Thought Picnic: We are not as connected as we think we are

The tears for fears

It was a strange feeling of regret and partly self-pity that one would not normally admit to when I went through a list of 15 job roles that I somehow felt I could not apply for. This, for all sorts of reasons as I felt the warmth of tears welling up around my eyes. It has been a long while since I have cried for myself and I do wonder if there is any relief in it.

The fact is and I would point it out in its own paragraph, people are a lot more vulnerable than they say or present, they are not as alright as they seem, they are not as happy and cheerful as they appear, and they need a lot more than just checking up on to ascertain how they are.

Out-of-date interventions

Yet, it is the assumptions that people make about others that I can be painfully aware of, that torches with flames of anguish or something like it. When I think of the other day and there are many to consider, the day some prayers were prayed that I thought could have been so useful, so many months before they seemed desperate and even out-of-date for the suffering that has been endured, it leaves a sense of abandonment and unease, that one should do the best not to attend to.

The other other (written for effect) day was another who called to determine how one was getting on and the core of his advice was I should not lose my confidence. Heck! I could have done with that kind of encouragement six or months ago, how do you light a fire in ashes already dampened in a storm? Still, from the ashes, the phoenix rises or something to that effect.

These totally out-of-date interventions may seem productive but that touch at the heart of another reality, that we are not as connected with our friends and family as we assume we are. There is an unquantifiable distance in what we think are thriving relationships for which familiarity has replaced discerning and discernment to elicit the full truth. Maybe I help myself better through what I write for my speech has the sophistication of concealment that is both trained and curtailed.

How I feel lost

There are days I am probably entirely myself, as many consciences are quickly salved with the rudimentary as one battles with an Esau complex, wherein has one served up birthright for a pot of soup? The judgement on him was tough even as he did prosper in a way. One is left wondering about the vicissitudes of life, maybe a time to reflect in Ecclesiastes. Even the comfort I seek therein seems to elude me.

I often get asked that question that probably a sense of pride promptly denies, it does loom about and I refuse to countenance it, I refuse to give it any rein, which does not mean it doesn’t yap at my heels, every now and again. I want to believe and at the same time one is losing grip, there is apparently so much love out there as I wrestle in my mind about things present, things existential, and things beyond, that sleep will not repair.

As one would expect, there is someone somewhere who would read this and genuflect to feigned apoplexy with the opinion, “It seems he is giving up and losing hope.” Thank you for your very genuine concern, after that, what has changed? 

The battle is always in our minds, in our heads, in our dreams, and sometimes interfered with by reality, but it is one we dare to fight to win, and, on this score, I will wipe away the tears and look up because it is not over until it is done.

Thought Picnic: How still I see me lie

Met in thee

There is a calmness that you find to gain some refuge from concern and worry, something that registers from that line in O Little Town of Bethlehem that speaks of the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

Thee being the birth of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ as we countdown to the celebration of Christmas, the Sunday past being the Fourth Sunday before Advent. It goes without saying that I am a man of faith, a spirituality that sustains me through times that do fill me with the dread of insufficiency and incapacity, that I fold into a shell of seclusion.

Met with constraints

There are things I would have been quite forward to do that my hand has been shortened by circumstances and situations that exacerbate fears, but all those are held at bay by hopes buoying confidence that change will come and change things so radically.

Occasions have come and gone to which an appearance was difficult, and support could not be provided, then many would not know why, it is just that times failed the opportunity and not for the want of trying.

Personally, there was pain, deep pain, but life teaches us only to stretch to what is available and not beyond the resource to the point of suffering, you can only work with what you have.

Met on experience

Life presents many cycles, and the recurrence of events and experiences does not offer the same solutions, you have to learn anew and then commit that to new experiences, learning is a continuous process for which in my own life, I am grateful that wherever I have been set in my old ways, I find that I am upset into new ways.

Realities are another thing, seeking assurances in a turbulent world where trust is finite that you are questioning yourself about what you have been assured of. This is where communication and the ability to do it well to elicit the information you need matters. How to turn sleepless nights into restful nights full of sweet dreams and the awakening to the freshness of a new day, energised to live and thrive in the moments you are given.

Met to befriend

Most of all, friendship and love are at the heart of the calmness, in love, there is someone to lean on whose voice is indeed a strength and stay much as they rarely realise who and what they mean to me. In friendship, is one that reads me better than I can read myself, whose support is unflinching and ever-present.

From relationships past comes structure and symbiosis, we seem to exist for each other, cheering on with encouragement and praise, we find the words of comfort to weather the challenges that waylay us in our pathways. This is not the stuff you take for granted, it is what you cultivate so that you are not left alone absent of people who cherish you and care deeply for you. The world I live in is about relationships and that is how even in the darkest hour, the dawn would soon be upon us.

It shall pass, it never stays still, for the motion of time is always the harbinger of change bringing us to the living splendour of dreams coming true beyond anything we could have ever countenanced. I strongly believe I have a better story to tell.

