Tuesday, 21 December 2010

Lost and found...

Perhaps all hope is lost when time expires, the sands run out and wishful thinking becomes regular bread and butter. Perhaps all hope is found when time is not of the essence and faith overcomes the senses.
I never took anything for granted as I left the house. I was certain of one thing, hunger. There was a strike within my innards as they screamed in agony at the chaos that surrounded them. I had gathered every coin I could find and knew for certain that I was short. My legs felt like logs strapped with sand bags and sunken in the deepest of oceans. My arms were swollen from the steel rods that now replaced my bones allowing gravity to take its toll. My mind spoke volumes, you can do better than this, you are just a phone call away from it! Make the call and your wish will be granted.
I failed to listen to this voice but navigated my path across the road and then avoided the dog faeces as I walked casually to the shop. When I entered the shop the cashier briefly glanced in my direction and then returned to the box. There was a bored look in her eyes as she sampled the morning television programs. There were one or two people in the shop picking up items and I waited. Now wasn’t the time. It was wise to wait at least until we were alone then try. Soon I got past the first hurdle for there was a short cue at the cashiers as the other shoppers paid off their items. I walked over to the milk section and picked up a bottle and walked to the cashier, it was my turn. I passed over the coins in my hands and waited.
‘Sir, you are short by a few pence?’ She said.
‘I know.’ I replied.
‘Then I can’t give you what you want.’ She answered.
‘You can. Give me this today and tomorrow I’ll bring in the rest.’ I said.
She looked at me for what felt like an eternity and then said,
‘Okay you can have it this time.’
I said thank you and left. As I walked back home I felt the rods in my arms grow feathers and my steps quicken as the thought of logs became beautiful trees lined up on the side of a forest road. Before long I was heating the milk and pouring cereal into it and then appeasing the chaos from within.
One might think my experience is a one off and couldn’t happen again if I tried. Perhaps they would be right but what is of importance is that it did happen. Hope is not based on time or on what we can see. Hope is based on faith and knowing that what we wish for is ours even before we get it.
I did not return to the shop the following day but I did so several days later and as hard as I tried, I knew the cashier had forgotten who I was even though she took the money.

Friday, 17 December 2010

Alpha Omega Sword...

When the darkness surrounds your heart engulfing pieces of it and purging lava that burns the blood through your veins, the world shrinks before your eyes and the distant coastline becomes a walk to the bathtub. No one hears or sees you. No one can tell or relate to you. You ponder through countless thought for better or for worse yearning for change one way or another. Doing the right thing isn’t enough. Doing the wrong thing never brings fulfillment. You hurt, spill blood and naturally drain out. As sound fades away in this tunnel, you are left with nothing but for the chimes of your heart as it beats slowly.

In this basement you are locked away forgotten and covered in dust. Once upon a time you were la crème de la crème, the rare wine bought at a good price but priceless itself and tucked away for that special occasion. You waited each day to be pulled out of your ranks and drunk with desire, wonder and need. Nowadays you rarely see the light that creeps in through the alarmingly small window of the basement. All you can do is listen to the footsteps pounding the floorboards and hope that they twirl in your direction.

And then you feel it, an awe that consigns the blistering stars and galaxies above into a mere shadow in comparison. At the brink of this beautiful garden is an everlasting truth that sparkles a wonder. What separates you from yonder is a flaming two-edged sword bathing in the luminance of this brilliance. It is a weapon to strike at the heart of the darkness that lurks from within. It is a weapon to cure the illness that drowses the dense hours that fill each day. Make it your soul and partner. Make it words of truth and faith from your mouth. Make it peace and warmth. Make it patience as you sharpen its tilt each day. Pick it up when ready to cross this threshold and never look back as it lashes the wind and rips oceans apart. Make it a keepsake, for the alpha omega sword is a separation between the past and what lies before thee. Freedom is yours to weave at the edge of your sword. Welcome to the New Jerusalem you are reborn...

Monday, 6 December 2010

Spreading wings....

It is not often I get to talk about my book, Eli, but I got a chance on the Authors Show and felt there is no harm in mentioning this sort of free publicity. I believe some authors out there may need this.
The webpage is www.AuthorsWebTV.com
I am on it now running until the 8th December, blabbing away and almost forgetting keypoints! One thing though Danielle the host of the show does a remarkable job. I never thought webtv at this distance could work out so well. I hope you'll enjoy it and want to read Eli.

Friday, 3 December 2010


Grains of sand scattered through the wind, eyelids fluttering like the wings of doves, the truth lies in not knowing. Now here is a face for you, rage, what I see is anger and the depth of disappointment, staring into the abyss of discontent and frustration, wanting to strike out at someone but pounding the soil a thousand and one times and destroying the good within. Suddenly there is motion in the clouds above and oh dear it is fear. An initiation into a realm of uncertainties, palpitations, unconscious groaning and the eyes of the dog that scurries with its tail between its legs. The fearful mind seeks a selvedge that keeps it from unraveling the truth of its need for escape.
Next stop along this endless highway, boredom. Yes, I am looking at you. The face that’s shouting I’m here because you made me! I have no choice in the matter and now that I’m here you will pay for making me do this. Brother, it is thyself that suffers I'll move on.
Thoughtful, who me, you ask? Yes you, the mudlark of the universe, enquiring into thoughts and beyond becoming the proselyte, Professor Xavier is an infant before your deeds. Does your day end in satisfaction or are you pondering through endless wonders of what lies for the morrow. Oh dear, I turn the page and who’s next and stares with those eyes at me but none other than Wisdom. Oh virtuous one, in your face we embrace thy presence amongst us but do not be deceived because we make you real. You cannot exist without us minions if you must build that gopher, Noah would have been proud of you.
Smile, warmth and hurrah, be this face but don’t hide behind it, it is not what others see that matters it is what you feel that counts. Do not be the gimcrack, be the gem, the jewel that glitters before us and where thou goeth we shall follow in thy footsteps. In this espial the sun shines within and you reflect its beautiful radiance as a mirror.
We are many people with many faces in one world and one universe. We should have one God. There is one God. Amen.

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.

Friday, 29 October 2010

In sickness and in health till death do us part...

She is scared of what he shall do when what belongs to him is taken away. She is scared of the lengths he would go to when recovering what he thinks he has lost. He says his world is a dark bridge in the distance blending street lamps, a deserted gas station and then border control. He says he feels people, languages, street names, wreckage, feverish, a stiff-arm, then food, why food? Sometimes he complains of feeling shapeless, frustrated, no pain, insane, nauseated, bloated. He says he treks to the nearest stall, counting the trees, the passersby, staring at the birds in the skies, searching through the clouds, crossing the road and yet there is no joy.
He is puzzled of her actions because they are never in line with what she said she would do. He has tried to put himself in her shoes but each time falls short of what she is thinking. She says her world is like revolving doors, the timing must be perfect, you must wait your turn, a window may close but a door would open, the color red or is it burgundy, high stools, paper clippings, topsy-turvy, chocolate, why chocolate? Every time he knocks at her door he is thinking of curtains, green curtains, on a white wall, what’s going on?
She says, he says, been going on now for several days, years, centuries and still no one could tell who was coming or going until they met the stone by the sea. He said what he had to say to the stone. Then she had her go.
Here’s what the stone had to say,
‘I have been by the sea for many years. At first I thought it was my punishment. It used to be so cold that when the water washed against me I shivered internally and thought the end was near. Then the heat came and I realized I couldn’t do without this water. Now I have cold days and hot days, I’m not complaining.’
They thought about it for a while and decided to talk to the sea. This time she said her story and then it was his turn.
Here’s what the sea had to say,
‘I have traveled over many lands across the earth, I feed many, I am the home to many and carry many from place to place. I visit this stone every day whether it is in winter or summer. This is my duty and even if this stone is not here I would still be here. I’m not complaining.’

