Like Chasing The Wind.

Listen, do not listen to me speak, listen harder, comprehend my thought process, raise your watery big lovely eyes, stare into mine; bore deeper like only you are capable of. I'm screaming, it's written on my forehead, it's clear for you to see, to hear, to feel, you could reach out and cut it with a knife. 

Nothing can be more exhilarating in a day, a week, a month; nothing is as exciting, as uplifting, it is so captivating it's got to be forbidden. It is too good not be forbidden, and on all levels, it bellows forbidden. For in the darkest of crevices it lurks rearing its head only when light struggles, and life with its realities, temptations, desires and pitfalls definitely dictates that more often than not, light struggles. 

In that darkness is where we thrived, with the purest of feelings, love. That is not some sick, cruel joke for in the light, those feelings belong somewhere else, and rightfully so. But here we were, saying all the right things, sharing more than we fathomed one could share, pouring our hearts out to the 'dregs'; a tad too late, a mile off track. Prince Charming from Hades, riding to a damsel's rescue. Only  that the damsel is not really in distress. Stupidity meets futility, one more time in their age old camaraderie. The sense of foreboding is heart rending for the helpless romantic; the pragmatic however waits to be proved right, time always does that. 

So rather than wait for time, the leprechaun 'Prince' will tearfully sever all practical bond and let the damsel lead a full life, for heartbreakingly beautiful and loving as she might be; in the light she chose a life, a beautiful one, and she ought to be given room to lead it in all its glory. Wits should always trample emotion; and Prince Charming is but an archaic Teenage Girl dream.

"We live in the flicker -- may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling! But darkness was here yesterday."-Joseph Conrad

Altar-ed

Beautiful morning; sun is up, looks scorching already but it’s not, it’s the kind that lures you out to bask and evoke those memories of the golden 90s when all you worried about was where to play from and where you’ll hide your unfinished cup of tea before dashing off to do something more “important” (And I still wonder why I turned out so small). Sunday, it could only be beautiful, hallowed, adorable Sunday. I really think, contrary to the Holy Book I was raised to always read, this was the day on which God rested, but the message got “Lost in Translation”.

The most beautiful thing about Sunday though is not the weather which you are guaranteed 3 out of 4 Sundays in a month; it’s the hope, the feel of joy you get as you trudge, rush, glide or whatever it is you do to get to a place of worship. See, most of us were raised on faith and we strive to always live by it, faith, for without it, we are but a shell, waiting to be filled by anything and bereft of hope in times that we cannot draw from our humanly strengths.

A considerable distance from my very fruitful formative years, my outlook has been altered; the allure is waning, to me anyway. This is not the place I once sought hope, and reassurance; this is a place of condemnation, master classes in high handedness and that condescending tone you hear from a 4 year old who knows they have some form of advantage over you. It is no longer the place where guilt is washed away, the modern day Calvary but one where judgment, in its harshest, least compromising tone, is handed down.

My brilliant grandfather named me Muliisa. Shepherd, or if you like, “herder”. I know that growing up; someone hoped I would be just that, a shepherd, but exposure to the realities of this world has left me with more conflicting thoughts than a hungry lion, tending to a flock. I continue to pray for whoever harboured that dream for me, pray to the God that their disappointment never touches me with a 15 mile stick. I hope however, they will be happy to know that I built an altar for the Lord.

At this altar you will not see a man in vestments and exuding holiness but one condemned by sin, you will not see a pristine wall with a beautiful cross, you will find one littered with more opinions than a political campaign, you will not hear about the beauty of the Lord our creator only but the beauty of what he has given us as a people living in the 21st century. At this altar, the first sacrifice we shall offer to the Lord is our heads, ours ears to always listen, our eyes to see the beauty he has blessed us with, our lips to praise, pray AND to question; most importantly our brains to discern and realize that we cannot always question.

We shall question for we are equally beset with a host of challenges, we shall compare notes for we all live in these wonderful, auspicious, dreaded, terrible times. We shall find answers for we ultimately live in and by the faith that we were so lovingly raised upon. When we cannot find those answers, we shall always turn to the ultimate Shepherd who leaves 99 of his sheep to seek out the single lost one, for somewhere in this maze, no matter how far we stray, how soiled with guilt and fear our hearts are, no matter who or what we have pledged our allegiance to, He will  find us.

So I built this altar, that all the revelation, the accomplishment, the crisis, the conflict may in their own twisted way exude the beauty of being created in your image and ultimately the struggle to find peace in you.

“Take my motives and my will, All your purpose to fulfill; Take my heart it is your own, it shall be your royal throne”