… I did not know, but I am a Princess. You never treated me like one and I never demanded my royal treatment, but I am still a Princess. I rarely feel like one, but that takes away not the fact, I am still a Princess.

A beautiful Princess I am, a stunning one indeed. But how do I make myself believe I am one, when I was never told, never treated like one? I must tell myself everyday, every minute I must remind myself. I must behave like one, I must think like one, I must train myself, I must school myself to be that which I am already.

I am a rich beautiful Princess, but no one told me I am rich, no one treated me like a rich beautiful Princess. So I did not know I am rich, I did not behave rich, I did not think rich. I behave poor, I think poor. I had a poor person’s outlook, but I am a rich beautiful Princess. My core feels poor, my being feels poor, but I am a rich beautiful Princess. How do I convince myself I am a rich beautiful Princess? I must tell myself over and over again, I must remind myself over and over again. I must unlearn the ways of a poor person. I must embrace the life of a rich beautiful Princess. But I don’t feel comfortable amongst wealth! I am still a rich beautiful Princess irrespective of my level of comfort. I am what I am, not what I think or what I feel. I am what is true. The truth is that I am a rich beautiful Princess.

I am a free rich beautiful Princess. I am not a slave. How can I be? I am truly free in every way, but why do I feel otherwise? Because someone told me that I am not free and I believed! I am truly free and the world is my oyster. Why do I tread like a stranger, like an alien, like a prisoner, like an outsider, like an imposter in the world, when the world is my palace?because someone told my otherwise and I believe. I must believe the truth, I must tell myself the truth, I must live and walk the truth, because I am truly a free, rich beautiful Princess. Princess is who I am, not who I ascribe to be. I am already. I must remind myself, I really must!

I am a strong, healthy, free, rich beautiful Princess. But why do I free so weak and tired? Why do I feel worn and drained? I am regal, elegant and strong. I must be what I am. What I am I must be. I must reach deeper and be what lies beneath what I have accepted. I must shed the dross, I must reveal the truth that I am. I must scrub off the dirt, I must remove the weakness, I must take off the slack, I must take off the dead skin. Who I am not I must not accept. Who I am I must be!

I am a strong, healthy, free rich beautiful princess.

I am a Princess!

… ideas or goals to the brain are like leather to the elves. Lay it out on the table (write it out clearly) and let the brain go to work while you sleep. Wake up to a finished product, well, maybe not exactly finished, but the brain will throw out some possible suggestion on the means of accomplishnent.

… “are you angry, Lord?” I ask. “No” was the answer I got and He smiled. But why did I think you were angry with me? I asked. Because the messenger said so, but did they really say so? okay maybe not in those exact words, but they look angry, they talk angry, they write angry. I felt you couldn’t be happy with me, if the messages are angry. “Maybe I haven’t sent them” I heard. Maybe a man’s representation of God is a reflection of his own soul. His own inner man. Maybe the God we see and present is a reflection of who we are. A loving man presents a loving God, an angry man presents an angry God, a forgiving man presents a forgiving God. A judgemental man presents a judgemental God etc.

Who we are is based on what we think and believe and what we believe is based on what we feed on.

… some people are outright prejudiced, racist as hell and we know, the stench of their ignorance hits from afar. They avoid you and you avoid them. They have no use for you and you have no use for them. There is no common ground, no seeing eye to eye. Each live and let live. Not sure what nature their racism bear, I would not want to be alone with them in a dark alley at night, I feel not safe, as simple as that.

Racism was never about hatred of another but about the deep inferiority complex that eats up the racist, the distorted sense of self, the lack of any form of efficacy that means he only feels a sense of lift when he tramples on another. The self is so low to the ground that the only way to get a temporary lift is to flaunt and enslave another. It was never hatred of the enslaved, it was always about hatred of his very own self. He can not live in peace, he is troubled from deep within, so he had to work out his troubled mind by suppressing other, yet he gets not comfort or respite from the evil that torments him from within. He multiplies evil upon evil, yet he is not cleansed. He amass wealth, ill gotten wealth through the life, sweat and blood of those he enslaved, yet he is never rich and he is more enslaved than the slaves he bought, he is enslaved with invisible chains that holds him bound day and night. No peaceful man goes and trouble another man, only a trouble man does that! No man at peace with himself goes into another man’s territory and defraud him and plunder him. It is not a sign of power or superior intelligence but a sign of torment, inner torment that knows no relinquishing.

