the upstairs was an unpopular choice.
I listened to the familiar clatter of dishes and pans that vibrated through the swinging doors as the waiters rushed in and out of the kitchen and knew that my time in Sweden was coming to an end and I could sense that Gerard was aware of this. It was interesting to hear what Gerard would say considering that I had made up my mind to leave the project even before we got to Sweden. Gerard had become a good friend immediately after joining the company. He was a French graduate and needed a mentor to see him through the business world. I elected for this position seeing the potential in his ambition hoping to pass on what little experience I had gathered through the years. We had already worked together on other projects and it had now become apparent that I needed to start withdrawing my support. It was a tough thing to do because I was used to making the difference, seeing the spoils of my work burn holes in the eyes of customers. However this was Gerard’s time and even though I was pushing company policy I had a responsibility to his development.
‘You cannot do this to me, man,’ he said in his calm French accent. ‘We came here together so we should leave together, what would I do after work? This is crazy.’
‘I know, but you need the experience,’ I spoke persuasively hoping that he would gain favour in the positive side of my argument. I knew it was weak to throw this in at the time but the reality of the situation was that the time on his own in the realms of a deserted environment was what Gerard needed.
The spiritual world bears a relation to the many trends of events that manifests themselves in our lives. Our ways as man seek refuge behind mortal thoughts of wisdom, kindness and a justice that is served to the pleasure of man. There are several things that went on between my friend and I that I found apposite of wisdom in the spiritual world. The spiritual food we pass on to each other these days is irrelevant to the hunger we face. We carry on in our own conceit believing that we are helping one another yet what we require spiritually is rarely what is provided.
Today I don’t work with my friend for I left that job a while back but my friend told me something a year later that made me realize I had made a difference in his life. He claimed that in the first instance he had thought I was arrogant to walk away from the project and assume that it was his duty to carry on. However he had built a name for himself and the strength to manage a project from that experience. Today, I believe that I passed on a spiritual strength through listening to the needs of my friend’s spirit rather than his heart. I cannot speak with confidence that I have done this successfully in all cases but it is an example of the kind of mortal weaknesses we all face.

Monday, 22 November 2010

A cross to bear...

I called it a false spring, I guess this is because when I looked out of my window it appeared to be a bright morning mingled with remnants from a long summer, but what was hidden behind this façade was the cold wintry months to follow. If I was expecting to find refuge in this then I was in for a surprise. Like every temporal accommodation it depicted the thought of freedom, a place of safety free from the degrading elements in life and the infinite pressures that overcame one. Many would have said it was the thought that counted, having the liberty to escape a moment of indecision just for that instant in time when all could be forgotten. This was never the case. I knew that in running from the problem I was merely sinking deeper into it.
The parade came to halt and we all backed up into one another as the lead vehicle pulled over to the side. I watched the newly weds stroll in with style, surrounded by the masses of people that cheered them on. I was a close friend but so far from it all at that moment because the party was now in full swing and the past had been forgotten. Time had eluded my wishes and made me a fountain for excuses. I watched the family and friends follow the couple in to the house with camera flashes blinding in the false spring and I wondered when my time would come. I walked into the crowded house making myself as invisible as I could. There were many faces from the past that would have recognized mine and then the questions would start.
‘When would your time come?’ I could just hear them now like rocket-propelled grenades in battle. One knew they were coming and dived for cover, yet the outcome was never predictable. It was hard to tell what part of your anatomy would be remaining after each one. I had been here already several times, parties of this nature, busy with people enjoying the finer things in life and it never failed to escape my mind the way in which one could be sociable without stealing the limelight or appearing to be obnoxious. In the past my invisible ability had not gone amiss for I was always able to slip into the shadows talking to those that I wished to and others who desired to reach me. It wasn’t to my choice or better judgment as one never knew who was making the most out of the party. However I wanted to explore this new mystery and why it was prudent to keep in the shadows. It wasn’t the social skill of the decade but it had ramifications in the spiritual world. This setting was ideal for many reasons. It was a wedding that brought two people together, a setting that was pure in respect for the vows that were made between two people to share the same life throughout their human existence. Then there was the invisible nature that could be envisaged by those who were hardly noticed in a party this large. The day itself cast a mystery on itself by being a morning that was given the nature of a false spring. I knew there was plenty for me to learn from all of this and the weariness I had felt a few hours ago in the car.
Let us be glad and rejoice and ‘give honour to him: for’ the marriage of the Lamb is come, and ‘his wife hath made herself ready. And to her was granted that she should be arrayed in fine linen, clean and white: for the fine linen is the righteousness of saints.
It was time to answer the question that had been surging through my mind for years. How could one truly make themselves ready? The spiritual man was chosen to be the bride of the Lord preparing himself through life accepting every word of God and abiding in his commandments and here I was in a wedding having already failed in my attempt to even enjoy the ceremony. So how did being invisible creep into my mind? That too was obvious for I was invisible to man because I was spoken for in the spirit. This was natural because the spiritual man is born invisible when he accepts the Lord at which time he is overlooked on most occasions. The two things tied in beautifully for the spiritual man is invisible because he is spoken for as a bride of some one else that is far greater than anything on this earth. This was certainly a breakthrough! It made a lot of sense why I felt left out and abandoned because I had already been spoken for to serve another. Yet if I was weak there was no doubt I would return to my old ways seeking comfort again back in the world and looking only at man for satisfaction. Today parties have no more become days of false spring, days in which the cold is hidden in the shades. Parties are what they are whether I am visible or invisible for the truth remains that either way it is the wish of the Lord.

