ON LEARNING...

WHILE AT A CYBER CAFE IN THE MORNING:

Good morning to all and sundry,

To begin, I cannot fail to apologize for my long absence. For all who write or take up some recreation or the other, you notice that once you stop something, there is a growing sense of inertia, of contentment with the status quo, and of ever-growing excuses for which you are 'unable' to get back on the horse, so to speak.

Today, let's talk of education: learning in particular; Not of the conventional classroom sense, but rather that borne of daily experiences. Our entire lives are shaped by what we learn, and what we truly learn and absorb is influenced by our preconceptions, opinions and upbringing. It is a selective process wherein we absorb what may stand out as important to us. And what's universally most important to each person? Acceptance. One may find themselves subconsciously highlighting which of their behaviours and of others' behaviours is acceptable, applauded, or deplored. From this personally relative and questionably subjective learning, we self-educate and shape a significant part of our characters.

Based on this argument, one can't help but wonder: Is there such a man as he who has attained straight As in the social examination of character? None. Of course not.

The other day, I was watching a TED Talks video on "Creative houses from reclaimed stuff", and the speaker, Dan Phillips, was questioning the social norms that too often dictate architectural design. At once, what struck me was his very true interpretation of the state of affairs in the modern world, which is as follows:

" ...We have confused Maslow's hierarchy of needs just a little bit. On the bottom tier we have basic needs -- shelter, clothing, food, water, mating and so forth. Second, security. Third, relationships. Fourth, status, self-esteem -- that is, vanity. And we're taking vanity and shoving it down here. And so we end up with vain decisions and we can't even afford our mortgage. We can't even afford to eat anything except beans..."

And so, to reiterate Phillips' wise, woe-inspired words, an obvious concern is that our self-image has taken priority... (to be continued)

BACK HOME IN THE EVENING:

 (continuation) ... over, or at least as much priority as, the primal neccessities that determine our very mortality. From his words, and from what we see and experience every day, it is clear that self-education is a deceptive yet redeeming double-edged sword, whose blade ever threatens to slay us while at the same time serves to fend off malicious and destructive elements.

How therefore, you ask, should one wield this fine sword of his smithing? Even more importantly, how should one forge this fine piece of armory that it may prove to ultimately serve him?

It is, quite plainly, a matter of being courageous in trying times, for it takes courage to learn from an experience; courage to humble oneself and silence the egotistical, self-serving voice whose speech is inspired by volatile emotions of desire and nothing else. It is only through such silence that the less pronounced, yet steadier and more affirming voice of wisdom may arise and guide thee towards the path of righteousness, the path paved by wholesome, objective and most importantly selfless learning.

And so I bid you happy learning!

-Jude

A NOTE TO ALL WRITERS

A REFLECTION WHILE WRITING MY FIRST NOVEL

 

 

A victim of the classical tale of romance with the even more classical "happily ever after" ending - I have discovered myself to be...

How much worse this is for a budding (prospective) writer of realistic works - works that are honest and reflective of the true nature of the world they seek to describe!

How heard yet muffled is the cry, the plight of the novelist, the dramatist, the poet, and even the narrator - whose  dynamics of craft have been misconstrued by the overly commercialized, over publicized lies of beguiling Disney fairytales, light family comedies, and the misleading conventions they stand for! How pitiful and even contemptible is the state of affairs in which we, as literary artists, have found ourselves in!

I look to George Bernard Shaw, who, in his time, looked to Henrik Ibsen, as did he look to another thence, for inspiration and guidance into how a true 'realistic' honest peace is to be structured. Not as if to dictate a strict, rigid set of dynamics, but to offer insight into the nature of a revolutionary and creative work of literature, that is not only true to the artist's creative intentions, but also to the audience, hungry for something true to life, for something reflective, constructive and even discursive of the issues of society.

The need for a "Neo-Renaissance" literary movement that stands for these ideals is long overdue, but today, or rather now is better than later. For as the creator came before the creation, so must the writer come before his vision to change and to inspire (a consequence to which every wielder of the quill must feel obliged to realize).
 

-Jude.

THE BEE TOLD ME HE "'AINT GON' BE JUDGED"

            As I set the microwave to heat up a soothing cup of green tea for exactly the next two and a half minutes, I tilted my focus to the landscape beyond the grated kitchen windows to take in the majesty and splendor of midday, noting in irony, the stark contrast between my world of 'books and boredom', and the world of freedom that flourished outside. "Hmm..," I thought, as if to dismiss the senseless thought.
 

            And, just when I was turning in impatience to confirm how much longer I was to wait for the 'brewing' cup of green tea, I chanced upon the sight of a proverbially 'busy' bee, buzzing away with not a care in its mind (if it has one), and was, just then, simply awe-struck at how ridiculous, and even ludicrous the whole scenario was! How ever could an individual bee dare lead such a simplified existence, driven by the mere incentives to feed, reproduce and survive; and yet I here am utterly consumed in a swirl of multidimensional circumstances which I am unnervingly conscious and aware of, even down to very irrelevant details. What mockery, natural injustice, is this?