My hopes say my fears will not prevail

In all my weakness

Sometimes, I have to wonder how I keep pressing on, how despite the many things that cause fear, anxiety, uncertainty, and turmoil, hitting at the door of my composure threatening to break an entry and overwhelm me with the audacity of the invasion of an armed robber.

I am only human, all the more vulnerable, concerned about circumstances that I believe will turn right, though, at this time, things are not where they should be. The vicissitudes of life are an ever-present indicator that ease and difficulty are the ebb and flow of the currents that define the stories of life.

I will not falter

At times, it seems relentless and unyielding, then you think again, I can face this and face this down, this will pass, it will become a distant memory. It is just not that comfortable when you are sitting in the middle of a storm. I know I will weather it, even when I think my strength is totally exhausted, the reserves that buoy me up would say, grace, good fortune, blessing, and favour is on my side.

Until I draw my last breath, I am here to tell a better story. Using the spirit of hope to my fears, they will not prevail.

Thought Picnic: Nothing consumes agency like jealousy

Standing up for me

In was in Sunday School that a characteristic of my personality changed, on New Year’s Day 1980, whilst attending a church service I witnessed too many events of the superintendents and teachers physically abusing attendees. We were in church, the children separated from the adults and under the charge of people who abused the honour and responsibility of helping bring up the child in the ways of the Lord, it grieved me. I resolved; I will not condone such abuse on my person.

However, from those Sunday School stories, we risk viewing what we learnt then as a single story. The Garden of Eden as the fall of man, the judgement on Cain for being a murderer, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah as the condemnation of homosexuality, the list goes on, a reductive assessment of deeper human experiences that can never have just one perspective and if we dare, there will always be new perspectives.

Other perspectives to the common

I am not a strict creationist, I believe there is much that is figurative, metaphoric or allegorical in the Bible before it is literal. Setting, context, import, intent, moral, tradition, culture, language are many variables that influence the understanding and the interpretation of these stories, they should be brought to bear and I can assure you, I am no expert in hermeneutics.

I could return to the Garden of Eden and view the situation not so much about Adam and Eve, but contest for attention between God and Lucifer. As Lucifer was kicked out of heaven when he wanted to claim the place of God as pride consumed him with a passion. The relationship that the new creations of Adam and Eve had with God was so sublime, the kind of personality Lucifer was would indeed interfere. They were warned but got suborned and the result in antiquity is the fall of man.

In the practice or in the mind

Moving on, when apparently God was happy with Abel’s sacrifices but displeased with Cain’s, there is a whole unknown backstory as to how anyone knew to sacrifice and or to do it right. Either way, Cain could have humbly asked Abel what he was doing right and learnt to make the adjustments to his own sacrifices either in the activity or the mindfulness at doing it.

But no, he took umbrage and though he was warned it might get the better of him, it eventually did and so, Cain smote and killed his brother Abel because Abel was a better man than him.

In the case of Lucifer and Cain, one thing comes to mind, it is a demonstration of jealousy and jealousy is not a single thing, but a multifaceted negative virtue of our humanity that lends itself to bringing out the worst in us.

Jealousy is a dangerous thing

Jealousy generally refers to the thoughts or feelings of insecurity, fear, and concern over a relative lack of possessions or safety. Jealousy can consist of one or more emotions such as anger, resentment, inadequacy, helplessness or disgust. [Wikipedia: Jealousy]

Wikipedia has extensive texts on the topic because it relates quite closely to human relationships, how they are forged and how they break down. How feelings and emotions in one might regulate, indicate, obfuscate or even excoriate views of another and entirely at no fault of the other. For instance, Abel did nothing wrong, but because Cain could not stand what he was doing right, he lost his life.

The Wikipedia article goes on to contrast jealousy with envy whilst agreeing that modern usage tends to conflate the two as synonyms.

The common experience of jealousy for many people may involve:

• Fear of loss
• Suspicion of or anger about a perceived betrayal
• Low self-esteem and sadness over perceived loss
• Uncertainty and loneliness
• Fear of losing an important person to another
• Distrust

The experience of envy involves:

• Feelings of inferiority
• Longing
• Resentment of circumstances
• Ill will towards envied person often accompanied by guilt about these feelings
• Motivation to improve
• Desire to possess the attractive rival's qualities
• Disapproval of feelings
• Sadness towards other's accomplishments

When we act on it

I guess what scares me most about jealousy is when people act on it and there is no telling what the confluence of events and triggers might be with drastic consequences. Irrational fear, unwarranted suspicion, projected distrust, the list of negative feelings is endless.

In 1967, Joe Orton was bludgeoned to death by his partner Keith Halliwell, Joe was a successful playwright, author and diarist, Keith was not particularly so. He could, on the one hand, have celebrated, appreciated and supported Joe, they had been in a turbulent relationship since 1951. However, when Joe was considering breaking up with Keith, what resulted was a murder-suicide.

