Naming Game


With only 7 weeks until we meet, I speak my thoughts to your future. Your mother and I are overflowing with gladness. Our sweet flower will finally find air, our legacy finally finds breath, soaking up a new world through eyes glowing with the muted knowledge of a creator that only babies know. That day can’t come any sooner.

A rose by any name will still smell as sweet. Yet here we are pealing the world apart to find the right words for our blessing. With the thousand words that have shaped your mothers world and mine, we are at odds trying to choose the perfect one for our perfect one. We have been sitting around, pulling at names from old books, turning back the hands of time and revisiting the strongest branches in our family trees, all in the hopes of  anointing your presence. There is power in a name.

I’ve been thinking about calling you Faith, a word that carries weight in my world as well as hers. Your mother and I have learned Faith in many forms, all of which have offered the same warmth, the same strength, the same patience that helped endure so much. Faith has been a lifeline unhindered by any boreders, race, language and culture have never been able stifle its reach. It was Faith that kept us so sold on love, we didn’t stop to take stock of the differences culture would make. It is Faith that keeps us resilient, aiding our journey into unison.

I’ve been thinking about calling you Hope. Everyday I hope to see you grow, not so fast that you learn to leave me, just enough to watch the making of an angel. I hope to one day hear you speak, to see you learn the power of language. I hope that over time my last name wont be an inconvenience to your tongue, that you won’t care for how bitter sweet your name sounds against the tonality of my fathers own. I hope that you will always see, seamlessly, these threads that your mother and I have spent years learning to weave together. The twines of two cultures that bound together will never let you fall too far from love, stray too far from grace, the will teach you that every things that makes you less like them, makes you more like us, and together we are strong. You will always be our little princess.

I have faith that you will learn to see the beauty in a world that seems forgotten here, a world that had enough magic to craft your grandmothers smile. She still holds that magic in her tongue, so listen when she sings the songs that have preserved that world for me. I’ve been fighting to hold to the murmuring beat of legacy, I’m always hoping you grow to know the things I have forgotten. I hold but a few relics from the culture that raised me, I wanted to gift them all to you, maybe you could have worn my mothers name.

Instead of naming you in readiness for the diaspora, embellishing your name with trinkets of Africa, I could ready you for this one life the best I can. Together we can sit back and name this world in the spirit of  compassion and freedom. There is power in a name, so my promise to you is that I will take care in naming this world with you, for you, so every avenue is a door to being the blessing you have been sent to be.That murmuring beat of grace was never fading fortitude but growing power. From your crowning moment you were destined to be the queen of our hearts. A rose by any name will still smell as sweet, so let’s nurture your Eden and feed your petals grace.

With Faith at heart and Hope at heart, I’ll see you when you get here. This world is ours to take.

 

 

 

The Fast 

Hearty handfuls of everything here and now have well and truly clouded the system. Arteries are thick with the residues of satisfaction. The breath is now shallow. Tasting the sweetness of now has stolen from a true enjoyment of the atmosphere. The peripheral mind atrophies when it’s allowed to dwindle in the somber swirls of comfort. The obesity of malcontent hasn’t been an issue to the body well suited to the wasted patch of immediacy. 
Starve the ego, let it drain its own energies with the complaints it’s more than ready to deposit, but too cowardly to withdraw from. Sometimes that lethargy needs to meet its match. Fast, sweat out the evil seeds. Something offers itself up when the slate is wiped clean. 
Don’t act as though you’ve never though about it. You washed up on the shores of your greatest dreams and found yourself prisoner to the harbour. The helm of your vessel was too sweet a temptation to touch on the uninterrupted forest that lines the coast. The vessel isn’t a bad omen or an enemy to your voyage so far. It kept you in good stead, when the waves were peaking over the bow and testing the firmness of your journey it was there for you. Your ship held fast, though you were lost and wondering, it kept you far enough above the swim to afford you breath. Beaching on the coast was a blessing and a curse, you haven’t found your Atlantis, but el dorado is within reach. 
Burn that cask of fermented thought, let the plumes of distress signal in your intent to be the next brave soul to wonder “what if?” and journey far enough to find an answer. 
Fast. 
Sweat away the labours of your fears and give in to the little spark of effervescence that weened you off the shores of the other world and into the tumultuous sheet of adventure you survived, to make a home on the shores of possibility. 
I can never promise safety. If I did you’d be unamused by such a sterile venture. You have managed to conquer the seas of uncertainty and found a new adventure. The new night that shrouds your courage illuminates when you are brave enough to part with the match sticks that steal from the wonder of the naked stars. 
Adventure is calling. Fast your heart, mind and body. Weed out the impurities, allow the garden of your true potential a fighting chance to sprout wonders. 

Into the Night

We were all besides ourselves. A thick night had landed on our backs, all we had were our voices. I’ll always be thankful for that, they served as a cadence to hope.

There were familiar voices beneath that shadowy canopy, they echoed out giving us comfort while the strange ruckus of the night air tested our peace. There is a strangeness to that thick smoke that settles in the absence of light, the world loses familiarity when a sun wains. A world without colour, without shape, is a world removed from anything we knew.