           And yet I realize, at that moment, that we humans have been blessed with the double edged sword of consciousness; knowledge of the world around us that allows us, to mold it as we desire, and choice - to decide whether to do one thing or the other. The same sword that we may use to slay our inner demons of greed and fleshly desire is the same sword that threatens to pin us against the cross of our very carpentry, to suffer the consequences of our misdeeds, bearing us ultimately accountable to the ways in which we wielded the very sword.

           And so you ask me, "Why, why are we, humans, "blessed" or "cursed" with consciousness?" I don't know, and yet I may have an idea (as per creationist teachings), but 'really' I don't. What I do know is that the fortune can outweigh the misgiving, if we only allow it. The bee itself said it, "I bzzz.. have no care beyond my immediate duties, and I am contented with my services to nature; bzzz.. You're different ..bzzz… because you have a choice."

           I'm different ..because I have a choice. These words continue to echo in, and even haunt my mind.

(to be continued)

 

Oh busy bee,

You sing to me,

You look at me so carefree,

I wish to live,

And dance and see,

Through your puny eyes,

And body,

This life of glee,

Oh if only,

I could enjoy it's beauty,

I envy you,

You creature you,

Who lives so free,

And happy!

 

-Jude.

Thank God! Thank the Good, Amazing God for freeing my voice - for freeing the voice - the spirit within, whose true voice has for long enough been muffled by deception from the evil one.

Readers, everyone, I have for a long time avoided addressing the topic of my Christian spirituality, perhaps because I have been falsely made to feel 'ashamed' to do so, or to feel that this, as a blog, is an inappropriate context/ domain in which I can express my spirituality, and belief in God, in Christ. I've been made to think that people in today's world don't really tune into Christian blogs (on spirituality). But I speak the word now and shame the devil! I shall because I have been blessed with life, with choice, with an opportunity!

I write no longer for people's approval or amusement, for His glory. Bear witness to this testimony, for I wish to take it up not only in my writing, but in my life in general! :D

Eternal glory to Him!

WHEN YOU FALL IN LOVE

"Being Vulnerable...

It's the best and worst of worlds."
 

When you open your heart slowly, reluctantly,

undoing the strained shackles,

of whose introverted impermeable insulation,

you have come to bestow a skewed sense of pride.

 

When the walls of fortitude you dissolve,

and those of self-preservation you more than halve,

and welcome the outpouring of pure,

proverbially 'true' love,

that almost threatens to overwhelm you,

not as the tempestuous hurricane,

but as an enlightening brightening spring,

that sweeps the boulder-strewn bosom anew.

 

Oh how joyful, tearful,

Thankful is thee!

to finally, finally..

find the needle in the hatful of haystacks;

to find and be found,

to join as one,

as though a key to a lock,

seamlessly matching.

 

And so to He who aligned our paths,

marvelously matched us,

in a spark of utter unforeseen chance,

I bestow my unceasing, untiring, unwavering graces,

and openly offer my profound reverence,

and endless embraces.

 

Lo! As the scalded cat is cautious of cold water,

so is the burnt boy dreadful of fire.

For indeed, as one enters the once trodden realm of romances,

Painfully conscious of the two-faced card it is,

It all narrows down to the one fateful choice,

Yes, that grievous choice, rooted in pessimism,

...of whether to take the plunge,

..or withdraw thy feet,

from the still waters of love,
the still waters that run ever deep.

 

A LIFETIME OF SORRIES

Sorry God.
Sorry Jude.
Sorry Mum.
Sorry brothers.
Sorry friends.
Sorry everyone.
Sorry life.

I'm.. sorry.

It feels like a stab,
on a wound hardly healed,
when I do the same wrong,
cause pain instead of pride,
oh how it pains me within to forget what I've just learnt!
To dig the same hole I'd just resolved to refill with earth.

How foolish I am!
Painfully foolish, oblivious, no, ignorant.
How many times have I gone through this, must I go through this?

And my mouth trembles,
but my lips dare say nothing,
for they are alas stuffed with bitter, scorching guilt,
jaws worn, weighed down
by the burdening shame of faults repeated,
for the umpteenth time!

My heart cries out, to everyone and to no one at the same time. To God, but.. why do I yet feel void, hollow, dumb?

How many more wrongs need to add up to make a right - A right that can never be wronged?

What, when, how, where does one attain purity -this precious undisturbed gem that's all but obscured by the lies that permeate the very air we breath?

What ever happened to self-respect, principles, values? Were they eroded by the compromises we so readily make for our worldly desires? Ultimately satisfying, filling nothing, but really just picking slowly at one's very soul until only echoes of what was once a living, loving human being are heard within their now morally vacant corpse.

So again I ask, I grumble and scratch at the earth, like the pecking chicken, in search of a mere morsel of purity, of that feverishly sought-after gem.. in the hope that it does exist. The hope that keeps us going.

- Jude.

 

WHEN YOU MEET THE ONE...

When you meet the one,

Your eyes meet .. and say,

"Alas! My search is done!"

And your heart melts,

And your hands shake,

And you look away,

For your cheeks make a rosy display..