Sunday, 21 November 2010

Happy Blog Jog Day!

Welcome to blog jog day and thank you so much for stopping by!

Check out my new book Eli and read through some of these heart warming articles and then jog on to Pat's Blog next on the list.


Thank you and happy hunting!


ELI means ‘My God’ and is taking from the Holy Bible in the words ‘ELI, ELI lama sabacthani’. ELI is a spiritual book and the second in a trilogy that begun with the book Divinity Dawns. It is partly an autobiography with the names of the characters in the book altered. It is set in Riyadh, Dublin, Bahrain, Brisbane, Sao Paolo, London, Lisbon, New York, Douala, Basel, Geneva and Shenzhen.
ELI is divided into three parts as listed below.
Part one delves into the life of the hero Cephas as he discards his past and travels to the Middle East in pursuit of fulfillment and strengthening of his faith in God. He faces different tests physically, mentally and spiritually enabling him to come through better equipped with the strength and desire to fulfill his dream of writing about ELI. It is during his time in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia that he learns about the Muslim culture and the difference to that in the life of a Christian. He comes to terms with class and cultural segregation and the freedom that we all take for granted in the West. Cephas turns to camaraderie and the strength in friendship to understand survival in his new environment. While this is at the physical and mental level, Cephas experiences visions and an awakening that sets him on a path to go back to his past and understand his patrimony.  He must comprehend why he was chosen to write about ELI and divulge and interpret parts of the bible that he hasn’t seen interpreted anywhere else before.
Part two goes back to the late 19 and early 20th centuries during the height of slavery in West Africa. It is about the life of Cephas’s great grand father Salem and his indoctrination into Christianity. It reveals the nature of the settling of the first Basel missionary from Switzerland in Cameroon. Salem’s life is espied from childhood through to adulthood and the shaping of his Christian faith up until the point at which he owns his own ministry. It is at this point that Cephas understands the meaning of his visions and the path he must follow.
Part three is the core of the novel and as absurd as this might sound was written first. It is mainly set in the streets of China and is a mystical investigation into the dialogue between man and spirit as Cephas divulges and interprets parts of the bible. Amidst a backdrop of activity Cephas manages to retain a level of communication and dialogue in spirit to reveal parts of the bible that have long been mistaken for years. He is not only aware of his surroundings, the pleasures of life, relationships and romance he is also determined to fulfill his ultimate goal of keeping his spirit in line to reveal the message that had been the course of the novel ELI.

