What Love is

It’s easy to like friends and develop a fancy for your peers. It’s also pretty easy to like those who root for you. They cheer you on and believe in you when the next turn isn’t very clear to you. They are worth liking, loving etc.

If you know the 30 keys to attracting the right partner, you probably know you should dress nice, act nice, be nice and then throw in some seduction. Get a hook. Make it large if you’re looking for a huge catch. Get your hook coated in your sedu-oil and place it where Big Fish is likely to make an appearance. If he/she bites, kablam! Congrats baby, you got a catch. Sometimes you undress your prize only to find out it was the smallest of fishes dressed in unending layers of armors of insecurity and low self-esteem.

Selfish desires aren’t signs of love. They are not. Reciprocating goodness is praiseworthy. If the entire world would simply do this our world would be unrecognizable. There won’t be Hitlers, Mussolinis and politicians. That’s enough to turn the world right side up. However, reciprocating isn’t even love. Love is so much more.

Love is the old father who although made mistake after mistake and doubted for years still became the father of many nations and the progenitor of the Jewish race. Love was what forgave his wrongs, smoothed them out and straightened him up. Then love gave him more than he could ever ask for. That is love. Love is the father reaching out to his young who had squandered a third of his wealth, kissing him, welcoming him and giving him an inheritance even before he apologized for the one he lost. Love waited out for him, forgave him before he asked, reinstated him without caring or asking questions of him. Love is Jesus in the midst of the Pharisees, the guilty adulteress before him. The shame was fresh in her eyes. She was caught in the very act of adultery. The verdict was death by stoning and she knew it. It was neither her first time nor a random act. It was her lifestyle. Love is Jesus is going beyond the Law. “Woman,” he said, “I do not condemn you. You are both innocent and free.” Love did not mind her lifestyle. Love gave her a chance. Love looked beyond what others saw and gave her what she sorely needed- hope and affirmation. Her life became a huge testimony.

Love is this: you are guilty of sin and wrongdoing and ought to be punished for it. But someone came along and paid the price for you. You weren’t good when he did it. You don’t need to be good for it to be true. He did it without paying attention to you. Love is the scene on the Day of Final Accounting. You ought to stand before the Judge but you won’t. Others who did what you did will jolly well go to hell but you won’t. Isn’t this unfair, you ask, that the Judge will let criminals go free and declare them innocent? No, it is not. It isn’t unfair, it is love.

Love is this: nothing is asked or required of you. Absolutely nothing! Love is free. And love isn’t about what you can do. It’s about what has been done for you. Love is the Gift God gave humanity. There was nothing bigger to give so He gave Himself- all of Himself.

This love doesn’t ask you to do. Don’t do, only believe.

Mesh

If you would ask me
Before glowing frangipanis
And this tittering fireplace
If you would ask me one last time
What love is
I will not point to tanned crumpled sheets
where this initiation was sealed
Or to crammed attics
and mementoes from that chance meet
Or remind you of countless shared
soft, quick whispers and
heady, intoxicating giggles
I will not speak anymore
Only clasp your hand forever
Without malice or fear

