Pictures of a blind man

Often taken to entertain the premise of what he sees. If they come out right he rushes to show others, if they don’t he hides them from the universe. Is there a purpose behind this ploy? I have known the world he says, been in it, dealt in it, wept in it and shed blood in it and I can tell you that this is what it desires of me. I have known another says he that isn’t blind within him, that world you have worked so hard for would reject you one of these days old fellow. Rubbish! Says the blind man, how can what I feel, touch, smell and breath, reject me, it is just what it is, I know my world just too well. Ah! Says he that isn’t blind within him, if you know your world so well how come you do not know of me and I am in it?

I see rain...

‘I hate you father, I hate you for leaving me!’ Timmy hissed quietly to himself. I am so mad! I am so angry! Mum does not understand! He clenched and unclenched his fists as he beat on the ground. I am my own man and no one but me knows what’s best for me. I have lived my life alone without a father. It is that boarding school that has done this to me. Where were you then, eh Mum? I was only twelve and you left me so far away in the hills away from everyone I knew. He came to visit me only once, that was all and then he left us, dying away so easily without seeing me grow up to be a man.
The crickets were out for the night their humming noise persistent in his ears. Timmy listened to them, sitting up and staring at the town from the small hill. No one listens, no one wants to understand! Grand mum said focus on what you want to achieve and ignore what is around you. That is what I have done. Dad said to become successful in life try all things, be open to all things and you shall find your path. This is what I have been doing. But why am I so angry all the time? You don’t understand Mum, I know you care but you don’t understand! I can fight like you, I have fought like you, I have stood up to those who tried to challenge me, to defeat me Mum, I am like you! Grand Mum said put everything in prayer and God would answer. I have done that but why am I so angry all the time?
Timmy watched the streets and the children as they played, ignoring the dark and entertaining the night. I am a king in this city Mum you should see me dance. I have a following and girls love me. Then why do I change and become so destructive wanting to hit out at things? He stood up and placed his hands in his pockets, Mum would have calmed down by now. I shall go to my room when I enter the house and say nothing until tomorrow hopefully by then she should be calm and we can talk again.
Timmy walked behind the houses avoiding the excrement that had been left by dogs. He shut his senses to the smell as he retraced his steps to their home a mile away. Eventually he was in the neighborhood, his shoulders raised and moving more rhythmically, if anyone is watching, I am still a man.

Finding me...

When I got to the gates the first time and said who I was, it wasn’t whom I was but who I thought they wanted to hear it was. No doubt I got through, as this did not depend on me still though I remained lost. I could barely find the switch in this dark room. When I got to the gates the second time I said whom I was yet I wasn’t convinced of whether that would get me through. I made it though as it was fate that I was destined to. Still I wondered about that darn pest called doubt. Why on earth did I doubt myself, did I do something wrong?
When I got to the gates the third time around I said who I was and believed it from within. I got through as the two times before because it was fate. The difference is that this time from without and within I knew it was me bright lights and no doubt.
The truth is fate gets us through not by our power or our thoughts. However how we live is down to whom we believe we are from within and without. This is always a good place to start…

Friend or Foe..

I will make you a better writer the Lord said to me. First I would take everything that matters away from you. This is not a test although it would seem like one. This would feed you emotion and compassion in your words and thoughts. When you feel helpless you will need love and kindness from others. When this passes your words would ring beauty and there would be peace.
Next I would take away the good health you so closely standby. This you relied upon, to do those things that come naturally. You will walk miles and feel like you are crawling. You will run lengths and feel like you’re drowning. As the weight of this shadow crosses thy path you will feel wisdom and add this to your words. Without this wisdom you cannot return to what you have written. You cannot read without feeling a sense of elation. This is my second treat to bring you to life. You have been punctured yet stand to be counted.
Now I would take something else that matters to you. This is the curse and disease you live by. I would take victory, your words and your vision. This will be your blindness and cross to bear. It is a crown of thorns that separates you from the others. It is at this point that you will turn to me and cry:
‘Father I hate my life and this wretched feeling. My ores are wrecked in this boat of despair. Give me a break and don’t make me forsake you. I am but human and need spirit to live.’
You will think you are at the end when these words escape you. Then I would answer your prayer as I always do:
‘Fear not my child I have reserved something for you. Your term is completed sooner than you think. I am not the enemy but a friend indeed.’

