e-god (egod? egoed)

It’s easy to see how the sun was seen as a god by many cultures. Now, given things we know and take for granted, it seems a bit odd. But, watching the sun set over the misty green interspersed with city, it’s easy to see this. Perhaps in this same way, humans will sit somewhere and think “it’s easy to see how the consciousness became their god. Now, given the things we know and take for granted it seems a bit odd. But, knowing the difficult nature of the ego…” I do not know how to finish that sentence. I have never been to the future. I have tried severally but every time I get there I’m late and it is already the present. This used to frustrate me but I have been toying with wonder rather than control recently (will report on findings of said study).

What is god but an ego unchecked?

What has man built that god has not wrecked?

Other popular gods include animals, paintings in the sky, large men and bad guy characters from children’s animations. These gods, across the board possess certain characteristics. Allness and everythingness are important. Also, an element of everywhereness, all seeingness, or all knowingness is also important. Knowledge, from god’s perspective, is perfect and contains every capable context possible for every situation between every being for all time. Perhaps this explains the extremities. Extreme anger, extreme good, extreme generosity, extreme kindness, extreme strength – just a lotness in general. Sometimes, they are surprised – but only by other gods (and to be honest, wasn’t this just mainly the Greeks? And what they really had was a god like parliament – makes for much better entertainment to be honest).

Whose god sent you, tell me their name.

Whose god sent you, show me their shame

What we all seem to agree on is that some gods must have been lazier than others. Or maybe not lazier but had different personalities, different ways of treating their. Like, the white god must be some kind of abusive – he lets it winter there for months. I can barely stand July in Nairobi. But, he did give them guns – so he is not all good for nothing. Maybe our gods are disappointed at us. Like any other African parents “look at them, they couldn’t even beat Yaweh’s kids at a simple game of conquest, now every-time we go for dinner Yaweh is talking., he just keeps talking, he never stops.” Meanwhile, we’re looking back at them like “well, if you had given us guns though…”

Which gods do you speak of?

Whose love do you possess?

Whicb magic holds your feet up,

When all you need is rest.

Where do you lay your head

Upon which lie do you lie?

 

Now tell me a story

A story once told

Of how what was ash

Turned into gold

 

Now tell me a story

A story once told

Of the meek and the scared

Of the strong and the bold

 

Now tell me a story

Don’t stop till you’re done

Tell me the story

of how you see your sun.

The Poet, the poeted and the poetee

One must agree though that grasping at straws is only useful if your mind understands the concept of holding on. Otherwise to clutch at straws is to guarantee not only ones own destruction, but that of straws as well. Maybe this is why straws are wary of humans.

“I met a straw once” Mr x. He didn’t like being called Mr x but sadly, that was his name. He rarely spoke so the rest of the table was sat at attention at the sound of his voice. Even Ms d, who was always chattering off to herself sat silent for a bit.

“I know, it was the oddest thing, the straw must have been an absent minded straw or something. I actually surprised it. It seemed to be looking down at the ground as if something was going to leap right out of the earth.”

“Did it?” Ms d, who was eagerly listening now. Straws, after all, were more a modern myth than a real thing. No one had ever even met anyone who had met anyone who had met a straw. Let alone startled one. I had once had a dream about meeting a straw. Not only any straw – the last straw. Another thing of fable. But it was a dream, and besides, if I met the last straw then which straw did Mr x meet. Or perhaps it was the same straw?

“Of course not. I tipped my hat and went along my way”

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Of course, what business do I have interfering a straw staring at the ground. I hear it went on to break the camel’s back but that was for totally unrelated reasons, and a lot later.”

“I would like to meet a straw, I’d imagine I’d get everything I want, a house, a car, a beach – why if I had a straw I would…” Ms d had left us once more to her own mind.

Still, I couldn’t help but think, do straws drown?

From their slumber

They woke the sleeping giants from their eternal slumber.

The great protectors of the realm, once silenced – stripped of their power, had gone into a thousand years of sleep. And it is during this sleep that they ravaged the land, stripped it of its minerals and its vitamins. Left it barren – unable to give life to the people.

And the people

the people

The people tore their garments and raved in the streets. Drapped themselves in sackcloth and looked to old gods forgotten. And gods, gaining men, gained power. And they used this power to stir controversy in the sleeping protectors dreamed. Filled their slumber with terrors of the night.

