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Wednesday, 16 November 2016

Beauty is an untamed Heart

This is a quote from the book, "My Ideal Lady."

A cause that you believe in is always a cause worth fighting for.
Love...
It's meant to be an impossible force to reckon with...
It's meant to be as perennial as the grass...
What do you do then when it flickers and then goes off all together? When it waivers unsteadily then comes tumbling down in useless resignation?

I stand by the window today. My mind heavy with thoughts. People are running helter skelter under the rain...but I'm warm, I'm safe.The tears flowing down the window though, feel real on my face. The brokenness of my heart is real.
A couple of days ago I stood right here...I stood here staring at him, and he at me and the silence between us...
...was empty.
Empty...
devoid of meaning, devoid of feeling...empty.
The thought of him gives me vertigo. He's a memory I desperately wish to erase.
But how did we get to this place, a place of so much hatred? How?

A person who loved so deeply, how would he use the same body to hate with an equal depth...if not more deeply?
How would a mouth that spoke so profoundly, a mouth that spoke very beautiful words, a mouth that spoke so lovingly, how would it open up to release such atrocities? 
How would a dignified human being do such undignified things...say such undignified words? *sigh*deep sigh*

Let me start from the beginning:

This is a story of a man that I love deeply. Sit here with me, let me share this with you. lend me your ears, lend me your time.
My father was my acme of perfection. In my eyes he could do no wrong. What he believed I believed, what he said was the gospel truth. My father...my dear beloved father...
...I choke at the memories, of everything perfect that he was...a good husband to my mother, a perfect father, a lovely man. A man of means, but a man of character as well. His mouth opened only to speak wisdom, to speak life, to speak warmth...

See, I grew up in a lovely home, an only child...
Growing up was bliss: the world lay at my feet. I could dream and become...nothing stood in my way.

"Dream my child. You can be anything you want to be."

But one day, my little paradise broke into a million little pieces...the pieces scattered all over, never to be fixed back together.
A world that once lay at my feet? now lay squarely on my shoulders; one overwhelming burden to carry.

My father, a man who deeply believed in the concept of family, woke up one day and decided that he did not need us any more...
He did not need my mother any more. He packed his things? No, we packed our things and were instantly replaced by another "loving family."

Loving family? Love and family...
...the two things that for a while...a very long while, had been promising me the certainty of their presence.

My father looked at me, he looked at my mother and his expression said that he loathed us deeply. We were to him two repulsive creatures...the scum of this earth! 
A person who loved us so deeply, now hated us with an equal depth. How? How would a once so deep love, be replaced with a hatred equally deep?
Love, is a cause that I believed in, this cause that I would die for...
...and family, that one place in which you are always reminded that you are accepted, just as you are.

What happens then when such beauties waiver and flicker, when they fade away then disappear all together?
My father looked into my eyes, and mattered all kinds of atrocities...and I stood across and stared...
I stared in disbelief, 
I stared in horror,
I stared at the reality of unrecoverable loss, of something that had once been too beautiful.

Two consenting adults who once loved each other, who made a home together, and had a child together.

Many people had always said, that I had the eyes of my mother and the smile of my father. So on my face? They are still together...
...and as long as I live they remain together. 
But reality screams out disagreement....
Two consenting adults, they make their choices, and I am the unwilling recipient...trying even with my facial construction, to remind them that they always belong to each other...but my efforts prove useless.
*sigh*deep sigh*

He said,
She said,
They said...
But what do I say?
Because my heart will believe only what I say to myself. Do I speak the truth to myself?
Do I teach my ears to listen only to what is the truth?

Father said that I am...
But what do I say to myself? 
For my heart will believe only what I say to myself. Do I speak the truth to myself?
Do I teach my ears to listen only to what is the truth?

This is life: change is inevitable, but progress is the choice...do I choose to live  as a victim? Do I choose to live broken? Do I choose to hate the entire male species, because of the choice of one unconscionable man?

I wish to hate him back with equal depth,
...and loathe him back with equal intensity.
I wish to say to him frightening words too.
But my heart loves. My heart loves my father deeply, and my heart has chosen to forgive.
He is yet to ask for forgiveness, but I forgave for my own sake.
Forgave so I can move on already. Forgave because when all is said and done? He is still my father.

