The Reason

Each and every day we search the mass that is our thoughts, filled with anxiety, pain, happiness and confusion; so that we may try define what it is that drives us.  This pursuit that we as a journey to discovery can only, to me, is one.  We are trying to find meaning to all that exists within us, in our surroundings and that which would live on without us.

Today, a shimmer of the suns extensions caught my face in a peaceful state and interrupted the joy that was only a few hours old, I woke and could not return to the humbled nature that was of that moment I slept and my day had begun.  In its abrupt beginning, my thoughts stood still when they reached the question why.  In my knowledge of never getting the answer to this question I pleaded by my sanity for my thoughts to progress to another.  In managing to move on, what now consumed me was the reason of it all happening.  The reason to us humans sleeping as the most content specie and waking up in the thought of being the least of the least.  The reason to the separation that stands between cultures and creeds yet the origin sees us all alike, human. The reason to put in the effort so that one acknowledged not for what they are but for what they are worth, which unknown if only defined by that scale which all man is not privileged to.  The one reason to keep on living just as you and I know days to be, recurring.

A thousand faces cross yours daily, each with at least a million thoughts in mind and each of them is in search of the very reason that you are in search of.  It may not be presented as it is in your own mind or be of the same magnitude let along the same nature, but what we find at the forefront of it all is that we are all seeking that one reason that makes us all…  I stood amidst the consultation of emotion my mind had with my heart, I heard secretes far beyond my knowledge that now stand within my reach, the understanding of which came far with words being few in between.  This conversation spawn’s soliloquy as I listen to the fine-tuned frequency my inner being is emitting to my soul.  I may be closer than what I think to finding the reason that I seek, so all I can do is stand steadfast in what I believe and pray that the Lord grants me the spirit of Hope.

There stands one absolute force that concludes all the questions that may be in any form they arise.  It stood far beyond our birth and far beyond the thought of our existence conceived. This force known as God in my heart is my only reason.

Letters of a Father

I see the morning as though it were the sun setting its gaze to the night.   Upon light there is a journey to be travelled and misty trails to be unraveled.  Though it will set after its hours of purpose, the light or rather the texture of the lessons it gives are never forgotten and often eagerly anticipated for the next day.

I ask you, son, to remember all the lessons that I have taught you and better yet the lessons I never had the chance to teach you.  This lies in the sole reason that you embraced my mentor himself, Mankind.  The day that I looked into your eyes to tell you that your mother had left us, not because she did not love us but it was because she was summoned by the heavens to look after us, I was not looking to you to be a man but I looked on in hope that you would mature because my efforts to nurture are limited by all of man’s prehistoric virtue of strength, which makes me just a pillar to lean on.  My arms can only offer comfort to you and you siblings when things get a little rough for you.  I will, too, use these arms to defend you although like your fragile heart, it felt as though these limbs were torn from me when I knew to this morning I would be robbed of my first breath of day and that morning’s light would not be as bright as I have known it to be all these years.  That one light that stood as a lantern on my darkest days is gone.

It seems as though my every breath is unbalanced, with the taking in of air being so deep and the releasing of it sounding like sigh, this is because I cannot bypass the place she has in my heart, and every part of me goes past that portion which she owns after God.  I need you to understand that I know every possible thing that you could feel at this present moment, the void that fills you in the knowledge that we will never have a moment to embrace her and feel the pound in her chest that had kept us all going.  I look at you from time to time and in my heart I know that you are looking at the mental pictures you have of her, you still drift away to the words she shared with you, the sound of them is still so sonorous. I try to keep it in but the remanence of her last kiss still lingers my lips thus the tremble that resides my lips which begins the awful weeping which consumes me every night I look over your bed.

We men were made soldiers at birth, but non of us will say that they are well equipped for such a life altering event.  The loss of a loved one is forever compounded in one day so live thousands of lifetimes in our own after they are gone.  Live those days more than I can because your mother is all around us.

At the end of it All

At the furthest that my eye can see, a mountain prepares itself for its daily pleasure of consuming the sun so the sound of the end of the day may relieve us all of our daily tasks, some of slavery dignified and some of happiness defined.  At the shores of night time my afternoon ends and my mind starts the preparation of tomorrow.

Upon the streets I walk, many accompany me to a destination, home, that is similar but the distance varies with each person, everyone here, whose home is kept by them that have been left behind to tend to all that needs nurturing.  Some leave children, many leave their woman and men behind and a fair portion of those that descend with us on that memorial path have left nothing, where they are marching to. Where the tar ends, a few elevating and on the other side of the platform a few descending steps, the presentation of our final gestures given.   We wave, we utter the words we heard this morning from our loved ones, we chant the formality that was bestowed upon us by generations, we gave our final words as though the tomb has accepted one of us, GOODBYE.

