At the end of the day, when it boils down to it, there is just two of us, Me and Conviction! None other is invited, none other is required , none can understand, none can fight it, none can defend it, none can present or explain it, none can relate to it, none can identify with it. It is just Me and Conviction, the 2 man squad, called and chosen to fight the battle, to defend the cause. It is not for the masses, the crowd, the group, the family, the network, the support group, the herd, the association, the friends, it is just Me and Conviction.

Throw me in the fire, let me burn a million times, with convictions I stand in the flame. Put me in the firing line, at the forefront of the battlefield, I stand with no human protection, no shield, no bulletproof vest, with my chest bare, I stand with Conviction. Get the sharpest knives and slash me into tiny pieces, let me bleed from top to bottom, with Conviction I lie still for when I die I shall be resurrected, with Conviction I accept the death that must come to man. Like David I stand before Goliath, straight, strong and erect I stand with no helmet, coat of armour or sword, haul as many stone as you wish at me, with Conviction I stand, for I come not to defeat the seen enemy but the unseen. I stand strong, I stand tall, I stand erect, foot firmly planted, just me and Conviction beside me and I wage the greatest battle of all, the battle against a man’s belief.

Who is the Judge? God is the judge. I sit in the court of man, to the dock I am led, I come without a barrister, a Mackenzie friend, any support, to be judged by men, my accusers have brought me to the law, lies and accusations abound, the case is mounted high against me, with Conviction I presented my case and rested, let justice be done, let the true judge judge, let the one that ruleth in the affairs of men give the rulings. To the stock, to incarceration, to loss or to freedom, I accept my fate for alone I will never be, Conviction I will never let out of my sight. There is a friend that sticks closer than a brother.

Hand in hand, I hop with my friend into my destiny, Conviction is my friend!

Few I have met, who can stand in the day of pain. A woman is to be pretty and dainty, giggly and girly. She can not have intense emotions, maybe of pleasure we allow, but definitely not of pain. oh know, we will not allow that, because then she becomes ‘unwomanly’ and then we don’t know what to do with her. Or maybe we just walk away because this is a creature we are unfamiliar with. We shall return when we she reverts back to what we know and understand, a pretty dainty being. We forget that she is just a human being, simply a human being of the female gender! At her disposal having all the expression of emotions just like any man, from love to rage. Why must a woman only hang fragilely at one end of the spectrum all her life? Why can’t she just be a fully living being and not a half living one? Why must the door to certain expressions be closed to her when her fulfilment and experience as a human being demands those journeys. Why are we comfortable with half baked, part cooked, under done , half wit when we can have the fully done through and through. What is so scary about this full manifestation to the male psyche? A fully fledge expressive woman is an anomaly. The same reason her body is covered up, we demand her soul must also be covered up, her emotions must be contained, but why? And women live all their lives never fully expressed, we don’t see the full beauty because we can’t stand the pain, like the peacock that never fully fans out her feather, we never experience the extensive pattern of the plumage. We are short changed yet it suits our sensibilities. We sit in the theatre of life and yell out to some of the actors not to give out their best performance, we demand a water down version, a cut down, drowned out display, or we close our eyes and senses through most of the show, other times, we simply walk out. Yet we think we are living when we can be more. We yearn to be, yet we are not allowed to be, or we are walked away from when we dare to be. How do we stop a flower from blossoming? How do we stop a lion from roaring? How do we stop a woman from being? Her maker designed her for a reason the way she is, like a rose flower, we have to take the thorn with the beauty, we must have her with her pain to fully enjoy her beauty. It is naive, immature and unreasonable to have unrealistic expectations of her. Few can handle a real woman and most strong woman have been forced to live unmanifested.

I have to live my pain, to experience my love and radiate it out. I have to be in every ramifications of being. I have to be that Tiger that I am for you to experience and encounter that Dove that you want. I am one and the same, the Tiger and the Dove. This is me through and through. I see your eyes drop as your walk away. I see your countenance change, the confusion before disappointment and then the disapproval. Who will stand with the woman in the day she is triggered? The day she most want to belong, be loved and accepted. Who will stand with her on her ugly days, those days that give birth to the beautiful ones? Who will hold her hands in those days when she goes into labour to give birth, not to a new baby, but to birth herself, yes her beautiful fresh new self! Where is the midwife on those mid night hours of horror when a woman travails to birth herself into her destiny? Where is the delivery doctor? Where, oh where as she groans and wails as the pangs of pain comes in waves. Mop her brow, rub her back, hold her hand but don’t dare tell her to shut up, for in pain and yelling she gives birth to peace and beauty.