So love for me is a cause that I still believe in. 


***This is a true story. I remember thinking that day as I listened and stared intently at her, "Beauty is an untamed heart." How could a person's soul and heart be this beautiful? Choosing love and forgiveness against all odds?
I told her that hers was a lovely story...a story that I would want to write about.To me it was a shocking story, but to her it was her reality...what she had gone through, what she had overcome! I wanted to write about it...to her story I added my imagination, and used my words...I tried to place myself in her shoes, to see what words I'd come up with.
I have been for a while actively and intentionally choosing to pursue and find beauty in people, things, and situations. It makes me a happier mess...try it, and you'll see that it works!
Let your heart be wild...untamed...unfettered. Bitterness is often justified, but it's a burden that you do not have the strength to carry. Choose forgiveness always...giving yourself time when forgiveness doesn't come swiftly...forgive for the sake of your own progress and freedom.
Learn to hear, and tell yourself the truth...only what is true. People will always have opinions about you, and lies will often fly around, but you can choose to be impeccable with your words. For it's true that the final words that your heart will believe, is what you say to yourself. Don't use your words against self! 

Thanks for stopping by to read. Much appreciated...really!***



Tuesday, 8 November 2016

Beauty is Knowing that You're Enough


Why do we constantly feel a need to apologize for things that we are naturally disposed toward?
My mind wondered about that today.

It was in her story...

An innocent girl walking home from school, minding her own business.

Tired, overwhelmed maybe? Thoughtful...

Across the road, they walked along...a bunch of adorable monsters, that looked a lot like children.

They were taunting, they were laughing, they were mocking, and scoffing...all this was directed to her.

They opened their mouths to release profanities.

Such lovely, little fellows. How?

How would such profanities be an aftermath of the speech of such lovely, little fellows?

They were calling her names, simply because she was different; she was big.

She walked on though, minding her own business, and my soul broke into tiny, little pieces.

Was she meant to apologize? For being big?


It was also in her story...

This lady that I love so much, a dear friend of mine.

She juggles too much, with resources too scarce...resources too meager.

The weight of bills on her shoulders. She's a single Momma, a lovely mother, to a lovely little princess.

She juggles too much though, carrying the weight of the whole world on her shoulders.

And one day...

one fateful day? She just can't take it anymore!

See, she's stretched too thin? bent too far back...feeling like she could snap, from all that pressure.

Her mind is all over the place, the figures are too overwhelming, and her heart is breaking...

literally? Her heart breaks! She has a stroke!

A stroke?

Yeah...a stroke!

It hits the upper part of her body, maiming and disfiguring her.

She leans into the mirror, many days later post physiotherapy, and she doesn't like what she sees...

She breaks, at the sight of her once pretty face.

As she shares her deepest thoughts and fears with me, I think to myself, and then say to her, "There's no shame in things that are beyond our control."

But my heart still breaks, because I know that we know these things...


We know that disease is beyond our control, we know that how our bodies look like is often beyond our control....

We know...

But still? we constantly feel a need to apologize for things that we are naturally disposed toward.


Beauty is knowing that you are enough...

The fears will keep calling, the self-doubt as well.

Reality will keep taunting...it never stops! It goes on and on...

But you still have a choice; a choice to believe...

...a choice to believe the truth.

Which is: you are enough!

Yes! You...are enough!!!

Beauty is knowing that you are enough...


And you are beautiful, you truly, certainly are!

Choose belief!




Sunday, 9 October 2016

A Message for My Dear.

I am enjoying making my own graphics 

I see you today, you stand amidst the crowd, surrounded by all these noises, and each of them is trying to feed you with their poison words. You stand leaning into that rack, where beauty magazines tumble off a bit too fast. You're perusing the pages, and they are speaking to you, you're assessing the feeds of your social sites and they are getting to you...

I want to say that looks don't matter, and yes I know, that it then sounds like I'm spouting encouraging cliches.
It's a messed up world you see, where the things that really matter are approached half-heartedly, yet people spend so much time fussing over things that actually don't matter.

