Helping hand

Nadia was a young woman who used to sell vetkooks in a local train station. Early twenties,lightskinned,dark circles around her eyes and petite. Everyday i passed her when i went to school i used to wonder why she is not at school. I always wanted to stop, greet and have a decent conversation with her but the vetkook business was busy and she always looked so tired for casual chit chats. During seasons changes, from the freezing winter mornings to windy August mornings, she was always there. One morning she had a companion. A man. The man i have see before. He used to go around the hood asking for money,food,a homeless man. That morning he was bathed and clean. Nadia took him home the previous day and nursed him. People kept asking Nadia how she did it. She replied ”All i did was to ask. I asked to help him and he said yes. Helping me this morning is his way of showing how thankfull he is”. That response almost broke my heart. Help. All along i believed she was the one who needed help and yet she helped someone. No matter what hardship she went through she understood that someone out there needed a hand to pick them up. That somehow she had something that others did not have and that gave her an upper helping hand. I wanted to hold her hand and say God Bless You but as usual she was surrounded by a crowd of her loyal customers. When she lifted her head i shouted the three words-Go Bless You and she gave a faint smile nodding a simple thank you. I always wanted to talk to her but that morning i felt like i got all the answers i ever had. A glance at my watch i realised i was getting late for my first class. I ran to school.

Honourable Mr. President

I was at the gym the other day, staring at the floor, hands on exhausted hips, trying to recoup from a treadmill experience. A pair of Takkies walked into my gaze. A pair of White Takkies caught my attention for some obscure reason? These Takkies had tasted and toiled the South African ground they were not reserved for gym escapades alone. They were not unkempt just worn. Proudly. Shamelessly. They had been washed one too many times as the fraying edges told the story of been beaten in the washing machine. They were not branded, probably a Mr. Price version of Nike, but what retrospectively caught my attention was how humble those Takkies were.
I glanced at their owner – a stocky proud African man. His rounded tummy snuck out of his stretched shirt, he kind of made me think of a black Winnie The Pooh, he looked very cute and had an air of hug-ability about him. He held a very used old Energade bottle on which I could see the remains of the day on the label as white sticky sediments of whatever flavour that Energade was. It was humble, Sunlight liquid had tarnished its appearance, but it indeed worked. The owner had a chilled yet confident expression on his podgy wholesome face. He was in no hurry to complete the circuit. He sat on the bench of one of the arm apparatus machines and checked the people fiercely carrying on with their individual battle to bodies. His battle did not seem as inflexible as the others – it seemed to me like whether he did 10 or 2 push ups he would still see himself as having accomplished a milestone. He was at gym. He was honestlty trying. That was the landmark.
I tried to fathom why the Takkies of an African Winnie The Pooh had such an impact on me? Then it came. Sunday night on Carte Blanche they interviewed Mmusi Maimane, the brand spanking new Democratic Alliance Leader and I saw what was hugging onto me so. I had heard that Mr. Maimane had taken over from his predecessor, Mrs. Helen Zille, but didn’t know much else. I didn’t care much else either, I had lost hope, I was grieving the pride I once felt when Mr. Mandela was leading us out of Egypt into our Promised Land, which has now sadly become Tarnished Land. I got to the place of total dissidence, what was the use in actually bothering to vote anyway? I was first shocked then moved as I watched this epiphany, Mr. Mmusi Maimane make his landmark.
This was it, I understood what the gym incident had tried to portray and wanted me to see through those dear White Takkies (bless). I saw a picture of a hard working, honourable, ethical and humble African doing what he can with what he has in order to slowly but surely shed the arrogance from the fattened calf, Mr. Zuma. He was shown in parliament addressing President Zuma, it was a bold reformation to behold. He said “Honourable President, when I use the term ‘Honourable’, I use it out of respect for the traditions and conventions of this House but please do not take it literally. For you, honourable president, are not an Honourable Man……Lead the way or step aside”.
I say to you Mr. Maimane, lead us! Walk South Africa into its predestined triumph, we have tasted it before. Mr. Mandela lifted an Honourable staff and the sea parted, now walk us through it. White Takkies, black feet.

Facade

They do not know. No one really does. She keeps all at arms length. Never letting anyone in too close- too near. She let’s them see what she wants them to see… but slowly the armour is starting to shatter. The rust is becoming visible and soon she is uncomfortable. She still wears her mask.