You trace your imaginary fingers,

down and around those tender teasing lips..

You imagine, yearn, beckon the warm embrace..

"Come to me, please. 'Tis you!"

You're the one..

The one whose hair,

rugged and rowdy as it may be,

Ev'r pleases the eye,

Whose hazel eyes speak to you, sing to you,

that lovely lullaby,

that sends you into sweet slumber,

into those loving arms,

From which you seek solace, affection,

warmth and protection..

When you meet the one,

From a million miles away,

In a picture,

a chance digital encounter,

And playfully think, "Hey! let's imagine our union,

..Just for fun!"

CONSIDERATION (A CONTINUATION OF "THE PLIGHT OF THE WOUNDED ELLY'" )

CONSIDERATION:

A play by Jude M.

Casting:

Hassan

The Hills

Amir

The Injured Elly

and, Man

The Man, a tourist at a five-star Safari Lodge is enjoying lunch at the garish dining hall overlooking a picturesque panoramic view of the Savanna outback, in all its wild and rugged glory.. animals roaming, exotic birds chirping, and... an injured elephant.. limping sluggishly to a nearby water hole. And just as it takes the first refreshing sip, it turns, and, as if aware of being watched, looks right in Man's face.. and their eyes 'connect.'

The Injured Elly: Man! Hey! Man! You, yes, you... looking at me so apathetically, so dismissively, so indifferently, from your lofty lodge.. Are you not unlike the walnut I trample beneath my feet, all dark and hollow? Have you no droplet of remorse in your heart, if at all you possess one? Are you not as barren and starved of emotion, as this dry red African earth I call 'maskani,' my dwelling place?

Man: Why do you call to me, you lonesome, pathetic, down-cast excuse of a beast ? ..with those weary eyes, as if begging me to toss a morsel of my 'five-star' Hors d'oeuvre  in your direction? Are you not but a prop in the Savanna landscape before me?.. Do I not pay to watch you roam and chew and tousle trees? Aren't you, if I'm not mistaken, but an object of my entertainment?

The Injured Elly: I am indeed, if you say I am. For clearly you see not beyond my grey, scaly casing ..as do the birds, that mock me, taunt me so, with their cheeky chirps, and sneering chuckles..

 A lack of connection.. is that not the definition of 'insensitivity' ..of a lack of consideration?

TO BE CONTINUED..



THE PLIGHT OF THE WOUNDED ELLY'

Let's sail away into forever, said Amir to his loyal friend, Hassan.

...TO BE CONTINUED.

And the school break has began

"...Call it magic, call it true..."

That's what's playing in my head as I write this.

I'm not really wondering whether there is such a thing as magic, on one hand because of my Christian faith, and on another because this is indeed one those points in my life, in our lives, where ...there isn't a whole lot to be immediately hopeful for.

I'm not complaining. I've come to appreciate all the blessings in my life. As we all should.

Magic.

I ended my mock exams yesterday on a poor note, with a predicted failure in my math exams. It used to be my thing, but there's something about the IBDP that just.. leaves no room for indulgence.

I sit here wondering what my future will be, for my initial hope for applying early with my MOCK exams are now next to dashed. And ..my heart breaks, for things.. a lot of things are just not going as planned.

As I look above me there a whole bunch of slogans and mottos that I put to encourage me when working.. and one in particularly reads: "YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO SUCCESS; YOU HAVE TO WORK FOR IT!"

In essence, there is no magic. At least not in the world of schooling and education.

You DO have to work.. and the same applies for life in general.

And yet.. and yet I shuffle through. Uninspired. Trapped. Dishonest to myself and to the world.

I sometimes fantasize about 'the one' ..

".. call it magic, when I'm with you..."

Is that where the 'magic' lies? In relationships? And what do they have to do with success in school, work, life?

If only I knew!.. Me, who isolates everyone around me, breaking advances, bonds.. but really I'm isolating myself. It kills me to know and yet do nothing, out of perceived powerlessness.

I think.. if I can't have power on relationships, if I can't control them.. then I can at least control what's controllable - my grades, my Uni application, my future!

The musings of an African boy... one who seeks to travel to the 'Western world' and take in their superior teachings, which will somehow pave the way to a successful future.

And when I get there, then what?

I'm doing that thing again, where I escape from now, and travel to the future.. where all my hopes and dreams and plans and successes are stored.

And what do I have to show now?

What's so good about now to appreciate it?

I look around me and all I see is work, and assignments, and daunting chores, and an endlessly growing to-do list of things to cross out.

Is life really all about this? Is there no magic?

Recently, I've been asking myself: "Who am I really if not for my perception of self, for the memories I've made, and for the physical encasing I have assumed as my body?"

What do I have to claim as 'me' after its all said and done? After ..life?

And yet, at this moment, a slave-driving part of me thinks: It doesn't matter; you're way behind on today's assignments and the last thing you can afford to do is start veering off asking essentially unanswerable questions!

And I agree. It's so in my nature to expand my thoughts from the immediate to the intangible. And so I concede. And say goodbye for now, for indeed my assignments will not finish themselves.

