She is here! The guest I have been expecting all these years arrived today. I must admit I had my doubts as to whether she would come or not. No one like her has ever been to my house, so you can imagine my apprehension. I am not sure how to conduct myself, what to wear, how to talk, what food to offer her etc. Don’t get me wrong, I have done my homework but whether I would forget all of that and revert to my comfortable self was what was on my mind.

I didn’t tell you who this person is, she is VIP, eminent woman of means and connection, a high performer, over-achiever, dynamic, vibrant and influential. My nerves were all over the place, I was super excited, heady and giddy, for years I prayed and made request for her arrival. She is here to stay and I wasn’t sure if my abode will be appropriate or sufficient to contain her or even if I wanted her here, she felt different and unfamiliar, but I consoled myself that there will be some adjustments and I will grow into the role. I felt I might not be able to meet up to her standard and I might let her down, again I comforted myself that the purpose of the visit was to help me to grow. The conflict continued in my mind in the same manner that the twins struggled in Rebekah’s womb. It was the struggle between the mature and the naive, the first man and the last man, the wise and the fool, the spiritual and the natural, between the heavenly and the earthly, the renewed self and the unrenewed self, the awoken and the asleep, between the conscious and the unconscious, the aware and the unaware, the flesh and the spirit, between the spirit of Lot’s wife and the spirit of Deborah, between the one that originated from a Hamlet and the one called to influence the world, between the one that was mindful of the country whence she came from and the one that desires a better country, between she that asks for permission to dwell on earth and she that inherits the earth.

My guest was none other than me, my renewed mindset, my promised self, my improved self, my abundant self, my empowered self, my stronger self, my evolved self, the one going into the promised land. The unsure, impoverished, timid, suppressed and unbelieving version of me that has for a long time inhabited my mind, body and spirit was now in battle with the assured, faith filled, opulent blessed self. The needy, nervous, dependent, confused self was now tussling it out with the confident, independent, focused and undistracted self. The child of the bond woman was now struggling with the child of promise. There was only one way to resolve this conflict, the old me has to go into the wilderness in order for the heir to thrive. To ‘become’ I have to put aside my ways and assimilate the ways of the renewed self in the same manner that the French Colonies assimilated the ways of their Colonisers.

I welcome the new me as I start to put the old me and it’s ways away. The guest is here to stay and take full residence. Today I put on the whole armour of the ‘guest’ that I may withstand in the days of terror and smallness. Accepting the awkwardness of the armour I step out purposefully and intentionally. With the arrival of the Spirit of a billionaire I make decisions in keeping with the calling. The calling to be an impact on earth, to be part of the solution to global issues, to lift up the hands and lives of thousands.

With time, discipline and determination, I grew into the role and like Michelle Obama, I ‘became’!

How ‘Nothing’ can be so powerful never ceases to amaze me. The power of the suction, you peep into it and you find nothing, the commotion of the whirlwind, the trauma, the disturbance all arising from the void begging to be filled, demanding that any and every thing be thrown at it to calm it down. How strong are the tentacles of the void as it wraps it’s phalanges around the unaware attempting to stifle life out unless it gets it’s attention, some attention, any attention. It takes a lot of inner strength and fortitude to wait out the storm of the void, that emptiness, the whirlwind. The good news is that the storm does calm, the tantrum has a time limit. It does run its course, it runs out of steam, juice finishes, battery power gets exhausted and then there is calm. But who can withstand in the day of the flurry and stand still, foot rooted, eyes closed, hands wrapped round and the mind stilled? Who can withstand the urge to grab the drug of choice, whatever it might be when the void like a whining child demands immediate gratification.

Our recourse is the awareness and knowledge that this too shall pass. The whirlwind always end, the storm always calm, the tide always recede. The wound ceases to weep one day. We will not always be agitated. If we can struggle through it and hold our mind and self steady through the tunnel of darkness and the ensuing deafening sound of hollowness we will burst out into the calm, the freedom and light of day. We will get back to the smooth ease of the journey where there are no kinks, blockages, distractions, disturbances or potholes, just a smooth easy ride until the next visit from the gripping void. Then we have to fortify our souls again as we travel very slowly through the void tunnel.