Eli  Pacific Book Review by Gary Sorkin

Beautifully written in a first person format, Leslie Musoko brought me into the mind and thoughts of characters of immense spirituality seeking their destiny, in a masterpiece composition, ELI.  Revelations between reality and the spirit world conflict within their minds, as his novel brought me into the depths of human awareness. Skillfully written using multiple dimensions of thoughts, feelings and actions of his protagonist, combined with the minutia of detail Leslie Musoko amassed from his life experiences and research, he constructs a philosophical pulpit.  I felt transported into the mind of his character Cephas; seeing through his eyes, feeling through his touch, sensing all around him whilst listening to his thoughts, understanding his faith and witnessing first-hand his cognitive awareness. Kudos to Mr. Musoko for achieving such an artful literary feat.

I knew I was in for a treat from the very first page, during the Prelude, he writes, “Cry I say, cry I wish, yet there are no tears from me. I am all cried out, all dried up.” For those words written told me volumes about Leslie Musoko’s sensitivity and literary skills.  His pen scribes an acme of articulation, reminiscent of eternal quotes and commensurate as a Shakespearian coinage.  The introspective contemplative lamellate of his characters’ personality, juxtaposed against their logical layer, or public façade layer, divulges the depth of Musokos’ erudition of character development.  The quest to find his character’s sanctuary in faith brings us all closer to our own.  “Eli” translated meaning “My God” was exclaimed by Jesus Christ on the cross. “Eli, Eli lama sabathani,” said Jesus.  “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?”

Eli is the second of a trilogy series of writing about Cephas, a Christian put to tests of his faith through a series of challenging circumstances.  Achieving an advanced caliper of literary percipience, Leslie Musoko’s Eli is recommended to all readers with a cultivated appreciation of character development, epic storytelling, and faith based philosophy.  I found it to be challenging and stimulating.  One thought, written somewhere in the storyline, Musoko stated how odd it is for humans to have evolved to a point in their use of language where at times it is used to mislead or mask one’s innermost feelings. How absurd a culture would embrace such deceptive tactics, he pontificated.  Mr. Musoko leads no reader down a path of deception, nor does he fraudulently portray his thoughts.  Eli is communication at its highest level of veracity.

Eli - APEX REVIEWS by Josee Morgan

As Cephas continues his trek to Saudi Arabia in pursuit of his inheritance, he soon discovers that discarding his past will be a much more difficult task than he anticipated. With his personal life steeped in confusion and uncertainty, not to mention his spirit nearly broken, Cephas is forced to rely on little more than his faith to survive in an increasingly challenging world. Little does he know, though, his current trials and tribulations - no matter how formidable - are just the beginning...

Thoughtful, moving, and deeply introspective, Eli is an immensely rewarding read. Skillfully crafted by author Leslie Musoko, this second installment of a compelling new trilogy takes the reader deep into the mind and heart of a devout Christian struggling to reconcile his faith with the often hostile reality that surrounds him. Not only that, he must also contend with the internal forces threatening to cloud his judgment and distract him from the all-important spiritual quest for which he's been pre-anointed. As deep as it all may sound, Musoko does a commendable job of framing Cephas' physical and metaphorical journey in clear, accessible terms, fostering a profound empathy within the reader - regardless of your specific personal faith. In so doing, Eli serves as an invaluable guide for anyone who finds themselves similarly conflicted in the spirit; by following Cephas' brave example, we will find it much easier to handle the emergent spiritual tests that unexpectedly befall our everyday paths.

Equally riveting and profound, Eli is an instant storytelling classic. Be on the lookout for more compelling works from this promising new literary talent on the rise.

Monday, 15 November 2010

The hand that rocks the cradle...