Hear me here dear, forget the stereotypes, and consider the offer for emancipation.

You are a sprouting budding flower...but you have long stopped believing in that.

I see you daily standing en face of the mirror; and kilos seems to bother you, the wrinkles too, the bulging mid-section as well, and the fading light in your eyes, the frame of your body too, it just doesn’t sit right…

You are not a trophy dear, you are a soul.

Hear me here dear, choose the indie way, consider the gift of emancipation.

Beauty is not the frame of your face or the swing of your hips, it’s not the perfection of your skin or the worth of your wear, it’s not the number of the stares, accolades, beholders that you snare, it’s the openness of your heart that makes you beautiful.

Hear me here dear, you are not missing out by choosing emancipation.

There is so much advice out here on how to cream away imperfection, and tuck that skin until it is firm. How to shake what momma gave you, and make it appealing. There are so many women out here who know how to make their hair, and dress their bodies, but very few who know how to do hard and holy things...
...very few who care about using their hands to help humanity, who want to stretch their arms to lift a sister up, who will choose the difficult, broken and given way, the indie way that requires learning how to be a shade over someone else’s storm... a life of giving even of one's self.

Beauty is about the openness of your heart dear, you can beat the conventional ideas of beauty and acceptance. There is freedom in authenticity, in being your true self, in relishing this moment of glory, the glory of a beautiful soul.

In whom, or in what have you placed your identity? For the truth dear, is that there is a message to be said to you, and through you.

You were already approved. A very long time ago?

You were approved…

So there’s nothing more to prove.

This world needs to be done with seeing people as skin, instead of souls, but while it still learns to do that, I want you to know that God alone has the authority to determine your worth, your price, your dignity…acceptability. Please don’t give that authority to anyone else? Don’t let anyone else give you your identity.

When the music fades…when it stops all together…and all the flashlights flicker, when they go off. This can be said of you, “she let me write my story through her.” Stay in God’s story dear, stay in His story.

I know you struggle a lot with the insecurities, and the lies…I know because I too have been the one leaning into the mirror with all these questions.

But I see you today, and I know in my heart, without a shadow of a doubt, that you belong here…see how you belong. There’s a place just for you.

Hear me here today dear, forget the stereotypes, you are a soul, not a trophy to be won.

A time is coming dear, when the stars, how bright they shine, the canary and the swan, how gracefully they walk, the tulips and the yellow daffodils, how pretty they are? A time is coming when all these shall be darkened; the beauty of these things shall be lost to your eye by impaired vision.

A time is coming dear when your strong feet and knees shall give in and bow themselves in graceful surrender, and your grinders, your molar teeth, shall cease to grind because just a few will remain strong and standing.

That time, is coming dear.

But despite all the cycles of womanhood that you shall go through? In your skin can be a comfortable place to live in...it is the only place, the only home you know, and you have lived in.

The conventional ideas of beauty and acceptance are a folly. So yes, looks don't matter it's about the openness of your heart. 

***This topic has been on my mind  for a while. I wondered if I'd get the right words to express what was in my heart. I have felt for a while that it's a message that needs (really, really needs) to be passed across.
Still thinking deeply about Ragini Zutshi Anand's poem (thank you so much for such beautiful words Ragini! ). Please find time to follow the link and read it...it's very, short, I promise...but truly profound!
Our world today is messed up, but I hope that every single day you will wake up and remember who and whose you are.
Thanks for taking the time to stop by and read. Much appreciated.***

Tuesday, 4 October 2016

The Dying Woman; Thoughts of a Beautiful Soul.

Still for the love of paintings Image via Etsy

I open my eyes and they are all standing over me, they are all staring down at me.

Their faces are tired and worried, hopeful but scared.

I want to get out of this body, even if it's just for one second, so I'd see what they see, and feel what they feel; these persons that I have loved so deeply, for way too long.

My soul is in chaos and my mind is all over the place.

My body chooses to be uncooperative...I know I am dying.

Death? Conversing, dancing and dining with death for a while. That has been my experience, and the feeling honestly...

