* “The foods I’ve eaten, and the beds I’ve slept in”… it was a working title of a book my father never wrote. It was one in a moderate sized list of things he never got around to doing, or goals that remained in the realm of dreams. But, if he were here today, now… he probably wouldn’t list it under regrets. He wasn’t the type to carry them, barring maybe one or two from his youth that he probably mentioned in passing once or twice, in the time I was a part of his life. But even then, the word ‘regret’ was never used. [Contentment] Sometimes I feel like I’m on the brink of something big, forever questioning whether or not I’m prepared for it, whilst other times I feel like I’m paddling upriver. I’m doing some real work but if I look at the shore, I’m actually going nowhere. I'm aware that in time I'll look back on this piece or period, and what concerns me… Well, I think what will concern me then, is what concerns me now. It’s strange when you find yourself on a road you kind of never chose. I know there’s always a choice, but writing was never in the running in terms of my career choices. I’ve never met anyone who said that when they were young they always dreamed of becoming a writer. Now that I am one, I understand why. There’s a saying, I don’t know by whom but it says ‘people don’t choose to be a writer, Writing chooses people’. I believe there is some truth to that. I think that many folks seem to have an idea where they want to go and affix their sights on that and move toward it. For me that never happened with Writing. It’s like God took me along the road, showing me various inviting avenues, that I would ultimately not take… and one day he brought me to this point {a ballpoint, hehe} where, in hindsight, many things began to make sense. It’s a diversion I never thought of. It elicits many mixed feelings, because its like I was going one way (a way that looked right and seemed to fit, but just didn’t feel 100%), and God tapped me on the shoulder and said, “No, you’re going this way”. So I feel honoured to have been “selected” for this road, but the struggles I face brings me to realize why it must and can only be a chosen few to travel it, who have the stomach for it, otherwise anyone would do it. And with that in mind, getting selected to travel down this particular road, although there are exits and options to divert from this course, or so it seems to the “outside world”, from my perspective, there really isn’t. Otherwise it’s like descending down a mineshaft, and the only way you’ll emerge in public again, is if you keep on digging, keep on mining until you hit something of value to take up to be scrutinized. And the thing is that we all feel like we’ve found gold, but the public doesn’t seem to think so, or some folk acknowledge that what we have does hold some value, just not to their pockets. So you’ve found (created) something, now the job is to decipher if what you have is real gold (of whatever purity), or just some shiny metal, or just some plain metal… Although any writer will argue that the market needs all kinds of metals, we just need to ensure that we’re peddling our wares to the right crowd. One man’s junk is another man’s treasure (though I’m not saying what you have is junk, but rather that in someone’s eyes - someone reputable, other than yourself – what you have could be a treasure). And so it goes. We forge on, in solitary self doubt, and often darkness, to find a glimmer of light… And it’s not easy, especially when dealing with that ever present companion I just referred to, called doubt. And he’s not alone either. Not only is there the personal doubt, but the often silent doubt (hand-in-hand with waning confidence) of your fiercest fans and loved ones - your virtuous "true believers", if you're fortunate enough to have some. You might say you’re mining (in a way), but perhaps they think you’re sailing, and that your boat is sinking, and there’s no wind to guide your sails. You might think a great many things, that so what if you’re on an allegorical boat, and that you’re fanning the flames of your own budding career, using what looks suspiciously like wood from your own, very same, sinking boat… - what if someone sees those flames? What if someone wades out to ‘rescue’ you… Because maybe they believe, as you always have, that you have a story worth telling. Maybe your chunk of metal isn’t meant for a necklace or ring… maybe it’s meant for a gun barrel, or silverware or a key To unlock other worlds... and if that sounds like a cliche, then you know the kind of plywood we're dealing with to keep the boat afloat. We scratch, mine, sail, sink and/or swim by our hopes... and NOT our fears. . [Image credits: pixshark.com, Radka Malbeck photography, "boy writing"- Ernest Cole photography, thedirtlife.blogspot.com]
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[For Doreen Benjamin] What was I doing? I was cleaning the microwave tray from excess milk. Why? Well, because the milk boiled over. But I wasn’t crying; no one was. At least they weren’t anymore. But let me explain; You see, this spilled milk was over two weeks in the making. It was yet another turn in a series of unfortunate events which led me to that moment of taking that simple step, with my sister casually looking on opening the little door to the microwave, peering in, and then throwing my head back to look to the heavens in a proverbial “OHHH Jesus Please… (take the wheel)” Which prompted my sister to abandoned me after her initial sharing in the groan of frustration. But why two weeks? The fact is that this spilled milk could be traced back and blamed solely on one thing, and one thing alone… Pneumonia. Mm hm. That foulness that collects on the lungs and that is of no benefit to the world or humankind whatsoever. This ‘P’ word is to blame for