Sunday, 24 October 2010

I heard you were coming...

When I heard the sirens I looked in my driving mirror to see what was happening. They were the sirens of a fire engine hustling its way through traffic to another emergency and I watched as the cars behind me began to move aside to let it through. Some climbed the central reservation and other inexperienced drivers struggled to decide what to do. I saw a gap in the road like a lay by and I and a few other cars in front of me pulled into it to let the fire truck through. It went past us screaming like a bat out of hell racing to its destination and we all tried to rejoin the main stream of traffic without losing our places in the queue. I settled again into the rhythm of the music I was listening to letting my mind slip back into the coolness of the evening. The days had become longer allowing the night to descend upon us much later and I found it relaxing cruising through the quiet streets of the town on a Sunday. These were precious moments and the incident earlier was not going to spoil it for me. I saw it in my rear mirrors but took no note of it for there were plenty of them that drove through town on many days of the week.
As I cruised behind the stagnant traffic that was waiting to turn right on to Whitehall heading for Trafalgar Square the bus pulled alongside me headed in the opposite direction. I happened to take a proper glance at it for the first time taking in its size and wondering whether it was something I would ever contemplate doing. This bus was different as its windows where not darkened to hide the passengers and I noticed for the first time that it had a lot of children in it. Suddenly I saw a little boy look directly at me and wave. He seemed to know me from some where and although I was amazed at his gesture I waved back. He carried on looking at me until the bus turned the corner and disappeared from my sight. I carried on driving without giving any thought to what had happened but I noticed the warmth that had overcome me. In a way time flew faster than normal and again I was home after another relaxing visit to town.
When the night descended upon the day and I lay in bed waiting for sleep to come I reflected upon my day and realized that the child waving his arm at me had been a miracle. To the human logic and reasoning it was just another child that hadn’t anything to do but wave at a stranger. If looked at things through the eyes of mankind it was nothing but just another day in life. Most people would say forget it and get a life; move on and prepare yourself for work to earn a living or spend time with friends. In the spiritual world one cannot let go of such things for how was I to know that it wasn’t a greeting from the Lord? How was one supposed to look at life if every time anything happened in it one used sarcasm to understand it?
The spiritual world is like a continuum, it is behind us, with us and in front of us. The continuum in the spiritual world takes patience, peace, and calmness of the mind and heart for us to notice that it exists around us. The key to deciphering a spiritual message is in our faith and belief in God. In the bible the kindness that this child showed to me may have been written as spiritual kindness depicted in a town such as Bethlehem for the sake of those people who where present then. It may have been written then such that whoever read the bible before our time could understand the power of the Lord. The word of the Lord is spiritual and should be looked upon in the spiritual sense and not in our logical point of view. This is why we miss so much in life because we are too busy searching for that which is obvious to notice that which isn’t. If what I have described earlier on happened to someone famous on his way to Damascus or one of the other ancient cities mentioned in the bible man would immediately jump to the conclusion that it was a sign from the Lord that we should all do something special. How ever today I relate an event in my life that happened in a city that was never mentioned in the bible to a person that no one has heard of and man would say tomorrow that this has nothing to do with the word of the Lord. How can we really tell what has to do with the Lord if we cannot even see what is before us?

Friday, 22 October 2010

True yoke fellow...

My hands are tied on this one, so I shall call it what it is. Shaking your head in disgust, no too harsh, disappointment now that’s subtle. You lived for this moment, you went through the motions, preparations, trudging through mud, protruding veins, darn the world, darn those who say you can’t make it. You’re the animal, the beast, the spine that bridges the hopeless backbone and now this.
Taking that bath or shower in the morning, stepping into those shoes, those clothes then the mirror. Hairline intact, wrinkles within and invisible, still got it? Got to say though, chapstick may be needed for those lips, hair could use a comb, weather’s changing and then some. Singing, improvising, words make no sense, should they? Waltzing with a swagger, down the stairs, open front door let in autumn fragrance, gathering leaves, then postman. Flee from junk, a walk would be nice, got to avoid neighbors though, thoughts cannot be affected.
You’ re halfway there, now the real fun begins. You return from walk, open fridge, milk is off, something stinks! Doesn’t anyone change the food in this house! Not today you’ll avoid this, make a call be friendly forget life, its realities. You reach for the phone and it rings before your hand gets to it. Aha, the airlines, just what you needed annoying voice wanting to sell something, package deal. Check my bank account and tell me what you see! Still you are pleasant, politely decline, one thing’s come from this though, you don’t feel like talking anymore.
What haven’t you done, what’s outstanding? Is it time yet, it’s got to be! Turn on laptop. Things to old, way to slow, need a new one? Toshiba should have twin processors by now, the Intel Pentium, blah blah blah …Finally there we go, laptop’s on, still one thought, cradled, savored, endeared at the back of your mind. Okay this could be the day. You can’t be hasty, can’t rush things, must wait and be patient, browse. Oh dear, its mail, flee from junk, then news, who is alive or dead now? Then friends, reply later, very thoughtful of them, need to think of something, save this for another time.
Finally the moment has arrived, the one you have been waiting for, everything else flies out the window and it’s now or never. Log on, open site, pensive, I doubt that, anxious now that’ll be telling. Screen opens and wham! Nothing, it is all the same and no change. Feeling sick, impossible, more like fury, not to worry your day will come soon. The thing to remember here is, don’t let it cloud your judgment, it is a roll of the dice and this thing comes in turns. I entreat thee true yoke fellow your hard work won’t go in vain. Your time would come soon for some one up there knows about it…

Wednesday, 20 October 2010


I am stranded as they watch me, know I’m here, know it is my turn but can’t tell what I’ll do. It is an old classroom, maybe new to me but others have scathed these walls, their palms leaving indentations the size of potholes on these benches. My heart is racing, feeling my purpose like that of a greyhound chasing the debts of an anxious gambler. Why would anyone care if I leave a mark or not, what difference does it make?
Haven’t we all walked into a bug on that forgotten highway and seen the remnants of past voyagers? Names, messages and emblems of their sanity and insanity carved on the walls symbolizing that they had been there, existence. Was I meant to be a part of this or am I the traveler that only seeks his destination. Who sees what I see when I stare at the miniature object that strides between two points without a defining purpose in a vast universe? Real symbols come in trees, laden with roots that go back to ones desire to sow the seed. I scream charity, I scream love, I scream other things and sometimes fear, you name them and I’m howling like a banshee but where is truth? Isn’t the seed for the fruit, the branch for the stem and the stem for the leaves in that order or reverse? So why ridicule graffiti, dark shadows in forgotten undergrounds, subways when that of the heart sings volumes of discontent. We pilfer the truth from ourselves without the knowledge that every action is noted, every reaction a tick in the box. However none of these matter unless the heart is part of the equation, the spirit the solution. Without these our trees are tainted, covered in mildew and we are the ergot at breakfast.
Many years later groomed to new heights and back in that classroom, reminiscing and now ancient in thought. The orotund is deafening, it is not being invited to the party that hinders progress it is a dress sense that’s handicapped and lacking. Change this and perigee, touching soil and feeling real. If I hold true to the word I would not labor or run in vain. Now I know that it is my turn to leave a benchmark because like those gone before me I won’t know what purpose it serves until I do.

