Saturday, March 28, 2020

T.Notes#49: Maria

I once lived with an eccentric old friend
who kept an archive of private diaries for over seventy years.
A reckless collection of trysts, musings and quiet uneventful mondays.

We would often reminisce about skinny dipping in caribbean nude beaches,
Relaxing massages overlooking an indian summer,
And accidentally finding Jesus whilst searching for our own delights.

The last time we spoke, we discussed her financial asssets and private emotions.
She said to me,
When they tell you my time is up,
Don't leave these words unattended.

If you must, then burn the whole thing to the ground
every single word!
I'd rather no audience into my mind
When i am no longer able to defend my best intentions,
lest these pages accurse me into the grave.

I agreed, albeit under the influence of late night prosecco,
and wandering thoughts about
if heaven is only for the simple minded.
Those who believe and persist without question.
Or if there is room for those of us tossed back and forth with storming doubts,

Those who wage daily wars to uphold their own redemption
Living in anxious fear to find out in one eternal moment,
If their unrighteous miniscule faith was enough to bring them home to rest.
Or if their many loose ends shipwrecked faith.

There were days when we tired of waiting for God
So we turned to soulful ballards to attend our discontents
Nights like Lauryn hill, Sade Adu and Jorja Smith.
This too, is fine.

Sometimes the best we can do is sit and repeat the words of a simple song,
Or an easy prayer over and over and over again
Until a random unintended interlude, when it all finally rings true.

By the way my dear friend Maria is well and symptom free,
holed away from covid-19 in a fine retirement home.
Guzzling the occasional jagers,
chatting shit on soulcast
And still checking her blog stats
For that one audience reading from heaven.

These are our T.Notes.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

T.Notes#48: Known

Deep inside every person,
is a private sanctum
where dwells
the mysterious essence
of his being. (Tozer)

Try as we may to bare it all,
To lie naked in oneness
in person or in virtual space

We find still only one
who can enter that deep-in core
to establish residence there.

The biblical scriptures
Call that mysterious human entity
as,
The spirit of man.  (Tozer)

This is my simple untheological attraction to Christianity
Yes, psalm 139 gets me.

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

T.Notes#47: South Kensington

There once lived a cockroach who desperately wanted to be human
So he could see the world and enjoy dinners with exotic beauties just like humans do.

One night he met a witch at a local pub
She listened to his discontent and agreed to grant his wish.

In return for one chaste day as a noble man,
he would be her slave for life,
But he must never fall in love with another - he agreed.

He woke as a young charming nigerian prince, complete with the subtle curse of man.
Tipsy with anticipation, he hurried off in pursuit of satisfaction and found a young Eyptian girl in the city.

Drunk on a cocktail of infatuation
He was mesmerised by her eyes and wanton beauty,
Her skin glistened like a patchwork of mixed exotic heritage.

He whisked her away to a plush hotel
And wasted the day loving* her mind,
talking nonsense* about ancient religions and unattended desires.

As the day drew to an end,
The witch's warning about unpermitted affections taunted his mind.
But by the curious tug in his heart*, he admitted his reckless feelings to her,
not disclosing his bewitched predicament.

She said she was open minded
And would wait for him every night.
The mind is such a delicate beautiful thing -  how easily we taint its innocense

That night he returned to resume duty as a homebound slave.
Knees bent like a dog,
Neck leashed and bowed adoringly to patent red boots.
It reminded me of worshiping the devil.

The witch asked him if he was happy for his adventure.
He admitted he may have found love
But she smirked at his naivety.

Men are such simple creatures,
Their affections as fleeting as a flimpsy skirt blown carelessly by the wind.
She leaned in close with a naughty wink,
Come let me show you.

Enraged at his infidelity
She sat on his head, pulled out her magic wand
And turned him back into a cockroach, then flushed him mercilessly down the toilet.

Dizzy but undeterred, he hurried down the sewer to declare unrestrained love for his Egyptian beauty
But all she saw was a disease infected cockroach.
She screamed in genuine alarm at the sight and stamped on him till he died.