my moment of woe. But allow me to divulge a titbit of backstory. Had my Grandmother not contracted Pneumonia, I, or any of my other family members, would not have been at my Uncle’s flat to begin with to aid in the matriarch’s recovery, after she’d spent a tiresome long-weekend in hospital. Not a slight thing by any means; waking up and not knowing where you are with no one familiar around; this coming after a hazy and delirious few days, involving a backache inducing overnight vigil (by said Uncle) and a somewhat unconscious ride in an ambulance. So there I was, making a round of coffee for several of us. My uncle meanwhile, had stolen himself away from ironing some of his Sunday best shirts, and was now attempting to turn on the geyser. We wanted to give Granny a relaxing bath earlier, but my uncle’s attempt to reprogram the geyser’s timer had only succeeded in making it fail to come on at all. So there he stood, behind me in the kitchen, leaning precariously on a small wooden stool to reach the geyser’s control panel. Then he asks me, over his shoulder, to run inside and switch off the iron. And so I did. Low and behold the iron was there in the back room, huffing and puffing away like it was dying of thirst. And so, that jog to the room, unplugging the iron, and making the return journey had cost me a minute, and one could not pass by Gran’s room without checking in (costing me several more precious seconds). The consequences of which were evident at the opening of the microwave. SO, you see, had Pneumonia not struck down my Gran, she would not be recovering at my Uncle’s place, he would not have been stretching to reach the control panel (during a session of earnest ironing) and I would not have been there to make some cups of coffee that required milk at an above-than-ambient temperature… Hence, no milk would’ve spilled. As it is, or was, many prayers were said before the milk boiled over, and many since (from around the globe mind you). The old Lady (I shan’t reveal her age… ladies take issue with these sort of things) is on the mend, stubborn as always, craving ice cream and Ginger beer whilst smuggling sugar replacement sachets for her afternoon tea. Although it must be said she was preparing herself for her date with Jesus whilst curled up on a gurney a week prior (I would be too mind you), but she has not sung her last song just yet… and she does love to sing. Thanks to Jesus for taking the wheel, healing a loved old lady… a family can draw nearer. And so, Pneumonia and spilled milk aside, there are some deep positives to this tale: beauty that runs deeper than tired legs, battered lungs and a tray of medication . . . but runs through heart and mind and soul, witnessed in moments and memories - a soothing bath, combing of hair, or sharing a warm meal at a table a half a century old. An old lady fell And a family rallied around her, to share in this fragile and mysterious thing we cling onto, holding on so dearly, when its most flagrant. --- God Bless you all. A night in Gabarone about a year ago As my now good friend Jonathan pointed out, the lighting was all wrong… it lacked that certain moody ambiance reserved for romantic occasions – despite this not being a romantic occasion. You see, sometimes you just need that option, a certain warmth or glow, even if it’s just “available”. But again, we weren’t here to embrace any quixotic inclinations, despite the unmistakeable buzz of imminent wedding celebrations dancing in the evening air… but still, even the décor was wrong – note to the wise: don’t use dark wood with a light floor tile; it elicits a rather cold black and white tone. Nevertheless, there we sat supporting of a friend of ours who just so happened to be the in-house/restaurant entertainment. The night was decidedly nippy in Gaborone, conveniently inspiring a variety of impulses involving tapping your feet to the beat, patting of the knee and bobbing of the head, even if just to stay warm. Yeah, it was that kind of night, when dancing was also convenient. We knew the music would be good, the food; well, considering we were only there for dessert the margin for error seemed reduced; add a cappuccino and you start to slip into the flow of things pretty easily. Now it must be said that I am known in some circles as a lover of coffee, and was once called a connoisseur of ice cream, so when you tick those two boxes on the menu and throw in some good company; well let’s just say it’s really hard to go wrong from there. But that’s all relative. You see, it’s easy to allow the inconveniences to get the better of you, whether it’s the dust, the heat – which actually wasn’t that bad this time around, generally speaking, I’m really liking this autumn thing – or the flat spider (of unknown species) which scurried across the floor when I dropped my bags in the room where I’d be sleeping… these are just things. Okay I’ll admit, the spider took some getting used to, but I’ve seen worse, waaay worse. You see, when it comes to Africa (more specifically rural Africa), you’ll see things – good and bad (the "bad" aids in heightening the good)– that may send tremors down to your core, forcing a re-evaluation of the way you partake in this thing called life. Everyone needs this kind of meaningful ‘intervention’ every now and then. As another new friend, Lily, jokingly put it whilst in her pyjamas, listening to some sound advice “Hang on, I’m listening… this is a life moment here…” – I don’t feel like explaining the context right now. So what does this have to do with listening to good music and dancing in your chair and laughing with friends and family? Well, “life moments” happens all the time, and often, when we’re not paying attention. I know what you’re thinking. It’s natural; there will be so many moments of subtle splendour to make a fuss