Before the numbness decimates

All alone in his confines he struggles tossing and turning aimlessly. Nothing seems to be going right. All the spent his time chasing, all he thought he needed, all he endlessly craved for, all he thought he needed to be happy he doesn't have. But he is still alive, breathing the same walking, talking. Nothing's changed. All the things he thought he would be missing out on now seem juvenile. Is this what they call growing up?

Has age finally caught up? He is numb, no feelings even disturbingly towards himself. No room for you, you or even you. A hardened soul a result of journey covered so far. On that has brought with it many battles, many lessons and revealed countless realities. It has by no means been easy, many a comrade have fallen by the way side unable to discern reality and fiction; unable to place themselves in the present and how it relates to them. They feel lost, misplaced and crave to be elsewhere, where the reality they perceive to be less cloudy; less ambiguous. They forget mankind is himself ambiguous, an enigma to himself. To appreciate these simple facts is the beginning of life. Not everything was meant to be understood, not every task was meant to be completed, and not every soul was meant to be at peace for only death brings peace. From the womb to the ground is a constant battle only survived by the unrelenting.

To toil is to be human. The ironies of life; ask towards more questions; keep looking for more answers the more answers you get; to keep working towards rest. These are the days, filled with disillusionment, only the hands of time hold the answers to the hard questions the solid truths and the inevitable actions. He hold out clinging to hopes of seeing a brighter tomorrow. That time will find him ready; that time will find him waiting is all that he prays for. Before the numbness decimates him irreparably.

If you don't see them on the other side

The Nights turn to days an the days turn to nights. Its not as easy as it was meant to be. Thoughts ravage the deeper echelons, disturbing all peace and serenity. Its not fair keeping the soul in limbo waiting for the final verdict; an uncertain truth whose arrival is even more ambiguous. The situation sanctions it, there's no other way. No better way. It has to be done this way. It has to be done now. The torturous quest to discover the truth, the light and the path to fulfill the purpose.

The past, a mirror to the present cannot be ignored in this endevour. Providing objectivity to clear the blinding mist that impairs sound judgement pertaining the present. But there are proponents for and against. Caught between a rock and a rock only their shape can tell them apart.

A final result, a final decision lies even further away than at the beginning of the quest. With palms enjoined, the giver of all knowledge and wisdom is consulted. There must be an answer; the chapter must come to a close. Patience is golden; deep understanding is platinum. Only time will tell where the verdict lies. The tunnel is darker than darkness, the light nowhere in sight.

They can only hope you will understand if you don't see them on the other side.

Until next season

By now you are probably wondering what next, he doesn't call you anymore. You had fun; he said he had fun as well. So why the silence? Did you read it wrong? Did he lie about what an awesome time he has with you? It was the start of something special, you sat together chatting about all the things you like to do, the places you like to do and the people you hang with. But wait a minute, were you keen. Did he open up to you? Just how much of him do you actually know? You basically do all the talking and when you aren't talking there’s an awkward deafening silence. You always seem to be locked indoors, that’s the only time he seems to enjoy. That’s him, the seriously honest him. Away from the noise, the clatter of human kind’s vocals; tranquility is golden. Trust me, you are lucky to be included; he definitely thinks you have earned it. At this point it’s for you to trash. You have him to yourself; you have him in his most natural environment. This is the real him; no pretense whatsoever.

But you are not content. You think you want him, but not what he is about. Contentment is a distant abyss. You long for the alternation of a tranquil soul. How then do you expect satisfaction? He is happy as is but you are not. At this point, the only way you will have happiness is if he is sad. Your happiness depends on him being a different person; more like what you cherish. Why then did you start what you can’t seem to control. Were in your right senses. He has always been like this from the very beginning. What caught your eye initially seems to have withered away. His looks, sense of style, worldly possession and common interests, among other things that sweep you off your feet and into a fantasy that only you controls are now all gone with the wind. Reality checks in without warning and your make-believe shredded to smithereens. Oh, how quickly our interests change when as we inevitably bud.

Suddenly you don’t think that was it, it’s not what the script says; it looks nothing remotely like it. You no longer want him around, he’s no fun. There is grass on the other side. It seems better than greener; it actually breathes an aura of edibility. That is where you long to vacate to, where there’s excitement; never a dull moment in fantasy land. Conversations with him become agonizing; he tries his best to see the good in the situation but you are so bored. It shows from all the rain checks to the shallow conversations marred by crystal clear indifference.