The outright prejudiced one, I get! The subtle ones, the ones with just a streak can be quite troublesome. The ones that invite you in and play with you, but half way through the play can not help but needing to pump up the deflating self and clear the biased throat must spit out a prejudiced phlegm. Why must you rubbish another? sing it from the rooftop if you and yours are truly better? The answer is simple, the confused self has no resting ground, no sacred temple, no assured place and must always seek to displace and possess, yet he finds no rest, his house he must return to and tidy up, his inner soul he must reach deep into and build up.

No man is inferior to you and no man must empty himself of who he is to ensure your comfort. You must find your comfort. You must dig deep, all the way to your foundation and build yourself from bottom up. Chopping branches from another tree and attaching it to your weak root will not fortify you.

As the little leaven leavens the whole loaf and dead fly in the apothecary oil causes it to send forth a stinking savour, so is foolishness in him that is suppose to be wise. Prejudice is nothing but foolishness and that foolishness, that streak of prejudice in an otherwise beautiful relationship ruins it.

Just remove the log in your eye, before attempting to remove the speck in another. Work on yourself, find your beauty and rid yourself of the streak and you can see other’s beauty.

… it is my birthday, I just turned ageless! Biological or chronological, there is a number but mentally, psychologically, there is no number, but why? How?

I remember growing up, when I want to try certain new things, I am told, that I am too young, an answer I always find disappointing, especially if I feel I am ready and could do whatever it was, but still I took courage, that it was just a matter of time, then I will reach the required age. This went on and I kept getting ‘you are too young’ for this or that, so I held back my hand. Then one day, I tried to do the same thing again and surprise, surprise, I got a different answer, actually a totally opposite answer, this time around, “I was too old!” Hold on! How did that happen? When did I move from being too young to too old? When was I the ‘right age’ to do what I wanted to do? How come nobody told me that I had reach the right age? And now there is nothing to look forward to, I can not reduce my chronological age once ‘too old’. I had hope when I was too young, I could grow older, but nobody grows younger. Hope was snatched from me, with the “too old” verdict!

Age is a ploy, a deterrent to prevent us from doing what we ought or need to do. It is like time watching, weather gazing or train spotting. Ecclesiastes tells us that he who watches the wind will not plant and he who looks at the clouds will not reap. He who stands there watching and noting the trains, never takes a ride. He who forever checks the weather forecast never gets out of the house. A moderate consciousness of age to enable wise precaution is in order, however a paralysing attitude that prevents the weather gazer from leaving the house can also prevent the age gazer from taking any action.

The story is told, true or not, I am unable to verify, but the moral of the story is solid. That when putting together the female band ‘Spice Girls’ one of the girls was asked, “how old are you?” Her answer was a question, packed full of wisdom “what age do you need me to be?” Now, you can’t beat that! It is not about chronological age, that is a hindrance, it is about getting the job done. The age that gets the job done is the age we need to be. We need to loosen the rigid band that holds us bound to a certain age and in turn resticts our flexibility of what we can do or not do. Most of the time, we can still do what needs to be done, but we believe at a certain age we can’t or ought not. What different ‘being’ we would be, if we don’t continually restrict ourselves by our chronological age? Flexing is possible, we are encourage to grow up, be mature or to be like children. We can swing either way, within reason, we can be young at heart or we can have a head that is beyond our age.

‘Age is just a number’ they say and maybe the statement holds a lot of truth. We are as old or as young as we feel and possibly think. We have all heard about mid life crisises, men, women reaching a certain age, suddenly realising they haven’t reached the pinnacle they thought they would have reached by whatever age, and then sink into depression, anxiety or some other unpalatable state. The thought in my mind is that if this age bar, milestone does not exist, people might experience some discomfort or slight frustration of taking longer than expected to reach certain goals, however the whole mid life crisises might be non existent. There might not just be any crisises, just blips along the way.