Love, lovers, loving etc

I know it’s not 14th February but love is not for 14th February alone. If you don’t see love in the air you really need to keep reading. If love is all you see, sister this is for you! Cos I see love in the clouds and in the horizons, all blue, red, pink and all the colors in between. I was motivated to do this because a special friend has found a special friend. Kudos to a brother who ain’t searching no more! As for me, it’s the season of specials and specialties. I’m excited for the finders, the found and the rest of us who still have big microscopes in their hands, eyes and ears!
Even if you’re not human you still like some humans. You fancy the way he walks, the way she talks and the way he calls love rove. You like the fact he calls Peter Feter and calls van ban. Relax if your head is already spinning and your heart weaving tunes out of tuneless melodies. You’re created to love and be loved. Even if it’s not the dude next door it’s gonna be someone somewhere someday. Maybe the blogger. Yes!
Does your heart warm uncontrollably even during cold draughts? Do you find yourself smiling uncharacteristically, giggling in the midst of a family reunion simply because you remembered that someone? Do you think you’re a little, tiny bit out of your mind? Do you envision the future and assign certain special roles to the someone? Do you doodle around with someone’s name when you should be balancing accounts? Are you foolishly happy, sentimentally unreasonable and out rightly silly yet proud to be so? Symptoms, symptoms, symptoms…
You smile at total strangers for no reason and interpret the fact that one alphabet in your name is also in her name as an important omen. Overnight you’ve become a sign reader. Everything is a good sign including the new car that just splashed muddy water on your best clothes. It’s a sign you’ll use a new car for your wedding. Did you also notice you both have red shirts? And that was what he was putting on that day you first saw him. Isn’t that such a cool sign? Congratulations!
You think you can spend every waking minute together and never get tired. I know it feels like nobody will ever understand or know what you feel. You feel you and that someone are the only special people on earth. And you wish nobody will interfere because nobody understands.  But it’s not entirely true. Only you can feel what you feel in the special way you feel it. However, chemistry isn’t unique to one person. Come on, it’s as common as salt and water- sodium-chloro-oxymoron! Don’t be sad because of it, be happy. It simply means you never walk alone!
Love is a beautiful thing. It makes superheroes of ordinary people and makes dwarfs of giants. Impossibilities seem distant and its boundaries undefined – drastically robbed of aura. Reality becomes a blur and your new “lovingness” gives you fresh lenses with which you see the world. Welcome to idealism my fellow crazy idealist- now you believe you can do just about anything. Old loyalties seem less powerful, less needful and less compelling. Weaknesses are wished away or out rightly overlooked. You sincerely believe you will write the world a love story that will make Romeo and Juliet suffocate with jealousy in their literary graves. From my heart I congratulate you.
Every journey has a starting point. It’s a good thing you’ve started. Now you need to remember that heart and head aren’t enemies. They are friends. Love isn’t stupid. Love is sacrificial and sacrifices aren’t stupid things. They are products of whole, sensible heads and hearts. Don’t major on your feelings and forget your heart. Don’t limit yourself to externals. Love comes in different packages. The best came in a cattle’s hay box on one Middle Eastern night two millennia ago. Yours has come in a special package. Don’t neglect that package and its content. Now that you feel on top of the world you have the benefit of the feeling to get yourself there. Now that you feel Shakespeare was a learner use your motivation to get yourself beyond the feelings to the act of showing love. Let those feelings propel you beyond feelings. You and special someone owe yourselves that little.
Love is not really a feeling. Feelings are symptoms, good symptoms I must add. There is so much more. And the so much more is better that those goody-goody feelings. Love is a trust, a sacrificial trust. Love is not blind. It is rather choosing to see with the eyes of faith rather than the eyes of doubt and condemnation. Love is sacrificing because you trust, not because the other party is worth all the trouble. Loving is knowing the other party is actually worth more than the trouble although he/she really isn’t. It is giving all when you haven’t received all and beating the drums of one who is too beaten to beat those drums. Love is choosing to believe when there is nothing to believe. It is giving yourself because there is nothing more, nothing better to give. Love is beauty, wonder, perfect and everything else in between.
Now, who wanna show some love? Don’t even hesitate.

Twinkling Tiny Star

You’ve stayed so long in the dark and you’re totally fed up. You really want to find the way out. Moving around the dark feels like wading against the currents of an angry river. Its hands stretch, clutch your feet, cover your eyes and hold your neck. Your feet are immobile, your eyes blind and your voice lost. Then it lays hold on your heart and pours over it waves and waves of fear till you think your heart will drown in your belly. Your chest constricts before racing off, panting like an exhausted locomotive. The dark is lent a strong voice because of the fear it commands– an unreasonable, overpowering fear. You feel at a loss because you have lost use of your most trusted sense- sight.
But you haven’t lost your best sense- your sense of head and heart. If you will pay attention to them you will transcend the fear. You will see that the hands of dark are guides for you. There is no grip on your neck, only a friendly hold on your shoulders. Don’t move against the river. It wants to take you home.
Night is when you’re all broken like Humpty. Waiting for the king’s men and their horses is using night wrongly. You’re going to be disappointed. Use night wisely like the third Humpty. Dream up ways to get back up. Look out like Humpty did and see the lone twinkler in the sky. Although his parents had deserted him and his light seemed too little to light any traveler’s tired path and although there was no thunder for his siren, he kept on shining- solitary dimple in sky. Humpty saw him and found a friend. Then he got up and joined the waltz in the sky.