...

Jude.


P/S:

Magic for me.. is an insight, a hope for good, for beauty and possibility and colour and a greater purpose, and as it stands, the burden of menial obligations is extinguishing, even drowning, that flame of magic that keeps us all going.

PROFOUND REFLECTION #1

"...And the way to be happy is to make someone happy and to have a little heaven down here.."

What if I were to tell you that life and heaven were intertwined? That life, as we know it, as we live it, and as we experience it, is really all about finding happiness in self-actualization?

Just this morning I was listening to a RadioLab podcast, from season 1; the 1st episode, actually. And a woman, a mother was recounting here experience during and after a mental breakdown of sorts* (I'll have to listen to that bit again).

Anyway, it was all a sudden 'attack,' and she'd lost grip of herself, that is, the reserved and orderly personality she'd so meticulously cultivated her whole life, and which her daughter had grown fond of.

The interesting thing is that, when asked whether, at the moment of her 'breakdown' or 'attack,' when she fell out of consciousness, she had one of those hyped, famed 'near-death, end of the tunnel' experiences (whose narratives Youtube is all but short of nowadays), she said, "Not really!" She actually has speaks of having been a farmer in Vietnam (I think). It was all very strange and questionable if you ask me.

The point is, she changed. She was now oblivious of her past reservations, her innate restraints. The daughter confesses that she's always happily singing, especially if there's an audience. What does that say?

A moment ago, I was thinking about an casual acquaintance of mine. She posted on Facebook yesterday evening about her long lost late sister. "Long lost" because she only just found out they were biological sisters. "Late," well, that's obvious- she only recently died. Anyway, I liked the post, to vaguely confer my condolences.. and right now I was just wondering, "What does she think about me liking such an intimate, personal post?" Granted, she's been known to, quite publicly, shame people on Facebook, so my concerns were warranted. "But," I thought "at least I didn't comment below something like, "that's what you get for being a mean b* on Facebook."

I'm getting to the part where I link the two scenarios.

Well here it is:

Being free may include being bold, but only in a good way. It means allowing yourself to be happy, to enjoy, to love and embrace life! It doesn't mean having the guts to post a hurtful comment on Facebook, or undertake any such destructive behavior.

The mother, as I mentioned before, didn't have or 'conceptualize' any near-death experience, or envision heaven, as we conventionally perceive it.

That's because she's already 'IN' heaven. She has here little heaven down here.

And so, what I'm saying is, "we must abandon, and in fact, forget, our inner repressions of self."

How we do that, I hope to ponder upon in the coming days.

Stay tuned, and LOVE "YOU."

Greening Green Greenness

"Fuck YOU!," I think, as I hold my middle finger out towards the moving school bus.. that happened to pass just as I was leaving the house.

"They enjoy leaving me- that driver," I reflect, scornfully, for the umpteenth time. Oh, that bus with its erratic arrivals, ten minutes early today.. who knows, ten minutes late tomorrow, when I'm ACTUALLY on time. Stupid.

So, as has now become a ritual, I muster the courage, and plastic enthusiasm, to brace the next few miles of walking, up and down slopes and through dusty terrains, with as much grace as can be managed in such a dampening occasion.. talk about a sour morning! Thank God it's not Monday though!

Music. Beats. Melodies.. all whirling and whizzing in my head, just to make me forget the reality of the situation.. and so I enter.. barricade myself into a world of my own creation.. a whimsical, musical, and all truly fantastical universe.. where everything falls into place in colourful harmony.. where the green of the trees, the grass, the bushes, turns into a mosaic of hues.. of the fifty shades of green.

Yes.

"John Green," I randomly note.. or rather a random 'shout' in my mind does.. how immersed in the psychedelic experience I am!

The same shrewd voice reminds me that I'm yet to finish the book.. after abandoning it halfway several fortnights ago..

Green.. the leaves.. the blades of grass, all so many.. individually rendered insignificant, but together set the very atmosphere of this particularly cloudy morning.. one of gloom, and yet with an infusion of underlying hope, for something ..new and healthy and natural.. for something life-filled and life giving..

What is it about the fifty shades of green, that makes me wonder? Perhaps it is the peculiar fact that it is just now that I have began to acknowledge its presence, its complexity..

Green .. why won't you speak to me? Reveal to me your many secrets..


 

The first step into a year of self-discovery

#19

My heart has been stabbed a million times over, by fucking society! And I want to cry.. again.

I want to blame you.. yes you, who walks past me with your judgmental eyes, your judgmental thoughts.. you piercing slicing words of absolute cruelty! I loathe you.. all of you!

I've said it!

But.. no. That's not the right approach. Fine, I was young and weak and gullible.. and was a casualty of the rules of social conformity.. and I lost myself.

It's not enough to acknowledge this and to stare blankly through the coffin glass, at a cold, still corpse of what was once a vibrant, self-loving, self-accepting personality.. I have to recover myself!

I have to re-discover myself! ME

Who the fuck am I? To be 19 (as of yesterday) and to not know who I really am (not who I'm 'supposed' to be in the eyes of society) is, in the least, depressing, heart-rending.