She struggles being afforded with compliments and praise or others viewing her positively but secretly she yearns for more acknowledgement. She is a complex being. She is both strong and fragile. She does not know who she really is but she is not who she use to be… but what she does not know is that she has changed. She has been shaped by her experiences. She still wears her mask.

why does she wear this mask, all too often? why can she not take it off and bear her soul? Is she afraid of her reality? Possibly. She is overwhelmed by her thoughts and the pressure she puts on herself. She is afraid of her dreams. She is both proud of who and what she is and terrified by her being at the same time. She still wears her mask.

Does anyone truly care, she asks? In the true essence of the word. She still wears her mask. She tries to slowly peel off her mask, but this sparks tears, fuels an undesirable unwanted uncomfortable feeling. She still wears her mask. She feels protected with her mask on. No one will ever know about her. She feels in control. Why then does this mask not make her happy? She still wears her mask. She stands lethargically alone staring at this mask she wears in the mirror. She is tired. She is weary. She is afraid… but she has also come to the realisation that as the years have passed, she has outgrown this mask. It no longer serves her. In fact, it never did. She starts to slowly remove it, welcoming any unpleasantness it brings as the tears roll down her cheeks.

She breaks as she falls to the floor, unable to face herself in the mirror. She indulges this feeling and chooses not to fight with herself anymore. She reluctantly forces herself to get up again, to stand and face the truth she sees in the mirror. The tears start flowing again but this time, because of an awakening. A catharsis unfolds. She sees reflected back at her, the strength she gained from adversity, the love she has for others and herself, the pride of how far she has come and the contentment of realising she is worthy of an abundance of blessings she has received and those that are yet to come.

She still battles with this new feeling, with not having on her armour but she is on a journey, okay with knowing that she does not always have to be okay… okay with accepting the misfortunes of the past and letting that fuel her growth… She is learning to be okay with herself…

She no longer wears her mask

Journey

Two decades. That’s twenty years. That’s me.

I am 8, she is blind. Doctors can’t find any medical errors that would cause blindness in her body but that doesn’t stop him he keeps on going back and forth, getting this laser surgery, consulting that doctor, getting those pills – she drinks seven pills twice a day – he has faith. It is worse now she can’t see any type of illumination but that doesn’t stop her she creates a blueprint of the house, she starts examining appliances in the kitchen, she even starts cooking.

It is December. She is in hospital. Her sister is here helping him but she is especially here for her. The weather is sunny, beautiful and peaceful – the type of weather that makes you want to grab a blanket and lay under a tree, with your eyes closed, listening to the tranquil sounds of leaves shaking to the soft warm breeze that lightly massages your cheeks as if to kiss you like a shy debutant kissing her suitor for the first time, the type of weather that allows souls to float peacefully – she’s watching television. He’s in the shower. His phone rings, she runs to answer. It’s a white lady, she sounds awkward. She calls again. He steps out of the bathroom with tears in his eyes, he answers. “She’s gone. Mamma is gone, Juju”. Everything’s blank, she sees nothing she hears nothing. She finally opens her eyes and sees tears on the clothes, she can smell her everywhere. The smell makes her sick to her heart. She looks at the wall and sees a calendar, the date is December 22. “Would you look at that Christmas is in three days, I guess Santa Clause delivered my present early”

“She died peacefully” (they said), “she just slept and never woke up… painless” (they said) but that was all pity, stupid shallow sympathy. How can someone who died at the hands of green, vile jealousy die a peaceful death? Someone who was robbed from their 70 years?

How could you? You call yourself her friend, now she’s dead because of your evil heart. Tell me, how did it feel putting your muti under her desk? Did you even think about him? About her?  No curse on earth is evil enough to destroy you, no jail traumatizing enough to kill you and no hell hot enough to burn you – I bet Santa Clause got you a new phone.

One decade. That’s ten years. That’s me.

I can’t remember her voice. I can remember her hair, her smile, her face, her hands, her eyes. But I can’t remember her voice – love sounds so better when it has a voice. Now I don’t have the ability to remember what I had all I know is what I will never have. I will never have a phone number to call when I need to complain about a boy and ask for money. I will never have her to thank for bringing me to life at my graduation. I will never get to feel to her unconditional love, that close to the soul love… that “emotionally no one should be able to survive without it” love.