Indelible Vision...

The main area of the canvas was covered in a blood red stain. In the centre of it was a black object, somber, a lone human represented by a line. It looked like it had been striped off any sense of dignity, a lost soul of insignificance that had given up on the world around it. The artist had chosen the world around it to represent blood, a wilderness of uncertainty, penance in an Armageddon of sorts. The dark object a reflection of the self within and the darkness of the human succumbing to what it was surrounded by. He watched it with some interest.
‘This is how you see yourself?’ he asked.
‘This is how I feel,’ she replied.
He was silent, observing. He let his mind absorb the moment. We got to these places in life when we could see no outlet or instance for reprieve. We were drawn in by a force of loneliness, loss and illness. Our disease was life itself. We felt and saw darkness in every corner of the universe as we fed on it as much as it did on us. Unfortunately in the long run it had a wealthier appetite than ours and fed at our soul. This was eating at his friend’s and he could see it in her work.
‘There is no light in this room,’ he commented.
‘There can’t be when we get to this place. Light is our darkness, this is what we have,’ she replied.
‘Perhaps because we think this is all there is, this is all we know,’ he said silently as if he hadn’t heard her.
‘One with darkness doesn’t mean we are dark. It could be a place, a passage, a period in time,’ he continued.
‘Or it could be our eternity,’ she said.
‘I guess that would depend on if we controlled our own destiny,’ he replied.
‘You don’t think we can. I think we can make ours. This darkness can become ours if we choose it to be.’
‘Then my question to you would be how did we find it. No one chooses helplessness. It is when they get there that they discover it exists. We are a people that find places in life, peaks and troughs laid out in our path. By the same token that life can bring us into darkness it can also take us into the light.’
‘You are doing it again, you are playing with my mind.’
‘I am calling a spade a spade,’ he replied.
‘And I am telling you that my spade is darkness now,’ she replied.
‘No argument there. It’s just that the operative word in your argument would be now rather than eternity. No one knows that far ahead.’
There was silence as they returned to their thoughts. It was almost impossible to resolve arguments such as this. They resonated from centuries and represented two sides to a coin.
‘I hate you now more than anyone I know,’ she said quietly.
‘I know.’
‘But you give me hope,’ she smiled.
‘This I know too.’
‘What would you call it?’ he asked, he was curious.
‘I don’t know. I have very many things in mind but I can’t find the words. What do you think?’
‘Indelible Vision.’
‘Sounds deep, profound,’ she said.
‘It should do,’ he said ‘This is an important time in your life, let it mean something.’

Temporal Enemy

My patience is your fury, my absence your state of ignorance as we have not become enemies by war but merely a season of time. Solitude seeks this path and for the victim the matter is personal. I bear more from this burden than you can ever imagine so do not let your bones wither in despair or the curtain drop in your wrath. We both want what’s good for each other as your journey is as important as mine.
Between places is uncertain and sometimes difficult to explain. Fend off the delirium temporal enemy when tough love becomes necessary. Take comfort that in our green veins runs the blood of he that knows best. He separates two to create one, as we become the pieces of a greater mystery. Our mirrors of perspective shadow our blindside, they are the flat foot that imprints the pavement; a raiment of distaste to the vulture that craves ignorance, a cherry on the pyramid to the flirtatious dove of wisdom. Your judgment of sorrows is but a sigh in consideration for if I fail the alpha I shall have no breath forever. Hate me my temporal enemy but love my spirit of faith and courage. This I call a fair trade of peace for we aren’t solely bound by the thoughts we inhabit as the deed is fulfillment.