There's no one to blame.

All I seek is closure with the demons of my past, and acquaintance with a future in which I am free, I am me (whoever ME is), where I am unencumbered by shackles, where I am carefree, unconscious of social scrutiny, utterly a living being.. LIVING and BREATHING and BEING.. me.

Thank you, Charlene, for indirectly inspiring me today.. by offering me a glimpse into what being true to oneself and to the world really is.

 

The Journey of a Thousand Miles

A lot has happened within the span of this one week, that makes it seem, in retrospect, more akin to a fortnight, full of wonders and surprises, lessons and mistakes, packaged specially into the span of days... days that fly so quickly one can hardly keep up... you're here today and a millions miles away.. the next!

It's been a weird week, with its own confusions and feats of 'delirium.' And indeed, there's something about not learning from your mistakes that keeps you.. on edge. There is, quite literally, not a moment of rest. Blessed is he, indeed, who records his mistakes and applies solutions every day.

There's nothing worse than digging a deeper hole than the one you're already in.

And yet, and yet!


"I think I'll sleep now. Forget the world at least for a moment.." That's what we tell ourselves, afraid to acknowledge the depth and scope of our pit of problems, of wrong habits and wrong 'stuff.'

"Yes, I think I 'could' use a little power nap.." NO.


That's all I can say for now, and have been saying the entire week. No. A weak NO, but a NO nonetheless.

Sorry... I'm just too tired at the moment. Eye lids droopy and dropping, and the world is... fogging up ..as the senses retire, and the mind slumbers, in a world where all is free.

See you on the other side.

P/S: I just want to be held.

 

I LIE IN BED

 

I lie in bed. Totally overcome by a persistent flu, and the helpless feeling that comes with a blocked nose is in a word 'unbearable'. I'm not one to complain. I'm one to dream. For it is dreams that give me comfort when I'm bombarded by life's chores, life's cycle of struggle. It is dreams that tell me, reassure me that there is a greater purpose to all this. It is a dream that grabs my arm and whisks me away into a fantastical, flamboyant world of freedom. Where the sun is always shining and the grass is ever green. Where the flowers always flourish and the rivers run blue and clean.

 

 

I dream now, of myself as a bird. Small but swift, singing merrily as I embrace the skies, taking it all in. The rush of air between my feathers. The freedom and unbounded possibility. I can spin and glide and whish as I please. And my very soul smiles. For I am free. Free to chase after the setting sun. Free to sing and dance and be!

Me.

 

 

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

 

I lie in bed. An untidy bed. In an untidy room. All of which mirrors the inner turmoil that has swept through my mind. Utterly devastating the landscapes of my conscience. Of my being. My inner peace. If the flu is an agent of discourse, the all-consuming avalanche of procrastinated work is a ship-turner. And so, the non-primitive workings of my brain ask, "So why are you lying in bed?"
 

And I have no answer. 

Only the plethora of excuses I have been so keen to devise.

The room has now assumed a grey tint, signaling dusk and the loss of another day to say, “I’m finally done with work!"

And for the umpteenth time I wonder, and doubt as to the existence of such a moment.

I clear my throat and rub my eyes. My face flashed, as though from a steam room.

Sigh. They say silence is therapeutic, balancing; but at times like this it is nothing short of the contrary. It is mocking, unsettling, and every tick of the alarm clock beside me is another piece of me, scraped away by the cold unforgiving silence.

 

RANDOM RAMBLINGS OF AN INSOMNIAC

Risen from the ashes of silence. That's one way of describing my return to blogging (after my 40 days in the wilderness).

In a sense, it is almost consequential. Why? Well, at the moment it's pitch dark, with the drowning monotonic screech of crickets, the occasional bark of a lonely dog, and, of course, the breathy mechanical 'respiration' of my computer, all enveloping, intoxicating the atmosphere all around, and in fact perpetuating the inevitable drowsiness I battle.

On the topic, have you had those days when your computer has just been on for days on end, almost wondering, "Boy! I'd be complaining right now!" That's the beauty of machinery. It doesn't necessarily complain (unless perhaps your antivirus is out of date).

So... back to the thought process. I am (so shamelessly) writing as a means of fighting the 'sleep pangs,' which almost ritually come at this very same time EVERY NIGHT... just as sure as the sun doth set.

And so, surrounded by inconceivable clutter all around me in what is the aftermath of my periodic art projects, I lay restless, heavy-eyed and wondering why I, we, have to suffer so much through the (arguably pretentious) drudgery of school and job and family and retirement!

"If only I were my own parent... Oh the things I would do...," I think to myself

In retrospect, and within the orbit of 'If only.." thoughts, I guess I can choose whether to be sad or happy about the outcome, as it is, of my 18 years of 'exo-uterine' (sorry if that sounds too graphic) existence. Yes, a battle is waged almost as soon as we phase out childhood and step into greater self dependence (or, in some cases, independence). A battle between blaming everyone and everything for our seemingly damaged selves... and deciding to love ourselves as we are.

To quote a philosophical prodigy, "You can only reach perfection in the frame of imperfection."