My hope survived by my efforts to stay afloat, I made sure to keep my feet alive in the midst of a foreign night. My bearings were the first to lose there energies, but my heart refused to give in, it shouldered the burden and taught me the strength needed to fight for the finish. There were jeers and cheers buoyed by the fear and frenzy, among those were familiar voices fighting for clarity. 
I’m sorry I hadn’t called back when you begged for your rest brother. I’m sorry I wasn’t waiting when you tried to convince me it was only a matter of time. I’m sorry I held my tongue while you screamed into the deep lull, anger hadn’t won us a victory yet. I can’t undo the pace of my passions, love was leading me. 

The truth is we were never sure when we would finally breath without the clouds of uncertainty staining our breathe. Although the light had felt like a lifetime ago, it was never reason enough for me to resign to night.
Once we had broken out of the darkness we relished the light, searching around in our rediscovered clarity reviving a forgotten confidence. Filling our bellies with food and drink, we reconvened and took stock of our memories. It was funny to hear our accounts as we each offered them up in turn. Each of us boasted some degree of bravery that crowned us victors of that sudden eclipse. We all worked “hard” to survive, through our efforts some of us lived others worked only to stay alive. 

I noticed our faces, some were proud of their patience, burrowed in shallow graves that offered safety, they waited for the light to return. I noticed that some faces were colder even after the sun had touch them. The night had worked itself into their hearts, their faith was whittled thin, for them the light was always ready to leave.

I nursed my scars and made my promise to keep my limbs thick with the energy that led me forward. There were scrapes and falls, there were flashes of fear but only the fear had drowned in those sudden pools of doubt I was fortunate enough to stumble into.
I worried about the fray before, I never thought I was ready to face it. Only inside the turmoil had I surrendered to the potency and the true value of that moment. I could fret tirelessly, drawing up pictures of my problems and solutions, or I could let my heart beat that fire into my limbs and settle into the fray.

When you’re there, you’re there, stay present. Don’t drink from those notions of possibilities unrealised. Seize your moments, seize your power as the author of the fight to the finish. You’re story will be written under the canvass of your journeys nocturnal forest. You’re story will come alive under the spotlight of your victories sun. Sharpen your sword, and once more into the night.

Wake Up Call.

 

Alarm_Clocks_20101105

 

I was challenged by my notion of passion. The thought caught me at an important part of my day, the moment when my alarm wakes me up for the first time. It’s always the same, I feel a heaviness in my body, my eyes timidly sip in the light, and I’m met by the snooze paradox, there is a split second decision to be made, to keep pushing or lay still. 

I got into the habit of setting more than one alarm, I didn’t trust myself. This means that if I missed the first alarm, there would be a second, third and fourth to follow to rouse me and succeed where the first one failed.

I have over analysed that morning struggle for a long time. I always blamed the lethargy on my nutrition and sleeping pattern, I felt as though the reason I wasn’t as energized by that call to action was simply down to the fact that I wasn’t well rested and my body wasn’t fueled right. That argument made sense until the weekend rolled around. After a late nights sleep and having skipped a meal the night before I met the morning ready, raring to go, I was up before the sun had a chance to sneak in into my through the gap between my curtains.

It hit me, my will to rise wasn’t seeded in my diet, or the quality of my sleep, it was summoned from higher up. I wont deny the importance of food and sleep, but I ignore the excitement that filled my hear waking up to a blank canvas beckoning my mark.When my day was a fresh sheet I could carve and claim as my own it excited me. On the other hand when I was met by a paint by numbers scenario to step into my steps stuttered. Having to trace over somebody else’s work robbed me of planting my chance seed at the heart of it all. Something about being limited to the white spaces dotted around the page stole from the fun of the whole page.

People talk about the importance of “whys” an awful lot. I understood the concept well, I felt I lived inside the idea for a long time, for a very long time, I was wrong. We can retrospectively rationalize anything given half a chance, as humans we excel here. I was always ready, I held a hand full of reasons to offer up when I was presented with a question as to why I am a certain way. The whole idea of naming things, gave me a comfort in the mystery of everything, the devil we know is better than the devil we dont. I guess I was too eager to have an answer for the questions I had no answers to, I was rushing away from assumed uncertainty, I didn’t take enough time to answer them myself. I understand now that I don’t always have to have the answer. Sometimes its okay not to know, sometimes it’s better. It makes it feel better when you feel around that empty space and learn the true nature of it all, instead of padding the holes in our knowledge with an answer that sustains the illusion of control.

If you ask me 5 years from now, 5 months from now, or even 5 days from now, “What gets you up every morning?” my answer will probably change. But today… It’s this, 

 I’m just excited to get better everyday. I’ve found this crazy canvas that would take a lifetime to paint, and I’m ready for the challenge. Allow me freedom to paint my masterpiece. 

Are you working on your masterpiece?

 

S.K

 

Forged in Fire

Moulded in the toughest moments, your decision will find its voice. There incisions will multiply in effect when applied with experience, that itself is earned through bad decision. 
The spoils of war can be fickle if the battles were void of venture, sterile with stencils yet tested, with what ifs unanswered. Go bravely into battle.