over, so if you miss one, you’re probably not missing much, right? Truth is, as I embark on another journey (this one through the pages of a book – something which I haven’t done in a while, I am ashamed to say that), a lesson I’ve just learned again, yes again, is that when you glance back over your life, you only really remember certain highlights, never the whole picture – that’s just the way it is… so it behooves us to make even the simplest moments count, and count again, so that in our flashes of reflection our life’s tapestry, in and amongst the boring bits, the brighter strands will leap out even more. By the way - this month my blog turned 2 years old. Thanks for visiting and your continued support! I wish I was in Mogadishu (in 1970) For the love of old things; don’t let (all) bygones be bygones. I just relish the feeling of Nostalgia in the morning. Sampling what we can from the past, but let’s not get existential and delve into history here, I’m simply talking about pockets, pockets of time. Are you a little lost? Allow me a moment to explicate. I like mystery. I’m a tad sentimental, a little traditional, and more than somewhat adventurous – but only as adventurous as an introvert allows himself to be. I tend to explore in pockets, in times of inspiration to feed my soul. But, what I’m nudging towards here is: treasures. We cannot take anything with us from this life (thought I wasn’t getting existential), but we can always treasure those notes that award life more depth. I was chatting to a friend and colleague about the internet and how people don’t want to read anymore –technology has made us lazy and a little idiotic and stupid, or perhaps just numb. Truth is, most people are okay with speedy temporary mediocrity, or they just allow it to be okay. I like to read. Sounds simple, because it is, but as has been bemoaned in the recent past, it also feels like its dying in this society. I’m currently reading an espionage thriller fantasy – sounds unreal (well it is a work of fiction), but its set somewhere in the 50’s/60’s, and it’s made up of gloriously vivid characters and stark locations. This of course was a period when there was much more mystery in the world. The world wasn’t as conscious of itself as it is now – so in a way it too is a character in the novel. This was a time of deadly aristocrats, master thieves, underworld assassins and smugglers with trench coats – each with their own individual quirks and signatures – and those would be the good guys. This feels like an era long gone, because it is. Like another story I read some time ago that began (if memory serves) with an already old-world English traveller in Mogadishu, in the days before an attempted coup d’état in the late 70’s, as he lamented the changing of times as the dark political shadows grew longer over the city – this as he sipped a cool beverage with (as per the delightful description) an Iman lookalike. I’m certain there are characters like these living today, but they’ve been absorbed by the corporate world, the technology, a blanket of commercialism, social media and globalization. This, here, now, around us, is a diluted society. It’s something you’ll find as a theme in some of the stories I’ve written; from a father telling his son a bedtime story encompassing his former dangerous and high-speed life, to a girl imploring her mother to take her down the path to find her estranged father a half a world away. I like holding history in my fingers. From books, to my father’s old broken watch… So what if they say I’m grasping at phantoms – whispers of the past that can never be again, trying to, in some small way relive a moment, or colour in a distant memory, I’ve always been like this, from trying to break into my Dad’s safe when I was seven, or trying to get into either of my grandfather’s backyard sheds – there was mystery there yes, but also objects that were decades older than me, and in a young mind, anything can be a treasure, the trick is to keep a hold of a morsel of that youth, to add whimsy to something that strikes a chord in the vein of the illusive things alluded to here.. They don’t make anything like they used to. The trick is in finding gems with no pretense. Moral here is; don’t stop reading. Books on a shelf are like latent worlds waiting to be discovered and explored – although some are more vivid than others… There is a bit of mystery left in the world yet, it’s just about being willing to look, to find something from a certain time, or maybe just something timeless, that isn’t in plain sight. Maybe you’ll find a secret garden, or just a secret that once was lost, but now is yours. It's about discovery, and that endless pursuit, of grandeur... even in the small things. Ahh, tis but a practiced talent indeed, to master the art, of savouring. "Any man's life, told truly, is a novel." [Image credits: pinterest, tumblr, imgur.com, darnour.com, grantstonerrawlings.blogspot.com, i3.minus.com, lonelygentlemangloves.com, mogadishuimages.com, eurocrime.blogspot.com] Related Posts: Why do we love the red convertible? Ugly Beautiful The Inside Watch Abandoned Ruins of Speed "Discovering the secret of a man's soul." This is NOT something that can be done by reading ONE book, but it's a journey of discovery to be traveled and learned over a lifetime. John Eldredge though, goes some way in attempting to figure out what really makes men tick, and what is at our core. Although there are inconsistencies, and he does take liberties with scripture and context, he still manages to hit the mark, going some way in setting those foundations (or re-setting them) of a real man. Synopsis What happens to our boyhood dreams "beating the bad guys... and rescuing the damsel in distress"? John Eldredge looks to highlight the plight of the modern christian