Epistolary to the future

You cannot put a time and place to it. Perhaps the tears in your eyes are the giveaway that you still remember. The truth is no one tells this story better than you do. Do we really come of age, find out that our past was meant to be for our future to hold a purpose? Hard to explain the experience, for who knows what story they wish to tell until they try their hand at it.
There once was a time when my mission in life was to seek out those places and people from my dreams. Eventually I could hear myself whisper, ‘fait accompli.’ Only to be followed by, ‘Now what?’ It was as if finding these places and people brought me to a full stop. On this river road to nowhere one easily became aware that one wasn’t better than the world they had been given to be a part of. It was as if whatever one desired had already been provided for the time that they needed it. I began telling myself fervent is the nature of the man that ascends beyond the stars. I would listen to the heart within and it would give me the sounds of places I knew of. Suddenly I would be able to hear them from a distance in many volumes. Train lines overhead, a bright afternoon, tracks lain out miles ahead of me and all around me, would be this continuous pounding noise. Then would come the shadows as one crept beneath the tress. I would remember vividly because I was there. Inside this nest that rattled silently the sound of my own voice, ‘the landscape is now different you can’t return to the past because before you matters more than behind you.’
When this wouldn’t suffice, I’d ask myself what an epistolary to a future me would read. ‘It was eons ago but it seems only like yesterday to you. The things that you do not know of will become known unto you when you need to know of them. The times when you wait can be idle, distant and much alone as they are real. Do not fear for you shall connect the dots when you realize that you are still just I. It is amazing that when one has all that one has asked for one still needs more. You see it is a constant thing in one’s life to see if future would surpass the present and past. As I write to you with ignorance of who you may be, I have that which I do not know of that is why I seek that which is already mine. The truth to you my future is that I am the light in this darkness I created for myself yet I carry a light to see through it. I do not write to you old fellow for criticism of who you once were. Not my desire, for I never kept you away from the safe house you now inhabit. On the contrary we created it together, me looking towards you for inference because you alone are where we wished to be. No not me, I pencil affably because as time has revealed we still remain avid of learning about us. I shall leave you with one piece of advice. Keep those hands of ours real by trying them at different things for in my humble opinion it was the way I got to be you. If you call the future what you wish it to be it shall come to pass as you say. I celebrate alone today as you open my letters to you for if I knew this much then, it must be amazing what I know now. Take care, I know I am meeting me again where ever you may be and I am glad because I dearly hoped for this day to come to pass.’

Basket Case...

On this lonely stool that I berth my squeaky behind, do I timely separate fear from the self. Before the rhythmic chimes of the turning pump I look unto fear and the dirt it accumulates. Fear is my corruptness. Had I learned anything in this enduring odyssey it is that to reach the purpose I serve, I must lose the fear to find the self.
Here indeed is my ruckus, ye have said that a man is cleansed when he is bathed in water, yet if water is mixed with wine, oil or meat does it make it clean? I think not. On the other hand a drop of ink in water stains its color as does a pinch of sugar its taste.
Ergo is a new wisdom proclaimed! I am as clean as the deepest seas with experience like the things that lie within its depths. I am not corrupted but reflect corruptness like the colors that surround me. Peace is the blue sky of my favorite morning that brings the sound of the quacking seagulls. Joy is the yellow and orange in the setting sun, a brightness that lasts for a short while. Darkness is a deep moonlight of fear that hides the truth in a black sea.
Ergo I shall take precaution in these words of wisdom to proclaim my wings of freedom. I am still the clear water of the sea but my color before man is a reflection of what surrounds me. I am no basket case before him but simply a reflection of one.

Best of three...