I can question victors tirelessly and ask for the remedies, ask for the formulae to construct my own pulpit. If I only step into the well worn shoes of my professor I can feel the wear of there tread, none of that can show me the road. I must lace up my own, I must take to the path, remembering well, the cautions and failings at my own accord. 

Champions aren’t made over night, watch for the scars under their armour. Those will be the most potent of teachers for the vigilant scholar. When you relish each battle, undiluted by the myths of completion, victory and effort will be separate but one. 
I have never lost a battle. I have grappled with my maladjustments. I have learned the pitfalls of vigour with no vision, learn the impotence of vision with no vigour, I’ve learned the power of the mob, the mob is fickle. 
The bellows are rampant and will not cater to your cadence, the furnace has no sympathy for the timidity. The anvil will spare you nothing, brace for the beat of the hammer. The mighty iron will mark time, crashing against the virgin or kneading out the impurities. The metronome of steel and grit will bound until your armour is finished, so then you can wage war on the horizon of your new beginnings. 

Breaking the Levy


I found him,

Hiding behind a banner of his newest constructions, scared of his own nature.

Why did the child feel he had to be old before his time?
Castrated by the perception of perfection, 

let’s lay that myth to rest!

He has volleyed so much life,

yet let his palms soften and grow sterile in the corral of other men’s ideals,

Shunning the practicality of earning his own character.

Forgetting the offals and feasting on the lean meat of popular culture has starved his character from nourishing his own experience. 

Judgement is a spectators sport,
The hesitant King will soon be impeached for his lack of actions.

 When his council is the key stone of the kingdom what use is the man in his flowery crown. 

The ornaments are weighing him down. 

The crowd was safe in there assumptions, 

they sedated the river inside this man and taught themselves well in the art of levying the wash. 

Breach!

There is water in the streets!

Breach !

There is life inside his eyes!

Breach!

In comes the tide of a long restrained soul,

drowning out the cries of crowd uninitiated. 

Welcome to my river run!! 
(c) Saili Katebe

Passing Time

 

It’s all well and good writing all day, I love it. Spending hour after hour picking apart and piecing together these word pictures. If I could, I would live inside these patiently woven word capsules and never catch sight of day. Words tend to take me places, crazy places where mystery meets magic and the wonders never cease. Reality, the cruel creature she is, strips me of my juvenile fancy to stay at play, so I have to take to finding solace and joy in the land of the living.

I’m a man of simple pleasures. I have a few vices that keep me human, a few friends who keep me toeing the fine line of sanity and a few core principles, these help steer this crazy fare ground ride in the right direction.
I try to feed my various faculties well. I got in the habit of making sure that my mind, body and heart were always getting there fair share of the pie. As with most things, the more I fed them, the more they grew. The more they grew, the more they wanted to consume. My entire life is now spent catering to these faculties.

I used to own a small book shelf, a quaint little thing. It held an assortment of fiction and nonfiction, from from a hand full of authors. That little bookshelf stopped being enough years ago. I discovered  that I always had to know more, I always had to read more, I always had to learn, leafing deep into the paper hides of everything that tickled my curiosity. My small collection has grown in size. Since I started feeding my mind I’ve had to reach out for more content to appease its hunger. I now have  a bookshelf, a duffle bags, and an assortment of storage boxes filled with literature I’ve digested, and literature waiting to be soaked in. I like to read.

The books and the writing cater to a more sedentary life style. I balance the quiet of the study desk with the action and vigour of sport. I was once a very keen basketball player, playing through all 7 days of the week if the opportunity presented itself. Of late, I’ve had to enjoy the sport more sporadically than I would like to. This hasn’t been a barrier enough to dwindle my physical exploits. I make the effort to work up a decent sweat as often as I can. I’ve recently started setting myself some challenges, something to keep me pushing the envelope and working to get better, fitter, faster, stronger. I’ve ran a few races with surprising success, a couple 10k’s and a Half Marathon. More recently I’ve taken up a new sport to sharpen me up a bit. Its all exciting stuff, hard work, but truly exciting stuff. I’ve always enjoyed the lessons in discipline that sport has been able to teach me. Eating well was always a true test of discipline, having to turn my nose up at a banquette of baked goods has been testing.

When all is said and done, I like to take time to take care of my relationships. Depending on who you talk to, I take to this with varying degrees of consistency. The down side to chasing storms is that you lose track of time, after the dust settles, everything appears strange and out of place, with your bearing a little off. In light of all the sacrifices I’ve had to make in pursuit of this vision of mine, a few faces have stayed close by despite the bouts of radio silence. Its hard to ignore those faces, without those faces the initial fear would have swallowed me whole and I wouldn’t have dared to try. Taking the time to share moments with these people is precious, it makes sure my heart is filled with all the right stuff. Whenever I step back to life I take the time to laugh, cry and make memories with them.

When I am not writing I try to make my days count. At times it feels as though there aren’t enough hours in a day, but for each day there is time enough for savouring moments. There are moments to grow, moments learn, moments to love, moments to live.

Blissful Nomad