Yesterday, and the seed inspiration for this blog, a brother shared memorable images of his sister who had been murdered in 2015 with a meat cleaver by her jealous husband. It was so gruesome that the lady was unrecognisable after the deed. Jealousy can give vent to unparalleled wickedness and dangerously so. [The World News: Brother shares heart-breaking image of his sister]

Arresting the feeling

This is not to suggest one is perfect, there are times these emotions come to the fore, but what matters more is how much leeway you give these emotions to fester. I would soon believe the best of people than distrust them and if I cannot trust them, I hope not to hold it against them but make allowances for the human condition both on my part and theirs.

There is a likelihood I could have been more successful, but it does not matter, I have been blessed in ways that make me thankful and grateful for what I have and what I have achieved. To those who have done much better than I from the same starting point or ahead of me, good for them and I will congratulate them and urge them on. It redounds to the prosperity of all.

I have learnt to appreciate, acknowledge, and praise, take into consideration, be respectful, be courteous, and treat people with dignity. Seeing the good in others far and above their faults closes the avenues to jealousy. I suppose having a good sense of worth, some self-esteem, self-respect, confidence, and the wiliness to improve oneself regardless of who or where you are learning from helps a lot.

I hope I can handle any situation that appeals to my basest instinct but reveals the higher moral purpose in me, that I exhibit from the heart exemplary virtues towards being a better person to everyone. We always can do better and by that get to tell better stories.

Quickening my steps from silly fears

How did I get here?

There are places my legs have carried that my feelings have taken on exciting alertness in the anticipation of danger whilst I rationalise in my mind and thoughts that there is nothing to fear, for where I am passing through would soon be behind me.

Then, I do not think that works that well for me when I find myself near old churchyards or graveyards. Something from my youthful past when my imagination was triggered by conversations, I overheard that presented apparitions of deep conviction no one else could perceive.

I quicken my steps whilst trying to keep my mind clear of inspiration or vision of the paranormal. You wonder how these things seem to have an enduring effect even though one is spared the experience that makes horror films tame.

Maybe I should just stop being irrationally timid, so I am not limited by foreboding, premonition, superstition, or intangible fright. It is a work in progress still and that is part of living and experience, the stuff stories are made of. I know I can find perfect peace for my mind and my wildest thoughts.

Thought Picnic: Winning the battle under my skin

Helpless to helped

I have no easy answers to my difficult problems, I look for opportunities where there seems to be no prospects. In my history that appears to have cycles of experience, I steel up myself with that inner voice, I will come through this and come through well.

Yet, beneath my skin, under the façade of cheeriness is a sense of foreboding, my human frailties almost determined to shake me into panic as I attempt to hold back the pressures that seek to overwhelm me.

Draw me closer to peace

There is a comforting voice I need to hear, it comes from somewhere in my past, a miracle today for which I cannot find reason nor explanation, just an overflowing of gratitude that good fortune and blessing has decided to come my way.

The battle between my ears is raging, the expectation of the wonderful against the terror of dreadful. The better to the best will win out because that is the story I have been frequently blessed to tell. That from the depths of my despair when nothing I had or knew could change things, a light showed up, a hand grabbed me, a voice soothed me, my peace came in as all worries and anxieties took the flight to a place of the forgotten. Everything that bothered was smothered and sorted out completely with much to spare and share.

I am raining on the inside with no shelter yet to keep me warm and dry. I have hope, this turmoil is on its way out, it will pass. I am living to laugh the loudest last. I have not abandoned the faith to soar.

Thought Picnic: Meditations at my altar to alter me

Addressing my doubts

I sometimes wonder what else I could be doing apart from what I already know to do to get beyond myself and begin to impact others. I can honestly say there is much more I can do than I have ever dared to do.

This is a constant refrain at the back of my mind, the times I feel the wealth of experience can be brought to bear in word, in deed or some other impactful way. I have waited for an opportunity where I should have seized it, my reticence getting the better of me for the fear of being too forward, too eager or too grasping.

What to do now

Yet, I am somewhat dissatisfied with many things and probably filled with angst about some things too. I feel like I need to break through some barriers of expression and engagement to do better than I have tried before.

There is a part of me that rues a time, a time when I think if I knew way back then what I know now, I could have been prepared better for the situation and the circumstances I am in now. I cannot, however, live in some parallel universe of wishing and hoping, I have a reality and a present that I have to breathe, experience the pains and the comforts whilst seeking a resolutory path to still make that difference I have always wanted to make.

A limitless horizon

Invariably, what I did not get to do then does not obviate the usefulness of starting now and going forward with it. It is a turbulence of thoughts, an unease of the mind, the turmoil of the soul and some foreboding that one must arrest before it develops into the incapacitation of fearfulness.

As the clouds hover to darken the day, I must know that the sun still shines beyond them and as the night brings on the dark, the same clouds out of the way reveals the vast beauty of the immeasurably distant universe of twinkling stars and galaxies that boggle the mind. I can daydream with the best; my imagination can wander past the impossible better than a hot knife cuts through butter.

It shall pass for the good to come

Hope keeps me alive with the possible, I comfort myself with the assurance of things always changing for the better, for that has been the journey and the milestones too numerous to count.