I might be twenty but I will forever be ten, because when I was ten that was the last time I heard her voice.

Kwame

On the 10th of january she screamed in agony clutching onto everything in her path as she tried with every breathe in her to compose herself. While everyone seemed not to take her as seriously as she wanted them to. She would have prefered them running around panicking like headless chickens maybe that would destract her from the excruciating pain. As she entered the hospital she was greated with even more smiles which only seemed to aggrevate her even more. “It’s time,” said the doctor, while everyone was pacing up and down the corridors Teddy stood by her side , holding her hand while she squeezed it with every push. There he was in the doctors arms as Teddy confidently let his tears stream down his cheeks , “it’s a boy babe, we have a son,” he said. Kwame was his name!!

Confused

how can the world be so empty, no life just loneliness, only the sounds of birds, waves and a blow of air. living with the thoughts of what if, if I could have. am I living in regrets or regrets are living me.? everything seems so slow a minute had became an hour, an hour had became a month and a month had became a year. with a blink of hope I believe I will rise again, like a son rising on the mountains. it will begin to shine, my world and life will shine like never before. that day I will call my self a conqueror!

The Other Me

For every woman who carries a secret in the deepest corner of her heart.

“You only live once…but if you do it right once is enough”…or is it? It’s midnight and I am sitting in my favourite chair in front of the fire place…a second glass of Merlot slowly romancing my mood as a bouquet of soft berries flirt with my tongue…the words of Mae West echoing over and over in my mind…You only live once…and with that the unspoken truth I had dare not admit to myself until recently…you love only once.
And as acknowledgement finally makes way for acceptance I look back on years of building a white picket fence marriage all the while longing for a man I did not know but to whom I was somehow connected…unknowingly caught in a web that time had spun…slowly and ever so delicately placing us on separate journeys and as the years passed by would sling shot us into each other’s path …never quite understanding the pull of gravity until finally we had reached the right place at the right time.
As I stare deeper and deeper into the flames I go back twenty six years …to 1985 and the school dance…and as the veil of fogginess slowly subsides …I see the 15 year old brunette with the hazel eyes …dancing with a boy…unconsciously moving to a rhythm not dictated by music…but by a passion that in its infancy would consume and destroy if destiny had not set its plan in place.
And destiny that night had turned out to be a red necked teacher with quite a bit of a temper and reputation for being difficult and most certainly not to be crossed. Keeping an eye on the activities it seemed to him the teenage boy and girl still intimately swaying together after several dances had no regard for the acceptable space allowed between partners as the rules required and even less regard for the boy’s long-time recognised steady but now suddenly abandoned and fuming girlfriend standing waiting in the wings.
Letting go of the emotions and desire that the boy had stirred in me I watched as he reluctantly pulled away from me and made his way to the other side of the room where trouble was waiting to greet him. The look on his face suggesting that he feared nothing and regretted even less. And in that moment I saw his spirit…I saw a fire that would burn my soul and it scared me. Never one to fit in with social norms, I sought comfort in the knowledge that I was seen as being different and by that meaning that I was not really his type…too snobbish by his standards…which again seem to be destiny changing course.
As the days turned into weeks and weeks tuned into months with not a word spoken about that night the boy would pass me in the hallways…and while not staring at him directly I was always aware of his blue eyes burning on me. But I kept my distance and so did he and when he arrived at my house one night with a group of friends I was more than just a little surprised. And although the night was filled with promise we both seem to not have the courage to approach each other and follow up on whatever unfinished business we had from our previous encounter. And as I closed my eyes that night I told myself it was simply not meant to be and that I should close the chapter and move on.
Paracelsus wrote…“Time is a brisk wind, for each hour it brings something new, but who can understand and measure its sharp breath, its mystery and its design”. And by some design of fate I ran into the boy a few years later in a convenience store just around the corner from my house. I say design of fate because I had left my home town many years before and was now living in another town 1500 km away. And there he stood, no longer a boy but a very attractive man. I cannot recall the conversation, thinking about it now I probably stumbled over my words. But what I do remember is that he still had the same affect on me and I could not shake the feeling that somehow we still had unresolved business between us. But I was married and so was he and we were both building a life, committed to the choices we had made that had shaped our now twenty-something day to day existence. And again I walked away from him, not allowing myself to think what if.
But fate it seemed had other plans and on a Wednesday morning I received a phone call that would ignite the flame I thought I had extinguished many years ago. Twenty years had passed since I had left school and it was time for the class of ’86 to reunite. I accepted the invitation with a great amount of fear and anticipation…my thoughts immediately fixated on the boy whose blue eyes I still seem to feel burning on me. A boy who’s face had haunted me for years even though I have crushed the memory of him time and time again. But fate was holding the cards and did not quite like the hand I was dealt for a few weeks before the reunion destiny decided to put a wild card in play. And so the boy made his presence know by sending me an email.
