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

 

Advertisements

Someday

 

Dear Someday,

I hope this letter reaches you. I meant to tell you all this in person but something came up, as it always does. I’m sorry. I promise, Someday, well meet.

I always talk about you. I think your name has stained my lips with a  promise and  its made for colourful conversations. I talk about you with my friends, with my family, I even find myself talking to complete strangers about you. I tell them about everything we have drawn up in those little dream books of ours, they seem to love you. The people around me haven’t been too impressed with some of my decisions lately, so its kind of a big deal that the like the sound of you. Heck, I really like the sound of you too, you make it sound so easy.

I often revisit those notes we drew up in the hours spent scheming in leu of work. At the top of one of the pages we started a list with “6am Wake up”. 6 am wake up, boy, I remember being as excited as you were when I wrote that down, it was powerful. 6am meant getting a jump start on any day, with everyday we would have had this full day to get things done. I think I must have slept with the laptop on that night, because the light from my screen tends to mess with my REM cycles, so I had to snooze a few of those 6am wake up calls. Dont worry Someday, Ill do it.

Its such a shame its not as easy as writing these things down and then just watching them happen. We could definitely be kicking back with a talk glass of something cold to celebrate our winnings. I mean, look at these lists, of course wed be well on our way to something major. Running a 40 minute 10K, entering a writing competition every month, training 3 times a week, eating well, meditating everyday, and reading at least 2 new books each month. Why wouldn’t that lead to greatness. Only if it was easy as writing it down and watching it happen.

When we talk about all the little things and all the big things that we could be doing, its like you were painting a fantasy. Asking me to just erase a whole bunch of stuff that’s been around me for so long that world looks fuzzy without them in it. You have the best intentions when you try to teach me about taking chances. The whole thing about missing 100% of the chances you don’t take is straight out of some Rich Dad Poor Dad speal, but sucks that it makes sense.

I know you aren’t as far away as I’d like to think sometimes. To some degree you scared me with your willingness to break the mold and walk where there wasn’t a road. I’ve stacked a lot future against your name, I guess its time I shouldered my share of the burden.

See you soon,

See you at Sunrise.

 

Yours

 

Blissful Nomad

 

Choice

4245793-river

Sometimes its easy, sometimes its hard, but making the decision is key. There are a thousand tributaries rooted in every second, every moment presents an option to reshape the course of the river. This body of time has life and a mind of its own, it keeps coursing, swallowing the world in its fluid steps. Gracefully supple, undeniably powerful, you have to take care and take to it in the right way.

There is a song that plays in the air as it cuts a course.The sweet and sour notes of this able bodied wine, aged since time in memorial, winds a testing harmony, demanding action or provoking complacency. Branches will fall from family trees, the ground will give way, there will be rapids that will beg you to find the strength to find air when it leaves you. When you fall victim to the notion that you are merely a passenger, you turn you lips to sour curves when greeted by the dissonance in the melody of you maladjustments. These twisted features steal from your chance to take ownership and rescue your rhythm. Tread carefully, pause and tread water, find the strength to command you minds oars.

I was in the habit of watching her lead. Infected by everything inside her, I lost sight of sense while spending time in her tranquil torrents. Like anyone else, I had my senses, I had my character. Without faltering I proved myself the master of my own thoughts on many an occasion rich with with her clear waters. She paralyzed this truth, with rapids, blankets of wash that showered me, washing my hands clean of confidence stolen from worldly things. Naked, I felt nameless, the river left me with many questions. Who was I? Where was I headed.

I believe our words are heavy, so I heaved a statement into existence that yoked my sense of self to effort. The river will always run, its race is longer and truer than mine. I will dive in and run with it while my body is able, while my breath is in action I will work with the waves and hold up my end of the bargain and cut my own course. There are a thousand tributaries rooted in every second, every moment presents an option to reshape the course of the river. I will be ready when the rapids return, captain of my voyage.

 

The List.

Today I left my house with a roughly folded note tucked into my jacket pocket.

I’m the kind of person who enjoys writing lists. So this morning, just before I put on my shoes to leave the house, I made a list. I decided to list the things I thought were important to remember and carry through the day. It turns out there were 7 things I felt I need to keep in mind going into the day.

  1. Write at least one true sentence today. Eventually you won’t suck.
  2. Spend some time reading a book, there is plenty of living in those pages. Chase an adventure.
  3. Be brave enough to sit in silence. Those little voices will wear themselves out. Listen to how your lungs invite the world in, how the world eases out again. Listen, the world is speaking.
  4. She’s only as beautiful as her mind.
  5. Call Mum.
  6. The day goes where you take it.
  7. Stay present, Time is money. Savour the worth of every second.

What does your list for the day look like?

S.K

Echoes of Hand Claps

take-a-bow

I tried to learn a story from you, something that could make sense of the smiles you have been sharing with the world. So we talked merrily in serious times until you opened up to me, opened a window into a room filled with laughter and music, you showed me your answers to my questions. Now it is clear, you are missing the fire of it all, the stage was once your home.