The circle is round and the cycle does turn, in penury, in providence and in provision, the inexhaustible blessing of sight beyond the seen, hearing beyond the heard, reaching beyond the grasp, imagining beyond the imaginable and excelling beyond the targets sets me up for new experiences.

The storm will exhaust itself; the calm will come and the peace that passes all understanding will settle upon my path to that which I never thought I could either attain or do.

God bless Aretha Franklin

[]

All respect

As the world bids farewell to the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, the tributes are many from far and wide for the sensational person, artist and figure she was.

Yet, for most that mourn and also celebrate her wonderful life, she will be remembered mostly in her many songs. What is so amazing is the number of songs that she covered that she brought a life and an interpretation to that went well beyond the original.

Respect was written and first recorded by Otis Redding, with the man, the husband, pleading for respect when he gets home, Aretha Franklin took it and sang it from the perspective from the woman, the wife and the rest is history. Two Grammy awards and the induction of her version into Grammy Hall of Fame.

The salvation of talent

There are many other songs that people have come out to sing in charted a literally 7-decade-long career.

A difficult childhood, she had, parents divorcing when she was 6, her mother died of a heart attack just before she was 10, having 2 children at the ages of 12 and 14 respectively, she was a preacher’s daughter, but it did not save her from a cruel world out there. Her talent did, and it did greatly.

However, the song that registers the most to me as delivered by Aretha Franklin was written by the Beatles, she again took it and rendered it in both a haunting and a somewhat uplift tempo, the words of the song, full of meaning that made you think. It isn’t Think. She wrote that with her then husband, Ted White.

Eleanor Rigby was written in 1966, first by Paul McCartney and completed by the Beatles, but credited to Paul McCartney and John Lennon.

Remembering the lonely

Between the version written by the Beatles and the version that Aretha Franklin performed, she basically took a fictional person with a life story of a nobody, about whom nobody cared except for what needed to be done in burying her after she died.

The Beatles – 1^st verse.

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice
In the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window
Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?

Aretha Franklin – 1^st verse.

I'm Eleanor Rigby
I picked up the rice in the church where the weddings have been
Yeah I'm Eleanor Rigby
I'm keeping my face in a jar by the door
If you want to know what is it for, Well

The juxtapositioning of being unknown as a nobody and the reality of being a lonely person is a haunting and fearful thing to think about. Yet, there are many, unknown, unsung, unseen, unheard, untouched, unloved, and more that have a life and then a death that would speak like that of Eleanor Rigby.

When Eleanor Rigby died, she died in the church, Father McKenzie whose frugal life is noted in darning his socks, having written an eulogy, a tribute to Eleanor Rigby, to the hearing nobody to the fact that in the Beatles version, nobody was saved by what may have been a moving tribute, but who can tell?

Making a person real

Aretha Franklin takes the abstraction to the involved, creates a person and speaks in the voice of that person. This is deep empathy rather than plain sympathy.

This is where Aretha Franklin made Eleanor Rigby somebody, a person, a story that began in the first person and then it became a story told to many. Eleanor Rigby took a place in our minds, the minds of many of us seemingly lonely people in many ways social, emotional and much else, with the promise that we would be left unsung.

When I first heard Aretha Franklin’s version, I thought Eleanor Rigby was someone who lived at a certain time and after her death was recognised for something. I had not heard the Beatles version before that.

Eleanor Rigby is almost a premonition, a niggling anxiety, yet, whatever happens when one is dead is really for the living to take care of, and that is a hope of sorts.

Aretha Franklin herself is definitely no Eleanor Rigby, she did not have to pick up the rice where the weddings have been. She died surrounded by family and will be eulogised by the high and mighty, along with millions paying tribute. She, however, has given a voice and life to the lonely people and at the end, she said, ‘God bless, yeah gotta love some lonely people.’

God bless you, Aretha, you made more than a difference.

Thought Picnic: What I feared from childhood had dissolved into the reality of a lived life

[]

From the passing of George Michael

In December just around Christmas, I was staying with my friend in London when we heard the news on television that George Michael had been found dead.

I had always liked George Michael from after his Wham days and was saddened by the event. More pertinently, I was well aware of his struggles with revealing his sexuality, the international embarrassment that came with his importuning as a result of law enforcement personnel presenting as an agent provocateur to entrap men.

He consequently took that event and made a global hit of the episode with Outside. Whilst, I had never really been closeted about my sexuality, I’ve been out at work since in the 1990s in the various places I have worked in many countries, it was not until just a decade ago that I came out to one of my closest siblings.

Out in a rout

That revelation came with much distress on her part that when I was asked about it from another sibling, I was coy, even denying it. Meanwhile, for a while I had been badgered and harassed on many occasions in conversation with my parents about my marital status, some commentary and questions were just too difficult to address. I utilised the convenience of distance to avoid too much analysis of what I might be.

Besides, I was battling for another thing, my parents were in the UK in the 60s, and much as there was all the emancipation in social values, I could well remember that the worst thing you could say to anyone was, “You are a bugger.” With all the uses of bugger, the derogatory intent when deployed was complete in its contempt of the person so abused.