It’s time to cut his losses. You no longer hold a place in his seclusion. He is used to being alone; it’s just another season in his life cycle. Unfortunately for you. When he does cut his losses, he does it for real. He does fully. He loathes ambiguity at this point. His reclusive state is a way of life, enjoyable even. That’s where he will be, at least until his next season. This one’s over.

Your mantle awaits

Dawn comes and there’s an airiness in the mind body and soul. Rifling the deepest stratum of the mind in search of a reason to leave the comfort of your unimaginably comfy cotton eiderdowns. It has come to that; we have a problem. The only reason you can come up with is “I need the money”. Alas!

That time has come, out the window lies all that makes your heart sing; all that is just, all that arouses infinite passion from the bowels of your very being. The chance is there for you to take, but you won’t. It’s safer, less boisterous to sit back and be who they want you to be. But that is not who you are; that is not who he introduced you to be. You try, toil, and bear the brunt off all that comes with this apathy and more. I wish I could, I wish I were, if only there was. Quit whining, nobody owes you a thing, the world doesn't really care. Off your behind then, take a glance at yesterday, work on your today and silhouette tomorrow. You are your own cheerleader. The folly of belittling oneself; ensuring stagnation of even the strongest of beings. They will only back you in the direction you choose to go; they will only back you when the results begin to show. Everyone wants to be associated with success never mind that they don’t contribute one ounce. It’s all up to you, to determine the tempo and the result. Pick up the mantle and wade the wilderness of the unfamiliar. Take courage in the fulfillment of the purpose for which you exist. For in the midst of adversity, arise the most seasoned, rounded and grounded souls giving hope and security to those that need it the most.

Be of courage today and step out from the shadows of mediocre existence and walk the tight rope to the promised land. Receive it; guard it jealously for it is a blessing to not only you but to the world. Intricately connected, we all have a part to play in maintaining balance, harmony and progress.

Your mantle awaits; commit to it today.

The spell to fly

Pick a side! A genuine side, one that elicits a deep satisfaction and inner peace. A serine place where the only way is up. Does it exist?

Week long, preparing for the weekend, preparing for the fat lady to sing. The sound of her voice all too familiar, singing in your favour is your ultimate desire. With gear in place, the task is at hand, no turning back now. It’s here; it’s now! Cheers both pro n anti fill the air she starts to sing the target in mind but have we all turned the page? The page with the script, the script resulting from a firm conviction; a belief that is the embodiment of sacrifice.

Left to right the script shapes the chase; the chase for the gadget the one thing they channel their energies toward and without which there is emptiness. Nothing is a definite science. The situation and the mind will at their convergence dictate the result. There’s no drilling decision making. The fundamentals and the years with a sprinkle of mental serenity and seasoned ingenuity determine all outcomes. Go on and yell, go on and curse, pile a little more pressure to the volatile mix. Remember the fat lady? She is on the prowl; go on and help her slaughter the soldier and devour the army.

The true test is in the mentor remaining cool, calm and collected. The prodigy has been schooled and knows a thong from a boxer but even more, a knife from a blade. Calm your intestines lest they burst through the nearest exit. There will be sunshine, there will be rain but all culminate into lessons, improving on the years, upgrading the flesh to gladiator status. This is Sparta! The king is in the midst of his army, never on a pedestal. Into the fray, deeply saturated with fellow emotions; the journey is ours, each and every one of us! The weakest link not the individual but the army’s thoughts. Are they weak in the mind? Are they already defeated long before the royal rumble?

The king, the ultimate inspiration when all else seems vanity. To tenaciously stand tall, courageous and relentlessly optimistic that in fact his army has it; the drive, oomph, experience, focus towards the ultimate kick that sends jubilation across the arena and a shine on the mantel piece. The fat lady has sung her last on the day.

Put your hands up in the sky; this is the spell to fly!

The adventures continue

A nice cozy evening and the usual suspects are having a hangout at ground zero. How time has passed yet nothing much seems to have changed. Reminiscing on yester years the laughter, the revelations and outright face palm moments take center stage.