The void is the time when nothing makes sense, life taste bland, we are restless, seem to have misplaced our peace, we lack the drive to indulge in our healthy lifestyle and addiction, craziness, unhealthy behaviours, slothfulness and depression all beckons to us with wide open hands. The thrill and lustre have gone out of life and we do not find the passion to make love to life, the neurochemical of life runs still, we do not want to touch and engage with those things that use to lift our souls and that is when we must fake it till we make it. That is when we must continue to get up, dress up and show up for our own survival. That is when we must not deflect, desist, detour or stall, we keep moving and doing the good we know, we keep fanning the fire, we keep ringing the bell, we keep pulling the cord, we keep loving, we keeping doing right and good and one day, one minute, one second when we least expect the fire will re-ignite, the spark will return, the void will be gone and our lust for life will return. We will court, pursue and romance life and the joy and fulfilment of existence is our reality.

Keep doing love!

I have toed the line, crossed my ‘T’s, dotted my ‘I’s, threaded my needle. I have listened, taken notes and done what I have been told, I have laid my bed, folded my socks and tidied my room. I have packed my hair in a bun and brushed it away from my face. I have brushed my teeth for at least 2 minutes using a timer, flossed and used mouthwash. I have respected the elders and obeyed authorities. I have been polite, courteous, considerate and deferent. I have complied, adhered and stood in line. I have kept my hands to my side not allowing them to swing indiscriminately all over the place. I have lowered my gaze when I speak and uttered my words thoughtfully and softly. I have listened, turned the other cheek, been quick to apologise, forgive and make restitution. I have stayed in my lane, knew my place and not strayed from my station in life or become uppity. I have ironed my underwear and ensure I only wear my Sunday best on Sundays. I have never stared or spoken to strangers neither have I peeped through the neighbour’s window even when they refused to have curtains. I have kept my modesty and not looked at the opposite sex. I have not stolen anyone’s boyfriend, husband, friend or anybody’s anything. I have stayed well within the pale and not veered anywhere near the edge. I have been good and called ‘nice’. I have never boasted about what I have or tried to outdo anyone. I have never used my car horn even when the occasion demands neither have I uttered profanity when another vehicle cuts me.

But today it all changes. Sit back in your seats and strap yourselves tight, you knew it was coming, I am sure you did! For today is the day of the rebel! I am sure you knew I will not always do what I am told, I will not always listen, I will not always comply or lower my gaze, I will raise my voice and my gaze. I will break it all off, tear myself out of it and go right outside the pale. I will not take a single note, I will slouch in my seat, pick my nose and make strange noises. I will not conform or comply, I will not stay in my station for that does not exist, the whole world is my station. I will pursue my own happiness and not societal conformity. I will validate my thoughts and views and not trade my pain cheaply. I will no longer suppress my bleeding in order to protect your sensibilities, the gory details of all your misdemeanours and maltreatment will be exposed for all the world to see. I will pump, puff and flaunt for it is my day, it is the day of the Gorilla (take that as you like), it is the day of beating my chest, it is the day of the Rebel!

But today I still will not take what is not mine, today I still will not hurt another man, today I still will not vandalise, today I still will not lie, today I still will not abuse my body, today I still will not abuse my mind, today I still will not abuse my spirit, today I still will not abuse my maker, today I still will not abuse the earth I dwell on, today I still will not call black white or white black, today I will still work hard, today I will still be disciplined, today I will still apply grit to my craft, today I will still be fair, today I will still not be a hypocrite. Today I will still be good but NOT nice or gentle for today is the roaring day of the Rebel.

Take it or leave it!

PS was tempted to change the first person noun to third person pronouns but thought “what the heck?” We can’t live all our lives watching where we step.

All our lives, we dreaded it. They threatened to throw us in the fire and they did. They threatened to throw us in the lion’s den and they did. They threatened the law against us, to take us to court and they did. They threatened to kill our children and they did. We feared being forsaken and we have been. We feared being alone and today we are all by ourselves. We did not want them to leave yet they are gone, we waited for the call that was never to come. We feared their death, yet they died. We never wanted to be in Coventry, yet we are right in the middle of the town. We feared the dark nights, but now we are in the midst of the darkest of nights. We asked for the cup to pass over us, but ‘no’, it did not, every drop of bile we have had to gobble down.