...the feeling has been undesirable.

I am like a child: dependent...vulnerable...supported. Supported to live!

But how did I get to this place?

My soul is tired, my hands are tired, and my body is failing. I know I'm dying.

The life of a child? It's completely devoid of self-sufficiency.

Dependency you see, puts you in a position of vulnerability; but this is my life right now. I am like a child: unable to feed myself, to clean myself, to walk, or talk, or sit up by myself...

I am like a child: dependent...vulnerable.

Such thoughts often bring tears to my eyes, and as the tears flow, I have no control on that. I can't make them stop. They flow freely: I am no longer my own. My body you see, no longer obeys me...

Where is the strength therefore in resilience?

Where is the beauty in a need for life?

Is there strength, in living this life, aware of the maddening reality of my proximity to the finish line?

Where is the strength in that knowledge?

Please...someone? anyone? Help me see the strength in that knowledge.

A need for life, a need to be alive, a need to feel, to see...to heal.

A need to heal? There I said it! As I lay on this bed today, in me there's a need to heal.

All my life I have always been showered with accolades. People took so much pride in celebrating, embracing, and honouring births: professional births, intellectual births, material births...

Glasses clung, people cheered, new life celebrated. Cheers to progress!

I wondered today though, as I lay on my bed, why do we approach half-heartedly, the idea of mourning, pondering over, and speaking out against deaths and abortions?

Death of lives that would have been lived to maturity, abortion of dreams and hopes that have been nursed for quite a while, death of joy and peace of mind...death of sanity and the beauty of health?

Why do we shy away from speaking about the pain of loss? Shy away from giving room to break, to vent, to cry, over what has been lost? Yet loss is inevitably painful?

I mourn today, over what I could have...I should have been, but would never be.

With every passing day, I am just a shadow of what I used to be.

If beauty was my smile, or my eyes...

If beauty was my shape, or my high cheek-bones...

If beauty was my hair, or in my stride...

If beauty was my thriving skin, or my complexion...

I reckon today that I just joined a different category.

But beauty must be something deeper...I think to myself as I look into the faces staring down at me.

What is going on in their minds? I wonder.

What is going on in my mind...I know they are wondering too.

Love is showered on me.

My dying hands are held,

My swollen feet are soothed,

My flowing tears are wiped,

My aching joints caressed,

My cracking lips are oiled,

My ailing body is fed,

My lonely fears are filled, pushed away by a relentless presence of love.
I am a dying woman. A dying woman who is loved deeply.
 
I have wondered too often about the epitaph...what would be engraved on it.

In the company of the dead, there would be no thoughts to think, no crowd to please, no life to live, but I am ready to lay down my life.

Has it been a life well lived?

I often say my prayers, I know that I am always heard.

At this point prayer is a work of humility: acknowledging that every painful breath is a gift, entrusting the hearts of those I love to Him who is able to heal and keep them steady when I 'm gone, entrusting my soul to He who first gave me life...

I am at peace with knowing that there exists a place that's free from pain, sickness, weakness, and brokenness.

I am a dying woman. A dying woman who is loved deeply.



***October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, an international, annual campaign to increase awareness of the disease. 
I wrote today this story of fiction, to honour, celebrate, and remember a soul of a person that was loved deeply. A person who lost her life to breast cancer...I honour her life that was well lived, and her resilience through her sickness, and the good legacy that she left behind. 
I mourn as well over  other lives that have been lost to cancer, as I celebrate the survivors, and celebrate every effort that is put this month, and every other month toward creating awareness about cancer. 
Thanks for stopping by to read...if you haven't already, see this, and this related posts.***



Saturday, 1 October 2016

My Short, Little Parable (Fiction)

I present to you one more reason to love paintings 

He stood there for a while trying to decide maybe, whether to follow or not. This was a new world that he’d be venturing into you know, an unfamiliar territory.

The demarcation was clear you see; my world and his…they were two distinct opposites…

If that moment could be described in colours, it would be green. Not a green that suggests readiness; readiness to go and become. Not a green either that describes health; health, prosperity and growth; but a green that was pale and rotting. That green that had once been thriving, vibrant, active, but had been set aside for way too long, that it accumulated mildew, fungi and mosses; the perfect combo, the perfect cocktail of filth!