Flash back 4 years ago, when life was as simple as farting after a meal; in the absence of your crush of course.  3 days of sanity, engaged albeit a few hours when the unforgiving sun scotches the land. The minds hotwired; skimming off mediocrity and imparting maturity and with it some semblance of sanity. Be strong, the 4 day weekend is fast approaching, the great trek down to where the mouth waters at the thought of the pilgrimage. The shallow assortment notwithstanding, the register will record their presence. For hours on end, in total disregard for the dark trek back they make merry way past curfew. But they are hungry, they won’t sleep hungry. Where will they quench their hunger?  

The lights go out albeit momentarily to the slurred jeers from the usual suspects. Oblivious of the warning from the register holder, they come back on to a hearty jubilation. Moments later, the music stops, scampering at the entrance, facing the back, totally aloof of the new developments. He glances over his shoulder to a 6 ft and heavy. Glass in one hand and the 750 kill me quick in the other, there will be no waste! Bursting through the back door, left is not an option. To the right, the vegetation tasked with keeping intruders at bay seems the best alternative; it’s either that or the slammer. The jump from the inebriated is more like the charity sweep stake. The leading foot does not think his counterpart should follow, stuck in the heap becoming one with the flora. Just then the slammer express pulls up casting an unfriendly beam. Wading like a reptile, concealing everything possible lying stiller than photo. They walk right over, two of them, the law and the unfortunate purp. Minutes pass and there engine begins to roar, the beam gets ever dimmer and when calmness begins to set in, laughter erupts. oh the irony, he thought he was alone; where did everybody go? Nowhere apparently, just out of sight joining the flora or cozying up the sand. goodness me, damn there were times!

Kill me quick in hand; their rubber appendages begin an exodus. Just another day in the life of the members; register marked another tantalizing story for the archives, never mind the garments will never be worn again. They are young; the future will take care of itself. The party don’t stop, doing a pap of honour around the usual hotspots. Kill me quick has to do just that even if it means death at dawn. The grinding the bending the twer…oh sorry that wasn't invented yet; well into the morning.

Fast forward back to the present; the adventures continue.

The question elicits the answer

What’s worth the prize is worth the fight. But what happens when the price is just too high to pay? She angrily utters, delete my number as the last strokes of his less than adequate comb go through her semi natural hair. A night of intense pleasure culminating in a feud ignited by shoddy planning. It wasn't supposed to be like that. Oh really, how was it supposed to go? Smooth? Without incident? For how long and at what expense?

Flash back to last night. She came over, dripping lusciously you couldn't help yourself. She walks ever so elegantly, strutting and oozing confidence. The temperature regulator within has no answer, a gusty rise briskly sweeping all common sense down to only one organ which overwhelmed by the experience refuses to remain aloof. Peace be with all who at this point think the man is ready and willing to partake of all that is sinful. For these are the men of valor never mind we no longer live in the garden of uttermost sound judgment. Late into the night parties match tip for deep, exploring anatomies deeper than  a med. school practical. With no care in the world, the here and now, up and down left to right sweat sopping, hearts pounding. Need I say more?

Back to the present. What happened? Why Him? Why her? Why then? If no her then who? The questions molest the mind. Who better to answer than the man? They call him the head of the home, so how come he has no answers? An error in judgment leading to a demolition of trust, values and a sense of self-worth. How quickly the skies turn grey right when the glaring sun begins to tan. The more questions he answers the clearer things seem to be, fears confirmed and insecurities reaffirmed. Inside, he will always be hanging from a thread with his heart’s iron ready to remind him at the slightest provocation and outside, the ever looming threat of forever wallowing in self-pity. Even with radar, they lose their way completely, what of the flight without?

Wading through the earth with thoughts of tomorrow, souls ravaged yesterday and an unsettling present day the man is only a man. The struggle is real! Doors have to close and new ones opened. But does he need to reopen some as well? A true test of his wisdom will lie there in. Making the choice that takes him to the next level, the next checkpoint on the highway; the highway to the prize. Whether right or wrong, there must be progress. For progress, there must be sacrifice. The price? To hell with the price, life is short and he and every living soul is on a journey with ups and downs, ins and outs. Keep it moving, behind, forward, left, right, whatever way there must be progress. He can’t answer all the questions and neither can you. But we can all keep it moving, keep life interesting and inch ever closer to the ultimate prize.

The question elicits the answer. Which one are you asking?