I am of the opinion that if we stop doing age the way we generally do it, there will be a lot more productivity and more will get accomplished and people might just live a more fulfilling life until it is time to say Adieu. Some people reach a certain age and they literally start ‘packing up’ whilst there is still a lot of life left in the old dog. Our society is riddled with ageism, ignorantly and unpleasantly dismissing people once they reach certain age of being unsuitable for this or that. I remember I was trying to change career, and after my studies I sent out my CV, got a call from a recruitment agent and whilst going through my CV he went, ” oh! and you are the big ‘3’ ‘O'” the way he said it, you would have thought I committed the unthinkable crime turning 30. It was not a football career or something where physical strength was required, so in retrospect, I can’t understand his point, but this is some of the stupidity and craziness of society we always have to contend with.

I guess, each man or woman must make a deliberate choice not to be discounted. Life is for living and whilst the young shall grow and there is life in the old dog we must keep going and giving. Society must not dictate when we start or stop giving as long as there is substance in the barrel. And if we have to scrape the bottom of the barrel, so be it. No point in kicking the bucket until it is empty.

It is not about how old we are, it is about how old we need to be to get the job done or more importantly, it is about becoming ageless and getting on with it.

Remove the shackles of age! Be ageless!

… healing takes time, it is a process.

So the big guns at work wanted to see me. I did a quick scan in my head to see if I had done anything wrong, everything seem Kosher, all my ‘i’ s have been dotted, ‘t’ s cross. I think I am good. So it must be the long awaited promotion, about time I am made a partner, especially if it is going to happen in this life time.

So I went in, scanned the room and strategically choose my seat. I am not sure what this meeting is about. I needed to position myself in the most power enabling position. They all looked a bit morose, I couldn’t tell if it was sincere or an act. The said there was an incident, sonething the take vety seriously, a racial incident! One of our client had made a prejudiced racial remark about me.

My initial reaction (in my head) was to laugh, I was amused at what seemed hypocritical, given that the establishment itself is considerably racially tense. They went on about how aghast they were at what had happen and what was said and blah blah blah. I was not too sure what the expected from me, given at some level such behaviour was my stable diet even within the establishment.

All, I could say was ‘it is a journey’. They weren’t expecting that, so I managed to get their action, not sure if they expected me to be hot amd bothered. The racial atrocities that is the very dark part of the history of our society has improved and is improving, no doubt, but we are not anywhere near an equal society in spite of all the equal opportunity rhetoric. It is still a process and a journey, the healing in the heart and minds of the oppressed and victimised is also a process. We all need to be honest, sincere and truthful, being willing and prepared to look deep within ourselves for the light that shines and eradicates evil.

Some argue that the progress we see is insincere and we must forever put before our eyes the evil that was committed as a reminder. I must disagree with this approach, healing, restoration is what we seek amd that we must continually put before our eyes but without denying or pretending that our past and current pains are non existent.

Healing is a journey, it rarely happens overnight or is instantaneous, racial healing is the same. We must all give the process time without relenting in our effort to see and live a better world, hold on to Mr Luther ‘s dream.

… it is getting dark and the clouds are gathering and we wonder if we will make it home before it gets too dark and the clouds open up to pour down.

We are walking as fast as we can, planning as best as we know, routing to the best of our ability, being as patient as we know, holding the dream, keeping the faith, maintaining the confessions, visualising the goal, affirming as taught, praying without ceasing, keeping the heart steady, doing all to stand, yet it is getting dark and we wonder if we will make it home.

There are a number of camps, shelters, good Samaritans and not so good Samaritans by the way, the buses are still running and there is shelter at the bus stops, the train stations are not closed either. A few places open late, some stay open over night. Maybe we should stop and take a break as it is getting late and dark and the clouds are gathering? Or maybe we should settle, build a tabernacle right where we are and nest for good.

The journey is hard and difficult, the soul is weary and tired, the heart is struggling but home sweet home! The thought of home brings a smile to the face and chills down the spine. Home, the place where the heart is, where rest is assured, where harmony is guaranteed, where peace reigns, where serenity is the order of the day, where the heart is at rest, the toil stops, the strive ends. There, their is understanding, connection, bonding, fulfilment, contentment and uniting. Vision is fulfilled at home, goals accomplished, the deep longings of the soul are met. Home, the south that every soul longs for! But it is getting dark, would we make it home?