That moment would be as disturbing as a grotesque stew. You know that stew that is usually sticky and frumpy? Thick and mushy? So thick you wouldn’t know what it was initially made of? So disturbing you’d probably throw a first glance then look away with that useless wish to retract your action?

This moment was like the green of that stew. A shade that was a little bit of every colour; so overwhelmed with becoming every other thing but itself. It sat in an old pot. A stew disgusting and grotesque. A stew long forgotten…

Here’s my story;

I hardly remember anything except for that part where he was chasing, screaming, and begging…he did all that in one breath.

See, I’ve always been a fiendishly frugal human being, especially where my space is concerned; do not invade my personal space, and I shall be careful enough to keep my nose out of your affairs, my hands of your belongings, and my presence off your personal space. Preach the gospel of karma; blend it in as well with reciprocity, I expected the same from him.The frustration was so real therefore; a stranger was all close up on my heel.

I stood across and watched. I had this look of intrigue…would he pursue, or would he stop there.

Would he step out of his perfect, organized world...into the darkness of my messy world.

He the gentleman, I the dirty little rascal…

He from the uptown, I from downtown…

He was robbed, I was tattered…

This you see, was the end of the road. That place of choice, backed into a corner and forced to make a choice; backed into a corner, between a rock and a hard place.

To be, or not to be…to be, or not to be…to be, or not to be…his heart was racing.

I was watching…my pair of eyes peered from under the cover of the dark. I stood amidst the shackland. The houses were squashed and messy, they oozed into each other, breathed into each other’s space. The roads were mucky and slippery, the beginning of them, oh so clear…the end though was un-retrievable. They fed into each other, bumped into each other…the roads in the shackland. This was my side of the world.

To be or not to be…to be or not to be…to be or not to be…his heart was racing.

Stepping out of one’s comfort zone, into a realm of the unknown; unknown? Was this side of the world unknown to him?

I rest my case today. My short little parable. 

Wednesday, 31 August 2016

The End of Blaugust; One more story, the final Story.

The goofy smile...when you finally learn how to use graphic tools to make your own graphics!


“Wah!!!! While others were busy feeling remorseful, making things right with the respectful complainants in their cases if they could, telling themselves that if they got out they’d never come back? Others were busy ruining their lives further…” that was the thought that went through my mind as he spoke…

“She was a really old lady I tell you guyz!” the stranger was explaining, and my siblings and I were according his every word the courteous ear.

“…carrying a small infant,” He continued,

“The police checked, and there was nothing on that old lady. They tried to check the baby though…and ai! That baby was making some weird facial expressions…”he said, making some faces himself,

“So the prison officers decided to trust their instincts, and do a full check on the baby. The old lady had hidden some drugs next to the baby’s genitals, ready to sneak them in!!!”

“…and guess what she told the police when they found those drugs. She said, ‘aki officer sijui hata nani aliweka hizo hapo! (Not sure who put those drugs there)’!” he finally concluded his story, pointing out how the officers then roughed up that old lady, kicking her and pushing her around. She was in fact then, under on-going interrogation.

My siblings and I were baffled, and saddened by that story. Using infants to sneak drugs, into a prison? and hiding the drugs there? Wueh! Talk about some serious guts, and distorted morality…distorted humanity! Humanity is truly broken in this day and age.

He was now telling us another story. Our faces were now turned toward him. Stranger? Yes! But with some really fascinating stories. We were intrigued, by this friendly stranger’s stories…

“But prison officers can be cruel…”

“Very cruel!” we all nodded in agreement as some trauma-packed memories presented themselves in our minds, about how we’ve been treated before at this very same place, while coming to visit our Uncle.

“Some time ago I’d been walking in the streets, minding my business I tell you guyz.” He was saying,

“Some prison officer walked up to me, he started harassing me, beating me!!! I was mad, very mad! I bit off his genitals! I bit them so hard, he bled to death…nilimuua! (I killed him!!!)” he concluded his story, with zero emotion on his face. In fact, there might have been a look of proud accomplishment in there.