Learning to love me

It is hard enough coming out having seen the reactions of parents to that kind of revelation from basic disapproval, through being disinherited, sometimes thrown out of the home and in some societies, murder. This in somewhat emancipated societies, that somewhere between fear, shame and embarrassment, I felt there was no need for my parents to know anything about it. An acquaintance did suggest my stance was out of shame, though I decided not to take umbrage about that opinion.

Living in Europe, I had come from a time of being convulsed in guilt, being caught in liaisons that I could not defend and being a subject of blackmail that I refused to be subject to. I had come to accept who I was, made peace with the fact that I could live my life in comparison to an alternative life of the normal and the conformed, whatever that may be.

I am a gay man and with that comes all sorts of issues that one has to live with, in which I have found love, lasting friendships, extended periods of grief and a full awareness of the fact that I am just as human as any other.

I’m coming out, out, out

However, that December night, I told my friend, Funmi Iyanda that I was ready to put it all out there, if anyone was still in doubt or questioning about my sexuality, they should be left in no doubt about it. In countless blogs, you did not have to read between the lines to know some truths about me. Funmi then got to the task of writing this piece, she asked a few questions, sought some clarification and then just before she published the piece, she asked if I was fine with it.

I might have been a bit reticent, even considered informing my family about the possibility of this revelation going viral, but in the end, I decided, whatever comes of it is what comes of it, I had given the permission for it to go public from the hand of someone who had a huge following and we will deal with the consequences and the fallout if any.

I never expected the piece to have the reach it did when it was published on the 3^rd of January, it got within the sight of people I never thought would encounter it, and not soon after, my siblings were reading of this issue and maybe even displeased with me about it. I had laid my bed on this matter and I was going to lie on it, come what may.

Blog - FOR AKIN … on bravery, honesty and thriving.

The letter arrived in the furthest post box

In the week that followed, I kept a low profile as messages of support and encouragement came from far and wide. I probably only encountered two negative reports in all, and I thought it would all die down soon afterwards. It did not, for months, people found the piece, read it and then contacted me.

Just about 3 weeks ago, a message appeared on my phone with an instruction to alter aspects of my life along with an acknowledgement of my having followed that instruction, at 51? At first, I smiled and then I crafted a 4-part response about certain other intimate details of my life that probably no one else knew. It was sent and I waited, unsure of what might come of it.

Then I received a response, the recipient of my message after recomposing the parts that were first read from the third part had gone into shock. The realisation that there was much more to the situation than the specific ordering to act in a particular way. The reaction and the response were understanding, sympathetic, compassionate and conciliatory, it gave me the courage to pick up the phone and call to talk.

We are, where we are

We were sorry that some things had happened in the past that probably could no more be corrected, the answers being sought in all sorts of places appeared to have been revealed in the response I gave that touched on some sad events in my childhood. I was encouraged to just be myself and live my life. I suppose my response and the suggestion that the piece to read fully had given some perspective to a difficult situation.

I could not have arranged for any of this to turn out as it did, but there is no greater freedom in acceptance of self and being accepted for who you are. When it came down to it, it was about humanity, understanding and possibly regret, but never to cease the need to communicate, what I feared from childhood had dissolved into the reality of a lived life. My father had learnt through that piece that I am gay.

Thought Picnic: Scrambling from subside to upside

A meander between cities

Just a week ago, I went for a long walk through parts of my somewhat twinned city that I had never been before. My adventurous walk which brought me to parks and meadows I never knew existed also led to the discovery of the fact that the river that divides the city of Manchester from that of Salford is a meandering waterway that you could cross multiple times almost in a straight line.

If one was not aware of this feature, you could with the bearings you originally had of first crossing the river, think you are walking in one direction only to find that you are not. The good fortune of having my phone on me, even as I tried to use skyscrapers as my focal compass points that left me a little lost, was my salvation when I eventually crossed the River Irwell four times on my way back home.

A thought to unthink

Then, one night of crossing the river visited an end-it-all thought, a jump for the finish that was resisted with the thoughtfulness that the story I would love written about me should end differently. You are challenged by situation and circumstance, plenty of hope coupled with the lack of means, the privation that shows on the scales as you run out of belt holes on the shorter end in realisation and situation.

This is turbulence, severe and shaking, the jolts are demanding of your ability to reason and demands are made on resources running scarce and you begin to seek the comfort of self-assurances that you cannot account for. Daily, opportunities come for which you project and prospect in the anticipation of interest that leads to interviews that come and but for the grace of God you flunk. Uncertainty begins to wield and hold sway.

An anchor for a soul in turmoil

It is then that you seek a hold, a stay for your sanity, a grip for your mental state, an anchor for your soul, the reading that you will not be overwhelmed, that whatever it is would not leave you completely overcome and overwrought with infirmity; the inability to get a result. Pushed further down by those seeking more out of you in the pretence that they have something useful to offer.