Hold on! For the race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong. Just hold on, for chance happens to all!

I will get home, you will get home!

I got home! Did you?

… you can’t touch it, you can’t reason with it, you can’t calm it, you can’t soothe it, you can’t pacify it, you can’t resolve it, you can’t work it out, you can’t rationalise it, you can’t talk to it, you can’t explain it, you can’t counsel it, you can’t clarify it, you can’t please it, you can’t satisfy it, you can’t do anything for it or to it, you can’t tame it, you can’t figure it out, you just have to leave.

It makes no sense, it does not add up, it does not work, the mystery can’t be solved, the puzzle will never fit or be finished, the program will never work, the app will not run, the conflict with not be resolved, there is no consistency, there is nothing or no one to appeal to, there is no better side, no conscience, no nothing, it is weird, it is odd, it is irregular, it has no pattern, no order, no logic, it is restless, uncanned, it wouldn’t fit, it can’t fit.

You have done all you know to stand, but it wouldn’t allow you to stand, as much as it lied in your power, you have tried to live in peace, but it knows no peace. You have come in peace but it has rejected your peace, you must dust your feet and leave.

You can’t sleep with it, because it has no intention to sleep, it can’t sleep, it toss and turns all night, it kicks, screams, talks, pulls the blanket, moans and groans etc. You must pack your blanket and leave.

You can’t hate it, for there is nothing to hate, you can’t love it either, for it is unloveable. You can’t judge it, for you didn’t create it. You can only let it be. And when you have to, only in small dosages can you tolerate it.

When you are gone, don’t try to make sense of what happened, there is no sense in it, don’t recount and try to string it together, it does not hold up. Don’t try to analyse it, it does not meet any criteria. Don’t try to unravel, unpack or unpick it, it has no point, no core, no clue. The sum has no solution, the incident has no purpose, the mystery has no solution, the murderer can not be found, the recipe does not work. The whole thing has no use, the only lesson from it, is to know when to leave, when to pack it in, when to give no more attention, when to give no thought. Relationship with some people are as such!

Detach, you can’t touch it, just let it be! Pray!

… Dad had his favourite seat, everyone in the family knew that and no one sits there, it is as simple as that. This was the unspoken rule in our family, you just knew. When Dad gets back from work, this is where he plunks himself, settles in, reads the broadsheet, listens to the news, listens to the family, have his drink and most nights doze off before retiring to bed. Visitors are not allowed or should I say not expected to sit on Dad’s seat either. To prevent the unexpected happening, when a guest arrives and we suspect the unexpected might happen, we the kids always do a rehearsed little dance around the unsuspecting guest to prevent him plunking himself in the ‘wrong’ seat, and so far we have been successful and avert ‘disaster’. Our guest is usually steered to a more appropriate seat, once sitted the weird dance stops and all is good.

On one particular occasion, not sure if the kids were not around or we could not muster ourselves to do the dance. An unsuspecting guest sat in Dad’s seat! Now that was a visit I will not forget in a hurry, the poor soul got the ‘evil look’ all through his stay. We were still talking and doing everything we ought to do with our guest, but the whole family including Dad kept giving him the ‘how dare you sit there’ look! I am sure the poor soul could tell something was amiss. But if you don’t know, you don’t know. Dad had to sit some where else and he had the look of someone kitted out in the wrong size clothing.