That which we feared came upon us and yet we are still standing! The fire did not scotch us, the lion’s mouth has been stopped, our adversaries are confused, what is meant for evil turned round for our good. What was meant to destroy us made us stronger. We have been to the deep dark forbidden forest and survived the terror of the night and now we can say, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we will fear no evil. We ate poison and it did not kill us. We picked up the serpent and yet survived. We have been abandoned and left to be destitute yet we thrived. All our afflictions made us stronger than when we started.

The fire that we thought will consume us became the catalyst and cleansing force for our creativity. The shock that was meant to electrocute our heart, revived and awaken it. The trial that was meant to take us out gave us our second wind. The loneliness and hunger that was meant to steer us into depression dropped us into flow and awoken our consciousness. The unknown terrorised us but today we stare at the unknown with uncovered eyes. All night we wrestled with the angel of God, we now limp, our hip bones have been wrenched, yet, we received our blessing, we struggled with God and man. We overcame, our name has been changed forever!

This is fire, we’ve been in it, we are not singed but changed for the better. Rejoice when you fall into diverse temptation, for the trial of our faith produce patience making us mature, complete and lacking nothing.

I have just started listening to a great book, titled ‘Breakfast At Sallys’ by Richard LeMieux. What a book! We find out over and over again that amazements are stored in the most unusual places. There is a kind of order and perfection we have come to expect in life but life does not always pan out as expected. Geniuses don’t always dwell in the most dignified bodies, some of them are so awkward and clumsy. Divinity or the creative force has a way of bursting our well organised and ordered arrangement to birth it’s purpose. Mary was pregnant before she got married! Now that is not the way we do things, at least at that time and in that environment. Imagine the ugly glances and the talk around town, but imagine the stress for both Joseph and Mary, Joseph was minded to put away Mary until the Angel appeared, but I can assure you the talk did not end there, it went on and is still going on today, because that is not the way we do things, but that is the way that divinity will have it.

While we are still on the issue of birth, I never cease to wonder why the place where the body discharges its waste is also the part where the greatest miracle of birth takes place. It is also the part where the greatest pleasure known to man is stored. Someone once said, but things could have been separated. We could have but some distance between the different functions. Better still there are some more dignified parts of the body that would appear more appropriate for the job of birthing. But that which seems appropriate to man is not always what is appropriate to God. ‘Kill and eat’ God said to Peter. ‘No Lord!’ Peter replied and added ‘I have never eaten anything unclean or impure. God knew that already, it is the law and Peter was a law abiding man but today divinity is demanding that he breaks the law for purpose. What God had cleansed let no man call unclean. Let us not be righteous over much, but the religious, the Sadducees and the Pharisees can not accept this, can not accept the way of the Lord, the same way they can not accept the birth of the Christ for it is not in accordance with the Law. The Law had been blast into the Waters! Do we then become lawless? Absolutely not! But the Spirit must trump, the letter killeth but the spirit giveth life. Before we Judge we must always find out ‘what is the Spirit saying?’.

Jesus Christ broke the law and healed a man on the Sabbath! Why in God’s name will he do that? Because that is just what God wants him to do. Why would David and those with him eat the consecrated bread given that this was reserved for the Priest? Because that was what had to be done. Why will a Prophet of God marry a prostitute? Because that was how God laid it out for Hosea. Why was it Rahab the prostitute that hid the spies that came to spy out the land? Why was she chosen to be part of the fulfilment of destiny? Because she is! Time and time again, in Scriptures and in life, we see occurrences that do not follow the ordered path becoming the chosen one.

The story of Elijah is one that stays with me, he was fed for some time by Ravens. Now this is not usual, when do Ravens become Meals on Wheels or some kind of Ocado delivery service? whether we understand, gerrit or not, this is the way Elijah was to be fed at that particular period in his life. He has a choice, he accepts and is sustained or he can refuse and starve. He can argue that this is not the way things are done and rightfully so, but for that time in his life that was how things were to be done. Sometimes as we continue in our travel in life the path is not bone straight, it bends, winds, narrows, constrains etc we can insist on going straight ahead irrespective and face the consequences but there are times we just have to curve with the road of life, eat the show bread, kill and eat unclean and impure animals, marry a prostitute and allow the Raven to fed us etc. It is up to each and every one of us to look into our lives and prayerfully consider, who and where are the Ravens ( the unlikelies) chosen to feed us? Let us not be righteous over much, let’s feast at the Master’s table.