In this way, the protectors knew it is was time. Time to come alive. Time to end their sleep. Time for them to, once again, defend that land that was taken from their custody at the end of the great war. Time to take back the minds. Time to take back the hearts. Time to take back the imagination, the freedom, the frames, the language, the peace, the power, the control. Time to give the land back its due, to set spark to the sun that life may grow anew.

Time to bring the future to the present.

Now the ground trembles as the sleeping giants stir. And the people – those that know – sit in silent celebration, for they know it is coming.They have heard the rumble, they have felt the tremors.

And the people

the people wait

in bated breath

as the giants take their place.

By the Neck

There’s a latent pervasive assumption that’s false. Yet somehow because it pervades we don’t see it. It is like the thing that should be most apparent becomes the thing that we refuse to see – instead we trade in the current sea – currencies of now being passed to each other in dark alleys. Vulnerabilities broken and shattered. The things and the people we become slowly becoming us. And the more we chase the beginning, the further we find ourselves from the end

The further we find ourselves from the end the more we wish that it was over.

Perhaps because of the nature of broken telephone there is very little space within the current frames. Perhaps it is latent assumptions that define frames, and in destroying the assumptions we find ourselves destroying the current frames. Frames – the things that hold now together. If time is just a series of passing ideas, then we are trapped by the knowledge of the day.

The thing is the things that should be apparent make themselves apparent. And there’s only so long that one can hang by a noose before their bowels give way.

oh shit.

There I go

Volunteering, punish me,

Self inflicted pain,

way overused

– Put me Through, Anderson Paak

But who’s to blame for the death penalty? The hangman, the judge, the queen or the law?

You walk yourself to the gallows.

For the Caterpillar

In many ways, I know that nothing I tell you will change the course of history. The vanity of time doesn’t allow it to be changed by the whims of men. And the nature of perception is so deeply coded in the ways in which we understand each other – in which we hide from each other. So deeply rooted in the ways in which we are taught to protect ourselves and in the things we are taught to destroy that there is little I can do or say that will stop the universe from coming at you.

And I know enough of you to know that you will not change course – and you shouldn’t. Your destiny lies beyond whatever you are set on facing. And even if it doesn’t, you’re too much like me. Too set on making the universe yield to your will. Too strong headed to break.

Too strong to break – sounds a bit like a mad cow yes?

And, of course, it is this very strength that will break you. Not just once – again and again. It already has. And as you continue to carry weights that are larger than your capacity your capacity begins to grow. But you can only carry what you can carry – and then you can only carry so much more.

“It’s the greatest thing you’d ever imagine

But you’ll never know until you’re there”

But even as I write this words, I realise they appear to be nothingness. A void of platitudes that carry no weight. The cracks never really seem important until they break down the house. And only when looking at the ruins will you properly identify the source – and even then it might not be apparent. So I’m not particularly concerned with your actions, your decisions – you have always been the master of your fate, you just have to figure out the waters (and that’s the easier part).

What I am concerned about is grace.

Amidst whatever life throws at you I wish you grace. Grace that comes from knowledge of circumstance, understanding that the turmoil of the sea has not been caused by your rowing – and cannot be stopped by it. Amidst the chaos I wish you a still soul and a wandering mind. I pray that your soul is always in contact with your skin. That you might find time to feel the wind and smell the rain. That you might catch every sunrise and sunset.

You have chosen to die – and nothing will stop you.

But, till then, I pray that you live.

Uprooting the Tree (Or, There’s the Forest!)

When you finally stumble upon the truth you will be amazed at the number of times you have come across it. The number of times you have shrugged it aside, blocked it, misunderstood it, ran from it, hidden away. By this time, however, it will already be too late for most of the things. And the ways in which the world has changed will fall into place – and the signs will seem demystified.

“Though you can see when you’re wrong, you know you can’t always see when you’re right”

Hopefully, by this time you will have enough experience to understand that there are others, and that the signs differ according to the paths you take. Hopefully, by this time, you will have learned that the intersection is one of the most dangerous places to live and that oncoming traffic will not always be friendly. Hopefully by this time you will have learned how to tread lightly, how to move out of the way while standing your ground. How to stay firm even when your heart is fleeing. How to run when your soul is rooted to the ground.