Twinkling tiny star
Lone emperor of the skies
Long was my search
Aches and break hearts thus far
Was it a cloud covered your eyes?
Bemused tiny star, smile in his words
It was you, child, that was lost
That scoured the grounds rather than the canopy
Child, night has no clouds
I have always been where I ought

The star’s first sighting is to me like the cockerel’s first siren long before dawn. Day may yet be a long way off and the Sun just setting off for his journey to the East, but now I’m sure they will both be here. I will dream while I wait and wait while I dream. I will now continue my journey with mended Humpty. Now that we have seen the solitary light in the canopy, let the sun meet us along the way.

I, I have found a star to hold
A precious gem to keep
Creamy bowl of helium-sulphide
I have found a star
A fellow lone walker
I have found
Light for the music
Twinkles for the dance

Dots

As little as dots are, a good number of them will form any alphabet when properly arranged. That is why I know that little is all I need to become big.
It’s okay to be little. It’s also enough to be little. Little is all you need be. When you’re little enough you can do just about anything. The alphabet “A” is too big to form the alphabet “I” but about 5 dots stacked on each other are enough to do the trick.
Your problem isn’t that you have a little jar of oil. It’s rather that you haven’t learnt to use the little you have. Those who have large oil cauldrons all started off with little jars. They learnt to grow their little jars. Jars could very well be seeds. Plant them in whatever kind of good soil you have and the result will amaze you.
Honestly, most of us live caged in prisons. These prisons are walled by self-pity, doubt, fear, inferiority complex and a mediocre mindset. The worst feature of these prisons is that they are self built and self inflicted. It doesn’t make sense to jail yourself. You’re both the jailer and the prisoner. Both of yourselves are in uniforms. None of yourselves is free. Come on!
These prisons are the reason the guy with little, which is actually more than enough, thinks he's handicapped. That is absolute nonsense. Don't be your own funeral dirge singer. You can choose to be your own best friend. Choose to too. Can you laugh? You're a star. Can you sneeze? You're made! Can you eat? Come on, you're already sky high. You don't need to know how to code. You mustn't even know what it means to code. All you need do is take the little you have and sow it. Invest it by growing it and using it to help others. That's all you need to do. Develop your laugh capacity. Develop your sneeze ability. And use it to help others. Just sneeze free for someone.
The world only needs one of you. And the world really needs one of you. Poor, little you is enough for the world. So, shake off the dust from your nose and wipe the tears in your frown. Little is more than enough if it is a seed. Every seed is more than a forest. Don't bottle your seed up and still stand guard over it.
Something else, prisons are mind games. Nobody can imprison you. You alone have the power to do that. Left to you what choice would you make? Think about it. Won't you rather be free? - free to be little and to grow big? Won't you rather be free to walk open spaces and sunny beaches? Won't you rather be free to make right choices? When options are eliminated before the start of the test we become impartial. And we're way too impartial to ourselves. We set the test, eliminate the right options and then of course we decide we have failed.
I'd rather be free to start little. I'd rather be free to choose. I'd rather be free to sow little seeds and watch them, maybe slowly, mature to huge forests. Connect those little dots...