Like the waters, be fluid!

I was ravenously hungry and they placed my meal in front of me, one look at the plate of food and I looked away. It repelled me and I was sure I would die if I took the tiniest bit, so I pushed the plate away from me. I signalled for the plate to be taken away but no one paid me any attention. I looked around me and everyone else seems to have the most delicious plate of food placed in front of them, they all tucked in and seem to be enjoying their food. I was drooling like a dog as I shamelessly stared at them eating, with my eyes I pleaded for some of their food, a bite, a taste maybe, l just longed for what they had, mine was inedible anyway. Their snobbery, rudeness and indifference did not deter me, I was that hungry any way. So I got up from my table and I walked over to their table and begged for some of their food. Some gave me crumbs, some told me to pick the bits that dropped on the table and the floor, others shoved me away roughly. I was angry, despondent, ashamed, embarrassed and still ravenously hungry, the crumbs created more of a longing.

I went back to my table, my meal was still there, cold and crusted over, grinning mischievously at me, teasing me to tuck in. This time I shouted out for the meal to be removed from my presence. Having heard my shout, someone walked over purposefully, my heart leapt with joy, he bent over with outstretched hands to pick the plate, at least that was what I thought, but the hands landed on my shoulder, he looked into my eyes and told me, ‘the meal that is prepared for you, you must eat’, hands off my shoulders, he turned round and walked away. I remembered my Mum and her mantra, she would tell us, ‘in this house if you don’t want to starve and die, whatever meal is placed in front of you, as long as it is not poisonous, you must eat’.

I sat quietly for what seem like eternity, allowing the hunger to travel well into every nook and crevices of my body and soul. I reasoned that it is either I sit there, do nothing, starve and die or eat the suspicous looking food and die. But maybe the food wouldn’t kill me. Slowly I lifted up my hand and beckoned, he came over and politely I asked for a glass of water. He dutifully brought the water and I thanked him. I reached out for my meal, carefully relieved it of the crust on top, said my grace and with each spoonful in my mouth, I washed it down with a gulp of water. Some mouthful tasted palatable, others not so much but with the water I was able to finish my meal. I felt strong, full and accomplished, the meal was not as bad as I thought after all. There were some chewy bits, but with the water I was able to down it. The table that was set before me, I was able to partake of. My meal I ate, my journey I went on, my destiny I fulfilled, my calling I accomplished, my project I finished and today I can say, it is all done and there is a crown of glory laid out for me.

Each and every one of us, have our own meal that life has prepared to fortify us for our journey, sometimes we look at the meal and we say ‘no, thank you’ other times we jump up for joy. Whatever plate is placed in front of us, is ours. The sooner we ask for that glass of water and tuck in, the sooner we fulfil our destiny. The water of patience, perseverance, discipline, grit, gratitude etc, basically the virtues are what we need to down the meal when the plate looks unappetizing.

The meal did not kill us, we lived to fulfil our destiny. Let us all stay in out lane, eat our own meal and give thanks for our lot in life.

It’s a good life!

I stood to the right in my late Dad’s room, there were wardrobes along the side with the table in front of me. He was already in the room, standing to the left near the side window, a middle aged black man, he was one of my builders, he brought out of his pocket a rather rumpled letter he claimed he forgot to give me. It was a letter a man had asked him to give me for sometime now. He handed it over, the letter was handwritten on white lined paper with black ink pen, it was not in an envelope, the handwriting was scrawly. The letter was from an elderly man I’m not sure his name but I will call him Mr Anderson. The full content of the letter I can not remember but in it Mr Anderson was asking to be a father unto me.

Since my father died before my 17th birthday I have carried a deep lost in my heart. A lost I did not understand or knew how to process, a lost that had lead me to places I had no business with and people that I had no business with either. I was looking for a Dad in people that were not called or chosen to father me, for 35 years I wandered around fatherless doing my best to nurse and dress my wound. I dealt with the gapping hole in my heart the best way I know. The absence of a Dad brought it’s own unique challenges, there was no safety net, security, defender, provider. I lacked confidence, I was intimidated, unsure and constantly afraid. I carried a deep inferiority complex around and dealt like I needed permission to be alive, to be a human being. I was abused, used, dismissed and discarded.