You then appear to find that assuredness in the amazing sturdiness of certain congregations of faith where the numbered is of the ethnic minority as if this matters not much to the indigene but a few. There I was greeted, as a grandfather, I probably looked like one in my dressing and with my cane, and still, there is such reserve in me not to be drawn into the sentimentality of the genuflected and the emotional.

A best on its way

I find it familiar and maybe too familiar to old experiences that have made me too sceptical for assimilation whilst recognising that there is something radically different in the message that provides succour and confidence making you wonder about the significance of it all.

Deep in my premonitions, I know this all will pass, it does quieten me, relieve me for certain aspects of productiveness and even upsets me, but I calmly assure myself, things turn and they will turn, I just have to banish the fear of the worst and face the prospect of the best that is yet to come and quite well on its way to me.

Hope and fears and catching myself

In my solitude,
I check my attitude,
It is the magnitude,
Of the interlude,
To what brings in the food,
As bills mount and collude,
And reminders reissued,
Caught in lassitude,
As positions elude,
Agencies in full platitude,
Covering their turpitude,
Yet I give much latitude,
To find much gratitude,
For the times of plenitude,
That to me accrued,
Sometimes I doubt my aptitude,
Buoying myself with fortitude,
I will not be subdued,
By all that ensued,
For in the multitude,
Of the favourably interviewed,
Is the certitude,
Of a career continued.

Don't let me bare my teeth

The conflicts

An encounter that brought one to the meeting with another where much left unsaid is the unresolved conflict that goes back too long that memories begin to fade.

Yet, there are memories that will never go away because they are the foundations on which everything else is built, that thing unlooked, that praise unsaid, the act unloved, that wound unsalved, that curse unleashed are indelible markers of time and space, the manner in which all came to play in scenarios never yet spoken, they are deep.

The discord

Then a visit in the midst of sleep stirred up a maelstrom, a knowing that this was not comfortable, an instigator came to stir up the moment for a fiery exchange and that was the cause of excuses made when the other flung the apron strings again to see if they would bind, no, they would not for they’ve been cut for too long.

As the parting began, a terror was again unleashed, a momentary lashing out but one thought the better of it, the time and place will probably never come for any of this to be resolved, the egg has been broken, there is no getting the yolk and the albumen back in the embrace of nature that once was and the evolution that follows next.

The escape

Witnesses oblivious of the long history trooped to the other side and ganged up to torment, they began and at first strike, with a bite of a serpent in the deep of the back, a painful cry and the end of slumber.

They can harm the body but they will not touch the soul, that hold is gone and that story remains long and yet untold, there is a salvation beyond which they will never control who saved that soul.

If there is another encounter …

Turmoil!

The turmoil

The more the thoughts roam,
The emotions find no home,
But to erupt in ferocious anger,
Churning violently like foam.

Bottled up in him,
Are conflicts playing like a film,
From decades left unspoken,
Pages of resentment in a huge ream.

He seeks to withdraw still,
From that adored to nil,
So much left broken,
There is none to tranquil.

If only there was to share,
Where talk might the burden spare,
Maybe he’ll be better prepared,
For his greatest fear.

Wasted and exhausted,
Not helped but bested,
By things beyond grasp,
It is being tested.

Thought Picnic: A changing state of mind from fears to dreams

Of fearfulness

Fear is paralysing, sapping you of resolve and purpose as you entertain a foreboding, a premonition or some anxiety.

It is an uncomfortable feeling that serves no particular purpose than to create a dark cloud over the sunny disposition of life and introduce uncertainties that upset and restrict.

The fear that something is not done, the fear that something might happen, the fear that an end looms without having set things in order, both rational and irrational fears taking the mind from peace to worry and the worrisome.

Of freedom

Yet, as you realise that this is not where you want to be, you work and hope that the cloud passes, seeking an outlet of encouragement, excitement, hope, resolve or just release.

Fear is a prison, a claustrophobic cell of walls collapsing upon you with the possibility that paralysis might rob you of the will and strength to escape. I have entertained this guest for too long, it has overstayed its welcome, it is time for fear to leave and never come back.

I need a breath of fresh air, the exhilaration of freedom and the rejuvenation of youthfulness making me see beyond the clouds to the light, warmth and joy of living.

I have to tell myself, don’t let your fears hold you back when your dreams can set you free.

The damage done when parents fail to listen

Present and past meeting

I am not one to watch horror films, but I happened upon the compelling viewing of Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark which against my wiser instincts I watched.

What occurred to me was the very familiar story of a child seeing things and that child having serious problems convincing their guardians of their experiences.

We have been schooled with the view that kids tell tales or tell lies for opportunity, advantage or attention, even when those things begin to affect the emotional, social and mental stability of the child.

Choosing not to believe

Sadly, the issue of child sexual abuse, nightmares and ‘seeing things’ fall into the same category of experiences that parents or guardians flimsily dismiss as trivial and fantasy, leaving the child to suffer until more damage is done.

At times, they will find some rational or logical explanation, and for their benefit, they may be right, but it should never be grounds to dismiss whatever the child has been through. At the very least, trust the child and strive to verify exactly what troubles the child. Maybe get professional help, not elders, not pastors, not rituals - PROFESSIONAL HELP - Like psychotherapy.