Our world is imperfect and varied. In consequence, t's okay to be you, flaws and all. After all, there was, is, and will certainly never be another you.

Anyway, there's a lot to say and express... as you could imagine from a blogger risen from extended recluse.

So.. let's just start with a claim that equates the number of extra hours of the night (in essence, how much of the midnight oil I burn) I spend working, with the measure of stuff, of  will power, within me, just for tonight (for as an eternal claim it would endorse an unhealthy, self-debilitating habit).

Wish me luck!

 

CONFESSIONS OF AN INTROVERT: PART 4

That moment,
When you shut the door,
And it all comes rushing,
torrential, merciless,
Hot and heavy
Bubbling and brimming,
Scolding and steaming.

Argh!
I thrust the towel,
The clothes, the objects,
To the ground!
And an inexplicable fury,
Like a hot coal,
Delicate, dangerous,
Rises to the surface,
Angry at the world!
Angry at life,
Unfair, unseemly.
Do the heavens mock me,
The spirits find jest in my groveling?

Lost in the tousle and tangle,
I plead to Someone,
Look to the azure sky,
Expectantly,
All the same,
And always the same,
Silent,
Torturous in its indifference.
"I beseech thee, speak!"

And for the umpteenth time,
I wave the white banner,
In blatant concession,
No more! Please!
"Thou could'st endure no more!"

Pure, unconcealed, unrefined
Torture!
Rains upon me,
Every morn and night,
Springing to life seeds, weeds
of suff'ring.

When till the calm,
When till the calm I say!

CONFESSIONS OF AN INTROVERT: PART 3

Clouds...
The occasional clouds,
Sweeping above,
In front of me,
Distorting, obscuring the world
Into a grey, isolating
Mass of confusion.
Noises I can hardly render,
Discern.

I'm an island.
Undiscovered, yet disturbed
by the passing storms.

Yearning..
that's all the island does.
Yearning for the
Occasional castaway..
No, not this one,
Sorry, not that.

One to discover the
Paradise within the
Jungle.
But nigh.

I feel an entity,
Pushing me back,
Dragging me away,
Away from everything,
everyone.
Away from life.
Save me, please!

Hot, hot tears,
Held back, burn
My head, My throat,
My heart.

Helpless,
Screaming within,
Someone!
Please.

Am I alone?
A shadow?
A mere presence, that
Was?

That throbbing ache,
Is up again,
Like the ticking of a clock,
Tick tock.

CONFESSIONS OF AN INTROVERT: PART 2

Friends...
Do we really call them that?
Acquaintances...
People we see every day?
I'm really not sure.

I may flash a fake smile,
An impassionate laugh,
A grin, once in a blue moon.

Surrounded... around me
By these indeterminate individuals,
Confusion.... in the sounds, the noises,
Screams, shouts!
Am I in a nursery?
I wonder, one too many times.

I guess I should embrace this,
Break out,
Join the confusion,
The madness,
The Youth.

In problems

We all face problems. No matter how 'nice'
we think we are.
We're never perfectly safe, no matter how
safe we play it.
By virtue of our inherited impurity,
as sons of Adam and daughters of Eve.
And so, on the precipice, the cliff, of concession,
the ever tempting voice whispering, screaming
"But why?"
..revisits us, oh so hauntingly
Oh so sinister.

Right here and now.
I look down and see water..
wish for water..
blue and dark.
To dive in. Engulfed.
..and Kick! Punch! SCREAM!
Release myself.

For on ground I am as a prisoner
bound and restricted.
A silent, slow suffering seeing thee to death.

In water... free, weightless!
And I envy the Neil Armstrongs,
the moonwalkers.

And yet, for the price of physical freedom,
I dance with death!
Suffocation. Discomfort. Cold.
A fast, fear-filled suffering that leads squarely
to the dreaded destination.

And yet, the remedy.. the assured remedy
to all woes
is to enact that very desire;
To let go
To have faith. To fall and to believe
in the Higher Power.
In the (fact) that all things happen for good.

Faith without action is dead. Indeed.
A life of faithlessness
is a life leading to that unwelcome end.

Simply, my words are nought if not applied.

Faith in the Word. Friction from doubt.
A constant tag-of-war in the human conscious.
Yes, even the great have been encumbered,
weighed down by this wrangle.

I pray. I once again look up.
Relentlessly. Constantly. Yearningly.
Yes, faithfully!
For I haven't another choice.

The road. Yes, that's it. The road
that forks at the yellow wood.
One faith. One doubt.

So.. what'll it be sonny?
Self-dependence.. or divine dependence?





 

#_

The time has come. The time is here.
My mind, confused, beset by worries and fears.
Overwhelmed. The world is caving in, the sky is falling.
Herculean would be but an understatement to describe the mammoth task ahead of me.
The time to roll up one's sleeves is... was yesterday.
Today is the time to get down and dirty.
Immersed... swimming in papers and print ..every conceivable character.
To the point of intoxication.
If only, if only I could clutch at a straw.. but where?
Sunday is today.. the sun has indeed taken its queue.. and yet how deceptively!
Propitious at an ominous Time.
Time... if only 'twas on our side... on my side.
Looking up, a note of counsel.
"The time is not when or how... it's now!"
And so today is not but a day to look up at a message on a wall
but to look further up to the heavens. To Him.
The I Am.