Scripts and Bridges

London Bridge is falling and I don’t know what to do about it. Scratch that. London Bridge is going to fall. Still I don’t know what to do about it. I could keep standing here or I could take a dive and still end up in the water. Either way I’ll end up in the water. And I don’t like getting wet.
How hard does making a decision get when you have to make the choices that matter: I do or not; red or turquoise; Jesus or no? When the heights above and the depths below seem so merged there isn’t any obvious difference, what will I choose?
My calculations tell me the Bridge will be down soon. Wrinkles are starting to appear prominently on its face. Though I won’t admit it to anyone else I know I am resident on a sinking ship. My heart is literally in my mouth and I’m too downcast to take a step.
Some ignorant person will tell me there is third option: simply step off the bridge on to dry land. What foolishness! Nobody will understand what I’m facing. I’ve been on this Bridge for way too long and I really want this Bridge to stand. It’ll shut my critics up. They will know I was always right and they was (sic) always wrong. That’ll show them who the boss really is. And while I’ve held on for so long it doesn’t make sense to give up now. I’m attached to the Bridge. Why won’t anyone understand? How could I leave? The mere thought is such a burden I haven’t thought of it.
What’s more, there are people like me still on the Bridge. We know it will fall and we’ll end up in the chilling Thames. Some of the weak among us have taken a dive instead. Good riddance, I say. They are too proud to go down with the Bridge and too weak to leave it. Funny lot! I can take comfort in staying with those intent on staying put.
The ones I really admire are those who have the courage to admit the Bridge was a mistake all along, the spine to step out of it and the smiles to survive the days following this adventure. I wish I could be like them but I just can’t. Don’t tell me I can. You don’t understand. You also won’t understand. I can’t.
When choices hit you like a sandstorm and you feel too overwhelmed to think is when you ought to think. That is really when to put the cards on the table and analyze them properly. Snakes and ladders litter the path. Many will walk into the path of the snake because they are too attached to the status quo to take a different path. Scripts are guides not laws. Tradition and religion are scripts. Don’t be scripted.
Because I’m going down with this Bridge I wrote this to you. Don’t go down with the Bridge. If you won’t make mistakes then you’re a bigger fool than you imagine. Walk away from your mistakes. Learn, unlearn and relearn. Step into the sunshine, away from this falling Bridge you once or twice called home.

Thinkers' Corner

Ever the idealist, I believe there is an inherent good in creation. I believe creation is more than I can see and can do more than I think. Ever the idealist, I believe we can make our world a prettier place if we dare try. Ever the idealist, I believe it’s not such a difficult thing to smile, especially when you are really pissed off. After all, what does a smile cost?
Why then is it that the world appears to be getting worse and people seem to be always complicating matters? Why don’t we ever get to that beautiful land of Far-Far Away? Like Donkey in the Shrek series we keep asking, “Are we there yet?”, and the answer is always in the negative.
The answer would depend on who you ask. Ask a religious guru and he’ll tell you it’s because men have lost taste for religion. Then he’ll probably cite data about the decrease in the number of people in places of worship and the proportional increase in social gathering attendants. Ask an adherent of the African Traditional Religion and he’ll tell you it’s the fault of western religions. He’ll tell you how there was more brotherly love before the advent of western religion.
A politician will tell you it’s because the country preferred the other guy’s more ridiculous lies to his own and the academic will tell you it’s the fault of the elite. The elite will refer to the uneducated but fortunately rich, the educated but unfortunately rich and the godlike West- Europe and America and some Asia.
Always the problem is out there. It’s either in someone else’s attitude, character or ideology. Few people would admit they are intricately related to the problem. About the same few would ever admit their group has a relationship with the problem.
Happily, I’m not about to give you the answer to the problem. Answers aren’t always answers. When we see the real answers we will accept them if we are ready to. I’m going to bore you for the next minute or so with my own analysis of the “ones” who are the reason Bill Gates is still richer than you are despite your sacrifice of hundreds of pigeons and snail bellies at holy intersections.
I consider that as a people we are usually too pragmatic to wonder. I also think we’re too pragmatic to think. We aren’t awed by wonders because we don’t think we can make do with the energy necessary for such awe. It takes an intelligent mind to feel and feel deeply. Then it takes a more intelligent mind to place his intelligent feelings beside his intelligent thoughts and weigh them carefully. Many like me are too busy to do that. You think it’s easy to feel? That’s because you’ve limited yourself to certain basic emotions. That’s also you probably don’t think much about your feelings. You rather act on them.
Because we can’t afford to feel correctly we can’t also afford to think correctly. We would rather guess than feel or think. Thinking takes too much energy. Anything that seems about to break through the bunds of our most hallowed laxity is deemed difficult and unnecessary. When people refuse to think and think well mediocrity will take the place of excellence and nobody would even notice. Doesn’t that describe politics?
Sometimes we try to portray the head and heart as opposites. We tell people to follow their heart as if that means they should neglect their heads. We differentiate between people who live by their heads and those who live by their hearts. We ought to differentiate well. Head and heart aren’t opposites. They are complementary.
Following your heart isn’t relegating your head to third division. It is subjecting your heart to the scrutiny of your head rather than totally disregarding your heart. It’s easy to classify foolishness as following your heart. Your heart isn’t foolish otherwise it will stop beating one day and you’ll die unceremoniously. It takes a thinker to feel correctly and use his feelings wisely. Maybe I’ll share some thoughts on that some other time. For today, just introduce yourself to your brain and your imagination. Get to know them. Just think. Don’t worry or daydream. Just think, feel, wonder and think again.