Today I am more confident, established and grounded, I have a better understanding of my worth as a human being. It is an ongoing work but I am putting in the hours. I walk straighter with my heads up and I meet gaze for gaze. I understand today that I am a daughter of the universe. That as a human being, I am created to be dynamic and a force to be reckoned with. I live out this truth and awareness daily.

I still have the gapping hole of missing my Dad, but I know how to tend to my hole in a healthy and wholesome manner. I try not to fill it with junk. I learn to pursue my passion, cultivate my gifts, be a blessing to my generations, find my ‘Tara’ and tend my field. But today as I hold on tightly to the letter from Mr Anderson, I wonder if this is true or a fluke of my longing imagination, if Mr Anderson truly exists and how do I find him. Mr Anderson did not put his contact details on the letter and Mr ‘Builder’ is confused about his whereabouts.

To all who seek Mr Anderson, may your heart be comforted!💕

As we consider and reflect on the message of Easter, I could not stop myself from thinking about the journey to the cross. Being crucified on the cross is one thing, but having to carry the cross by which you will be crucified is another story entirely. It was bad enough when God told Abraham he wanted his son. God could have told him that his son will go quietly in his sleep, but no, it had to be that extra bit tough, he had to sacrifice him, carry the wood and build an altar to burn him life! It is bad enough when armed robbers rob us at night, it takes the pain to another level when they write to us beforehand advising of the date and time, giving clear instructions on what to do and what not to do in preparation for their arrival including meals to be prepared. It is bad enough for a man’s bride to be violated, it takes the pain to the next level when the groom is instructed to fetch and undress the bride for the abuser and then made to watch. Imagine if the perpetrator of the above hideous crimes is someone close, a friend, a partner, a relative, a disciple etc?

How do we reconcile the irreconcilable in the above? How do you forgive the unforgivable? Before we get to forgiveness, how do we process the incidents, how do we stop ourselves from murdering another man? How do we stop ourselves from committing suicide? How do we keep it together? How do we stop ourselves from going insane? How do we stop ourselves from having a breakdown, a meltdown or whatever? In other words, how do we carry our cross with dignity and composure when every fibre of our being resists the demand to carry the cross? We have reconciled and accepted the death on the cross but to carry the cross, is a great ask. When we have accepted that the gallows is our lot, how do we accept that we are responsible for building the gallows? When we are sentenced to the chair for the crime we did not commit, how do we find the strength to carry out the job of ensuring that all the electrics of the chair work accurately? How can a human do that which is against human instinct to do? When we are called to do everything that is against all that we stand for! To build the stock that will restrain our feet, to knot the noose we will be hung in! To prepare the poison that will kill us, to prepare the legal brief that our prosecutor will use to indict us for a crime we did not commit. To sharpen the knife that will rip off our head. Yet sometimes that is just what we are called to do. As bile rushes to our mouth, our heart tightens, our chest hurts and we experience the anguish of what we are called to bear, let us remember that one had ‘walked’ this journey before us, sweating blood in His moment of anguish.

Carrying the cross is about becoming collaborator in our annihilation which is contrary to the universal human instinct of self-preservation. It is not natural or desired, it is not a job for sissies, it takes superhuman strength to do it and as we resign, fall on our knees and call upon the strength that comes from a different realm we find grace and peace to bear. Carrying the cross is when you accept your fate, when you give up the fight, when they come to kill, steal and destroy and you ask, ‘how would you like me to lie?’ Or ‘is my head still enough for you to cut off with the guillotine, it is when they snatch your livelihood and grab the food from your mouth and you ask, ‘would you like sauce with that?’ It is when with gritted teeth you say, ‘father forgive them, for they know not what they do’

Always remember there is resurrection on the third day and Abraham never had to sacrifice Isaac after all, but we must be prepared to do it and that is hard!