 Moving towards the metal based high ways of steaming transportation, we all pace ourselves to the tempo of the pulsating snake figure that has segments, of our different cultures fused in the song of breath taken in and out with sighs of disappointment for some that saw themselves in a different place at this age.  On that ledge that has heard thousands and thousands of stories before we came, now, yesterday and the days before, we wait to be ingested.  Rooted in certainty I am positive that this is the best place to stand to be wrecked into that diverse carriage that will see to the rest of my journey.  As the frequency of its slither changes, so does the rocking of the seated ladies in front of me as they hum songs I knew before I know of the existence of the city.  The momentum of the of the slither has now built up so much that the ladies are unable to contain the song within and a roar of tone has finally filtered through to every soul that is in here with us.  “Se ngi khumbul’ekhaya aba zali bami, U mama no baba bangi shiye ngi sasem’ncani” (I miss my home and I miss my parents, my mother and father left when I was just a little one).  The depth of this song is only emphasized by the countenances of everyone that sings and claps louder and louder, for some it even draws tears from the distant thoughts that have been rekindled in mind.

The sound and the beat of the round feet slowing down means that we have reached a destination and the first is mine.  The juxtaposed roofing with scattered lights gives me comfort in the knowledge that I have arrived where I belong.  Rehabilitated by the clouding smoke of the indoor flames made for the day’s last dish, in metal plated and coal heated stoves, on those zinc multi-coloured plates, is a fulfilling joy that makes us forget about how the day has tortured us.  The calming aura of dreams that surrounds our walls harmonizes with the tune of all the stories told about a better future.  At the end of it all, my home will always be wherever I take it.

With Him Above

Dear God,

My fingers have gone numb from the anticipation of writing this text which my mind has informally prepared for you to hear today.  The point of my plastic sword has been made limber and here I sit, all of a sudden the stupor of having gone blank has gripped my wits.

I have had the entire day to conversation but now that it matters most, I still cannot find the words to speak right now.   The words I need to say so that the angel that comes to me each and every night to my bedside may have a message to take with on his departure at dawn.  These are the same words that taunt me when I walk alone as the unforgiving sound of my own voice inside my own head.  This deafening soliloquy should be part and parcel of the conversations I want to have with you at every moment.  I took a look at my body this morning and when my eyes reached my lower limbs, at my knees to be exact, I realized that they could pass for a baby’s bottom and that is the kind thought about looking at them.  The reality that hit me was that my knees had not been stained by the ashing of kneeling on the floor, not for any kind of labour but the humbleness that all Christians should have.  I thought back to a conversation I had with one good man, Paul Mahlangu while I worked underground, in a coal mine, for Anglo American.  I cannot remember specifically the details of the conversation or how it had escalated to it, but I remember him saying: “the answer to all the questions you ask yourself each day are as far as kneeling for a minute in your day.”

I prayed and prayed each day with a growing persistence to see results, to prove that this formula that I had been given would work and with that, the end of emotional and spiritual impoverishment would come.  Surely the time spent in this newly found ritual, would come a few answers and have my sanity deeply rooted in faith.  I have had tones upon tones of positive moments and like ying and yang, I have had negative moments as well.  You have saved me from death and permanent injury in all the car accidents I have had and many more that were on my path, but I could not see.  This is not because I am a super soldier for the kingdom or a child that does not know his way, but I was saved because, somehow, I’ve always known, there goes an angel, that is the vanguard of my journey, at every expedition I take.  Every day and everywhere.  Have I lost something in the time that I have not spent in your presence?  If I have, is there a way that I can “reboot” my system of blessings that I may too feel the joy that is naturally intended for all those that belong to you?

The older I grow I ask myself; “could I have not known all that I know now when I was a wee bit younger than I am now” and as I grow wiser I realize that all that I know now was intended and written in your palm that I should know now.  Grace is given to all man, even those that cannot define it and Mercy… she’s the mother to all our comfort.

Your Son

Charles Dunn, Amen

Gratitude

Let us give ourselves a Great round of applause for making it to this day with the knowledge of our roots at the forefront of the description that which we are, for it is whence we came that we are motivated to dream and see where it is we are going.

Today, I gave some of my time to two delivery men that were dropping off a bed for one of the residents in our complex (residential area similar to flats) on the third floor.  When all was done, the eldest of the two said; “u ngum’Africa wa nge mpela.”  I reckon that one can say this when the monument of Ubuntu’s worth is exercised, a gesture that we as the new age tend to forget when we go about our way each and every day. A ‘thank you’ would have been enough for me, but clearly this one man wanted me to feel how grateful he is of my 20 seconds of workmanship. The bed was up and on my way I went like nothing had happened.  It is only when I got into the house that I really thought of what the meaning of his words were.  u Ngum’Africa wa nge mpela.  My worth is of the flavour that scented the works of many in the age that I do not know of yet hear those of age speak of, the hand that describes the neighbor that is yearned for by many but only them that come from the hollows of the townships and grace seasoned backgrounds know of, the Samaritan that was once heard of in scripture and the son of willingness.

