Even when life goes on in its full normalcy, I am always aware of a strong force around me, a force stronger than gravity. It pulls me in this wonderful yet empty orbit called virtue.
And within it I find embedded: love, kindness, sacrifice. And even when I swim ashore as I often do, its ripples knock me back into the orbit. #life_in_its_entirety_in purity of heart.
Even when life goes on in its full normalcy, I am always aware of a strong force around me, a force stronger than gravity. It pulls me in this wonderful yet empty orbit called virtue.
You call bees stupid for doing all the work while flowers just sit lazily? Close your eyes and touch your heart. Then ask yourself if you are smarter. ~# The beauty of a flower negates human caution……
Freshly posted by Golden express
The hurried feet of women announce the dawning of a new day, with all hopes lost yet trying to keep his human form for as long as they possibly can before his final decomposition. With a broken heart, Mary weeping and wanting to share how lonely her life has become in so small a time makes her way to his resting place. Why did he have to come into her life, only to depart before she even knew him? The change he had brought in her life, so overwhelming that no solace could ever fill it for all eternity.
Did he even care about how she felt, this once Whore of the town transformed, that knew dignity for only a while and only to be stolen by his death?
The whole world weeps with her. Why did he have to live when we finally had hope? Our hearts pang at his loss. More miserable than lepers we stand, alien to all that we ever knew and loved before we met him.
The distant wails of a woman resonate a new wave of deeper grief. That voice so unmistakably the woman at the tomb. What could have happened this time? Wasn’t his death enough? My heart unwilling to take, I choose to part from this world. May the Lord curse the day I was born, the day my worthless being came into existence. For willing as my heart was, my legs would not move to rescue my dying friend or better still trade places with him.
The distant wailing turns into shouts of joy and my heart quickens as the feet of the woman break the morning silence. Will my heart be strong enough to stomach it all? My life is no longer worth living. If shock be my death then so be it.
“Our master is alive” announces the woman,” he has trampled over death and walks among the living looking for a house to stay in. Yet he seeks not the houses made of clay and but the hearts of men that make them” Great joy has come to those that died with him for in their hearts lives a revived spirit, Christ in them never to depart.
Shout all ye that weep, for the Lord has announced his resurrection with great tremor and his company with binding love.
The best art of heroine is when you learn to contain the time bomb of your pains inwards leaving those around you unscathed. Without spot, without any mark of injury.
A better hero is yet one whose personality remains unchanged even in the aftermath of containing the blast.
The world is never ready to listen to one’s complaints and only pretends it understands, but by enduring in silence with less exaggeration and propaganda you get to realize the beauty of walking the pain’s length in solitude. And before you know it you will have attracted a great deal of supernatural beings to your aid by your endurance. #the_Christ-like_burden
I bet you have all had that experience before, on a stressful day while walking home when an uncle or your folks’ friend drives by, ignoring you and not even giving you a ride like you do not even exist. Or maybe you have experienced it another way but it’s still one and the same, a heartbreaking moment when they crash your hopes in something just because you are nonexistent in their world. Read the rest of this page »
My first time to be hoodwinked on the streets was barely a few days ago. I was coming out of a store when a certain man walked up to me, I wouldn’t call him strange looking because I was in too good a mood to even think of taking in such details about him. He walked up to me and displayed these thumb drives that he was selling and I smiled warmly at him like someone I knew, trying to enjoy every moment of my loosened-up self.
I told him I wasn’t buying any of them because they were way too small for the files I intended to load on them. But with a little persistence I finally gave in and bought one. I don’t know what happened to the cautious me or the fact that his reduction in price by nearly half should have logically warned me, I just felt like not ruining my spirits with my usual serious face, and who cares anyway I was still going to eventually dig out a few bills of money by the end of the day. And I walked on for my next errand.
Surprisingly I wasn’t so shocked either when I discovered it was a fake. Wasn’t I supposed to be angry? Well I dunno but instead I tried to picture his grin and his thoughts when giving this gullible strange me his fake drive. A bit frustrating at first how he succeeded in conning an intellectual with nothing but an average street experience but that didn’t matter, at least he had some moment of satisfaction though in the unorthodox way, but that’s still success anyhow. And soon my frustration turned into curiosity. “Is this how God felt when we cheated on him? Or was he some obsessed secret admirer eager to do our every bidding hoping we’d grow to love him eventually?” Well I never would really know. And the whole idea struck me with guilt. I bet his demands are not so big after all and maybe I stood a fine chance of meeting him and asking him in person in the afterlife.
Maybe the easy way to setting up this rendezvous is deciphering his last clue left on the mantelpiece of the cold fire place: appreciate me for who I am and appreciate my creation (mankind) for it is my masterpiece.
I know you may look at me as a cynical father or maybe a thoughtful one, but that doesn’t matter to me in the least. My opinions are mine alone and so are my kids and will gladly raise them by my ideals.