Something else happened on another fateful day, Dad called that he was running 45 minutes or so late from work due to one thing or another. I had finished all my chores, homework was all done, face all cleaned and I found myself alone in the living room. My fellow partner in crime (siblings) were engaged in other crimal activities (such as messing up their bedroom) around the house. I was idle, we all know the saying about the idle hand! I stared at Dad’s seat, Dad’s seat stared back at me! There was a dilemma, should I? should I not? The allure was over powering, my little self cound not resist, I did the unthinkable, yes I did! I sunk my little frame into Dad’s seat!!!! And as I landed, suddenly everything made sense, the seat was comfortable at a level I did not know comfort existed. It was a bit on the big side, but not withstanding it was an eye opening, intensely enjoyable experience. I felt a combination of feelings at the same time, I felt powerful, protected, shielded, comfortable and of course naughty, the exhilaration of doing something I know I am not supposed to be doing. As I settled myself in, I warned myself that it must be a very brief visit and I must get up promptly but I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into the seat and drifting from one sweet day dream to another. I knew I had to get up before I was caught, the spirit was truly willing but the body was tremendously weak. I couldn’t help thinking about my normal seat which was until now satisfying and comfortable. In my mind, as I sat in Dad’s seat, my own seat felt inadequate, uncomfortable and unsuitable, I felt like a man that had eaten the forbidden fruit and is now doomed! I have knowledge and awareness now, the era of blissful ignorance is banished! As I muster every single strength in my little body and got out of Dad’s seat, I knew life would never be the same, my seat will never be as comfortable as before, I can not keep sneaking to sit at Dad’s seat either. There is only one thing to do, I must grow up, then one day, yes one day, which is a long distance away, I will become a Dad and I will have my Dad’s seat and I can sit in it without any guilt, but until then, I must find it in myself to be content with what is mine as I grow myself.

The plight of the diaspora is a very similar story. Whilst I will not get into how we have come to be in Dad’s seat. The fact remains, for some of us, even if it is not for all, that the comfortable seat we found ourselves in is not truly ours yet, we need to get back to our seat, do our own growing up and then we can legitimately occupy our own Dad’s seat. This is not about the individual who has already paid his due, but about the collective responsibility of a people to pay their dues.

For the diaspora, Dad is coming back home soon. Maybe it is time we start to adjust our mind to return to our own seat and know that the day will come when we can truly occupy that which no man can ask us to get up from.

This applies not just to the diaspora but to everyone that temporarily occupies ‘Dad’s seat’ whatever that might be or mean to us.

Let each man do his own growing up and then ocuppy!

“… he that curse the start of the journey is unlikely to reach the destination and if he does, might not enjoy the sight”

In my younger years, I was such a daredevil, take me to any of these entertainment parks, and I eye the most dangerous and daring rides, those were the ones of interest to me. However a change happened as I grew older, a change I did not see coming. I am now the person that preferred to haul all the bags and water bottles why others go on the rides, I would rather sit this ride out, and that ride and even that one etc, and if allowed my way, I will prefer to sit out the whole going to the Amusement park! The point is, I am hardly ever amused going there now, I find the whole experience a bit torturous, starting from the planning, I always feel they are way too expensive for what they are worth, I never like the crowd, the exorbitant unhealthy cheaply prepared food and snack is always a put off, don’t get me started on the queues, there is always a couple really annoying people on it. And when it is your turn, you are rushed on to the rides, by some over worked underpaid staff, the doors or bars slam shut like prison doors and off you go on a stomach churning experience termed ‘amusement’ or ‘entertainment’. I come off those rides now, questioning the meaning of life and the reason why so much time, money and effort is put into pleasure when somewhere in the world, loads of people are suffering and can barely feed themselves.

The night before going to these parks, the little ones are so excited, they can hardly sleep, I don’t sleep either, but for totally different reasons, I tend to dread the experience, feeling incredibly apprehensive but always manage to hide my feelings and put on a happy front.

On the few occasions I do not succeed in sitting it out and I have to go on a ride, After each ride, I always come out, looking like someone that has just been in one of Dr Who’s experiment, trudging along, muttering “never again!” under my breath! Whereas my little one is hopping along, super excited, can’t wait to get on the next ride, simply having the time of life.

It never cease to amaze me, that in the same park, same rides, there is the melancholic experience of grumpy old me and the exciting, exhilarating experience of my little ones. I have always wondered where such a difference comes from. It is actually quite simple, it is our expectations, our attitudes. Life is just exactly the same, some approach life with gusto and child like innocence and excitement and others approach life with the heaviness and drudgery of a grumpy old woman and we all reap accordingly.

Life is a journey and if we curse the start (or any part ) of the Journey with our negative thoughts and attitudes, we are unlikely to make the destination (of fulfilment).

Bless the Journey!