I remember reading the content over and over again looking for hidden meaning between the lines. We were both searching for that certain something that had connected us so many years ago…and in an instant the lines seem to be blurred for we had not an inkling of an understanding what had been rekindled and the magnitude of what was to come. And although the exchange of emails between us was mostly catching up on what we have achieved with our lives, it was also filled with what was not said…filled with unanswered questions and unspoken longing. Being thirty something adults now one would think that it would be easier to behave as such…that experience would bring maturity and with that fulfilment in our relationships. But we were being held captive by a time in our life that would constantly remind us that something was missing. And as the reunion drew closer, I found myself building up an expectation to finally be able to deal with the significance the boy had in my life. I was completely convinced that the infatuation I had felt for him would finally be put to bed once we stood face to face. I was wrong.
Staring into space I found myself sitting in a rented car outside the venue of the reunion. Not quite myself, my mind had been occupied for most of the flight to such a degree that my husband had given up trying to make conversation. I had purposefully refrained from any exchange regarding the event that no doubt in his mind must have posed some questions about old flames. And now I was there and uncertain of what the evening would reveal. Getting out of the car I suddenly wondered if I had made the right decision to come because if I was honest with myself, I had everything, I had success, I had a beautiful family…I had a loving husband. And with that I felt anticipation make way for guilt as I walked down the pathway to the entrance of the venue. It did not take long before I noticed his presence. The boy was even more of a man now…his appearance more rugged, the lines on his face had deepened…he had aged well like a good red wine.
There is a quote by Peter McWilliams that says “Guilt is anger directed at ourselves’. And never was it truer for me than that night. I had successfully averted any physical contact with the boy and a few sideways glances indicated to me that he was completely immerged in conversation with the boys which if one is already predisposed to feeling guilty would suffice as proof that whatever expectations I may have had was utterly foolish. Feeling completely out of place and out of touch I left that evening, driving along the coastline. Overwhelmed by a sense of loss I cried for something I had longed for for such a long time, something I never had although I never even understood what it was. And as I rolled down the window and smelled the salty breeze I told myself that it was time for closure…that it was clear that whatever unresolved feelings there may have been would remain unsaid and that I should close the chapter on the boy…but more importantly on a time in my life that now belonged to the past. You cannot change what you do not acknowledge and admitting the truth was hard. The foolish trip down memory lane was nothing more than an attempt to try and rekindle my lost youth. And so I made a decision not to entertain any more emails from the boy. Complex things are easy to do, its simplicity that is the real challenge. The simplest thing was to walk way but not without allowing myself a moment to embrace the memory of seeing him again that night and I am reminded about a line in one of my favourite movies “The Bridges of Madison County”…” The old dreams were good dreams, they didn’t work out but I am glad I had them”…
But fate was still holding the wild card…in fact this time destiny had joined the game and they seem to be on the same side. Five years had passed since the reunion. Convinced that I had it all life was good. It wasn’t perfect…but whose life is right?
Completely now settled in to suburbia with all the other forty something friends and acquaintances I was surfing the wave of whatever flavour was going down…three years ago it was big screen TV’s and surround sound…two years ago it was Blue Ray…a year ago it was the latest Sony compact digital camera. And now it was Blackberry. It had become my favourite past time to connect with friends and family. So much so that I would often neglect accessing messages that would from time to time still come through on my other old phone…to such a degree that if the battery ran out I would not notice and leave the old phone lying in my handbag for weeks. I reasoned that all of my important contacts had my new number so there was no significance in keeping the old. But the contract had not quite expired and it would be stupid not to use the airtime and free sms’s that was still available.
It had been a long and hectic day. I was glad to finally sit in my favourite chair in front of the fire place. Closing my eyes for a few minutes I tried to leave the office behind. Timing is everything. Just as I was starting to relax, my son the opportunist presented me with a glass of my favourite red wine and immediately dove right into the pressing matter at hand. His phone had broken and it would be the end of his world as such if he could not be in contact with his girlfriend. Did I say timing is everything? The things we do for love. And in that moment of weakness I reached for my handbag to hand over my old phone in the final act of moving on and to be honest to get a bit of peace and quiet that would follow getting him off my back.
But it was not time for peace and quiet… it was not time for anything…..and yet it was time.