man, sitting in the church pews, bored. Wild at heart invites men to rediscover the true passion at the heart of God, simultaneously inviting women to learn the true secret of a man's soul. Target All men who consider themselves real men, should read this. It's not so much about being the tough guy, but it is about discovering true masculinity. So those men who are after God's own heart, if you wish to understand yourself, and him, a bit better, this book sure helps. Bottom Line So yes, I did question some of the context of a few scriptures, which I won't go into here - the lesson there though is: whenever you hear someone, or read a quoted scripture, be sure to check the Bible to confirm the context and how that scripture is being applied, as apposed to how it is being used. That aside (it comprises just a few niggles here and there), the greater message is not lost, far from it: the message of how a christian man should go about discovering what he is made of and what is at his core. I've always known, or ever since my father taught me, that to find the purpose of a creation, one should check with the inventor, the creator... in this instance, the creation is us, and the creator - GOD. So, to find our purpose we should by rights inquire with... But there's much more to this book, which strikes at the reason's for why men have strayed from masculinity, what is required of us in the modern world. It looks at the role of our fathers and the deep set wounds we all bear. "Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight" "The trajedy of life is what dies inside a man while he lives." I agree with Eldredge when he says that there's something wrong with society (above and beyond all the other problems with it), that men are required less and less, what with the advent of the 'metrosexual', 'getting in touch with your feminine side' et al. not to mention the lack of honorable father figures in society. Somewhere along the line, the need for masculinity has dwindled, and we as men of God, need to reclaim it. I recommend this book for the simple reason that it has got a relevant message and that inevitably, you will glean something useful from it. Whether it's that you actually learn something new, or are reminded of a truth you already knew - there's something here for every man, christian or not - and of course, women should read it too, to gain a better understanding of your man, or the man you desire, and how you can be part of a journey of adventure... to play a crucial role in an epic story (This is not bashing the 'independent woman' - but attempts to explain why there is this complex, due to the lack of respect for women - it's all related. Note: There's another book by Eldridge and his wife Stacy called 'Captivating - Unveiling the mystery of a women's soul' which I'm currently reading). By my reckoning, if Elderedge's intent is to draw men (any and all) closer to God and aid them in realizing their purpose and living the life God wants them to lead, then despite the niggles, I believe he succeeds. This book certainly found me at the right time as it answered some questions that have been sitting on my heart! God Bless. My first post back, and I must say there really is such a thing as "car-lag", the car version of jetlag... Anyway here's something random I wrote whilst on my travels with family and friends, along with some of what I've seen recently: Just like a drop of water or small splinter overwhelms an ant, so could one equate life defining events we experience and later describe as “pivotal” in our lives… it thusly inspired one grey haired man to exclaim, with pointed finger, “It’s all relative”. When you think back on your life you may well recognize several or more “way-points” which greatly influenced the evolution of you. Some of those points will be bright with achievement, or dark with sorrow or failure even, but the ones in between are a little more subtle - in and amongst all the boring bits. They come and go and sometimes pass us by due to untimely distraction or stubbornness on our part, when we’re so set in our ways. They may be shocking and surprising; the modern day ‘intervention’ coming to mind, or they may come in the form of a soft whisper, if we’re attentive enough to lend a spiritual ear. To some who are willing to see, to look past the obvious, morsels of treasure could well be found. In great detective stories they talk about ‘knowing what to look for’ – and the same could be said in the case of ‘life moments’ or just life in general… if you’re in that place where you’re either looking for change, affirmation of something or a blunt tap to steer you in the right direction. If you’re looking for it, whatever it may be, you’ll see it, nestling within simple conversation, or the words unspoken. Sometimes, it’s an event itself – maybe not even happening to you, perhaps you’re only an observer, learning from the lessons of others… As a writer, it’s easy to observe, but getting involved and allowing myself to be moved by the things I see and people I meet are essential, fundamental. Our evolution and growth depend on it. It doesn’t always come easily, because sometimes we can be too settled, distracted, or maybe we’re afraid of change or comfortable in our ways that we just tend to get in our own way… Anyway, a great story inevitably surrounds a great character (insert yourself here), overcoming, achieving, and most of all, living. You may not always get what you want, but in becoming the best character, you must first overcome... to be forged. Special Mention: Also: Congrats to Tebs and Bontle... simply beautiful! Yes people, this was a two wedding hit and run trip! (*All pics in this post taken by me... - And I thank you!*) |
[Banner illustration by Joel Kanar]
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