Let her be!

Sometimes not a single soul except yourself, it seems believes or sees it. In those times you just have to believe in your own goodness, when every mirror you turn to reflect back a dirty and ugly image, you just have to believe in that beauty you see in your inner man, that beauty you feel, that decency you believe to be you. Do not throw in the towel, do not stop believing in justice, fairness and goodness. Do not stop believing in doing what is right. Do not stop believing in standing up for right even when it hurts to do so and you are alone.

Yes, sometimes you will have to fight, to stand your ground and those times you might just be an army of only one, just you, but as long as you have breath and can discern between right and wrong, choose right and when you can discern between good and bad, choose good always. The right choice is not always easy, but choose it nevertheless, for what is man, when we have lost all our values, principles and convictions, we are no longer any better than animals.

We might be the only one shielding in our camp, under our parasol and that is okay, yes it might get extremely lonely. That is okay as well, the crowd is not always right, the herd does not always know the way. If we are to join the crowd and loose our convictions, then of what value are we, what have we brought to the table? Of what use is it, that we are given the convictions in the first place, where is our uniqueness, our own person, our own voice?

We just have to believe in our journey and bear the name calling, the exclusion, the fight, the betrayal, the disappointments, the being misunderstood, our words being twisted, our reputations being tarnished. The lies, the jealousy, the envy, in it all we must stand strong, determined with all diligence to be good and solid, focused, eyes set like a flint because in so doing we will find our real purpose, meet our tribe, enter into the second wave, but first we must overcome the barrier of betrayal and disappointment.

Having difficulty in trying to stand, we just keep standing, not weakening or burking, alone, exposed, vulnerable, disillusioned, confused, pained, despondent, desiring of death, asking the existential question, yet we keep believing, standing tall and straight. Called all possible name under the sun, trying to break us, yet we just stand, battle worn, we still stand, wobbling and unsteady, yet we still stand for the truth and process we believe in. This is not the time to consider whether we might be wrong, it is the time to just believe in our rightful ness

I came to you as a Lion, in all my kingly glory, strutting my majesticness, my roar vibrating through the forest and all animals running for cover, striking fear in the hearts of the lesser ones. I stood spell bindingly attractive and strong, jaws drop at my sight. I am the chief predator, pouncing and devouring greater ones than me. My sexuality oozes through my pores and all that sees me desire me. I lay wait and stalk my prey, suffocating and tearing into pieces with vengeance. I am the most feared of all, fearing none but my maker, yet when asked what you saw, you said ‘it was a mouse, an ugly weak insignificant mouse’, you said!

I came to you as a Queen in all my regality, the daughter of a powerful King that knew no fear, the daughter of the Almighty one, the maker of all things bestowed on me all my attributes. I am of a pure bred, my lineage undiluted, I am of noble birth, blue blood runs through my vein. I sat on my throne, fanning myself as I ruminate, pondering and delivering fair and righteous judgement. I listened and sat with the wise and became wise. I reign in opulence, not taking any for granted, minding the poor and needy. I am a Queen and as a Queen I reign, yet when asked what you saw, you reported seeing ‘a fool, the daughter of a nobody, a servant girl brought to do your biding’ so you said!

I came to you as a gifted and endowed mogul, astute in business, at the pinnacle of what I do, going neck to neck with the best of them, building an enterprise to benefit all. I came with great power, wealth and influence. My intuition is sharp and I have great insight into my craft. With deliberateness and diligence I have built, conscious of the grace, favour and ability to take risk. Intelligent and wise as I am designed. Yet when I asked what you encounter, you described a foot-mat to be ordered around, a delirious wannabe with inferior endeavours.

I approached our dealings with fear, dignity and deliberateness. I was determined to seek the good interest, to be fair, honest, respectful, open and authentic. I was thorough and compliant giving all the space to navigate your side of the dealings in the best way known to you. I was shrewd, sharp and intelligent about the dealings, I wanted the best in all circumstances for all. I was determined you can have the children you did not conceive if you so wish, knowing my womb is still as fertile as the day my maker created me. Yet when asked how I did you reported that I was ‘barren, deceitful, disagreeable, lawless and immoral’ so you said!

Today you have threatened to expose the person you saw. May the day of revealing be true! May it be a great day🙏🏾

Really? Yes I am! The one with the coat of many colours. My parents got me a Coat of many colours when I was very little, I mean during the age of innocence, the time of ignorance. I wore my coat around, I wore it everywhere, I did not think much of it, to be honest I didn’t think about it at all. It was just a piece of garment you wore, atimes I didn’t even like it much, as it made me hot, but when the weather is cool, it serves its purpose, sometimes I wear it to sleep, as I am too tired and I forget to take it off.

