Your ego- breaking antics not good enough! The snake has to shed its old skin to grow a new one. Echoes as from distant hills, beckon urgently, blinding and deafening. Their weight shackles you to causes that make no sense but dance you do to the tunes the piper pipes.
Songs, poems, proverbs keep your ears afloat from reality. Removed from the usual sing- song of your common sense.
What is good for you, or isn’t good for you? Your voice chanting in self – admonishment, but you refuse to listen, this time the wings have been severed. Vuvuzelas are not good for you, even the Angels God’s messengers will not do.
What am I fighting for? You wonder at the absurdity of responsibility, conviction and passion that has long burned out.
The sun sets, and rises anew, and there you are; a mockery of all you hold with a firm grip, never changing, defying anything and anyone to move you.
But that tight fist, what does it hold? Is it something worth holding with a firm grip? Hopelessness haunts and hounds your every thought, and you struggle in the maze, desperately holding out for emptiness.
Grays arouse you to despair, and you clutch them tightly, welcoming the pain, an escape of sorts, sometimes becoming the hyperbole of desperation.
Through it all, you are blind, will not see, will not hear reason, and will not fight the cobwebs that hold your mind in a firm grip. Or the darkness that loves to keep you company.
Folly dogs your every step, but you know that is not who you are. You know that is not your story.
And when you peer at the bright expanse of the sky as it dawns bright shades of heavenly gold, you’re reminded of the darkness that made your sight useless a few minutes ago.
The darkness must be allowed to be but only for a moment, so when the brightness breaks, it’s blinding fingers usher unrivalled greatness, melting sadness, melting confusion, and finally adorning your mind in the clarity that only God brings.
Mirages, mirrors, blinding visions and moments of dawning endless spouts of realizations.
There has been, there’s and there will be. The story continues, life spiraling in and out of itself, forcing your knees to bend to its will, a mere pawn in games old as time.
No I don’t believe you who say I am lacking and that I am not good enough. You will not find another me anywhere.
A ruse even adorned with gold plates is only a ruse, and I am not a ruse.
Carpets are made to stay, not to be swept from under our feet while we stand upon them, but do what you must; perhaps it is a necessity.
Yesterday I was but a child, and my fears were a different shade, their gravity so great in the face of that child; not so far back the insecurities and uncertainties that blindsided me from powerlessness and helplessness shone a light in the dark recesses of my mind and heart.
Today if I seek refuge in insecurities and uncertainties, I have non but myself to fault, powerlessness being a mirage of the mind, a lie to take refuge in weakness and laziness, a choice not to be, not to be.
The cloak I wear is reminiscent of endless pitfalls, and dusty it may be, torn and scarred it may be, but the gold sheen that comes off it is a testament in itself. It tells me that doubt I may have, but I never stopped moving forward.
I don’t know what is on the other side of that door, but who cares? What’s the worst that could happen? That I could fall, that I could fail? That I might be embarrassed, disappointed, and heartbroken?
So what if all of that happens. Faith is my stand. I have lived, breathed, cried, and fed on faith. I take this step forward with the confidence that the ground I walk on is secured for me to walk it and that any bruises on collision can be healed, mended, and that ordinary does not appeal to me.
The sky has not toppled, the seas rage occasionally, but a man has walked on water, three men have survived a furnace greater than all, while a man has survived inside the belly of a fish for three days. Another has risen from the dead, while many have found peace, that rare precious jewel, peace.
Absurdly, sometimes I triumph and I don’t even know I have triumphed. Gosh this maze has got to break. I am better than these pity parties I constantly throw myself. Irony has its advantages, and mysteries forever hold their own appeal.
I live, I love, I hope, I pray, I triumph, and life goes on.
The fighter in me has been asleep too long, and the consequences therefore are not to be belittled. #NO MORE SLEEP.