Your warm words are the lasting embers of what was vibrant and colourful to you once. Echoes of the brilliant you have made themselves known in your moments of revery. Time has a way of pretense that has fooled too many, too often. Its colorless folds, have a adopted a shadow to hide that moment in time from you, it has failed to deceive me, I hope it fails to hold those memories behind you. There is plenty theatre inside that beating heart.

In confidence you grew bolder in owning up to your brilliance. You let me listen to your tales of magic, when you would disappear from the constraints of the audience and find your true colour on the stages that made you wholesome in your talents. I can only drag you so far back into that moment before you lose me, before you find your wings and take to patches of that memory you have succeeded in keeping secret. I’m dancing to the echoes of a symphony of passion, a melody of a memory so potent it kills my bearings. To the watching eyes I’m too silly to be made of sense, to the moment, I’m a victim of truth.

The years haven’t been able to stifle the reverberation of that most precious time. Don’t lose the magic, because you have been led to believe that the mischief of the theatre is for people less serious than you ought to be now. Behind the closed doors of my own home I harmonize with those echoes you let me hear, hoping to find the child at play in this very serious place. I hope you can let me see that child at play again, I hope you can find that magic again, take to the stage once more.

Writing 101, Day 4: Seriously lost 

 

We slip through this river of time together, I remember your faces. It’s a crowded place sometimes, at times its deadly silent, I don’t know where this current takes us, but I’m certain our journey’s end. We are never in the same place twice, that is the nature of this river, it is the beauty of time.

We start off with nothing, we leave with nothing, somehow somewhere in the middle we feel as though we’ve earned things, gained things, made things ours. Sometimes we hold tightly to everything we have, sometimes we lose a thing or two to the white wash of passing moments. Maybe we lose them because we couldn’t hold them tight enough, we were not strong enough. Maybe we lose them because we held on too tight, or maybe we lose  them because there was nothing to there hold on to in the first place. 

Loss is inevitable, I have lost and left a lot behind, I am familiar with the sudden sense of lacking. I’m not saying I am happy about losing, I’m not saying it has gotten easier with time, but I look at the losses differently now, I see what it is left, what it was I truly  lost. 

I never thought I was losing you when I dreamed of change. I assumed, I assumed you would follow, that you would finally see the visions I painted into our summers. I just assumed you’d always be that spontaneous voice on the other end of the phone, coaxing me out for another day under the sun, another day to settle our tumultuous spirits, away from where the world teased us into tightly clenched pockets of confusion. I miss always knowing your home was mine. I look back and call for you at times, I try to pretend you’ll come, but you only wave and smile at me, I guess that’s enough for now. 

I never thought I would lose you, my second in command, my partner on my every conquest. We took to life with the winds of youth at our wings, with the endless string of chances we thought we had ready at hand. They doubted us then, they are doubting us now, but still we cut our way against there negativity. It’s a shame that we seem to doubt each other now, just as much as they did us.

 I never thought I’d lose the stage that claimed our memories. Behind our closed doors we dreamed of building our legacies. I realised that I had to swim to build that dream, treading water has lost its allure. 

I remember our wildest nights. When the sun forfeited its flight, we did what they all did, we marched amongst the wild and free. I hated when the guise had worn thin, I could see the binds. I was taken by fear when I saw the truth, what I thought to be my freedom had held me captive. 

You were the faces of my memories, I forever hold you close. It is not because of lessened love that I appear to remain hidden. It isn’t you that I am leaving behind. I know that you have seen them, those troubling sparks inside me that have always burned brightly and coloured our conversations with something memorable. I want those flashes to be a beacon in the night. I will disappear into black, but I promise you’re not forgotten. Watch for the beacon and you will find me. I hope you have the patience to wait.

Sunrise

download (1)

My early call to rise rings out at the same time ever morning, 5 am. Every morning, at 5 am, I rock myself out of a shallow sleep, gather the scattered pieces of my focus and brace myself, ready to face the budding day at its root. I loathed dawn for so long, returning to it only through necessity.

I recently found hidden value and beauty in those early hours. It wasn’t the way in which the horizon bled as the sun stalked the weakening night sky. It wasn’t the tranquil air, alive with a heady mix of possibility and bird song , it was something different. It was the way it mediated my conflicting thoughts and gave my hope a backbone, the way it allowed my compass to settle to a true north, it allowed me to breath in the realisation that, like that rising sun, coming from everywhere, to embrace everything, I have to go far from comfort to pierce the blackness.

My eyes are drawn to the morning sun, with envy and curiosity. When 5 am arrives, I rise to chase a dream.

 

SUNRISE

As your golden arcs dissolve the night, I wonder where you’ve been.

you trace the distance silhouettes with ribbons of foreign fire.

Fermenting the swollen shadows by imposing your rosy sheen,

as your golden arcs dissolve the night, I wonder where you’ve been.

I’ve been tested by dawns return, the burn of an auburn, keen

to unfold the day, invoke a steam to power our souls desire.

With your golden arcs dissolving night, I wonder where you’ve been,

you trace the distance silhouettes with ribbons of foreign fire.

–  Triolet

(c) Saili Katebe