He was saying something about him getting the prison officers during his jail time to treat him with uttermost respect… to treat him as royalty despite his incarceration status, but were we listening? We were astounded, and scared (I know I was very, very scared of that man)!

My siblings and I were looking at each other…two or three seconds of uncomfortable stolen glances, just to confirm that we heard what he said right. Zero remorse? He killed someone, got convicted, served jail time, and yet he had no tinge of remorse as he talked about his crime? He talked about it with such passion and pride?

Nilimuua! Alikufa!” I almost heard him add to that, the evil laugh; it was all in my mind though. We were taking slow but purposeful steps away from him either way…a twisted world it is, a very twisted world I tell you!!!

This was a family fun day…a day for prisoners to have fun with their families. We had been waiting outside for a while. Prisons in Kenya you see, are like little governments of their own; they operate by their own strict rules; comply, or take a walk! You often feel roughed up, when you’re anywhere in such premises. Understandably so though, it is a prison…a place where people have been forced by circumstances to change…good change, or bad change, only they know!

A couple of rough searches, and we were finally in…there had been a list, of “visitable remandees” and there were as well, those who would not be enjoying such privileges. The latter were lurking around, like scary shadows in the background. At this point again? I promise you, I felt very scared…but I was in safe company (father and brother…I moved therefore, to stand right in front of my safe company, just in case). I tried as hard as I could also, not to focus on the shadows lurking in the background.

We saw him, and he saw us! He was happy, and we were extra, super happy!! We followed him to the pavilion…sitting in a pavilion? While the rest of the kawaida wananchi were getting scorched in the sun? We enjoyed little, pretty privileges that day…courtesy of him…yes, it was all on him…

Why, you ask? Back to my opening thoughts; while others were busy ruining their lives in the stop-over? In their waiting time? In the prison? Others were picking up the pieces of their shattered lives, and promising themselves that upon release? they’d never ever come back to prison.

A stop-over is a place of strategy, not a place of surrender, or of self-destruction.

We sat down and we were chatting intimately. He spoke, he advised, and we listened.

He said prison for him is a school. His life was open to learning what he was meant to learn in this school. He said so many profound things that day. He was talking about life in prison, and I received his words. They got to me, and knelt before me. They smiled at me, and sat beside me. They looked up at me, and I looked back, and loved them so much. I loved them instantly! I loved them so much; my eyes were welling up at some point.

He didn’t know that they spoke to me directly, for I am in a prison of my own, wanting so badly to remember my dream despite it all; to remember my dream, and keep it alive…

“Many people despise the process so much. They Murmur, complain, vent, cause chaos, because the process hurts. We complain too much, too much that we are finally allowed to walk out of the prison, to walk out of the process. We go out there and life is too hard. People shun you and despise you as soon as they hear that you are an ex-convict. They are afraid of you! You fail to get a job, who will hire a criminal? You fail to get food and money…fail to even get acceptance from your own people, and so very soon? You’re back to your life of crime…because you need to survive. You are caught, and put back into the prison.” *Sad sigh*

“See the process was necessary all along. The prison was good for such a person, no? You might have learned your lesson already, but you needed to be a bit more patient, as He (God) prepared things out there for you, so that when you got out? You’d not have to struggle…you’d have everything set up, you’d not have to be so much in want that you’d end up going back to the very thing that had first caused your incarceration.” He said something along those lines (paraphrased).

Trust the process, and believe that it is good for you. Even when you do not understand why things have happened in your life the way they have? Always choose gratitude, over bitterness and complain. Things happen in our life, and they hurt like hell; delayed promises, impossible problems, undeserved criticism, senseless tragedies, it’s all part of being human, and in it all, I challenge you to trust the process. See when morning comes? Sunrise is inevitable, no? And when you’re finally at rock bottom, there’s nowhere left to go but up…trust the process.

He asked how everyone was doing…he always does that. Every single member of the family mentioned individually, and then he accorded a keen and genuine ear to the answer given. I have always loved his attitude…so much hope, so much faith, so much sunshine.

