The first post in a series exploring how I seek to align myself with my stated values. This post outlines my personal philosophy, mission, and values.
Read moreCaged Earth
I confessed eventually.I know I am braver and wilder in my dreams....
Read moreThese Streets
This evening as I walked along streets I've traced countless times before, a thought took hold. 'How wonderfully fragile and changeable the human mind is'. Years ago, upon these same streets I'd nurse tales of woe and be unkind to myself in the basement of my mind. As those streetlights glared back at me, I was a particle of dust , bereft of hope and significance. Even contribution was an act of existential guilt. All this heavy on my spine as I wearily trudged through the days. Yet through the days, the months and years that were to unfold... Came a new way of being. Seemingly through attrition, the roots of despair came to wither. Exposed by questions. Starved by the ascension of gratitude and choice. No longer frivolous intellectual notions but palpable truths of the day to day realities of living .As the grip of victimhood unraveled, there was space for new things to grow. New colours where there was only black and white. New layers above a greedy undertow. A life richer than binary choices. The capacity to receive love.
What contrast upon the same streets, within the same skin. What capacity we have to shape and shift our perceptions. But is not only human to forget this power we wield? How vigilant and compassionate we must be to ourselves and others as we scale the mountains and swim through the oceans of circumstance.
Identity
The endless possibility of my identity,Bound by a chain of bittersweet recollections, Am I a mere vessel for the past in the present? Like an oak adding layers over years, Tall and mighty yet clinging to sapling dreams.
Am I bound by your memories? As a son, a brother, a friend, a lover. Time can be the mind's corrupt governor, Knotting memories into your being, That occupy the present and taint your heart with the fear of repetition, And an unjust weariness that belittles life's essence.
Am I a memory of self-unfolding?
If I am to be a vessel, May it not be to ancient whispers, lacquered with incessant after-thought. May I instead be a host to my own humanity, Alive to the decay that darkness brings Through shadows that impersonate life.
You've been hiding in the undertow, Let me see the face hidden from my own eyes. May I be ever present in the now, For that is all there will ever be of me.