Sunday, 17 October 2010

Pins and needles...

Hoping for an interruption yet there’s nothing back at me from the bland wall. Time elapses, blood is drained from the parts that matter, stiff legged, cramp or is it my neck? Doubt, an unhealthy recipe, must be avoided at all costs. Waiting, locked in this rostrum, my stage, my appearance, anxiety, nerves. Can’t shout, can’t scream, falling backward, deeper, slowly coiled into a ball. I am in a room, no a cupboard. Music, ah my savior, not mad, not insane. This is real, standing before the mirror.
Suddenly head thrown backward and smashed violently through the mirror. No pain, no skull cracking. It is a passage, a doorway, through walls. My destination, I have arrived. Another room filled with water, fishes of many different colors, swimming with me. We are in synchrony, no it’s rhythm, music the chimes never departed. A door opens, my eyes follow the new arrival, it is a large cat, large yellow eyes shooting balls of fire. Time to run, I move, no glide to the next exit, door opens, another large cat appears, this time it’s fangs glistening. Inner shudder and wake up soaked.
I am breathless, try standing and collapse in a heap. Legs can’t hold me. What was that? What happened?
Two years later I go to visit a friend, he has moved into his new home and invites me into his garden. He leads me to the center and within it is a fishpond the size of four baths. There are fishes of many colors swimming in it. I am intrigued but hold my tongue. I have seen this before I think, but where are the cats? I return home thoughtful. I crab a bite and turn on the box. I am flicking through the channels waiting for this moment to pass. Then I am watching a favorite program, it is wild life, safari in Africa. The hunters are the female lions they charge on the wilder beast and kill without mercy to feed the pride.
Déjà vu, the present is my past, the third window is opened and I have been invited to the future. This thing about visions and dreams are a mystery to me but a pleasant journey.

Monday, 11 October 2010

We run in different circles...

We are cities apart, separated by time and parallels, which means we may never touch. Your yellow is my blue. You are the coryphée who steps on the waters that flow from my faucets. When you draw the blinds away from your heart, it is letting in the radiance of the sunlight we both share. I have watched you for countless days and hours and seen the torture you succumb to without me. In your world I am the name that is never mentioned and if mentioned it is in secret and in shame before others. I have seen you smile when you wish to cry instead. I have seen you laugh when others see tears in your eyes.
I imagine and sit in wonder when you hold others close. I am in hope for the day you will know I exist. Why can’t you feel me in you as you do for others? Where do you go to when it is not I you seek? Tell me why my love for you is not enough to keep us together? Tell me why those times we shared together can’t be again? I am the child that needs you as a mother. I am the parent that reaches out to its vagrant son. I am the wind, the cool breeze you felt when you let down the window. I am powerless to hound you as I did in the past. I am weary to become the stranger in your closet. You are the darling that won’t remember her beloved one and I am the name you erased from your crystal box.
I will bring our story to a close shortly. My darling you are the moon in my solar system. Don’t you know your light can only reflect mine? Others would seek to understand how we began but can’t. Others would cheer at my love for you and yours for me in jealousy. Still it won’t make that much of a difference. You will read this and know it’s me but still believe we run in different circles. I will leave you with one message, something you must always remember, I am the one that loves you more than anyone else so come back to me and all will be forgotten…

Friday, 8 October 2010

Let bygones be bygones...

What purpose does a man serve when he thrashes his life in regret as time overwhelms his aching bones? I can ask this question to myself over and over again with the realization that nothing will ever change for the better unless I am willing to let go of the shackles that restrain my flight into the beckoning future. A new tomorrow cannot be visible if an aging past still haunts me.
I sat in the darkness waiting like a leopard for my moment to come. It had been almost two months since I had last heard from him and he was now behind in his rent by three months. Where was the law that man had made to protect me from this type of tenant? No one could see the pain and frustration he had caused in my life. Yet by the law it was stated that a landlord had to give his tenant one month’s notice before filing a case with the courts to evict the tenant. After which it was a toss of the coin. No one knew what the outcome would be, all the tenant had to do then was pay the outstanding rent and then the landlord was back to where he started filing in a new procedure to evict the tenant on different grounds.
The street was quiet as he approached the door. I watched him rummage in his pockets for the house keys, waiting patiently in anticipation for the surprise I had prepared for him to unfold. The keys did not fit and there was darkness and anger in his eyes as he realized what I had done. He walked away from the door determinedly like a man possessed by the demon and climbed back into his car. I saw him dislodge a cell phone from his pocket and dial my number.
‘What have you done?’ He asked agitatedly.
‘Only what I needed to do for a long time,’ I said.
‘Do you know that this is illegal and I can take you to court for this?’ he asked.
‘So is not paying your rent for three months,’ I responded unperturbed.
‘So how do you expect me to get my things?’ he continued. The effrontery of the man was such that, he believed after avoiding me for two months he assumed he could waltz back into my apartment and live in peace while I struggled through many weeks paying the mortgage.
‘I am in the vicinity and this time we need to talk.’ I said coldly. My timing had been perfect for once for I had very little to loose. I had waited two days in each week of the last two months for him with no success. My phone calls and letters had gone astray as he avoided me. However finally I had resigned myself to waiting all evening if that was what it took. I could not file a case on a tenant that did not respond to mail. I could not go to court and charge a man that did not exist. I had to deal with this swiftly and in my own way because that was what it had come down to.
We entered the house in silence and I led him to the front room. I watched him settle in the sofa and I looked directly into his eyes like a hawk willing him to deny my query. He avoided my eyes but had plenty to say.
‘Sorry about the rent, my mother passed away and I had to travel.’ He said. How many times had I heard that excuse? I wondered. He must have thought he was the first tenant I had ever come across in my life! I listened in silence as he chaffed excuse after excuse and I knew I was in for a long evening. However I kept my nerve because I wanted it to end that night as there where no more excuses left for him. It had taken me a while to find him and now that I had I knew this was the last chance I would have of getting rid of him.
I watched him fidget for a while squirming in guilt and then he removed a few bankrolls and told me that he had a months rent available for me. He mentioned that he had got my messages but reiterated that prior engagements had prevented him from paying me sooner. I was unimpressed by the charade and watched him dig his grave even deeper. He mentioned to me how wonderful my apartment was and then had the audacity to let me know that he planned on having a party in the place. I listened calmly already decided upon what I was going to do.
‘You can keep the rent and consider it a present but what I would like is for you to leave the flat,’ I told him. I explained to him that we could go through the legal process but based on the fact that I was letting him off with two months rent then the least he could do was leave the place. I have to say this for him even though he had the fight in him to challenge my decision he relented as he told me that there was no point in prolonging our agreement. In the end we parted amicably even though I knew he still owed me the money.
Perhaps I had a bad stroke of luck with this tenant. However judging from my experience of past challenges I won’t say that I am not guilty of causing havoc in another person’s life at one time or another. I believe we all have the choice of dwelling in the shadows of life’s misdeeds or moving on in search for brighter days. On a roundtable of life we each have the time to make that decision up until the moment when the pointer makes it’s way again directly to us. It is the law of reckoning that we would have chance after chance to fulfill our wishes and desires in one form or another as long as we have made a decision for what we want. So why do we stall at every doorway seeking assurances and securities that have no qualified guarantees. No storms are of equal measures as one hurricane blows off a rooftop while another decapitates a landscape. We can’t prepare for all and our earnest endeavors should not overshadow this reality.