It doesn’t matter which path we take but we all become parents at some point, the moment somebody’s child looks up to us and madly wants to be like us. Like some superhero in the comics.
And that is moment when the destiny of the child weighs on us, hanging between creating a villain or a noble hero.
Today on father’s day I share a part of my future blended in 4 life lessons that have been itching to get inked for a while now.
It never occurs much to be that I’d be a father someday. But the idea of having a little-me sounds like a perfect chance to make amends and perfect my irreversible past, fixing the weak links and reinforcing the stronger links.
Like a playback I will be able to watch little-her growing up and adding an extra touch where necessary. It would be thrilling having Wifey in both lifetimes of course the only difference will be that the miniature her, little-one will this time end up in another man’s arms.
First I will teach them both the best way to have a smooth course through life, beginning with the Great error, that the world is mostly lived by many as a dock where every soul has its insecurities and tries to make the best act in an effort to please the jury. Yet the jury does not exist and every member of the panel equally mistakes the defendant for the jury and he for the defendant.
And when they learn this great irony their wavering infancy will unfold into remarkably confident teen years. And unlike many parents I will not feel shy to teach them the secrets of the force that sends a man’s insides twitching and cold, a force that springs to life butterflies in a woman’s stomach. I will teach then that love, unlike what it is pictured to be, is an uninvited guest that knows no bounds and knocks when it is already halfway in. Regardless of your remoteness barricaded wall of ‘nerdiness’ built around you, it sure finds its way in when the time is right.
Unexplainable as it is, it is what led the risen one into craving for a better view of his creation on a perfect hilltop. And when he found the right spot, he mounted on an erected wooden structure and smiled between gritted teeth at the perfect view beyond the horizon forgetting the pain from the three nails supporting his weight. Such are the lengths of true, not the love sketched by script writers and novelists.
I will tell them, “The world has its standards and thanks to them our growth uniformly projects around those constraints. An average 8th grader behaves as theorized by educationalists and a college student behaves as one, but love never bends to these constraints. It comes at will, sometimes early, other times late but never the same for everyone. It may be that maturity occurs at the stage calculated by the standards but true love knows no arithmetic.”
When little-her grows impatient and sets out on a futile adventure in search of love and eventually learns firsthand the cruelty of the cold world, I will passionately stand by her side and assure her there is no such thing as a bad world but bad deeds and everyone has a bad side, for we dwell on self-preservation. But it is what you nurture in the bond of any friendship that matters. With the heart of a lioness she will endure and rise from the shambles, blowing away the burning unshed tears from the nose like it never happened.
And when little-me finally thrives in setting sail on course with his goals, I will wrap him in a man-to-man hug and tell him “it doesn’t matter where you are and what you have but you can always make it, if you put your mind to it’’ with the simplicity of the words and weight of my advice he will grow into a great man, a man worth looking up to.
With soiled pants and torn shirt I walk through the main room. Out-matched yet confident.
I see fancy cakes. Fancy cards and huge presents, but I care less about all that. My pride undeterred, I proceed to the main arena, to hold the hand of the one, to whose life we are drinking up ti on this honored day.
Between my palms lies my Birthday present. The most rare present one would ever get, at least I know that much because it cost me my pants and a hole in the shirt to get it.
Behold I bring the winged-sheath. I know you would call it a bug but to me it is something more than just a beetle. It is a life lesson, a classroom without walls. Its hard sheath on the outer wings show how cynical its personality is about trust issues. And its love for only one kind of game shows how dull its short life on earth has become.
I wish it knew how many tonnes of energy hang in its body un used, or rather remained poorly used. Did it know those balls of dung it rolled were over 50times its weight?
If only these things were clear to it, maybe it could not have missed the most important law of existence: “Know your strengths and forge new paths with it for you are one of a kind. Just because nature says play dead when you meet something you can’t defeat doesn’t mean nature is always right.” Nature only makes fair enough to consider the weak and the strong. But when your strength lies on the extremities of either sides, then you just might need to write your own laws and break out of the shell.
That is my message to my birthday friend, to whom I have the honor of presenting my gift. Admire not its unconfidence but its beauty and strength
Share this if it is true:
Look back in your life today, travel back to the first time that you had your first friend that wasn’t a next door kid. And the other time that you had your little moments of satisfaction at being smarter than those around you at something or the first people that you always crave to show off to each time Daddy got you a new toy and once in a while, it would eventually find its way into your bag when Mum wasn’t looking and would finally jump out of the bag at break time when the coast was clear. When any of these thoughts cross your mind, one word gently echoes in resonance; school! Those were one of the best childhood moments you ever had and of course amongst them were a few embarrassing moments too, you can’t help holding back your laughter and a flush of embarasment in your cheeks, when you remember some of the childish little things your mind could cook up in those days. And of course a little degree of jealousy comes in when you see kids of today acting much smarter than you were at their age. It’s like they skipped one stage in their growth and there is no telling how much smarter they will be when they reach our age if whatever factors cause them to be this smart continue to be at play.