Whilst I was sleeping, unbeknownst to me the storm was brewing, resentment, envy, jealousy and hatred was festering. I woke up like a baby, well rested and blissful ready to tackle the day, can’t say I didn’t dream while I was sleeping, we all dream, don’t we? Did I tell anyone my dreams? I don’t know, I probably did, innocently of course and then the mob rounded me up, bewildered and confused, I wondered what I had done wrong. I tried to explain, to reason with them, to understand where they were coming from, I tried to explain that they got the wrong person. But oh know, I was very much the right person, the one with the Coat of many colours, the only one with the coat! Nothing I did was right, nothing I said resonated. I had the coat and I could never be right. I tried taking off the coat, but it was too late. I had been the one with the Coat of many colours for so long, taking it off makes no difference, Joseph I am and Joseph I will always be.

With sadness in my heart, tears in my eyes, but yet with a straight back and square shoulders I moved away from the mob. I could never please them. Joseph I was born, Joseph I will always be, I make no excuse, no apologies, it is my birthright, it is my inheritance, it is me heritage. It is my Coat of many colours and with pride and appreciation I continue to wear my Coat.

In the fulness of time, I shall become Vizier to Pharoah and I shall help my people, I shall do that which I am called and ordained to do. This is my dream, it shall rile them. But Joseph is my name, I dream dreams and they come to pass, Joseph I will always be, as I wrap my coat snuggly around my body.

I am Joseph!

I was so thirsty, parched throat in the desert, I did not want much, I did not ask for a lot but to quench my thirst as I wandered through the desert. I had been thirsty for so long , if it was possible to get use to such a situation, I had somehow adapted and went around with no consciousness of my thirst. And then one day, from nowhere a well appeared right in the middle of my desert. My first reaction is to jump for joy but immediately I became suspicious, it is a trap! Someone is trying to scam me, it’s a bait, Wells don’t just appear in the desert. Moreover I didn’t dig, it’s not mine, I can’t touch it, I must not touch it! It’s poisoned, I will die, I will be sinning, I will be hurting someone. In the end , I ran out of restraint and excuses. I could not run from the risk, so I allowed myself! What an experience! What joy, what fulfilment, what elation! I drank and drank and drank. Every night I go to bed, not believing my good fortune and in the morning I wake up, the well was still there, smiling sweetly at me, welcoming me to a beautiful new day and then I would drink again. I was aglow and plumed up, so hydrated, my countenance radiated. At the back of my mind I still questioned the authenticity of the Well. Saturated and hydrated I kept going.

Slowly the Well started drying up, the water was no longer fresh, cool and sweet. There was still water, but no longer the same, I mentioned it to the Well but he said there was nothing to worry about. Then one day I woke up, it was gone, no water, no well. I panicked and I cried and cried but no water. Then I begged and begged, still no water. Then I got angry and I accused of fraud and lies but still no water. I did the silent treatment, but still no water. Then I knew it was over, but I didn’t know how to get over it. Why did it appear in the first place? Why was it so short? Everyday I would go to the same location of the Well, longing and wishing it will reappear. Promising to behave better, apologising for every wrong doing, anything to get the Well back , but it was gone, it was over.

Yesterday I went to the spot where the Well was and there was a drop of water, why? I couldn’t not tell, but the drop was there and I lapped it, roll it around in my mouth, relishing the old times, it was sweet, nice and short. I said my good bye. I knew it was over, I slept like a baby.

I have always wonder what it will be like to open a can that says baked beans and pour out crispy sweetcorn! That will be shocking, I actually read sometime ago that a disgruntled staff once stuff a can of beans with an item of clothing, canned it, allowed the can to find its way to some unsuspecting customer. If we assume that the can was stuff with a beautiful silk scarf, a lot more expensive than beans. The question then is, should the owner of the silk scarf be thrilled at her find or disgruntled that she didn’t get the beans she wanted? Should she complain or rejoice?

I remember my late sister, may her beautiful soul continue to rest in peace, in her 40s, 50s would say that she is just 18. She says this all the time jokingly and I could never understand because she looked physically her biological age. Today I understand, she was just a silk scarf in a can of beans, even though her outward man was perishing, her inward man was young, fresh and vibrant, continually being renewed. Some might argue that this is arrested development, I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist so I can not talk from such professional view but as an observer of life and deep thinker I can see the benefit of being a silk scarf but I can also see the challenge when we arrive in can of beans.