CONFESSIONS OF AN INTROVERT: PART 1

"It is not external things, but our thoughts about them, that bind us or set us free." - James Allen

The Voice
The voice within me. The voice of reason. The voice of restraint. The overruling, authoritarian voice that has, over the years, established a will of its own, utterly immune to whatever 'self-control' forces that are exerted upon it.

The overly cautious, overly suppressing (and yet unsuppressed) voice that bars my internal persona from revealing itself to the outside world.. to the seemingly dogmatic, dictatorial world.
Lo! The voice is not unlike a dark cloak that allows sight only to what it desires.

And so, I ask and even wonder, as I have my entire life: How do I, alongside my inner workings, plot a coup against this tyrannous agent? How do we step above the voice? Become our own selves? Realize the outward identity we so ravenously yearn for?
It may sound laughably utopian, but it's possible! I know it is!

For now, I reminisce, a lump of discontent in the throat, about an encounter with close friends! And spin a delusive version of the lacklustre matter of events, complete with words and gestures that could have been! ..and yet were repressed, bottled up by this menacing cloak! ..only to manifest themselves in the form of this cancerous lump of discontent and thickset frustration.

How to step out of oneself? How to be more than the voice.. How?

That's an ultimatum I serve up to the table. A constructive question whose answer: the key to a greater, more fulfilling, freeing and far-reaching existence, underpinned by unprecedented unadulterated freedom.

Freedom

Then again, there is something ever so appealing about the grass on the other side, don't you think?

Perplexed,

Jude.
 

EMBRACE THY NEIGHBOUR

Before anything, my valued reader, allow us to kindly observe a moment of silence for the dearly departed Peggy Adhiambo.

Frankly, I still refuse to believe that she has left us; such a lovely, lively young girl, with her whole life ahead of her, who sought nothing more than to spread joy, love and kindness - a quirky girl who also happened to be a Fashionista.. a Diva ..a Friend ..a Confidante.

And yet, and YET... I act despicably, hypocritically, shamelessly!

Yes, she was a dear and, in fact, irreplaceable friend.. but only for the brief moments we shared together.. after which I took little if any initiative to foster, let alone preserve, our companionship.. on the pretext perhaps that she should have included me more in her life, or simply that the opportunities never revealed themselves.

And so this is a classic case of the highly inimical, inexpedient human habit.

 

 

A defect that spares no one, not even you, my esteemed reader.

 

However, before I delve any deeper into the hominine inadequacy, I am compelled, and even obliged to speak out against an equally disquieting (and contemporaneous) turn of events: The signing and effectuation of a most inhuman and outright irrational law: The infamous Ugandan anti-gay bill.

 

To live next door to such draconian rule, that so easefully assents to this retrograde bill.. based purely on fallacy and shamelessly endorsed by narrow-minded rulers..

 

 

To break bread with a country that inequitably deems "homosexual acts" as crimes punishable by life imprisonment, on the pretext that this sexual orientation "was learned and could be unlearned" as Mr. Museveni would have it..

 To feel trapped and in fear for one's life daily

 

It's heart-wrenching.. and to think that we (Kenya) mirror the same gutless idealism; it is in a word 'unsettling.' Take heed, however, that I speak solely from the vantage point of a sympathist. One stirred by the cause..

 

And so.. pondering upon this embittering issue, I take this as a call to arms for us all! For the international community to press upon the breach of human rights of a silenced minority in a tyrannical land. For the Ugandan authorities to proactively review the facts on this scarcely comprehended minority and to effectively acknowledge its plight.

 

And above all.. for us to pay more attention to those around us.. the Peggy's all around us.. that seek only to generate connections, to be loved and to love; For us to accept and embrace them, irrespective of their individuality; and furthermore to cherish them while they are alive and kicking, to essentially 'make hay while the sun shineth' ..because we don't want to be sorry tomorrow.. as I am ..today.

 

A painful lesson that demands painful application.

And so the question that hangs in the air is, are we willing to step out of our comfort zones, for the greater good?

You tell me.

Regards,

Jude.
 

 

 

 

 

 



Of bricks and blocks

Youth and adulthood. It's funny how in our era, the two are so much more acceptably interlinked.
And yet.. and yet not enough.

A well-known Kenyan author addressed us earlier this past week (sadly, I failed to note his name), and the hugely analogical, witty speech he made sent ripples of excitement channeling across the grand and lofty conference hall.

He keenly pointed to us that one ought not "..live the life you have found," and in connection with this explained that we should be ourselves, and not be what we are in that setting of time and place expected to be.

About an hour ago, I'd (thankfully) woken up literally in the middle of the night and enjoyed dinner in the solitude of our living room, and in the company of an ever so entertaining television set.

The Culture Show was on. And the topic? Lego: The Building Block of architecture..