So intense it consumes your whole being, so pervasive it reaches to the depth of your soul, so persistent it promises to be everlasting, so blinding you see nothing else and believe nothing else, so strong it breaks the most powerful of us. So convincing we swear to it’s divine origin. Yet it is just a feeling, the strength of it has no bearing to it’s authenticity, it is as fickle and ephemera as they come, no bearing on reality and the things that matter. A deceptive feeling with a cunning agenda. Inconsistent like the mist in the early hours of the morning, evaporating before the day even begins. Where does it come from and where does it go when it’s non illustrious task is completed?

Yet we kill for it, we burn for it, we plot for it, we lie for it, we sacrifice for it. We sing, we write, we dance for it. We crave it, we long for it, we yearn for it, we beg for it. We are addicted to it, yet it is nothing, all hot air, empty of anything worthwhile. Flauting and puffed up, pretending to be something important and of relevance, yet it is just a lame phenomenon that we human have been plagued with, the curse of being a human being, to seek the love that is unsustainable that does not last or give anything near what it promises. In the same manner, it deceives the heart of the common man it also deceives the eminent ones. It holds the heart hostage with it’s facade of seriousness. A lier that makes the loudest of noise, pounding the heart as if it is up to some worthwhile good, yet producing nothing of long term value. An irresponsible and irreverent feeling, according no regards to established order and norms, uprooting and disturbing everything in it’s path for it’s 5 minutes of fame.

Yet how bland, lacklustre and tasteless life will be without this feeling!

Shakespeare got it to the ‘T’ when he wrote, “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players….” Without exception we are all players whether we like it or not. Whether we want to or not. We jokingly or seriously refer to men that jump from women to women as ‘players’ but the truth is that women are players as well, it is the game, the play that differs. It is all about the script we are following. From the moment we pop out we are fed script on how we ought to behave and not behave. If we yell coming out we are guarded to tone it down. We come out quietly, we are urged or poked to show some character that we are alive and it never stops.

We are taken home from hospital and depending on our parents, carers, environment, the society we grow up in, we are thrust script at various stages of our lives, this is what we do and not do, this is what we say and not say, this is how we dress and not dress, this is how we relate and not relate, etc. Some of us are good actors others not so good. Some comply and stick to the script, others stray and adapt the script to fit their preferences and so it goes. Others throw the whole script away and choose to do their own thing, a recipe for anarchy. As long as we live in a society and plan to get on reasonably with the society we all must play, act and engage. The question becomes, how well do we act? Do we do it with consciousness or not? Are we aware that we are not the role we play? Do we make room for our true self to emerge? Are we interested in the roles we play?

Good actors play a diverse range of roles and have a broad repertoire. They play gangster, they play lover, they play peace seeker, they play trouble maker, the play God fearing, they play atheist anathema. From time to time they have a break in between projects to revert back to self, to be themselves, to wear their own clothes, eat the food they want to, live as who they are. They come back to self and even reflect on the character they played. I have heard actors say they can identify with a character or that a character is more like them or not. I have also heard actors talk about characters they play and not particularly like and some have turned down script as they can not bring themselves to play the role. In life we also must interrogate scripts given to us. Some times we are so unconscious we just dive head first into it without stopping to consider what we are playing.

A friend once told me that one of the reasons for breakdown in relationships is that parties come in playing to the script they carry in their head irrespective of if it makes sense or not, whether it is healthy for the well-being of the relationship or not. In a worse case scenario the man has been given the toxic masculinity script and he plays it to the letter in his relationship and he expects his partner received the same script and should play the docile, passive, recipient of the toxicity. The partner got a different script, she got the script of the needy, demanding, entitled person and also played it to the letter and we wonder that there is no peace in Zion. There can not be any peace in Zion, the scripts does not allow peace!

When it goes all wrong, who do we blame? Are the actors at fault or the blame lies at the feet of the script writter? Or is it the fault of the Director, or do we point fingers at other fellow actors? Society writes it’s script and thrust into our hands, as discerning adults like any ‘A’ rated actor we have a say in the final play, we have reach that level of importance, relevance and commanding presence where we contribute to the final outcome.

As we go about our lives today, we are players, we are actors, let us unscroll that script, let us stand back, let us all question the roles we play. Is this who we are? Is this who we want to be? Should we turn down some script? Should we revisit some scripts? The choice is ours, let us be circumspect.

Define your life!