Tuesday, 5 October 2010

A walk to victory...

Sometimes I lie in bed listening to the morning sounds, the birds chirping away, the disgruntled lawnmower that smothers the grass and the distant radio station with subdued voices that I can barely make out. As I stare blandly at the riches that await me in the distance, I am reminded that what we do in life remains hidden to those to whom it wasn’t intended for. When victory comes it would be a glee without doubt and a peace beyond comprehension. It would be savoring the taste of success when I mount the last steps to claim my crown.
Before then I would have to listen to the echoes of footsteps in the deserted alley. This is the narrowest of pathways where I would lose sight of the radiant beauty of flowers spilling over garden shrubs. I would avoid strangers as I slave endless hours seeking to fulfill my desires. I would think up ideas, strategies and plans and oppose them with the forces of nature allowing myself to be eventually defeated unless I realize it is my imagination that defeats me and not my will. It is then that I would understand that my caviling to the obstacles I face is rarely fought on the battlefield but mainly from within. I would listen to the bellows over a vast landscape as cold sweat crawls down my back. In this maze of confusion I would tell myself to walk by faith and not by sight. I would go on my knees, bow my head and raise my hands to seek guidance. If I ask with doubt, lose my nerve and panic then I know it is doubt I would receive. I would suffocate in my frailty and crumple on the floor like broken china. In this garrison I would become a denizen without any knowledge of how I got there, who is holding me hostage and for how long.
Suddenly I would listen to the slow pounding of my heart as the agony engulfing me subsides and I escape this desultory illusion. I would follow the voice that calls in the distance telling me never to give up but ask again with conviction. I would look for a miracle, expect one and receive in turn. It is then that I would feel my engine replenished, my innards renewed and powered again by the light that shines within me. I would rise from my knees as tears of joy flow endlessly. It is then that I would smell the sweet scent of success and know I have done my walk to victory…

Saturday, 2 October 2010

Black Book

I haven’t seen mine in years. I suppose what it should contain are names and numbers and if one wasn’t asking for too much then addresses. That would be what it was meant for. Mine did and then some. Mine contains my first attempt at putting a dream on paper. Bizarre happenings to be more precise!
This is going back some time now. My first real job, I am a graduate fresh out of university. The secretary of our department approaches me. I think we like each other, she is a year younger than me and the work environment is still new to both of us. We have this way of communicating, sort of like fencing, her role is that of the vulnerable helpless female, mine the valiant knight to the rescue. This works for us until this one day that common sense departs from my shores and the results were, well let’s just say, here’s why my black book isn’t normal.
This time she tells me about her cat. She tells me it got old and died. I should know better, be thoughtful and have empathy, offer my condolences. Nope, not this time. I don’t think my feelings are hidden from my face when my response comes through implying that it’s just a cat so why the fuss. She takes it in her stride, unassuming and we talk about other things. I think nothing of it after all I did listen and spoke my mind. No one said there was anything wrong with being honest.
Nighttime comes and I am in a deep sleep dreaming, I am back as a child in my parents home and I am alone in this huge house. I feel myself being pulled and dragged in all directions. My adversaries are far stronger than me so I decide to escape. I run away from them sneak into one of the rooms where I think I would be safe until yonder. As I shut the door behind me what I see before me is this cat staring straight at me with yellow eyes that now shine in the dark. I open the door and run like a lunatic. I know a safe place somewhere out side that has stairs, very high stairs that no one can reach me. I mount them two at a time running for my dear life and at the top of these stairs is that cat again. As I turn to go down the stairs there are a pool of cats at the bottom all looking up at me. Suddenly I wake up in a sweat, breathless and worn out. As I lie in bed wondering why I would be dreaming of cats it suddenly occurs to me what had taken place during the day. I jump out of bed and search for a pen and paper. The first thing I see right there is none other than a black book that had been abandoned for years. I start scribbling, I don’t want to forget this moment.
The next day I can’t wait for her to show. I rush to her with my story, demanding to know more about her cat. She shows me its picture, giggles and laughs at me after reading my dream. Then she is sympathetic but the words she utters are,
‘Serves you right!’
Well, I think I learned my lesson. Today I keep that black book hidden somewhere within to keep me in line when I forget myself...

Wednesday, 29 September 2010

There are two sides to this story...

It was almost three am in the morning when I was awoken by the voices and the loud music coming in through the top shutters of the window. Their voices were raised as they chatted loudly in the back garden. I listened silently holding my peace as it all made sense because she was upset. What had happened to her two days earlier was enough to make anyone go crazy.
The detectives had knocked around 7am in the morning and I had let them in through the main entrance. They told me to return to my flat as they banged incessantly on her door. When she eventually opened the door they stormed in and within minutes I saw them leading her to their car and before long she was arrested and locked up for the night. She returned a day later fuming and angry. I heard screaming and shouting during the day and then at night I was hit by this thunderstorm of loud deafening music that now kept me wide awake and staring quietly at the shadows in my room.
Well that is one side of the story, now for the other. A few years back I took an oath that I would stay isolated and away from anything and anyone as I delved deep into a spiritual habitat to research and write my first novel. One day about eight in the evening I heard a knock on my door. It was my neighbor from below. She said she needed to use my phone and I obliged, inviting her into my apartment. I offered her my cell phone and she made a call, thanked me and was gone.
As these things go as part of my isolation I had worked into my program a schedule of running at least twice a week. Don’t ask me why, it was part of the discipline, keeping my mind clear and focused for the task at hand. Two days after my neighbor had knocked on my door I left the apartment around 10am, which was the routine and was gone for almost an hour. When I returned I noticed that my door had been broken into. There were splinters everywhere even though it had still been carefully shut to hide signs of a break in. I walked into the apartment puzzled. How was this possible? The house itself had only two floors, I lived in the apartment above hers and we shared the main entrance. I decided to knock on her door to see if she had heard anything. I knocked a few times and got no response. I checked the main entrance and the lock was as secure as ever. I got back into my apartment and after a quick glance believed I had imagined the whole thing, since everything seemed to be in place as I had left it. It didn’t take me long to change this line of thought when I noticed that my cell was gone and a few notes from my wallet. As I was about to ask the Lord what I had done to deserve this I noticed her debit card on the carpet in the living room. I knew it hadn’t been there when I woke up or left the house that morning so she had to have broken in.
She was a neighbor and so I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt thinking that she may have been out as there had been no response from her door. Suddenly I heard the main entrance door shut and I peered through the window to see her walking away from the building. She had been in all the time but had not answered when I knocked. I decided to wait. Perhaps she had needed the money and the phone in desperation. I would ask and give her a way out. I decided not to make any accusations but try to lead her to the truth.
When I saw her return I approached her and told her I had been burgled. I told her I had hidden a camera in my apartment that could see who had been there. I also said the person who had broken in won’t know this but I knew who they were. She shook her head giving nothing away. I asked her if she had lost anything and she said no. I had no choice this time and called the cops. To cut a long story short she was arrested and two days later she was returning the favor by blasting my eardrums into space.
In the silence of my room and darkness I knew that I wasn’t too bothered about the phone or the money I had lost. I knew those things would be replaced eventually and besides I had made my point by getting her arrested. What really got me going was the fact that nothing in life stays hidden before God. I had isolated myself to delve deeper into his world and produce a book dedicated to his teachings and someone had invaded this world. It looked like he was watching over me and letting me know that I wasn’t alone on this journey.