“You know I’m always praying for you…you’ll get sorted, it will work out, and it will be okay…” he says that quite often, and it always baffles me, but it brings sunshine into my own life…

A person with so much on his plate…a person in a place of limbo…awaiting a resolution…unfair delay with the court process, yet he has time to pray for the needs of others? He has words to uplift “the seemingly free”? He has enough sunshine to light the lives of others? When everything that I relied on to identify myself…maybe it’s my dignity, my family, my job…heck my life as I knew it, as I had imagined it to be in the future, is placed on a speeding see-saw, and sent spiraling into oblivion, whatever remains, is it able to inspire enough courage, hope and strength in me, to help me live today…and live it the best way I know how. To help me cling desperately to hope, and keep on keeping on? To help me remember my dream, remember where I wanted to be at, and trust that that will happen some day? To help me be a blessing, not only to self, but to others around me as well? Who am I? Who are you? What is your identity? Where, (in what, or in whom) have you placed your identity?

The stopover is a bitter pill to swallow…while undergoing the process? You feel incarcerated, like you’re in shackles, in chains…and you’re stuck, and confused, and in pain. There’s uncertainty, and where you are headed to is not quite clear. The future seems oblique and messed up…it feels that way, but in reality, it is not that way.

Being in a place of limbo: a place of uncertainty…an unknown amount of waiting…

In that prison? Some indulge in obscenities, and ruin their lives forever, others murmur, complain and vent, throughout the process, and so they are released, while still half-baked, only to be back a few years down the line, to re-do that class…others though decide that it is a school, and they open up their lives, willing to take the pain of allowing the process to mold character and their very person. This much is true, both for the person in a physical prison, and the person in a life prison…I can tell you that from my own experience.

Which of these am I? Which one are you?

I purposed that day that once I get out of this prison, out of the prison of life? I would never be back here again…inspired by a remandee, in a real, physical, state prison 

The day went by too fast, and soon we were saying our good byes. I couldn’t help but notice some really young mothers, with little babies as we left…babies that were months old! The babies cried, and the mothers cried too. The fathers were prisoners, they were in incarceration. A life of crime doesn’t pay pleasantly! Never be deceived, you will reap always what you sow! See, karma is a merciless master, just when you think you are free? You are quickly reminded that you never really stood a chance. I’d say today therefore, sow wisely! Crime is never cute.

Sow wisely as well…with every decision that you make in your life every day. Guard, your heart, guard your soul, and guard your mind. Garbage in, garbage out. The young people of our time are busy filing their souls with garbage…you sit there every day and allow the crap that is going around social media, movies and TV series into your life? All in the name of entertainment, huh? You are caught in a crisis and inside you all that can be found is crap? You are unable to rely on that crap to keep your soul steady…I challenge you today, be selective with what you allow into your soul, and your mind. In fact, I’d advice; be selfish with what you allow into your soul! Everyone else is doing it? It’s alright, you are not every one! Choose to be different! Never be deceived, what you sow, you will reap bountifully, and you will reap personally…alone! You sit there and judge a prisoner who was convicted for rape? But your mind is so messed up you’re doing the very same thing that the convict did physically with your thoughts? You call him a pervert, and wonder how he got to the point of doing such a disgusting act? Fellow young person I challenge you today…guard your heart…guard your soul, and guard your mind.

My main aim of doing the Blaugust challenge was to write about life as I am experiencing it, to share what I have been learning of late, and I truly appreciate every support that I have received with my posts.

It has been so overwhelming; the joy that I have found from your responses to my posts! With every +1, and every share, every comment, and every read…my posts have been shared to so many other social platforms, and your kindness has brought smiles to my eyes. Some people whom I have met personally have told me that they read faithfully, and that my words are loved by them? I am truly humbled,  am grateful!
I started out this blaugust challenge, believing that the pen is mightier than the sword…and so I wanted to speak out whether there was an audience or not…it really didn’t matter…not having an audience did not matter. But I’m glad and grateful that there was an audience either way, and I appreciate that deeply…I appreciate your support deeply!