I think of myself, at some level I am not dissimilar from my sister, I am not just one age, outwardly I look a certain age, but my inner man, aspiration, preferences, dreams, interests are of another era. So who am I really? Am I the description on the can or the content? Am I the expectations of what the house should house or the person living in it? Am I the Gray hair, wrinkles, age related aches and pain or the blossoming soul full of dreams and aspirations? Am I what I look like or what I am? If we conclude on the outward appearance then we have a conundrum when the two do not tally. So should I think, behave how I look or should I act true to who I am? Should I lie in bed at night because it is sleeping time even though I am wide awake or should I get up and be creative and live the life I am urged to live. Should I live my biological age or should I live my inner man age?

What length is my hair? I have always wondered. If left alone, my hair do not grow at the same length, the edges rarely move, the centre grows long and dense, the side is sparse and not as long, the back does it’s own thing. I go to the hair dresser and have it trimmed down to equal length, yet it still grows unequally. We are like the hair on our head, different part of us grow at different rates, some age faster than others. If you are a 20 year old stuck in a 50+ year old body, why insist on living a life that is incongruent with who you truly are? Some of us age very slowly within. ‘Act age appropriately’ some would say. The question I ask is, ‘and what is that appropriate age?’ The age you see or the age you don’t see. If you have a young soul in an older body, please live your ‘true’ age, nature has kindly given you a longer lease or leash on life, do not confirm. And if you have a mature soul in a young body, enjoy the richness and depth of life that appeals to you. Society do not dictate who we are, we are who we are.

Of what relevance is that number that hinders the free flow of life? Ageism is such a big deal, when we use age inappropriately to rate and judge the capability of each, forgetting we are all like hair on the head, all at very different place and stage. For me, I am just 20, rubbing my hands gleefully as life is just beginning, do not be fool by the gray I got, I am just starting, I know where I am going!

My barrel was empty, there was nothing in it, absolutely nothing, I would scape at the bottom and I couldn’t get a drop, not a crumb, not a pip and the pain of emptiness grabbed me, I felt like emptiness and nothingness will swallow me whole into a non ending bottomless pit, I feared being span vigorously round and round in the vacuum of emptiness until I dissipate. The fear of non existence was real, the fear of extermination, I couldn’t resign and accept the seeminly inevitable. In a frantic panic I grabbed my emotional beggars cup and went a begging for scraps of emotional crumbs from any and every where, to put a layer on my empty barrel to muff out the deafening hollow sound every time I open my eyes. And yes I got my crumbs like any persistent begger would, but what a price I had to pay for that which never truly satisfied, fulfulled or quenched my yearnings and longings! In no time the crumbs finished and the hollow sound of the empty barrel will not give me peace so I was back on the streets like an addict at an unforgiving hour, clanging at the barrel in another desperate bid for attention, validation, emotional comfort, acceptance and belonging.

Today I know better, I understand better, the manufacturing headquarters of all I require is right here with me, in me, at my fingertips. Nobody should say who will go up into heaven or will go down into hell, to bring Christ, for the word that is required is right here, right here on my lips! Right here is where it all happens, not out there, not with anyone! Yes, people can pour in and people will pour in, but not on emptiness! because sooner or later the hollow sound drives them all mad and they flee. We all love the cushioning sound of pouring into an already partially full barrel and that is how we ought to be present. It is hard I know and sometimes we need someone to give us a headstart, to lend that hand, sometimes we don’t know where or how to start, sometimes where in us or where around us to mine, we don’t even know we have a mine. But we do, we all do, right beside the empty barrel is located the mine and step by step, little by little, here a little and there a little we can all start to transform and live that abundant life. By and large, the job is ours, it is our calling to mine the treasures or our life and then adorn ourselves, that is how our creator designed it, our emotional beauty and resilience then becomes visible for the whole world to see.

Beautiful we are, beautiful we have been designed, I pray for the grace to be and live the extraordinary life we have all been created for.

He arrived with intent, holding his towel ready to do that which he saw as his calling. He is a brow mopper, he is there to clean up perspiration on the brow and anywhere else. He is a comforter, the one that provides comfort in time of pain and trouble. He is a succour provider for the oppressed, he is the strengthener of the weak and feeble. But today I am not weak or feeble neither am I perspiring but he insisted on mopping up my non existent perspiration. He patted me and checked his towel, but there was no sweat, so he patted harder and harder, then he proceeded to rub and scrub until I began to bleed, now he had something to clean he felt needed and fulfilled. My blood on his towel was the mark of accomplishment! He is a nurse, but when does the caring instinct mutate to a smothering, suffocating, suppressing and controlling drive?