It gives me so much joy watching little kids thinking like little Einsteins and when I grow up I’ll give my kids the best Childhood I never had! At least I’ll be glad saying yeah! That’s my kid! ….. But that’s not all, I still can make a difference now, by vouching for my little siblings so that my parents get them the best childhood ever! And that begins with getting them best school places on offer.
Looking at the Northern Region of Zambia I believe no offer beats Fountain School.
Yet my opinions stands to be corrected although I confidently would hold on to what believe because when you consider all angles at play; the devotion they add to their services, the flexibility in going for what yields the most infant mental growth and their methods of delivery in which learning is unbounded by the classroom wallsa unique on-the-site learning experience which makes learning fun such as school tours. Even without this, the class of most homes that entrust their kids to this school being elite big wigs and the extra touch to discipline and… and…. and the favourable moral growth of its environment all make me want even more to take my kids thei, or at least my sibblings for now before I have a home of my own since I know my parents can afford the fair price at which all this goes; I’d say it’s my first step to getting them the childhood I’ve always dreamed of.
Irecollect on my early days of blogging and with unceasing admiration that I always find in this post, I think I’d openly crown it my masterpiece. A post that trippled my number of followers overnight. Read throughand see how much content it holds.
Glancing into the hearts of the “STAUNCH CHRISTIANS” with my quick darting eyes, I see total submission to the torments and pains life inflicts upon them. And often I hear the suppressed question escape my lips, “why did you choose to take up that heavy load on your back?” And the general answer I get is “God commanded every person that calls oneself a christian to denounce oneself and take up one’s own cross and follow him.”
And when I get this response I often go into a bad convulsion of heart-piercing grief and distress. “Did this person really see what he was putting on his shoulder when he first started carrying this wheel spanner for a cross????……….” I would think.
True enough we all have to carry our own crosses and denounce our Earthly inclinations for we are pilgrims on our way to Heaven but often we give…
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Like maggots, we were birthed out of death. Conceived by a rotting corpse.
Yes, yes indeed that’s how nauseating our existence is.
And not just any corpse, but a wounded corpse of a man who once called himself God. His body, rippened by the inflicted wounds for its last purpose: to birth a colony of worms, Maggots, and nothing any better.
Like a catalyzed process, it conceived us in 3 days and OUT we bit our way out to the outside world, taking in as much flesh as our stomachs could hold and soon our adventure began which later became a nightmare for the weak-hearted like me….
12 hours outside that rolled tombstone, my eyes have become weary. Disillusioned by the disappointment that comes with facing retality of the famously “taled” legends of a world called Earth. I have bitten deep at the juicest fat called money, yet my tongue rebels with abhorrence for its taste. I have rubbed my skin with the purest of gold, yet my itchy spots never seize, I have drunk to the very bottom of wealth yet my thirst is never quenched.
Could it be that this quest is meaningless? But why do many keep striving hard to obtain even the tiniest fraction of this loot called wealth?
I realize my foolishness and even with the little time left before my metamorphotic transformation into a chrysalis, I will still head back to the tomb.
I don’t care how many of Pilate’s men will be standing by the entrance or how many of the clumsy feet of those women will show up to tend the corpse. I don’t care whether they will smear poisons on the corpse to end my life as a parasite without its host. In fact I don’t really care about death for I had already cursed it upon myself the moment I left that tomb.
I will return to my host and have one last bite at his tender flesh to satisfy my cravings. Or at least I will die trying to return. That is far beyond good. I would not like to have my ghosts haunt me into my chrysalis; thoughts of why I didn’t heed the warning of maggot troop 13 or the scepticism of troop 21. How could I be so foolish not to think any better. Indeed I’d rather be stomped over and killed than have those thoughts follow me into my Chrysalis.~
I have bled my pains to the last drop yet nothing seems to be any different. Maybe it’s my worry of whether or not my audience will take personal introspection into consideration, or maybe it’s because I know of another hypnotic force that hinders creatures from reaching out to God.
We call it TIME. Odd as the spell combination looks, it robs a well meaning man of his good motive and leaves nothing better than a walking corpse.
By its magical swings, it hypnotizes people to sleep with one chiming “ding” and with another, it tosses off their blankets and forces them to work with its charming promise: “work my sons….. I will give you a pay check this month end” And when its gears have all turned zero, it announces a new year and raises false hopes of freedom and allows them to make resolutions which, like those of politicians, never come to pass.
Therefore knowing of its sorcery, I will gag my eyes and bud my ears and attack it to enchain its hands with chains of fortitude and locks of determination, never again to let it bring another day after this Easter, never again to let me fall back into sin. For my mind will forever keep the scars of my transgression indelibly stamped on my heart and never to be erased by Time.