I hope most importantly though, that my words this month have challenged you, to remember your dream, and to keep it alive…trust at all times that when you are going through a certain struggle, you are not alone, it is not permanent, and your life (or dream) is not over. Let your life be open to the lessons of the process, and believe at all times that the Orchestrator of your life is always in control.

I learned from one genius Mr. (please follow his whacko group of blogs), how to make it easier for my readers to access my posts. I agreed with him last year that I’d always steal this genius idea of his as often as is possible. So here goes my theft; I made especially for you, a collection of all my blaugust posts…it is a blogger’s job to make sure that all posts are read, no? Well, do stop by this space of mine, as often as you can, even beyond the blaugust.  


Have a fabulous day, have a great month! Goodbye August, hello September. Make it a good one!

Remember Your Dream: The collection

Remember your dream: The Eleven




It is a Blogger's job to get people reading her posts. Therefore, in that spirit of creative ways to do so, here's the collection. Eleven of them? I'm in awe...thank- you everyone, for the little smiles that you've put on my face with your unrelenting support, I deeply appreciate your love and support during this Blaugust. 
Thank- you as well, to the genius mind behind this idea...I did warn you that I'd steal it, no? So here goes my theft;
Remember your dream: Vol. 1- I Will Use What Works for Me
Remember your dream: Vol. 2- I Don't Mind the Wait
Remember your dream: Vol. 3- It's a Place of Strategy, not Surrender
Remember your dream: Vol. 4- I Will Gratitude My Way Out
Remember your dream: Vol. 5- I'll Grow Through, not Just Go through
Remember your dream: Vol. 6- I Refuse to Chai My Way Out
Remember your dream: Vol. 7- Focus!
Remember your dream: Vol. 8- True Identity
Remember your dream: Vol. 9- Let the Hero Rest
Remember your dream: Vol. 10- Life is...
Remember your dream: Vol. 11- Choose Gratitude Again

Saturday, 27 August 2016

Remember Your Dream: Vol. 11

Street Art: creating art for the people, in public spaces. Image via shareable.net


Today’s thought: choose gratitude again.

Come along with me, let me hold your hand and lead you.

I’d love for you to come along with me outside the box…let’s walk off from the framed photo, the photo of your life as is known to you.

To clear your perspective, so that you’re able to see the bigger picture, and even further, to things happening outside that picture…to things happening in the background…

In the secret chambers…outside the battle field,

Outside the box,

For that is where the Orchestrator of your life lives.

Your reality is really small, in comparison to the work that the Orchestrator of your life is doing.

Though the darkness is so thick, choose trust, choose hope, and choose gratitude.

See the thing is, in a life of faith, the road is usually lighted just far enough, for you to see one step ahead…not the whole journey; for you to make that one step, a step at a time. Ask therefore, for enough strength…just enough to take you through today.

Though your soul is in chaos, and your heart is in turmoil, choose gratitude…

Though your heart is breaking, into a million little pieces, choose gratitude…

Though your mind has no answers…just questions, unanswered questions, things unsaid yet remaining painfully unsettled, and you keep feeling as if you’re constantly releasing rhetoricals, choose gratitude…

For though the struggle is so real for you? Outside the box, outside the photo of your life as is known to you? The reality as you know it is unbelievably small in comparison to the work going into your life.

Failure, loss, delay, defeat…confusion has set in…but you still have a choice. You? Do not have to reside in it…in confusion, or in bitterness. Choose gratitude, choose trust, and choose hope…

Trust His perspective; trust the Orchestrator of you life’s perspective remembering that He dwells outside the box, and He saw the end before it even began, before all this chaos began.

And you dwell inside the box, seeing these mountains that seem hard to scale, impossible to surmount…feeling like a lion that is trapped in a cage, or a beautiful eagle that long forgot how to soar.

If you were able to see the whole complete picture…the beauty of the unadulterated picture of your life? You would thank the Orchestrator of your life for putting you exactly where you are right now…

But I know that you can’t see that picture…you only see just what is in the frame. And that is why I challenge you to try gratitude despite of…

To try gratitude because you trust His perspective.

It’s a rough test, a test of your ability to hope, a test of faith.

But life is about faith, by faith you believe in things you cannot see.