Drums on Exit

Now that the drums have retired and the songs have left out mouths, what shall we do? We prepared our dance for the arena. But the drums would not let us. They beat a different tune. And we could not dance to it. We opened our mouths to sing but the songs we prepared left us and came out as they pleased: in starts, stops and dissociated rhythms.
Franctically, we tried to make the songs come out right and hoped the drums would follow suit. But try as we might they refused. The drums continued their tune and the songs their dissociated rhythms. Then we tried to follow the songs and dance to the tune of the drums. But the song started changing song and the drums kept changing beat and tempo. We found that when our mouths opened to sing the next line the songsong would cease the singing and our legs would still be going up when the drums would abruptly cease. Our struggle to adapt became more awkward than our initial confusion.
And while we were still struggling to dance the dance of the drums and sing to the music of the song, the song and drum ceased. Then they left us standing naked before the gaping crowd and walked away into the bend of the sky. The mother drum led them from behind. While the song and drums were walking away the dance also left us and joined them.
We looked, tearful and fearful, at the teeming crowd who were yet to find out where the music they came to see had gone. We knew they would all leave and we would be left totally alone.
When the music fades, make your own songs. This my friend has the belly of an antelope- the best of drum skins. The other has hands as long and limber as cane from the iroko. We will have his hand for drumsticks and my friend the antelope belly for the mother drum. With some of our mouths drawn into O's we will have ogenes. And although song has left us, we will sing to the melodies of our hearts. And while we have our friends for drum, ogene and song, those of us left will take our stand in the middle of the arena and dance the dance that we carry within.
Now that the drum and song that should have been melody for the dance have all left you, you can either stand and weep or do as my friends and I did. And don't think we were fortunate. You also have friends with the antelope bellies, drumstick hands and canoe heads.
Sing your song, hit your tune, create your dance. When nothing is left and everything is lost, create something out of nothing. What you've lost can never be greater than what you have. When you lose a lot you have a lot of opportunities to succeed a lot. When nobody is cheering you can cheer yourself the loudest. After all, you have friends with the hands of a cymbal.

Minstrel

Twilight. Whites are darkening as the sun recedes beneath the shadow of soft flowers and tender thorn brushes. And you see night coming. And you feel night will in a little while be here with you. You feel its pervading grossness and overwhelming solitude.
Twilight. And you can tell night will come. The foreboding grips you like a hook to the silky neck of tonight’s dinner fish. The light is fainter than the darkest shades of a forgotten memory. You touch the receding hem of its garments, wistfully longing for more.
Twilight. Your face is drawn out, punctuated by lengthy chords. The sadness seeps in, its fangs wickedly gripping the vesicles that are called heart. The pain is biting, raw and wicked. You want to hold the noon a little bit longer but night is here as an offering for you- priest of the high lands and low marshes. Night is dressed like your sacrificial lamb in garbs of yellow, blue and orange, a willing sacrifice.
Twilight. The sound of the ogene resonates above the call of these African nights- chirpy butterflies and chirrupy hardwoods. Singer of song, take up your ukulele and dust the strings. Make your way to the sand patch closest to the night sky. Take a stone for your concert chair. Then strum and strum. Songs of night, singer of night, make for magical symphonies. Remember the moonlight dance in your native land, how the udu and ogene walk hand in hand to the broadside of the clearing bearing in their arms that dance you have searched for so long. That dance that is happily long on character and short on suspicion.
Twilight. Singer of song, twilight is your muse. And night is your habit. Take the offering willingly. On the altar of your sacrifice, let night be the offering for your songs. Singer of song, be thankful for the night. Be thankful for waning light and spent oil.

