I found this draft of a post I wrote but never posted and I was deeply moved by its content:
light-for-light ( written on 07-04-2017) – By Joseph Kachiliko
-Just give what is rightfully due- I am like the sun, I shine on those that stand in my light. Those in shadows I pass by. Leaving only enough light as they desire to get. After all I am an emissary of nature, only paying back what is rightfully due to each. You feed too much light to a night walker and they grope in the dazzle but give the right light and they will soon begin to desire more to their heart’s content. After all beauty is meant to give life, and not to force life into a dead thing. Let the kindled hearts leap in resonance like the old days.
He chose the least expected family, the least expected home and the least expected company to mark his entry into this world. But this entry was filled with many things we could not see: He chose the richest of hearts, the freest of men, unbound by the expectations of many and conceitedness of the heart that enslave most humankind. He was born to a wealth hidden from many. Of gratitude and plainness. Help me Lord this Christmas open my doors to your riches, that with arms outstretched, I may never grow weary to the quest of your riches. Hear me Lord.
This publication “Entrepreneur Inspiration 2017” has left me jaw-open! I’ve lived my life in greatest fear of not being able to do what I want to do, and that keeps whacking up my whole to push through limits knowing there is a death tomorrow.
But little did I know these “near-death” sacrifices of getting things done are a mutual thing among a certain kind of people called Elon Musk, Walt Disney and Steve Jobs. It’s what propels one off the comfort zone and a reminder of your current weakness and inability to achieve your lifelong dream.
“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help make the big choices in life… “- Jobs
My perspective of Mankind:
I just shot an owl,
Don’t ask me how,
Or why an act so foul
T’was for my senses to dull.
He was up in a tree, my prey.
A horrid looking bird up there.
And suddenly my heart leapt in the most morbid way.
With nothing but murder to bring content.
A flaw in nature’s beauty
Mustn’t roam the earth, thought I
Lest the beautiful take offence.
Yet there perched one such creature,
And I without pity meant to dispose
Plop, plop, plop beat my heart,
In that one moment our eyes met,
Mine behind the spy glass, and his before the barrel
Of the cold unpitying marshal, that held his fate in scales
Each discerning the emptiness of our worlds.
In a moment our loathes exposed,
Mine of a world with obvious ugliness,
And his of ugliness masked in beauty,
Yet none wanting to be wrong
My world must triumph said I,
A pound of flesh to ugliness,
– And woe to the poignant and horrid of the creatures,
Reeled my heart in favor, in the cold caress of my gun.
POW! I heard a splinter fly, POW! From the mechanic bosom of my gun,
Was my job o’er? Was it done?
Stooping forth I probed, disposed of gun from my cheeks.
And woe a revelation!
What did I just do?
My insides turned to prod,
Irked by the warmth coursing to my cheeks
A heart was returning in me, and fear struck within me.
Did I just take a life?
A pulse was fading in the bushes,
A life was waning in the bushes
Yanking at the heart of its murderous foe.
I just shot an owl, for no reason but I could.
I must be a horrid living creature, now.
The most horrible of them all.
-Joseph Kachiliko (Golden Morals)
I just stumbled upon an interesting piece by Charlotte Perkins Gilman author of The Cry For Justice: An Anthology of the Literature of Social Protest, ed. by Upton Sinclair, John C. Winston Co., 1915.
THERE’S a haunting horror near us
That nothing drives away;
Fierce lamping eyes at nightfall,
A crouching shade by day;
There’s a whining at the threshold,
There’s a scratching at the floor.
To work! To work! In Heaven’s name!
The wolf is at the door!
The day was long, the night was short,
The bed was hard and cold;
Still weary are the little ones,
Still weary are the old.
We are weary in our cradles
From our mother’s toil untold;
We are born to hoarded weariness
As some to hoarded gold.
We will not rise! We will not work!
Nothing the day can give
Is half so sweet an hour of sleep;
Better to sleep than live!