What is the beginning of a good thing? Taking the form of life and walking the earth as one was meant to. I cover my ears and make my own music when the sounds of the birds are quenched by the thunder outside. The gulf between where I once was and where I am is light years between stars. Squatting and hiding behind the door I peep through the keyhole of creation. Am I ready or not? What awaits me behind those doors? Knowledge is not forbidden, however the time it takes to achieve this knowledge is a different matter. Suddenly I am claustrophobic, doing a somersault and pushing my way out to existence. My arrival is alarmingly fortuitous but unbearable by my standards. After a sharp piercing smack I awaken and shed tears for others to jubilate.
A journey, one step at a time, one place at a time and like everyone else behind the apron, a protective sheath of fig leaves I think I have it all figured out. Time has elapsed and knowledge amassed, in my disguise no one can see me and on the other hand I can’t see anyone. My first hand has been played and it is neither here nor there because I don’t know better. Then it is the hour of the night bandit and before I realize it the only way up is down. It begins with loneliness, loss of sleep as my dream has come true but at what price. The once adoring audience ferriages away and life takes its toll. The inner self becomes the answer, the profound truth that nothing I have seen is real except for the spirit of God within me. I take a recap and rid myself of sycophancy, count my blessings and notice that two of everything is still there. This is my rebirth, a new beginning and second chance to correct all wrongs and be who I was always meant to be.
My, oh my, is that the time? The canon ball run is almost at an end, still though where does my destiny lie. In the rebirth things improved, I corrected the old wrongs for what was right. The refulgent light of my epithet shone before others as my repertoire became a library collection. If memory serves well two of everything at one time was a blessing, now though this has become a strain. Age has overridden youth as my spirit sails five yachts ahead in sonorous waters while my ancient body lags in the shoal. Death is the new kid on the block. A constant reminder only in name as my new truth lies in the resurrection. This is the grand finale and placing my bets on my favorite pony brings in my worthy dues.
Dare I ask again what is the beginning of a good thing? Life. Make the most of what you have today, look behind without regret and do not be careful of tomorrow but in everything by prayer and supplication let your requests be known unto God.

Endangered Species...

‘Go away I’ve had enough!’ Is the blazing cry over the tannoy. ‘I tread in this place of failure because you make me feel this way. It is rainy on this dreary day and destruction can’t come any sooner.’
A child’s plea but when stray words flutter in the wind they eventually land at the doorstep of thoughtful creatures. Waiting for a way out from this derision these creatures are tongue tied in frustration. Fear is taken into consideration and despair a natural outcome when these words become judge and jury. There is no age or gender preference in this domicile and the guilty verdict is often relied upon as the sole means of escape.
I bore witness the other day to two brothers arguing endlessly as one tried to convince the other on improving himself for his forthcoming marriage. As Sibling A increased the pressure on Sibling B he got berated with pellets from bullet spray as Sibling B’s words became more hurtful and irrational. Sibling A never gave up though but pursued his course of action and eventually the argument subsided and became a discussion. The next day Sibling B was talking about his relationship with a lot more ease whilst Sibling A was left recovering from the harsh words that had been thrown in his direction.
Seeking more purpose to how our good could be repaid for bad I decided to try the kindergarten approach. I asked my six years old niece whether bad things happened to good people. Her answer was yes and then I asked her whether she had witnessed this before. She said in class, a girl scribbled in another boys book and the teacher scolded him for it. I asked her what she thought of this and she said she felt afraid and thought maybe the boy had been bad that was why the teacher scolded him. She then said sometimes when you are good you can be blamed for something you haven’t done.
Perhaps at one time or another you have represented the watch night of reason. You have told others the error of their ways and paid the price in more ways than you had anticipated. It is a steep hill to climb with many rocky edges of frustration. During these times it is injudicious to fall victim of self-pity or blame. It is wise to consider the incapacity of those you seek to aid with the knowledge that your help is not in vain. This is merely the entrée rational into a new school of thought and keeping equanimity for counsel serves better until the truth is exposed.
My niece’s words reinforced a teaching from scripture, ‘He that loveth his life will lose it, and he that hateth his life in this world will keep it unto life eternal.’
Thus, pay yourself homage good one for your species is rare in this age. Your triumph is not in the results but in keeping your end of the good deed. Do not seek appreciation when none is forthcoming. If you wish to teleport from this world to another then you have already succeeded in your endeavors, for the results of your heartfelt efforts are in the struggle rather than the results.

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.

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...

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.

Faces...

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.

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.

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…

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…

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.

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.’

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…