The Folly of Inappropriate Responses

By now it’s all over, or is it? He woke up at 5 am optimistic of turning over a new leaf but gets confused, his brain cannot process just how quickly the sound of the alarm came. A minute passes and a familiar sound reaches the deeper echelons of his myopic brain. Stretching out his arm, disabling this noisy and intrusive contraption. It will be another hour before a familiar time checks in, 6 am but the snoozing continues well into and beyond the hour. Its 7:17, oh crap! Thoughts of his contractual agreement with the office wade up from the depths of his wits. Springing from the magical pad that makes his slumber to die for and into a frenzied rush to get ready for Mr. Money bag’s duties. Like lightning, 7:31 finds him locking the door to his bachelor pad albeit grudgingly as he looks back at the ever inviting unattended 6 by 6 duvet he leaves behind.

Hopping into the first moving metal contraption and off he goes. Never mind the traffic, he’s already late anyway. Everyone smells so good this morning but no one is smiling. You would think we all have the same issue to deal with. All the yeses turning into feuds and disappointments in the blink of an eye. How did it all come to this? Once timid and soft spoken, now with the ability to feature prominently in their most vivid thoughts; well, sometime at least. Even the most gruesome of acts are committed by the very carriers of precious memories. Focus is off, attending to one simple act of professional process before retreating into a shell, one that oozes dissatisfaction, discomfort and an innate lust for a profound alteration. Time heals all wounds. But what if there is no wound? What’s the cure for discomfort, dissatisfaction? All his actions seem to elicit more and more disillusion on his part and create more foes as it were. There, there, it’s never that serious they say. Just bend over n let your thoughts, feelings and emotions meritoriously bludgeon you 6 ways (he has to watch his English).

Something’s got to give sometime…is this a characteristic example of it’s only a matter of when n not if? Slowly the day goes into overdrive, routine at is best. Forgetting these internal wars for the day. Evening will come and the battle lines drawn. No peace keeping force in sight, the destruction is real. The land is bleeding. The armies are ever growing in strength and stature. The only source of optimism is a light coming from the peep hole; the land will heal. But first, the war must stop. When? As soon as there is balance, good habits, appropriate responses and a clear and undeniable focus. Then and only then!

If you have no answer, don’t say yes!

The Unapproachable Soul

The unapproachable soul, strong physique tough outer shell, keeping all at bay. Faceless with no facial expressions and a less than obvious body language; is he mad, sad or is he just numb? Deep inside, he has no spine, weakened by a definitive lack of peace and tranquility. It’s a war zone in there with no cease fire in sight

How to put words in perspective? A young boy growing up as the baby of the lot. Growing up was not an option, coming hurriedly than normal; no space to enjoy infancy; a skipped stage in the human life cycle. In class, the last born tag maintained, sitting in with much older mates. No time to walk, run or get left behind. A bombardment of emotions, experiences, cultures and perceptions from the older folk with a lesser capacity to process. How then does he fair in this tumultuous space? He walks in silence, retreating and obscuring his own feelings and emotions with a rigid demeanor of composure and balance. Nothing comes in and just the same, nothing comes out. A human volcano…will he erupt?

In due course becoming Mr. Chief Advisor by virtue of experience having journeyed many a path at the expense of his own. The unapproachable tag soon fades once an inviting smile brightens up the inexpressive face, followed in smooth transition by a listening ear and a genuine interest. The clock ticks away and they feel comfortable and safe; they trust him enough to tell him their stories; they give him their lives! His rigid barricade begins to falter, their emotions, dreams, fears; their lives begin to sip through adding to the already disquieting atmosphere within. A release would be ideal but none is forthcoming. Late nights and throughout the sun’s gaze, the unending banter presents more battles for him to fight.

What next? The surrounding influences become him, his sense of right and wrong become his confidants’; he becomes them. But no one lives in another; multiple personalities operationalized from a single source…laughable at the least but it happens more than the ordinary self-righteous judgmental would like to admit. The result? A chameleon soul adapting to what the situation presents having fed on all manner of stimuli from all manner of sources ever on the prowl like a predator lying in wait ready to pounce with lethal precision albeit when the focus is maintained. Mistake are abound in all situations.

The end…his end is imminent but how will it end? Will he end? Disappear in the miasma of indecisiveness crowded out by everyone else’s baggage? Will he sprout and wield the iron fist and continue his plunder of fellow souls? Or will his enough be enough to release the unrelenting pressure on his own soul that ushers in peace surpassing all that is deemed serene?

The greatest responsibility you have towards yourself is to be yourself.