Saturday, 25 September 2010

Tall, Dark and Ugly...

Believe me when I confess that we are two of a kind. Although in the blazing heat one fan cools us both, we are back to back facing opposite directions, which means every step we make ferriages us further apart. Sneer at me all you want, we may share the same hair gel but while your scalp hardens mine softens. What amazes me more than ever is that we’ve been together for decades yet you have never understood me. I have never been your enemy just the constant that keeps you honest. I express chagrin today because this time you went too far.
You have dipped that toe of yours in one too many a pond. Why do you continue to prey on the innocent while I pursue a numinous plight? Even our striped jacket in the wardrobe knows my scent is different from yours. When this body of ours rots away it would be everyman for himself. Until then I would remain kenspeckle while you lurk in the shadows.
Yes, laugh all you want, make silly jokes! What is it you called me, ‘softly softly never catch your monkey’. Beware twin brother I too can give as good as I get. Take this for starters, your sobriquet is tall, dark and ugly. Ah, is that fear I see in your eyes? Or is it doubt overshadowing Mr. Right? I will break you comrade and rip your guts from within. I will stampede the earth and make you the ridicule of the ballroom. You will stand in the shadows and even the night owl will keep silent. What is that whimpering sound I hear before this contest has even begun? Fret not, brother for thy secret is safe with me. My nature is not like yours to eat meat that’ll make you suffer.
There are many of us within one body and we all come in pairs, clear and equal opposites contesting for the higher ground. Fear cannot exist without courage, darkness without light, love without hate, life without death nor certainty without doubt. It just so happens that today humility decided to confront pride but who can tell who would go head to head tomorrow…

Monday, 20 September 2010

Law and behold...

I never think that I have it all figured out, that I know what I am going to do in any circumstance. I live in the fear of God not because of the rules he has asked me to live by, not because the sky could suddenly open and a giant object strikes me down. I live in the fear of God because he is a trusted friend and a wise father that we all need.
Two days ago I changed my boarding pass to take an aisle seat allowing me the freedom of movement when I boarded a flight to DC. It just so happened that it was pretty cold due to the air condition system in the plane and naturally from the altitude. As we soared through the blue skies and I searched endlessly for any new films on the movie channels I noticed the little girl that sat quietly beside me. She was traveling like many other school kids on this international flight and stared innocently across me to see through the window. Her guardian sat at the other side of her filling out landing cards for all the kids and teachers on the trip. I was in awe of them. They had come on board in London where I boarded but I noticed that their journey had originated in Uganda. I could just imagine the excitement of traveling that distance when one was so young and the kind of stories she’d tell back home on her return.
Time flew as I eventually got engrossed in the movie and the child fell asleep, as did most people on the flight. I happened to glance in her direction and noticed that she was shaking feverishly. I looked towards her teacher at the far end to bring his attention to this and realized that he was invisible under the blanket that covered him from head to toe. I watched this little girl for a while and wondered what I should do. It occurred to me that the rules of our world stipulated that we shouldn’t talk to strangers. The rules of our world stipulated that kids more than any one else needed to be protected. Here I was sitting comfortably under my blanket watching a movie while this child was freezing in her sleep and the thing I was worried about was what would the world do to me if I lifted a finger to help. If I answered to man I would look for a flight attendant to assist the child. If I answered to man I would let this child freeze to keep myself away from being branded as something else. Perhaps in my last days when I turned up before the Lord I would be justified for doing nothing because I had obeyed the laws that suited the rules of engagement in our society. The fact remained that those laws where now preventing me from helping a fellow human being in need.
I thought about this for a while and after finding it utterly ridiculous I looked for a blanket for her. Without finding any I gave her mine. Ten minutes later as these things go and the way children sleep she threw off the blanket and I had to reach again for it to cover her. Eventually the cabin lights went on as we entered the last hour to our destination and her guardian woke up and so did the child. I watched them quietly smiling in my heart. It dawned on me that the laws of God although appearing to be difficult for us to follow were much easier than those of men. Looking into my heart my God knew I had done what I did to help someone else. Looking at it from man’s perspective I could have done what I did for all sorts of motives. I believe my experience is not far from the many we have each day in our different lives. It is a good omen that we have laws that maintain order in our society. However it is an even better omen when we realize that these laws are for guidance and not to judge our hearts and souls…

Thursday, 16 September 2010

Eden's Charm...

We walked up the dirt track with the sun in our backs. My eyes darted across the hill that we had climbed looking at the city below and I sucked in the fresh air like a starving lion on its prey.
‘We are almost there,’ She said quietly and almost to herself.
I did not respond. If only she knew, were my thoughts. If only she could see what was happening, the change, the difference, her past that had slowly melted away leaving this new person that now walked beside me with a need to give to another.
When I first met June, she told me she was selfish. That was an understatement. I think what she meant to say was that she needed to take out her vengeance on someone and who best than one so willing as myself. Life had not been good to June in the past. She had faced all sorts of problems and now they haunted her in kind. Today on the other hand was different, she had planned this day out to show me the world, teach me about nature and I was intrigued.
We climbed steeply for another fifteen minutes passing other hopefuls and then we were alone walking through the bushes as she searched for this place, this special place where she planned on teaching me something new.
Soon we were there and staring straight down this huge hole that had been carved out in the hill.
‘Look, that’s it. There is some grass now but during the winter it’s empty,’ She said.
‘What does it remind you of?’ She continued, gazing at me searching past my eyes into my soul seeking a reaction.
‘You.’ I said and smiled.
‘Correct. That’s how I feel sometimes and I wanted you to see and then maybe you would understand.’
‘I do, but would you like to see something else?’ It was my turn. She’d had her fun now I was about to have mine.
‘What, tell me, what?’ Her eyes defiant, inflamed and ready to laugh me to scorn for what I could offer.
‘Do you hear anything?’ I asked quietly.
‘No, not really. Well maybe the birds, the trees in the wind and some noise from the city but nothing.’
‘Ah that’s your spirit, you hear these things because you are at peace. You did not bring me here to show me how empty you feel. You brought me here to show me when you are at peace, when your mind is away from the world and it’s chores. You brought me here because this place is sacred to you.’
‘Why do you do that?’ She asked grinning like a child with a new toy.
‘Do what?’
‘Take away my moment, my bad moment?’
‘You seek the old when the new beckons. You can’t go back because the future calls. You must listen to it like the wind in the air and follow it and then you will be free.’
We talked for a while staring down at the empty hole. Most times I listened because I wanted June to enjoy this new discovery. Today when I reflect on this moment I am reminded of the Garden of Eden. It is easy to remind ourselves of what went wrong that changed the course of events. It is easy to forget that other things went right and brought our Lord to us.