I had a similar experience when I was 10, during the day, my aunt and our houseboy shared stories about unexplainable events, those stories which I heard and can still recall to complete detail became seeds fuelled by the vivid and fertile imagination of a child. My nightmare was about to start; we only needed the dark and the quiet to enliven it.

That evening we had guests, my mother’s childhood friend and her husband, she was also the step-mother of Tola Awobode, the Lare of Cock Crow At Dawn (Music video).

I can’t continue

Let me digress, I will have to write this story fully another time, in fact, every time I have attempted to write this story, I have been distracted. It is possible, I do not know whether, the story will really be written, and I’m in shock.

My memory serves me well, that only yesterday, as I wondered how I remembered parts of the home address of my friend, he asked how far my vivid memory goes and I answered, back to about the age of three.

I began this blog to write about the need for parents and guardians to pay greater heed, sometimes against their better judgement if that comes into play to certain radically life changing experience of their wards, the scars of which I still bear and part of what sometimes still informs the way I interact with my parents.

The need for professional therapy

My experience was dismissed as fantasy by my father, my mother however was anxious, he left her to throw whatever she could into the situation to help me when probably professional therapy would have helped rather than visits to spiritualists of different persuasions, which with hindsight heightened my anxiety and weakened my ability to deal with the situation for decades after the event.

I read Psalms over bottles, cups, or buckets of water, seeing religious service as a fearful dreadful experience that required you pay for any comfort or peace through some laborious routine of service, recitation and ritual, it was not a lovely episode in my young life that continued into my first term in boarding school.

I guess, I have gotten the substance of my intent across without touching the detail of my personal experience.

However, in digging up this memory, I just now found out from the Internet that Tola Awobode had died just over 4 years ago. We knew her as Auntie Tola, it was a pleasure to watch her perform as Lare on Cock Crow at Dawn, I never knew what else she did – that is what I have now just read in her obituary.

Thought Picnic: Wondering about life

Desirous of something

Sometimes, you wonder about life, the choices, the options, the opportunities, the fears and the desires. Many things that make you think and think again about whether life is as eventful and fulfilling as one will want it or not at all.

Desire seems to take the fore when there is a yearning for some sort of companionship, the desire to have someone to share experiences with as is the fear of being alone.

You sometimes strive for it and at other times you are frustrated out of it unsure of which tactic is the right one, because what works for others might well not work for you.

Love to get

The quest for love is a trying process and knowing that one opportunity was lost because we were not daring or bold enough to take the bigger risks for long-term gain, you are sometimes beaten down for failing to capitalise on what was within grasp.

Choices come from things you have or things that are presented to you as options, what you choose might lead to exploiting opportunity or it might be an end.

Opportunity offers the prospect of uncharted waters, maybe new experiences and probably adventure. The hope is that one is not too old in body and mind to chart an adventurous course that brings new meaning to life and existence.

Banish the fears

We cannot however be governed by our fears, either real or imagined, for fear constrain us and imprison us the cocoon of the familiar and comfortable which for a moment might be convenient, but in the long run, we lose out on the better things beyond the façade of uncertainty.

We need to reach, reach out, reach beyond, reach for and breach the limitations that leave us incomplete and unfulfilled in the many things that bring happiness, fun and love.

Sometimes, you wonder about life, how you really could make it better.

Thought Picnic: The Plague of Distraction

Distracted

Distraction is the order of the day, damning the mind of the concentration necessary for productive engagement.

Some days come when the mind cannot toe the line of purpose; aims lie fallow in angst-ridden anxiety that assails opportunity slipping away from the grasp.

The will to do is lost to lethargy and worry begins to stretch forth tentacles of the procrastinate failings becoming a new reality.

Recompense

The benefit of hindsight then becomes the certainty of regret, things that in times past never happened are reaped in the sorrow of waste, indolence and haste.

But the time that has past, is past, it can only be profited from if demands are not made for those things yet undone as scope is then left for understanding and focus to gain importance in one's mission again.

Distraction of the mind is seated in the thoughts that drive the doings, many hardly useful. Your attention is divided, you become error-prone forgetting that your vulnerability is exposed by the obstinate, hubristic and sometimes foolish practice called multitasking.

The lesson to learn is to be rid of your distractions before they take a pound of flesh.

Thought Picnic: Having life is not enough

That journey travelled

It dawned on me this morning how far I had come from the Tuesday week four years ago, when I was admitted to hospital with a life-threatening condition.

By the time we discovered what it really was, I had the difference of between 5 weeks to live or survival, which involved intensive chemotherapy and a very long period of recuperation.

However, I must not deceive myself that four years on, with the ravages of disease come serious life-changing circumstances, some so radical as to fill you with hope-destroying desperation, despair and depression.

Finding more to life

Having life is not enough, there has to be quality and purpose to it, yet, one must be thankful and grateful for the gift of life and the opportunities it presents, to have hope and to be encouraged to continue the tough journey that lays ahead.