You can only imagine how nostalgic I felt, as memories of 'those block friends I had (literally) made' and that 'block world' I had created, washed over me. A time when my creativity was ungoverned and my small intimate world unencumbered. It was a wonderful time! A time I perennially look back to with such hankering!

It is the fate of one who has not fully reconciled his childhood and adulthood.

One must lead to the other. Block players become block setters. Architects. Doodlers become renowned designers. Soccer boys become soccer men. That's how it is. How it should be.

As Sunny Bindra, yet another illustrious author who graced us with his presence informed, "There are now many more doors. And the strict doorkeepers are growing less and less."
I wonder, then, if I had played more Lego, ..would I be more inspired, more in a position to take up, or even consider, architecture now?
If.. they had not been stripped from my possession so prematurely.. maybe, just maybe..

And I look at the likes of Alvaro Siza, whose aesthetic is clearly Lego inspired..

 

..and at the same time think about the succeeding generation of architectural connoisseurs, 'taught' by constructive video games, notably the cult computer game Minecraft.

 

And.. I can't help but be discouraged, because of my prehensile need to be the best at any one scenario in which I exert myself.. an all-or-nothing inclination! (..and they call me unopinionated! Ha!)

I guess I'm overthinking matters, over planning, and  quite simply overreacting.. As Mr. Bindra sagely suggested, "Don't make plans. Set standards," a rule I'm only slowly assimilating.

Life really isn't in black and white, and is certainly not topographically interpreted. Maybe that is what's to be learnt as one transitions, breaks out of the cocoon of puerility, and ventures into adulthood, that even though we live in a digital age of 1s and 0s, that reality does not exactly mirror this predictable, predesigned pattern.

In that respect, one should, I believe, build their lives, stacking a brick at a time, with their set 'standard', and NOT blueprint in mind.

Food for thought.

Until later,

Jay.

 

The Double-edged sword

A take on digression..

Side tracking. Deviating. All synonymous with the shameful.. oh so very shameful, despicable, unspeakable act.. of digression.

Nature.. is it in our nature to ..digress? Is it inbuilt, hard-wired in us to stray from the straight and narrow?

To assuage a ..soulfulness that we have so unfairly been bestowed with.. passed down from the forerunners of mankind. And so be unjustly condemned, subjected, under the mercy of bestial tendencies that have been carved into the psyche, into the very fabric, DNA, of man..

Or.. am I simply fulfilling the typical human nature - of finger pointing ...and not acknowledging the log in my own eye?
 Is this a test... is this stage in life, marked by inexplicable ambivalence, actually a test of will? Of personal responsibility? Of one's very grit? If so.. it is arguably one of the hardest most soul-devouring trials, whose outcome makes or breaks. And whose consequence is of an entirely transcendent nature.

And so, it is at such a dark time, when one is literally a slave to self, worn down, as a casualty of temptation... that one yearns for apathy. For a freeing of the mind and spirit, from the worldly carnal shackles.

"...To be coarse, brutish, and snappish may be natural to the beast, but the man who aspires to be even an endurable member of society (not to mention the higher manhood), will at once purge away any such bestial traits that may possess him."
-James Allen

Right now as I sit here... face flushed, body and mind weakened and worn, and myself on the verge of fainting, ..I pray ..pray for divine intervention! For that is all that can pull me out of this bottomless hole. This destructive pit of self-abhorrence. Of cowardly concession. I try to pull it together. To create, at least, some semblance of control. And it's truly hard. It's actually HARD.

If there were ever a painting that accurately captures my present state of mind..

 

Great Wave off Kanagawa

 by Katsushika Hokusai

Nature... maybe that's what I need right now.

To be out in the midst and majesty of nature, and to be ensconced in its therapeutical calm. Maybe then I will be able to realize some clarity.

Maybe.
.


 

#1 2014

It's been ... many months since I last wrote, let alone visited this unjustly forsaken blog. This avenue of thoughts.. of self expression.. and connecting to the world in such a way that my introversion would otherwise not allow me.

I have undoubtedly felt.. incomplete without this blog.. without  a means of recording truthfully and succinctly my reflections and emotions at any one moment in time.. capturing it in words, in such a way as to suspend it in.. in perpetuity.. and enable closer scrutiny.

..."SUSPENSION"...

 

A well-versed author to whom I extend my unbounded admiration, Mr. Sunny Bindra, spoke to us earlier this week, and one peculiar piece of advice he shared, which sounded almost exactly like a teaching from the e'er lauded James Allen, has since adhered to my mind:

"Observe yourself. Learn to be your own observer.."

And in light of this point, he added that one should examine their emotional reactions to various situations, and it is from this that greater understanding of self is attained.

 

 

  

Suspension... that is what this blog was.. is about.

As it is through suspension that audit may be effectuated... and from this reflections developed, lessons learnt, and, in eventuality, growth aroused.

 

Declining the dispiriting words of Peter Van Houten, a minor character in "The Fault in our stars", I dare say that "I do not feel that continuing to share my thoughts with readers would benefit either BOTH them or AND me."

 

 

Until later..

 

Jude.