Hopefully, by this time, you will know that there is a reason there is little to work with. And that those who chose to create more are often demanded to do more. That no matter how far you stretch yourself you will never be able to fill the void in their lives. That there is a reason there have been things that have been regurgitated and re-said.

“(they) said all we ever need is love.

We see the same things

We sing the same songs

We feel the same grief

Bleed the same blood”

 

“I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? —fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die..?”

Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare

By this time you will have learned how to die.

And get back up again.

Soft Landings

By the time we had begun to take apart the metaphors that we use to keep ourselves up we thought we could fly. Perhaps this, in itself, was a testament to the metaphors – definitions of who we are were always strong enough to adapt to the changing world. But were we?

Robbed of our metaphors we spiraled into a freefall.

We are still falling.

*

According to newton, acceleration due to gravity is a constant 9.8 metres per second squared.

Even at our most still we are seated on a rock that is travelling through space at 460 metres per second, tethered in place by the sun.

We can barely afford to move faster.

*

The faster we fall  the closer the ground gets.

But if no one hears the splat – did it happen?

The cart goes behind the horse

When you get tired of dragging yourself around you will begin to look for someone to pull you through. Perhaps it is around this time that you will realise that you can only organize your life around your feet. And that your shoulders can only carry as much as they can carry. Perhaps then you will learn to deconstruct the load. To consistently shift the burdens and the ways in which you are carrying them. Perhaps then you will learn that when you carry more than you can, you break. Perhaps you will learn to know what you can’t lift before you strain yourself.

I imagine the first time you avoid a weight you will feel guilty. I imagine you will try to equip it best you can. I imagine you will keep looking over your shoulder as you walk away, wondering if there was more you could do. If there was more you can have left it with, more you could have given.

I wonder if you will be adequately prepared to stand straight – after all, you will have spent a long time hunched over. I wonder if you remember what it feels like to run, to jump, to walk, to look back, to rest. Or will you learn the joys in these banal things afresh? See life with a new fascination. Will you treasure this fascination?

I wonder if you will notice yourself getting stronger. Moving faster.

Maybe it is about this time that you will turn to look at the loads you once tried to carry – that you will begin to organize them in your own path. Maybe it is about this time that you will learn to run towards yourself – gathering momentum as you grow.

 

Travel On


You owe your freedom to yourself.

This is not a rallying call. A call to fight against or to challenge. Rather it is a call to question. Identify your freedoms and pursue them. Work towards something rather that away from it. Work at a deliberate pace, always being cautious of your fellow labourer – they too have their struggle. Find people along the journey who would grow with you and grow together for as long as is necessary. Listen to those who would destroy you but do not dwell in their company, nor wallow in their thoughts. Remember, your task is noble, your journey is long.
So travel on, brave soldier,
travel on.

Travel on, brave soldier,
travel on.

Though the night whispers all your demons. Though your broken battered inside proves you wrong. Though the concrete jungle scares you and those who save you often prey you – travel on.
Through the sunshine through the rain, through the traffic, through the pain – travel on.

Grab a Flashlight

 

Of course one must be careful when it comes to trying to understand the way language turns and twists, changes and morphs, adjusts itself to fit in the cracks between what we would like to express. Furthermore, it is very urgent that we pay attention to the syllabic breaks between a backbeat and a forward slash. It is here that the mysteries have hidden themselves. We hear them but understanding comes later – like a revelation we claim it as our own. Undiscerning of the source we imagine that our own indicators are our own.

Which makes it easier for one to switch indicators on us.

This would not be so dangerous if it wasn’t that we blindly follow our indicators wherever they may lead us. And, in not noticing the change of indicators we fail to notice our life shifting course. That is, of course, until we find ourselves somewhere unfamiliar.

It is at this point that we begin to go back. To re-anallyse. To understand again. It is at this point that we realise that we have been following the wrong indicators. And the breadcrumbs that we left to show us the way back have long been consumed by the crows we refused to kill in the name of our humanity.

This, of course, is why language immediately became important. Language to read the signs, to understand the indicators and to stay focused on one’s own. But ownership is a capitalist concept. And the self is only a piece broken off from a couple of others and trying to make room for its existence – is there space outside the whole for the singular to exist? The indicators we chase continue to be intertwined with the whole – the whole keeps shifting to accommodate for more – to make more space. And the indicators keep shifting.

And we keep chasing them – paying attention to the way language shifts and morphs, turns and twists hoping this time we won’t get lost.