Monday, 13 September 2010

Hard work can only get one so far...

As I sat in the airport and stared through the large windows I saw the impressive coned nose of large Boeing 747 come to halt right before me. My eyes could barely make out the pilots in the cockpit but the airport staff on the ground, were clearly visible as they rushed from many directions to attend to it. As it’s doors opened and passengers filtered out I noticed the staff begin loading luggage on the conveyor belts and I wondered if they ever allowed their spirits time to soar as freely as mine felt in that moment. We were all drawn into an insular world submerged in our jobs and the tolls we withstood without noticing the freedom that is available to us in the spirit. These people worked hard and efficiently to ensure that the luggage was on time and it dawned on me that it was almost impossible for us passengers to notice them unless we were halted for a while in our journey. This was the way of the world, we had paid for the service so what did it matter. In any event we were also subjected to the same treatment in one form or the other in life.
Half an hour before this I had entered a small boutique that had already been invaded by other travelers with similar intentions as mine. Only this time I was noticing something different, a thought that had crossed my mind several times over when I traveled. It was amazing how differently dressed people always were in the airports. It was as though our origins and destinations depicted the clothing we chose. Some of the people wore shorts, t-shirts dressed for the summer, while others wore suits as they left the office blocks or prepared for meetings. Then there were those that were on connection flights to international destinations in different attire based on the weather forecast of those places. To add to all of these there were the cultures of different people to take into consideration. What was visible to the naked eye was that we appeared to be held together by the shackles that we had created, a means of transport that could get us from one city to the next on a schedule that managed to put us in order. The fact remained that we were so different by our personalities now depicted in our clothing.
Sitting in front of the window and looking out at the airport staff made me realize that they were also fettered to perform a duty for a reward that had been designed by a system created by man. Like any of us in any of our occupations if we performed to the highest of our ability then we could rise up in the ranks and earn whatever man had designed this to be. However the fact remained that we were still so different in our spirits such that we could achieve anything that we desired and get beyond this means available to us. I had learned a long time ago that what was within us was greater than what was without and this was the perfect setting to see this in play. It looked like in life hard work could only get one so far but the true success for dreams and desires came from faith

Friday, 10 September 2010

Dog eat dog...

It can be for many reasons but it’s always for this one. The heart beats rapidly and then subsides. The hand reaches out to something, nothing in particular and then abandons this course. There is hatred but this is directed inwardly. Suddenly a shriek followed by a whimper. Things do not happen by chance! It can’t be for this reason that I am not selected, that I do not share the high table. Litter, remnants from the plates of those chosen is what I feed upon. Raucous sounds, aches that discover the bones and tendons they feed upon. Pages that turn endlessly leaving me supine searching dark passages and creating furrows of despair on my forehead.
I see them again, it’s the usual suspects do they ever tussle at night? The glare, then the shard that has been transformed into a weapon. What will I do with it? I will rip the darkness that shadows the brilliance of my ermine light and the lubricious ghost that lies beneath my bed. It is through their eyes that I witness my shortcomings. Through their eyes that I see anothers perfection. In a sense I am infantile in them because I immediately decide to be unforgiving, seeking fault where none lies, seeking blame where none is due. How did they get to me, how did they bypass the goodness that should overcome them? Why did I not see this coming? Perhaps clearness of mind took the last train out allowing for envy and fallacy to swirl in during the rush hour.
I shall quit this harangue while I am ahead. If peace in all things and circumstances is the measure of true wealth then no man is born into wealth and neither is any man born into poverty. Thus, wealth can be gained through understanding that a man’s faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. This is how the darkness is suppressed and this is how envy is rebuked.
Here is a blind truth, when two rich men got together in a wine bar Rich Man Number Two said to Rich Man Number One, if I can’t have what you have then my life is worth nothing. When two poor men chatted in a gutter, Poor Man Number Two said to Poor Man Number One if I had just a bit of what you had I’d be the richest man in the world. Fame and fortune can be deceptive, this is why its dog eat dog out there…

Tuesday, 7 September 2010


We were chatting about nothing in particular, perhaps reminiscing about our past creations amongst ourselves when my friend said,
‘My, man is clever. We have come such a long way. Look at the architecture we build today and the moon too that we have now traveled to. You name it, we have done well especially in this generation.’
I didn’t want to put a damper to the works but I just couldn’t help myself.
‘But boy, look at how many of us it takes to destroy what we have created and again especially in this generation.’ I wasn’t referring to anything in particular as these words escaped my lips. However several hours later when our group moved to coffee I was hounded emphatically to explain myself. For a brief moment I thought of discussing the diverse principles of a malingerer but decided against it and volunteered this story instead.
It was a while back and on a Friday evening when it happened. We had finished work early and were relaxed in casual wear as we invoked the no formal dress code policy for Friday. It was the opportunity to meet people, be sociable and we all piled in to the local wine bar on the riverbank. The place was crowded from the many employees that worked in the Exchange Towers at the Docklands and we drank and chatted animatedly as we relaxed and unwound from our hectic weeks at work. I found myself engaged in multiple conversations as questions were thrown and answered at random in the busy bar. The music kept the atmosphere lively and people flocked in and out at random from all the different offices nearby. We were close to the riverbanks of the Thames and the view from the bar was breathtaking especially at night. One could pick out the bright lights that illuminated the river and I had the feeling that London was finally having its dream come true. There had been plenty of talk in the papers and amongst staff, of the Docklands being referred to as the new Las Vegas and I couldn’t help myself but accept the fact that there was very little to argue against this point of view.
We must have been on our second round of drinks when one of the security guards from the main office buildings bust into the bar and announced that he had been warned of a bomb threat in the vicinity. As the news filtered its way to our table a deafening silence slowly filled the bar as everyone listened keenly to the announcement that rang out over the tannoy. Eventually as if in bravado the noise again slowly picked up starting out in whispers as people again found their voices and commented rapidly at what we had just heard. A co-worker in our group said something unintelligible to me and I was about to reply cynically in kind when we all heard a tantivy rumble shake the building and everyone in the room dived for cover beneath the tables. The ground shook as though an earthquake was about to erupt and then I heard the glass partition that overlooked the river shatter into pieces as the bomb exploded with a loud bang. There were screams everywhere as people cried out in fear and I lay still crouched behind my seat waiting for what ever it was to pass. Soon the noises died down and I dodged my way through the confusion to my car. I expected the worse as all the sophisticated glass buildings around me had caved in with the explosion and I had no doubt in my mind that my car would be covered in splinters. However I was proven wrong and very lucky as I had parked behind one of the steel buildings and so with an immediate sense of relief I climbed aboard and drove rapidly out of the area. I picked up three other lucky escapees just before the bridge that led to our offices and sped towards the eastern docks roundabout. In the opposite direction the flashing lights of the police and ambulance flew past me heading for the disaster site to secure the area.
I later discovered that two people had been killed and a few injured from the explosion and again I counted my lucky stars for surviving the dreadful incident.
When I finished my story my friends nodded quietly in acknowledgment that I had a point and I remained silent as they chatted. Perhaps my story had backed my observation but still it got me thinking, whether we had truly made significant progress in our generation or we were still lurking at the beginning of things…

Friday, 3 September 2010

Beauty and Bands...