The feeling of being valued, to me, is better than the feeling of having everything.  Having a value to myself, to start with, and having a value to my family and close friends breeds the potential I have to care for EVERYONE around me.  This value is what makes me human in all rights of being, whether right or wrong it remunerates the essence of being human.  Why then do we not look into the faces of all the women and men that have been our herders and give a solid word of thanks each and every moment of their existence to us, and by that too I, with intent, mean thank the God of the heavens for them in their passing to another life, for they still exist with Him too that gave them life first.  Are we really blinded by times promiscuous toil with our lives in pleasures that could be barren to our soul’s voice, which be the source of deliverance to our out stretched arms and substance seeking palms?  As sweet as pleasures are, I am certain that none will match the breath that you and I borrow at this very moment.  No pleasure can match the sight of the rising or the setting sun in summers glow or winters overcasting blur.  None will match the sound of the oceans swimming ripples that massage your ears lobe at the sound of a shell or the murmur of your imagination and would you dare to imagine a world without a touch…

I have learned through a great deal of lessons, both taught by nature and humanity, that though many are things that go unnoticed in this life, we should never let gratitude be one of them, so I will start here, right now.  Thank you for reading this script.

Words Delight

There is a fear that grips me every time I clutch my pen to write.  The anxiety that builds up makes me feel as though my spirits foundation is shaken and because of that, it wants to part from my body.  As great as my heart feels it also bleeds.

I lay down so much emotion on paper, flooding it with words that would not have meaning to any reader if they were not laid down in strategic form.  I see them post my act of releasing them from my mind on the animated faces of them that relate to the message that is bound in every constructed sentence.  “A vision is owed to ancient past’s tales; the tapestry of tombs and wounds is the fabric that weaves these tin thoughts.  I live to see my thoughts propagate through the silent thoughts of many and them that will quote how I spoke of my experiences and them that were not my own but paid a particular significance in my life at that particular time.  Seas serenity’s not satisfying with comfort eluded in thoughts of inexplicable expression, presented in ecstasy which is evident in elevation. Yes, the high we consider as supernatural.”  We tell stories but in essence we forget that the life that we have is a story in itself, but do I, for one, live like it is a story?  The day offers 24 hours and I’m certain that this is enough time for at least a page.

The scripture just gives us a way to make things possible.  It speaks in a universal language so that it cannot contradict itself when we all meet in the social world.  Then  God decided that He’ll give the world philosophers and all that speak positivity into being- you could be one too if you say the right thing at the right time to anyone that needs to hear it- making life a bit more interesting.  Each and every day we dare to speak to the pure heavens with the turmoil that might be brewing inside of us, but we still do it because, believe it or not, someone somewhere said that you can do it if you just believe and wherever you were, YOU heard it and you believed it.  This is where I found my marvel in words.

‘… words, had I not met you the day that I first spoke that One, MAMA, I would have searched for you in the virtue silence because the burning desire I have can only be yours, in every language spoken you are there, clearly the proof must have been found in the giggles of my infant state.’

Fascination in all things that we find some sort of magic in is what brings us closer to sanity in our minds that are of our own right, our own privilege.  This in essence is a challenge for each and every individual to find their fascination and entertain it to the maximum which is the end of life, without intent, I have given you my own.  WORDS.

Meetings

Point blank we stare into each other’s eyes with our wits end on our table, we mumble under our breaths with the hope that one of our suggestions to leave this place is taken heed of.

Once the sweet taste of conversation that has fruit has touched our lips, we indulge in one another's presence, but that is only with what I greatly emphasize, that it is only with mind bearing fruit in conversation that will keep us at this table of thought.  Way across the room you and I sit from each other but the ebb of our thoughts has put us together at one table at the light of our eyes connecting in the brief moment we took looking away from our lavish dishes to call the same waiter.  The confusion lay only with the thoughts we had of such an encounter not being possible in both our lives at the same time in the same place forgetting that we are now of the same space.  We find that the debate within ourselves has escalated to the smiles we now have on our faces as my arm now drowns in the shallows of my table.  With the courage I momentarily conjured to raise my hand to summon my next dose of coffee I nod to find your approval in the gesture I have just extended for you to call him first.

What is it that we have found so interesting in each other’s stares that has us now stealing a minor glance at the other every now and then?  My hopes are only that you do not walk out without a word because of the many you have helped me express to my expression which had lost all hope of wonder in words.  My imagination grows more active as I hurry to finish my sentences in this soliloquy that has me gripped in the translation of a stare that ends in mid-air thus the transmission of thoughts between us two is lost to the waitresses that giggle consumed in the “game” they think we play with our eyes.  The back and forth movement of our heads that shows our burning anxiety to verbalize our thoughts is quite the entertainment to them that do not feel the burn of words wanting a way out.  Weary cups of coffee signal the retreat valor as another is ordered to prolong my stay in my perfectly bum measured seat to keep on looking across the room.

As I sit here in question of what to do I find that the source himself, patience, has paid me a visit.  Alongside my persisting ego they try find a solution to my self-inflicted endeavor to be heard- yes, but just a word would be my comfort at this present time- not to be seen. The solution lies at the door for whoever walks out first, for the one that follows is the victim of circumstance to the meeting that happened without word.