Staring at the phone in my hand I decided to clean out the emails and messages before handing it over to junior. Scrolling through the messages I suddenly felt a jolt through my heart. There it was…little more than a day old…the boy had left a message…
Up until that moment I had lived in a world of choice… I had regarded my life as a product of my own decisions and I was in control. But this was something else, this was destiny. And if you believe in destiny, you suspect there are greater forces defining your life’s story. Even if we are each part of some great master plan, our unique journey has more personal meaning when we choose it for ourselves. You make many choices every day. Whenever possible you choose the life you want. We are the choices we make… And in that moment I made the most selfish choice of all. I chose him.
Love will never obey an expectation; its mystery is pure and absolute. Twenty six years later I find myself waiting at a secluded table in a restaurant…nervously anticipating the moment the boy would appear. It had been five years since the reunion however it seemed like eternity. And as a million thoughts were racing through my head…I perched myself from the chair towards the entrance…and there he was walking towards me. I trembled for a second and fell back in my chair. The emotion of fear often works overtime. Even when there is no immediate threat, our body may remain tight and on guard, our mind narrowed to focus on what might go wrong. When this happens, fear is no longer functioning to secure our survival. We are caught in the trance of fear and our moment-to-moment experience becomes bound in reactivity. We spend our time and energy defending our life rather than living it fully.
Realising that we both got caught trying to catch a glimpse of each other suddenly made me smile. And with that I stood out of my chair and walked towards him…no longer afraid or holding back anything I greeted him with a kiss on the lips, not wanting to let go of his warm embrace.
My heart was pounding wildly. He was seated across the table from me and as I looked at him, I could not help but feel that I have known him all my life. It was not anything specific that he said or did, yet it was everything about him…it was just a sense of knowing. It was in the easy conversation that just seemed to keep on flowing… it was in the way he held his glass… it was in the way his eyes would search mine and we both would seem to be hanging on to the same thought…26 years to get to this moment…
The man sitting across from me was no longer the boy I had idolised…not only had he become a man…he had become the man that I had dreamt of all my life. And it is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts. He was the one. My heart only ever had one thought. One want. One need. Despite all, in spite of all…all my heart ever wanted was him.
Most people can look back over the years and identify a time and place at which their lives changed significantly. Whether by accident or design, these are the moments when, because of a readiness within us and collaboration with events occurring around us, we are forced to seriously reappraise ourselves and the conditions under which we live and to make certain choices that will affect the rest of our lives. That moment was defined when he stood up and sat next to me. Fully aware of his presence so intimately close to me I was amazed at how comfortable we seem to be with each other…our bodies now touching ever so slightly, his leg brushing against mine. It came naturally and it felt familiar..it felt right…
The heart never forgets, never gives up, the territory marked off for those who came before. And when he suddenly leaned forward mid sentence and parted my lips fate and destiny had concluded our twenty six year journey. It seems that all we have ever done in our life was make our way to each other…for in that kiss we had found our destination…we had found one another. I realised that till that moment I wasn’t alive’…that I had longed for him like the moon pulls the tide. And like Meryl Streep in the Bridges of Madison County in that moment everything I knew to be true about myself up until then was gone. I was acting like another woman, yet I was more myself than ever before. This kind of certainty comes but once in a lifetime.
“You are, and always have been, my dream”…his every word folding like a blanket around my soul. He is every reason, every hope, and every longing I have ever had. My restless soul has found its harbour.
And herein lies the irony for as much as we have found each other and are bound together in another space and time, we will forever remain separated in this life. Vows made to a loving wife and devoted husband are printed like headers and footers on every page of the remaining chapters of your life. You cannot simply change the storyline of the book, or the title. Commitment negates you finish the story you had started though it may not have the happy ending you had wanted.
I have had one life but I have lived it as two completely different women. I have existed in two separate universes. Like night and day I am dusk and dawn, forever floating between darkness and light.
In the light of day my defences are up, my life is a series of controlled actions and purpose. I am safe. But as night falls, like a hungry predator he haunts me and I surrender my soul to be devoured by the darkness where he lives. I call his name and he answers with a flutter in the deepest core of my being. His name is written on my soul and no matter how I try, I can’t erase it.
In the darkness of night there is no escape. There is no distinction between reality and fantasy, I taste him. I drown in him. And as the light of morning falls he exits my dreams like a dagger ripping through flesh and swallow the silent screams of his brutal torture.
And as the morning breaks I cling to hope and sanity like the last remaining life jacket on the Titanic, knowing that just like Rose never let go of Jack, so I will too never let go of him. I shall for eternity run to that place in in my dreams and nightmares where he waits for me.