I like the looks I get because without them I won’t be the same. However I hate the feeling within because it makes me a spectacle of despair. I believe that I can be debonair at times but truly would love to be like everyone else so that I can mingle in the crowds, unseen and not heard. Perhaps it is naïve to think this way, as there is a price to pay when I’m walked over and passed by, despite my best efforts. What has been evident for some time now is that I am a hostage of my making for it is a tough job maintaining these looks. On the other hand what else can I do if this is all I know of who I am. In the mirror I am perfection with a razzmatazz following of victims that dance in the tail of my whirlwind. Little do they know that I am the victim of their wisdom if they turn their attention elsewhere.
Hello, my name is Beauty and I am trapped in mankind. My life began in roses and in their sheer fragrance of the summer light did I witness my inception. I evolved into landscapes, hills, valleys and mountains, traveling through galaxies as a spectrum of light reflected from the numerous stars at my disposal. Men once hailed me as the yellow evening light of the setting sun that disappeared slowly in the distant ocean. During these times I was more than just a vision, I was a feeling, a breath of fresh air that brought comfort, jubilation, and irrationality at my presence. It came as no surprise to me then that I made the best of friends as I entertained and gave hope and faith to many. I swamped hallways with music and the essence of life escaping to the furthest corners of the earth as I sought those who never knew I existed. Eventually time caught up with me and I was infested.
Today I am ashamed to say that I have become the obstacle that lies within the shades of darkness in the thoughts of men. I am the spectacle that is laughed at when all that is seen of me is the dead shell of an empty vessel without a home to lay my head at. Even my alliances are now cut short as I lie breathless in folly disowned by the brethren that once looked up to me. I once was a joy and friend to many and now I am trapped and used as an excuse for vanity. Atavism is my hope as I wish for my old days and the times when I once was free.
A very good friend once complained to me that wherever she went people stared at her. She said she did not mind this as long as they could see there was more to her than met the eye. I told her that she couldn’t have it both ways. Those who did not get the attention had to have something else to hang on to. Two days later she changed her appearance by dressing down than she was accustomed to, to see what would happen. Naturally she didn’t get as much attention as she’d normally get but felt she was taken more seriously. She told me later that what she had discovered about herself was that now she had the choice to be whoever she wanted to be…

Friday, 27 August 2010

Pillow Talk...

I spill my guts out unrestrained during these moments. The aim is not to make small talk for I save that for the taxi ride to the airport or from it. Pillow talk is about dreams, those rare moments of inspiration. It can be before you nod off to sleep or just when you wake up. The before nodding off to sleep is the hardest for me. My ideas are all jumbled. I rarely want to think of the day I had be it good or bad. I know that I look forward to the safety of my dreams and I don’t want to be dreaming of the past! Now the morning is a completely different event because anything can happen and usually does. A few years ago today this is my story from a pillow talk experience. I didn’t know where this would lead to but now I’m here and writing about it.
The night before we had driven in from Dresden. We crossed the border and cruised into Maastricht just before 7pm. I had been silent in the car dozing off now and then and allowing June steer the course of our journey. I was preoccupied. Something had happened in Dresden, sought of a sharp kick up the spine, a warning that rang deep within my veins. GET OUT! That day we had driven down from Dresden cutting through Strasburg for a meeting. June did all the packing and I did the thinking, it was my turn. We had been in Dresden for three days and I was bored stiff in the office. No one knew what they were doing. The place was like a lab set up to disperse any form of inspiration known to man. I was the victim that was going through a slow death and knew it. June observed quietly from the sidelines. She had her paintings and I my thoughts.
She pulled up in front of her apartment in Maastricht and I staggered out of the car like a drunken fighter. My manager had said I needed to head into Amsterdam the following day and then it was Spain for a week before San Diego. In the past this would have been a walk in the park. Now it felt as though I had spent too much time in the air. I can’t remember what we had for dinner but time flew and before long I was lying in bed and staring at the white ceiling and the shadow of her beautiful lampshade.
‘You don’t fight me any more,’ I said as if talking to myself.
‘Why should I fight you?’ she replied, as she settled in and turned to face me.
‘You used to tell me that this side of the bed was your favorite.’
‘It still is when you are not here,’ She said.
‘And now?’
‘I have no choice, even if I sleep there, you will find a way to move me back to this side.’
‘You give up.’
‘I give up.’
‘Tell me something why did you mention this?’ She asked as an afterthought.
‘You know me. I do these things.’
‘I think we both do. Do you remember the bird?’
‘What bird?’
‘The one I mentioned a while back. The one that flew in through the window and before I could get to it, it was gone. And then you came into my life and now were here. You are my angel.’
‘Yes I remember.’
‘I am proud of myself today.’ She said.
‘When you fell asleep while I was driving I thought I won’t be able to drive back into Holland but I made it past the border until I thought why is he sleeping like this it is my turn to rest and be taken care of.’
This time I was silent. June took the limelight of our relationship I didn’t. Most times I was in another world searching through my mind for something I could never put a finger to. I was like this as a child and it never occurred to me why. Of late things were different I was bored to death of work.
‘I know what you will do?’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. It is the way we are, it is who you are, I know what you will do.’
‘I don’t know if I can.’
‘You should sleep more. That is why I let you sleep in the car. It is rare to see you sleep like that.’
‘I know.’
‘Ok. I won’t say anything anymore I’ll sleep.’ Those were her last words before she migrated to dream land.
Soon I was in my own world thinking and working my way through all the facts. I had put a deposit down for the new car I loved. I would have to lose this. Boy, I would miss the roar of that sports engine. Then there were the other commitments I had, those too would have to go. Something had to give for another to take its place else my life was never going to change.
I got out of bed and walked into her living room. It was decorated with contemporary art from her paintings. The girl certainly knew what she wanted. Unfortunately this time I was staring blindly at the paintings and seeing my future mapped out on a path I never thought I would follow just yet. I couldn’t run from it. I had made a promise that when the time was right I would give back. Things weren’t ideal but it was now or never. My mind was made up. If I had the same feeling in the morning I’d do it.
Five hours later I was up and staring again blankly at the ceiling. I had said my prayers and now I was ready. Beside me June’s silent frame rose and fell as she breathed quietly in her sleep. I thought of waking her up to tell her that I would do it but stopped myself. I had to do this on my own. It was a path I would walk with eyes wide open. Soon I was moving and then I was placing the call to the VP of sales in San Diego.
As I hung up the phone June walked into the living room.
‘Why are you up so early?’ I asked.
‘You did it didn’t you?’
She gave me a hug and then left. That day I quit my job without another to go to. I was confident that I had enough experience to do as I pleased and find whatever work was out there. A few months later life taught me different and before long I was fulfilling my dream of becoming an author. Today when I reflect upon the hectic lives that authors lead until their books make the big time I know for certain that I made the right decision during that time. It is better to have nothing and feel alive than to have everything and be like the walking dead. Thank you Father!

Tuesday, 24 August 2010

Road Trip...