Yes, it dawned on me, when I realised I could not help someone I would have had no problem helping only 5 years ago.

With means, opportunity, ideas and insight, I had the capacity and the ability to spare nothing to set things in place and sort things out – Alas! I was no position to do so apart from find the crutch of my recurring sob story to lean on.

This story needs help

With the encounters of a harder life I have recently experienced in the last few years, I pick myself up and as many times as I find that I fall into exhaustion, relapse and tiredness as if one is losing the will to live after all that I have been through.

Whereas, all I need is a light, someone willing to take a chance, open to the risk of engaging a person with much to offer even if the first point of interaction does not create an amazing impact.

You stand at the cliff-edge wondering whether the myth of flight can be a reality or a walk back to face what presently gives no joy is a better prospect.

You ask yourself again, where would this long scary story end?

Thought Picnic: Traversing a wilderness to wonder

Estranged in stranger places

As the morrow comes, I will be seeing two strangers, people who I have never met before but will have enough knowledge about me to hopefully help and care, even though that appears to be what they get paid to do.

However, there is more to it than getting paid to do a job, the sense of sympathy, probably empathy and dare I say compassion comes from the inner recesses of our humanity, it is not what determines remuneration but it can endear the person to whoever they interact with and that is a good thing.

A difference in manner

Even though I did receive a very professional service when I sought help in Wales, there was something quite impersonal about our engagements, the meetings were not properly broken up and even though I received all I asked for, I was left with a sense of uneasiness that I just determined to endure because I could not change the circumstances.

Compared to when I used services in the Netherlands, my consultant who basically is a world-renowned authority in his field, exuded a very comforting bedside manner that always left you at ease, the decisions completely involved me to the extent that I was given choices, information and references.

It’s my body, first

Beyond that, where I was uncomfortable with a course of action, the situation was reviewed for the most convenient accommodation on my side; it determined the number of chemotherapy sessions I eventually had and it countermanded the demand for a neurosurgeon to perform a lumbar puncture I was not convinced was necessary.

I am no medical expert, but there is one inalienable truth, it is my body first before it is a specimen for medical analysis and that was quite well understood, appreciated and respected by everyone I dealt with in the Netherlands.

Let’s see what’s up

Now in the UK, upon meeting these strangers, I will have to determine what comfort levels I will have in allowing these experts to take over my medical care to the extent that they can provide medical, emotional, psychological and sociological succour in the ordinary times and at the less than salubrious times.

I am open-minded though a bit apprehensive going into these meetings, my bloods have told stories, my notes have painted a situation and all need urgent attention.

For the day after looms with wonder and wondering, where will I find to lay my head in peace? And after all that, will I be happy or will I be sad?

My Christmas Carol

The throes of Christmas

As I walked to the road to visit my friend, I saw a lady, all well dressed with a small child in tow, it would have been sight to gladden my heart. I am always moved by the closeness of a child to its mother, the sense of safety, of protection, of assurance, of trust and of faith.

I did not see this, there was something wrong, the lady was so upset, she was on the phone bawling out inconsolably, I thought, there was a bereavement, my heart went out to her.

Then I saw the son, the poor child seemingly oblivious of why his mother was distressed and there I felt even more for the son as they walked as if directionless to some place non-descript.

The hurts of Christmas

Sadly, this was Christmas, the time of the year when we all sing songs of peace and goodwill to all men but in many families around the land, they gather and the deep-seated hurts; anger and bitterness come to the fore with emotions running wild with resentment and unresolved conflict.

It was family, mother, sister, and partner that had ganged up on this woman bringing her and her son to a state of despair that upset me much.

The memories of Christmas

Then in an instant, a number of Christmases past flashed before my eyes, the recent ones of plenty and much penury, of joy and sadness, of comfort and pain, of seclusion and adventure, it’s been a wonderful life.

It was terrifying and a sense of defiance consumed me as I remembered things I will rather not yet write about but are now at the tip of my tongue to say to those who were not there when it really mattered and now deign to interfere to order my steps after all that I have been through.

I have family and I have friends, the ones who have been closer than a brother that have kept me from reproach as loss and more loss compounded even more losses that I can no more count what is left.

The hopes dispelling the fears of Christmas

In all this, one still finds hope and encouragement, beyond the fear is courage to face things that will make the hearts of others faint because one should for the spirit of Christmas banish the haunting ghosts of Christmas past and find the joys of Christmas present.

It reminds me of a very poignant prayer my pastor prayed yesterday that had such great meaning, as I never thought before. The reason why many people hate Christmas is not so much because Christmas is horrid but because of the people with whom they are gathered to think of the birth of the Prince of Peace.

He prayed that a light of peace might radiate and dissolve the conflicts, the bitterness, the pain, the hurts and despairs to give way to what the joy of what Christmas is – it was powerful in what it meant to those it mattered to.

I end this just as Charles Dickens’ Christmas Carol comes to an end and with it I say to you, have a Merry Christmas and may the joy of Christmas be with you, your kith and kin.