My Death

The chains rattle amusingly as I desperately try to free myself. Fear creeps up and down my spine. I look up from the cement straight into the thousands of familiar eyes. The different shades of green, brown, grey and blue burn into my skull, all of them filled with hatred and judgment. I pull harder at the thick chains and I can feel them cutting into my sore wrists. Over and over, I try to escape the angry chains, but their grip on my wrists never loosens. I fall hopelessly down to my knees and cover my eyes in shame. Tears stain my cheeks and I can feel the disgust of the audience folding around me, covering every part of me like a heavy blanket. Their whispers are barely audible.
“It is her fault.”
“She deserves what she is about to get.”
“No punishment is enough justice for what she did.”

I hear his footsteps coming closer and stopping right in front of me. I remove my hands from my tear-stained face and look into his cold dark eyes. He grabs my forearms and yanks me up from the ground onto my feet. My entire body starts to shake under his judgmental eyes. He spits in my face and let me go so suddenly that I almost fall back down, but I manage to maintain my balance. I swiftly rub the wet fluid off of my face. From his pocket he pulls a large knife that eagerly glistens in the light of the full moon. Silence fills the air and everyone, including me, is staring at the proud knife.

In one split second I feel the knife sliding into the soft flesh right above my heart. Shock races through my body and leaves me momentarily numb to the inexplicable pain. The knife twists and cuts a neat round circle around my heart. The pain comes through and I scream. I grab the place where the knife was. Blood crawls through my fingers and flows down the length of my body to the ground. My hands fall to my sides. I briefly notice the audience is still deathly silent. I stare into his eyes. His big hand reaches for my chest and his fingers glides into the open cuts. They reach my heart and rip it out of my chest. I look at the beating heart in his hand. It is still alive. My hands reach for my chest once again and feel the big empty hole. Suddenly the crowd starts to go wild. I hear the thousands of familiar laughter and the deafening applause.

My legs give in and I fall to my knees into the pool of blood. The red fluid spatters all over my body. He throws my heart on the floor in front of me. It is still beating. It still has not died. The smell of gasoline fills the air as he pours it onto my poor heart. I try desperately to contain my tears, but it escapes and drips into my blood. The end of his newly lit cigarette glows teasingly at me. His two fingers open and it falls willingly onto the soaked beating heart. A blue flame rises so high and quickly that I fall backwards. I stare at the scene in front of me, whilst the fire eagerly eats at my heart. Its beat fades until it completely disappears. I stare at it until it is only a pile of ashes staring back at me.. The audience comes into hearing again, still happily applauding this horrifying event. He kneels down in front of me. His hand lifts the blood-stained knife and slides it across my neck. I can feel my neck getting wet and I look up one last time. I look straight into my father’s eyes, burning with pleasure and satisfaction. Surrounded by smiles, I feel the life leaving my body and darkness devours me.

Freedom

Freedom for me is, being who I truly am beyond the limits of body, space and time, that traps our souls in beliefs, opinions, judgement and fear. Freedom is being free of that disorientated mind… A mind that takes us away from heart and soul, instead clouds a being of magnificence which we fear to explore and expose to the universe, due to our insecurities, holding onto past experiences that hurt and wound us within, not forgiving and only expecting a new result repeating a cycle we have never dared to step up and out of.