The End.

Ok that was a rubbish story.

Wednesday, December 18, 2019

T.Notes#46: Niggar bounce

Last night we hung up symbolic blue baubles
And spoke about growing pains and midlife crisis
Wondering if Jesus fancied cuban cigars and whiskey.

We are the lost ones still vibing to Biggie Smalls and Tupac,
Still learning to walk in smart leather shoes and a niggar bounce
Still defiant to foreign lands that never welcomed us.

Go hard or go home,
Is what i mouth to myself every morning.
But these days, after ten years of battling institutional bias,
hauling generators is starting to seem like a harmless alternative.

I used to run helter skelter when my loneliness arrives
Now i am learning to just sit in it and wait.
When a situation sucks
Embrace the suck or go home.

When it comes to the end
May your armour be battered and body bruised
But may you still be fighting valiantly for good, faith and hope.
For that is where your heart lies.

The sayings of Agur son of Jakeh contain this message.
I am weary, O God; I am weary and worn out
I am too stupid to be human, and I lack common sense.
I have not mastered human wisdom nor do I know the Holy One.

These are my T.Notes
Please mind the gap.

Sunday, October 6, 2019

T.Notes #45: Alice in Wanderland

My goals may be like a rabid rabbit
But i am like a cheetah on steroids
I will get to you eventually no matter what.

My sin may hound me daily without mercy
Relentless like an overzealous tax man.
But there is a saviour on this side of eternity.

Last night we ventured like Alice
Down the labyrinths of a complex beautiful mind
You shone your torch, touched a nerve and spoke passionately about new habits.

Thursday, September 19, 2019

T.Notes #44: Faulty Towers

Last night we watched a Cathedral suddenly implode into rubble.
They said she had survived the wars and natural disasters,
But something dangerously subtle had been occurring within her walls.

It reminded me of gentlemen who carried on whilst their lives were falling apart from the inside out.
Till they felt the tremors,
And the fault lines from our many battles terrified our hearts.

We gathered around the rubble to share stories of war and wanderings.
About men who ventured in search of the gap between expectation and reality,
And a God whom we heard could mend the broken.

These are our T.Notes.
Please mind the gap!

Wednesday, August 14, 2019

T.Notes #43: Lost in Paris

They told us the house was on fire
So we brought in gasoline, lit some cigars,
And sat down to watch the whole thing burn to the ground.

We spoke about mum.
About magic nights sharing a bottle of bubbly,
Whilst tipsy teenage feet danced away to 80's reggae music,
Talking about love, and true disciplines of a good man.

Mum used to say, beware of the soft spoken intelligent man.
She would murmur to father whilst eyeing me and stirring a steaming pot of concoction,
'Keep an eye on that one'.
Bless her, she was right - sometimes.

She used to tell me to be wary of strange affections,
The girls who stoke your desires and damn your devotion.
But instead we let our hearts run wild, savage.
Till they flowed into a hooker's reckless embrace.

She said, from the begining of the world
To the end of days,
Beautiful women will walk the face of the earth.
May they ever be to us -
Nothing more than a passing distraction.

We talked about this new brave world
Where the voices of imperfect men are silenced, me too.
And moral codes are exhalted, without re-education.

How did the leopard changed its spots,
Mum's favourite fòlklore.
The one about Fathers wandering aimlessly trying hide their secrets and find their feet -
With sincere yet uncharmed cluelessness.

Mum was no saint either - god forbid no.
There was no end to the contradictions in her convictions.
Like the psalms she read to us at bedtime,
Whilst her staunch African beliefs dogged her every decision like a talisma.

My therapist admitted that i am a product of dire dysfunction.
Yet thriving beyond every possible imagination.
I agreed - for me and many many others.
God bless the untiring hustle of the Nigerian child.

Last night we waited for the midnight train to Paris,
We watched the girls stroll by in bouncy summer skirts,
And the boys who stumbled over themselves trying to catch a glimpse of heaven.
But God was healing our minds....