He was the shoulder to cry on, except today I was not in a place of tears, however his shirt needed to be wet and stained, so he placed onions before my eyes and made sure that tears ran down my face. She was the great hostess that prepares the most sumptuous meal, except I was not hungry today, however she forced her painstakingly prepared food down my throat (otherwise I was an ingrate), so I ate and ate until I was sick and bursted, but she didn’t care as long as I ate, she is one that feeds the hungry and destitute but she could not discern that today I was not one of her clients. He is the counsellor that counsels the confused and anxious and today he insists that I bear out my soul and share my fear, except that today I had no fear, yet he will not let me go, so I had to feign fear and I became terrified.

Well meaning people carry towel around, for in this service they find their sense of worth and purpose, nothing wrong with that, loads of people require the service of a towel carrier, some require a misery buddy others a tragedy companion, swapping stories of misfortunes and trying to outdo each other in the telling of it. ‘You ought to be sad’ they tell you and woe betide you if you try to explain that you are not. It is like a Mum that spends all morning (and afternoon) baking for her kids and when they arrive from school, whilst appreciative they are not hungry, someone is now angry, feeling irrelevant snd unappreciated. The ego of the towel carrier is huge though cunningly disguised in altruistic demeanour, they do not take lightly to the shunning of their supposedly kind gestures. I have been there, atimes I have been the towel carrier.

No you do not need to perspire, cry, be miserable, depressed or whatever if that is not where you are, however you ought to be circumspect, do not enter a barber shop unless you need a hair cut, do not enter a restaurant unless you are hungry, do not go to an encourager unless you require encouragement. Hospitals are a place to get healed, walk into one and you will be treated as an invalid, some people are hospitals and unless you are unwell, stay away from them, otherwise they will make you sick by the time you leave them. Know who you are and where you are in life and enter the right shop. Sometimes we stray into the wrong store, let us leave as soon as we realise there is nothing we require. There is nothing wrong in being a towel carrier, and as I mentioned earlier, loads of people require this service but today we are not one of those people. Today we are in the school of the strong.

Relish, savour the days of strength. Do not consider it humility or good manner to stoop before the weak and towel carrier. I leave you with the quote from Khalil Gibran who said ‘you who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness’.

A two-word phrase that seems to connote everything decent and pleasant. The utterer says it with the softest of voice, warmest of eyes and most gentle demeanour. How can you fault that supposedly kind and caring admonishment? It’s a warning to be on our guard, not to be reckless or undiscerning, not to be impulsive, imprudent or gullible. It is a reminder to do our due diligence and not to plunge in headlong. It is what a caring parent will say to a child, a loving husband to the wife and vis a vis etc. It is above board, it is legit, and it is kosher. But hold on, is it? Is it really what we always need to hear? Is the intention behind those words always noble?

Sometimes those words, sadly do not come from a good place. Sometimes they come from a place of fear, timidity, jealousy and envy. They can be the strongest armoury (if not the only one) in the arsenal of the risk averse. Such words that can halt a warrior in his path. We will never know the number of inventions that have been prevented because someone heeded the ill advise of the uninsightful. When a man is rearing to go, he is all pumped up and is engaged in the warfare dance and all he can hear is a meek and timid voice, saying ‘be careful!’ How demoralising and disengaging that can be. How paralyzing and weakening! When the team has worked hard and ready to face the opponent and all the coach can say is ‘be careful’. When the lover is ready to ravish his bride and all he hears is ‘be careful’ that is enough to suppress any desire. When the explorer is all packed up, ready to commence his journey and all he is told is to be careful. Who tells a rocket before it launches into space to be careful?

Last thing we need to hear sometimes is ‘be careful’. There is a time for everything and ‘Go Tiger’ might just be the appropriate words to give us the impetus required. Depending on how said ‘be careful’ is a short form of be full of fear, care and doubt, do absolutely nothing, stay where you are and rot, do not break new ground, do not forge ahead, take no risk, calculated or not, be mediocre and average and definitely do not break rank and do not think of becoming better than me or us! It is the anthem of the weak and risk averse, the jealous and envious one, the ones that feel you are moving out of your place in life.

My advice is move out of any place you have outgrown, yes take risk, calculated ones, manage your risk, but take them, do your due diligence but still step out in faith, feel the fear but still do it, be curious, engage with life. Do not be full of care, fear or doubt. What has been place in your heart, step out and do, be bold and of a good courage.

Go, tiger! It is about to go down!