In the moonlit night, I am alone and asking myself this question how have I come to be in this place of isolation. I notice the power lines, a huge power pole and a small drainage area nearby. I can hear the whispers in the night and feel the breeze that blows at me yet I am puzzled at my reason for being here. Eventually bewilderment turns into paranoia and I do my utmost to retreat back to where ever I think came from without success. It then occurs to me that I am here on appointment and not by will. Then there is a thought. Contrary to my neglected surroundings I am filled from within and listen for any sounds that can give me a clue of what is happening. I can see my past, an endless voyage taping into the resources of life. Today in this darkness that past seems like decades away.
As I float in the dark my gaze turns to the sky and upwards, I don’t know why I am here but I shall enjoy the night. I stare blindly at the stars and the moon until it happens. A large hand appears out of a black hole in the sky and in the light of the moon and the stars opens right before me. I am in awe, yet on impulse I place mine in it and as we touch, I whisper in a voice that I have never heard before, ‘Thank you Father.’ And the hand disappears as the sky returns to how it was before.
This experience has revealed something to me. In our daily lives we are not so different from the babies that lie helpless in the courts we build with such loving care and endearment for them. When we reach out to rock their cradles and see joy and laughter in their eyes there is a sense of warmth and achievement from both sides as we share this moment. The same is true when God reaches out to us. We may live in an estranged world not knowing one day from the next or what befalls our surroundings. Yet we must remember that the hand that rocks our cradle knows best of what we need…

Sunday, 7 November 2010

You may have problems but seriously mine are worse...

The flowers on this table are red and a yellow that caresses traits of an orange glow. The candles in the burgundy jars are white and have little ribbons with pearl knots wrapped around them. The tablemats are a red wine color that glistens in the light of the golden colored chandelier above. The table is a circular thick glass on a mahogany base that seats six, on high comfort chairs. The table rests on a Persian rug that is fixed in the center of a four-sided beige carpet leading unto a wooden floor. The entrance to this room houses two wooden African stool drums on opposite sides that seat small trees in rounded pan vases.
The walls are white and rise to the ceiling covered on its four corners with saucers and embroidery from different cities. The room lies dormant in a large house that has enough rooms to keep more than four couples comfortable. The house is one of many in a neighborhood where people only really shake hands when one of them needs to borrow something. The neighborhood lies wounded in a city that has its own laws far and beyond any around it. The city is out there fighting for its life in a state that can’t keep up with its taxes. The state is challenging others like it itself when the country it is in struggles amongst others for power in the world. The world is asking itself when it would be crushed by space objects traveling in its orbit and escaping the anger of larger ones. The objects in space are barely surviving when one universe decides to swallow another. The universe doesn’t know where it came from because it can’t think beyond its current form.
Alas! The man sitting at this table is holding his head between his hands and wondering whether he is making any sense out of what he is writing. He has finally come to the conclusion that it is so easy to forget what is around you when you are too busy focusing on what is not…

Wednesday, 3 November 2010

Life in the valley of bones...

I have heard the raindrops from your tears and seen the pool that forms beneath your sorrow. I have touched your heart and felt the pain that feeds on your frail frame and loneliness. I have seen the hunch in your shoulders, the clasped hands and slumbered posture and know the weight you bear is but a dime too much. When you stare into the abyss sorrow returns its bleak gaze of uncertainty. When you embrace the past the memories seem unbearable. I wish you would come with me hither so that I can shew thee things which must hereafter.
He that lies before thee isn’t dead but sleeps without a heartbeat. He that walks before thee isn’t living unless the spirit of God is within him. You are two of a kind and each being must have its say. Do not hide in the dark when your heart disowns you. Do not scare the butterflies when your grief absorbs you. You are mourning the loss of one that lives within you. You’ve abandoned the living in your quest for understanding. There is a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to pluck up what was planted. Sorrow is better than laughter for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. So embrace each moment and each day as you travel on this odyssey. For he that’s gone before thee sings lullabies with the angels. Here is good and temporal but yonder is light eternal.