However once we realize fear can be a friend and it is ok to forgive, as well as take a step forward beyond our limits or comfort zones, we are privledged to experience a state of freedom that defines a peace that is filled with a love that overflows into our surrounding environments. An experience of love that is unconditional and creates an atmosphere which fills the world with an ecstasy which never dies.
A love that is not necessarily physical bound to body, space and time however spiritual free, infinite and timeless.

True freedom is letting go of beliefs and behaviors of how one thinks it should be into how it actually is in the moment. Using that negative energy we create a positive result with a shift in consciousness, a transformational shift that changes ones thoughts to instead align ones self to being their true ‘real self’.

So do yourself a favour and choose to let go and just go with the flow, that is already present in the now. Trust and have faith instead of fear and embrace the present moment of now being open to experience a sense of stillness without fear, judgement or the need to justify every moment. Live with aliveness focused on a vision instead of dying to survive in a world in which one cannot truly escape without going beyond all limitations.

Freedom is truly Nothing…

NO-THING, a infinte space you allow yourself to loose control in that is open, vast and empty. We fear our deepest selves because it creates a loneliness no thing can truly and honestly occupy, it is an empty spaces with no label or definition, without a definition, it makes it hard for our minds to grasp however only our magnificence of soul can understand. It is a language spoken and heard in silence within an infinite hollowness.

It is the beauty of this hollow emptiness which is freedom….

Dear Ex

So I thought this would help me move on or start afresh while making amends for anything and everything that may have gone wrong. Don’t even know where to start… HOW HAVE I BEEN?
LET’S SEE… …
I guess with all the revelations that have come to light to date, the fact that I was a fool is not really debateable, from the beginning I was never thee one for you. I was just filling in the gaps which is something I would have never optioned to be a part of, no self-righteous person would ever want to come second to anyone let alone another woman.
Cannot really blame everything on you from the get go I allowed my naivety to take control and let myself forgive you while blindly convincing myself that it’d all be worthwhile in the long run. I put aside my lack of investment in any relationship and went all in just so to prove myself wrong. Only if I had known, hey?
I am not transferring my burdens and faults to you but you were reckless not only with your own life but with mines and anyone else’s you may have been involved with and for that I do hold some resentment towards you because no matter how shitty you made me feel I trusted you.
Nothing annoys me more than your inability to talk to me, your transgressions and issues that may influence us in the long run are made public before I know of them. I am forever expected to get angry and then get over it like a good girl, but sadly I have never allowed anger to parade within me cause I just won’t let it consume me therefore I just hope for a more “grown you.”
Thanks to your actions I found myself going through a time of resentment, pain and self-hatred while lacking the very thing you promised me, which was ‘you.’ You promised to love me, you promised to be there but I guess I was just grasping at straws believing you. I hated you with every fibre within me and all I ever thought about was ending myself just so the pain would be no more, I had lost all hope maybe it was the hormones or the you deserting me but nothing made sense, therefore you cannot blame me for not trusting you.
The tears I cried were endless but you couldn’t care less as long as my nagging self was out of your way and I got the message loud and clear, I tried Lord knows I tried to let go but every time I had made amends and accepted the situation you would waltz in giving me hope of something better. I am not saying that you reasons for disappearing were never good enough but looking at the situation they were just pathetic, you had a child which you had never laid your eyes on. I knew there was someone else but even though I wasn’t good enough this innocent soul could not be made accountable for my inadequacies.
The love I had for you haunted me and clouded me with guilt, through all the pain I went through and the things I found out I vowed never to hold a grudge towards you or our significant other and child if need be but here I stand now wondering if I can allow myself to forgive and forget with there being a constant reminder of the fact that I have never been good enough.
On the other hand here you are standing before me asking for forgiveness, a new beginning and in hand you claim to hold love that is untamed. It has been a year since you and I have stood face to face but yet I still find myself weak at the knees, I love you with an unbound amount of emotion but a year has never been enough to forgive being made second best and being kept in the dark of the existence of another child for that I’ll have to forgive me.
It’s weird how I am asking for forgiveness, but I’m sorry for not reacting the way you’ve expected me to do so, forgive my inability to lose my sanity over something that is beyond my control. Just so you understand, I still do refer to you as my ex and not because I am going back on my word but because it’s more of a safety net, not allowing myself to let you in that easily again.
I forgive you for the lies, infidelity, and you being an asshole!!!
Yours truly,
Baby mama