I sat in the car waiting. Every so often I would hear the sound of a distant vehicle approaching and then soon see its headlights come flashing past me. Before long it would be gone into the distance. Still I waited it was too soon to try.
‘Not yet, not now,’ I whispered quietly beneath my breath.
The desert was as silent as a graveyard. Nothing could be seen or heard for miles. I had crossed the border an hour earlier and still had another three to go before hopefully I would be home safe and sound. Before then I would have to face the test of time. I would have to learn what life had in store for me.
Perhaps it was my fault that it had turned out this way. My enthusiasm may have gotten the better of me. I had driven like a lunatic, breaking speed limits that did not exist. This was not the kind of trip one did alone but I had done it. I had driven into the sandstorm losing sight of any of the cars in front of me and cruised safely to the border after four hours. After wrestling with border control I was in Bahrain and walking through the mall searching for the movie theater. I emerged two hours later to see that darkness had descended in this part of the world and I began planning my long trip back home. Riyadh had no form of escape in terms of cinema so the best one could do was cross the Saudi border into neighboring countries to catch up with life.
I got into the car and before long I was again across the causeway and heading into the darkness of the desert. After driving for an hour I was just beginning to think I would make it into Riyadh in good time when I heard the engine cough, stutter and then die completely. Soon I was pulling over into the sands knowing that my fate had been written.
I sat in the darkness waiting quietly. What were my options? There was no form of road assistance in these parts, no high way phones for emergency services and the nearest help was at least three hours away and that would be calling my friends with the hope that they were in. What were my options? I could stop one of the cars because at the speeds at which they were going past me, there was no doubt in my mind that I’d be picking up pieces of my self in the desert before I was able to ask for help. I was getting pretty thin on options. One thing was for certain I had to stay in the car as walking would certainly be the end of my life in the heat.
As I sat in the car, I told myself to wait and allow for time. All the gages had indicated that all was okay and so it was hard to tell why the car had broken down. I tried to visualize them again through my mind as I had done just before the engine had cutoff, oil normal, petrol tank full, engine cool, yet no life in it? I had been driving the rental for over two weeks without any problems yet it had chosen this place of all places to break down on me. I told myself I had to be patient. It may be dead at the moment but who could tell what would happen later. I would give it half an hour and then try again. ‘It was bound to work, it had to, Father you cannot abandon me like this,’ were the quiet words from my lips.
Half an hour later, I closed my eyes and prayed. Then my hand went again to the key in the ignition and I held my breath. Soon I heard the engine roar to life and I smiled in the darkness. I slowly pulled out of the sand unto the road and began cruising at a slow speed. I knew there was fuel in the car and now I just hoped it would stay alive long enough to get me home. Before long I had picked up the pace and then I realized I was passing slower cars and making good time. I entered Riyadh four hours later feeling like a man who had conquered the world. I was sure that the engine had been dead for no apparent reason and with no help forth coming for miles I knew my fate was sown with whatever faith I could muster. As I walked into my apartment and poured myself a glass of water I knew if given the chance I would change nothing of what had taken place. Perhaps the event had been a challenge and there was more than a credible reason for the car breaking down as it did. However to me what mattered more than anything was how my faith had pulled me through despite the odds.

Friday, 20 August 2010

Last Words...

The news had come to me in the evening as I prepared dinner. I had returned from jogging earlier on in the evening and sunk into my daily routine of putting my dinner to steam while I took a shower. I hadn’t had the chance to settle my nerves from the run when I was interrupted by a phone call from my brother. He announced sadly that our grandfather had passed away and his funeral was planned for the end of the following week. He mentioned how upset my mum was and I immediately made the decision to travel.
The events that followed were vague to anything I was used to. In less than a week I was on a plane from Paris to Douala after having mapped my route to coincide with the travel inventory of close relatives that lived in France. We entered Douala at dusk and the welcoming heat at the airport almost melted surfaces of skin off my body. After an emotional reception from my mum and other relatives we were led to my grand parent’s home. This was a good omen giving the circumstances as the huskiness in my voice and the crowd in the airport had made it difficult for me to say much when we landed.
Days passed by with lightning speed as we all chipped in, to comfort one another from the loss. Eventually the burial day came by and we were led into what appeared to be the equivalent of a mortuary to see my grandfather before his coffin was closed. He lay peacefully as though in a deep sleep and I watched him with curiosity rather than sadness. He had lived into his early eighties and I felt there was very little more one could ask for given the adventures he had enjoyed through his life. As others mourned at his loss I watched him thinking of the smile in his spirit. He had been a man of character living the life of a king and bringing so much into the world, having a large family of children and grandchildren that now mourned his departure. I couldn’t see what others saw. I understood their loss but for me he was alive in the spirit and only lay asleep. My grand dad died in the hands of my mum through illness and as tough as this might have seemed my mum had coped well knowing that he was a man that had lived a complete life. Seeing him now lying there made me remember one of the interesting stories that my mum had shared with us about his youth.
In my grandfather’s youth there was very little if any conventional means of transport as we have today. I daresay even if there was any at the time my grand father was not in a position to afford it. Besides it wasn’t necessary as the towns were vastly spaced with the adjoining roads merely stretches of paths cut into the forest. It was a period most famous for arranged marriages and my grandfather had set out early one morning with the intention of seeking his bride and starting a family. He traveled a distance on canoe holding unto his bike as he passed the swampy rivers of the humid environment and eventually having crossed the River Mongo in the central parts of the country he entered the vicinity of my grand mother’s village. He rode proudly into town hoping to be a handsome suitor to any of the beautiful girls he knew that could be relinquished from the village. He had eventually stopped at my grand mother’s door having heard from reliable sources of the number of girls that were available in her household. At the time my grand mother was already spoken for given to a man by her father yet on seeing my grand dad ride in on his bike she immediately sought refuge with her mum. She declared her attraction for my grand father and persuaded her mum to change the decision of her father. In that instance things being what they are and destiny being written by one supreme the confusion was resolved and they eventually married.
As I stood in the little room and watched my grandfather lying peacefully I relived this story in my mind. His past had not died with him but lived through his spirit as even after so many years I could still visualize a time in his youth. Many years may have seen the time of day yet his spirit through his youth lived on as I remembered a story that he had told his daughter. In a way I knew that if I passed on this story then he would live even longer through the memory of my children and grand children. In a simple concept I had found another path to spiritual wisdom. This was another interpretation of the word of the Lord and it was fascinating to see how much it meant to my spiritual journey.
The word of the Lord is told to us from the past yet even today we live our lives based upon these stories as if they are events that happened of recent. Watching my grand father made me remember my youth and the many stories that he had told us. In a flash from the past he was coming alive to me even in death by relating his past in volumes through thoughts that I had never really pondered about until then. As a child growing up in a country that was filled with superstitious ancestry, all the stories told then had a profound meaning to one’s imagination. We heard stories of times gone by when people survived events that could send a chill up one’s spine. My granddad had told us of an accident he had witnessed where a man was torn in half by a train and carried on talking even after his accident asking of his family and friends. As simple as it may sound today with all the rational explanations one could attribute to this, back then hearing this story as a child and the reasons associated with the mysteries behind them would have scared the life out of anyone. One went to bed then, scared out of your wits and wondering when your time would come to face the big bad wolf. Eventually as I grew up I realized that this wolf wasn’t out there to fight it was in man and the negative thoughts associated with his imagination that concocted evil. Evil was not in nature or the way the world was created, evil came with man and his desires and this was something that one had to fight through life to stay focused on the path of the Lord.