What power can stir these heavy limbs?
What hope these dull hearts swell?
What fear more cold, what pain more sharp
Than the life we know so well?…
The slow, relentless, padding step
That never goes astray–
The rustle in the underbrush–
The shadow in the way–
The straining flight–the long pursuit–
The steady gain behind–
Death-wearied man and tireless brute,
And the struggle wild and blind!
There’s a hot breath at the keyhole
And a tearing as of teeth!
Well do I know the bloodshot eyes
And the dripping jaws beneath!
There’s a whining at the threshold–
There’s a scratching at the floor–
To work! To work! In Heaven’s name!
The wolf is at the door!
I always get skeptical when someone advises me on how I should organize my act, or the manner of my grace simply because it is what is trending, or what everyone finds interesting. I just might be a stubborn one.
But like in raising a child, there is no one true formula for perfect parenting but exploration by both parent and child in achieving the best conduct and ethics. Of course nothing is more exhilarating than the sensation experienced by every organism in the process of learning and unlearning.
In the same way I believe it is only fair that one gets to enjoy the experience of natural growth while discovering their own personality. And as such, motivational books are a poison to such progress and a cancer to a diverse perspective, with or without the current desperation for success. By reading motivational content, the reader gets to experience an increase in insecurity levels, creating room for new learning by displacing long-held postulates that have gradually shaped one’s character. It robs most of the personality.
“It worked once for that successful person, therefore it must work for me too. ”
You don’t have to be them to make it in life, besides do you even get to ask yourself why and how it worked for them? Simply taking it all up (including the nonsensical) like a whole new set of cylinder gaskets, thinking they would fit doesn’t help at all. Just as a light morning workout for a healthy mind isn’t necessarily about the muscle building but developing a new level of fortitude, making your brain flexed enough to handle any stress, so too are most motivational-book-recommended practices more to do with the unexplained underlying chemistry, than the actual act itself. A good understanding of self is what is needed.
The successful people you see are only successful because they first learned to understand themselves and later borrowed scraps of a few life hacks to boost their knowledge. They knew it wasn’t about the number of strings they could add to the guitar to make good notes but in learning the basics of a guitar and using the simplest kind of stringed guitars that they could learn.
This leaves motivational books to be mostly a risky nonessential that takes away the fun in learning and steals a reader’s genuine identity.
Therefore I hate it, I hate scripting a life for another. I hate the greedy hands that rob the innocent of exploration, that savagely kill the late blooms and lilies. But most of all I hate the obstinate that think they know and the timid that fear to learn, but sit in the poverty of their pride.
-Algorithms are meant to perfect a blueprint, but an algorithm without the distinct originality of its user is but a block of sham.-
My constant advice to blind readers and success hunters that end up losing their identity.
It’s not about the book, lifestyle or habits of successful people. It’s the chemistry that they bring inside of you.
Don’t mimmick! Just find the key note. And if you can synthesize this with your own formular. Then you’re a genius.
That’s the way with these men, they bask themselves in the sun all day and nearly pass for the sun itself.
Sometimes we’re intimidated by imitations. They make us abandon the real deal we so much struggle to create, without knowledge of the empty shell that resides in the things we’re most afraid of in our friends.
They just got smarter at replicating novels and movies that they eventually thought they were it. #PaperTigers
My thoughts on names and their significance.
Names are nothing but footsteps, they mark a trail of where we have been. Sometimes a good name can walk right past us into our future, working wonders of a genie.
But they can be a prison box too, narrowing one’s horizon to a stone throw. Limiting every effort to the extent of only what the name defines. Much like an invisible leash that keeps yanking at our throats.
Thus when choosing a good name, put into account your aspirations and vision of what you wish to become.
I keep battling with the best choice for a brand name. And even after I have given a name, I am forever uncertain if I had made the best choice.
-Only few recognize the importance of a carefully thought out name.-