When the Oil is Spent

When the streams seem all clogged up and the water fountains are stopped, the beauty of the city seems suspended and happiness has taken a harsh holiday. When the oil is scratched, the light seems drawn away from the day and the brightness from the night. You look endlessly at the empty sheets before you totally reflective of the state of your brain at the instant. You look into the future and the lines seem drawn out of focus. Periods are replaced by commas and question marks and exclamation marks seem an endangered species.
When the oil is low the future is not dark. It is outright blank and any activity seems a surprise. When the oil is low gravity is suspended and movement modulated backwards. Slow motion becomes too fast and snails assume superhuman speed.
When the oil is low the problem isn't that there is no visible light at the end of the tunnel. It is that the tunnel doesn't seem to have an end and that even if it does you don't know what way it is in. When the oil is low there is no laughter in your secret place. Gone are the days of speaking to yourself in unintelligible speech and laughing at the foolishness of closing your eyes and assuming you'll sleep.
If the day comes when you find your laughter has been plucked out of your mouth before it had time to ripen and your smile is replaced by the incredible morose beauty of zombies, then perhaps you think you need some oil. Maybe you find you've lost your art. You wield the pen for hours and nothing seems forthcoming. The fountains seem locked from an inner room whose lock you never got to find its combination. The days of animalistic eureka and bursts of wild light seem so far away, so inaccessible.
When the laughter is stopped and creativity has taken an annoying nap, look up and start another round of laughter. A paroxysmal display of the greatest quality. When the oil is low you can finally dispense with oil and switch over to water powered engines. Sing about the lack of oil. When oil is lacking you can have all the water you want. Get up. Fountains are evergreen. When the oil seems spent, turn the knob higher and let it carry you all dressed up to the famous clearing for kindred spirits. Thank God for sunsets and spent oil. If not for them we would lose the lacerating colors of the moon and the daily twinkle of Pluto's smallest stars.

Culture

Is simply defined as what you see. And what you see is determined by the kind of lenses you wear. Wear a sunshade and the world looks all cool and dreamy. Try iron glasses and you’re in for the best lesson on conductors and their effects on vital organs. Now substitute your iron glasses for a microscope. Congrats, you just got hit by a car at the next intersection. Your microscope ensured you saw microscopic figures in a macroscopic world. That’s not too bad a feat except for the consideration that you don’t need to dodge germs and bacteria while crossing busy express ways. All you need is have glasses good enough to see large cars and the larger trucks that follow them and have the little sense to step to the right when a car or truck is coming towards the right (for real).
So, what kind of lenses have you got on? What colors your view of the world? Look in the mirror. What do you see? Wrinkles, tissues, lines, purpose? What’s the first thing you see when you wake up in the morning? What do you see when you look out the window? Hazy, foggy, sunshine or moonshine?
Culture is all about spectacles and glasses (again, for real). What you see and interpret in life is dependent on the color of the lenses you wear. Still think I am speaking in parables? Well that goes to show you aren’t wearing my spectacles. Or glasses. Your brain works with the blueprint you’ve fed it. That blueprint is the Operating System. It will determine how your brain will interpret the pictures it sees and even what pictures it can or cannot see. Your OS is the kind of spectacle you’ve got on. Congrats!
What do you see? What color is your sunrise? Gloomy or promising? More importantly, what colors are the hours after sunrise? What color is your sunset? Will you fade without music, sound and light into the void around the bend? Or will you go out like me, all glittering red into the partying arms of the pretty, twinkling stars?

Painting Skies

Africans are a very straightforward lot. No matter that we use proverbs that tend to skirt issues on and on before addressing them. We're still very direct and straight to the point. Do you want proof? Consider our dressing before the coming of the Europeans. It wasn't the lack of technology that kept it only devoted to dealing with necessities. No time was wasted on bonnets, tie ups and tie downs. Hidden things were hidden and that was that.
More proof? When was the last time you gave or received a flower as a gift? Maybe it's not been too long ago but that's because you've been an ardent disciple of Hollywood and Disneyland from your days of sojourn in nappies. I forgot to add Nollywood. How creative- an African giving his wife grass for her birthday! What is she supposed to do with them? Cook soup or simply sniff and smell? After perceiving the scent, odor or aroma, what next?
We are a pragmatic lot. But maybe, just maybe, we're too pragmatic. We've relegated, not lost, our sense of wonder and beauty. We think too often in terms of use and monetary value. We hear art and we think of beautiful portraits of famous people. When we see art we wonder aloud why an ordinary drawing should sell for millions of dollars when it's not even fine.
We don't keep things because they are old or have been in the family. We keep things that have value or are useful. Pets are kept to be useful, not for their intrinsic values. We build our houses and structures to be useful. Beauty isn't top on our agenda and wonder is usually absolutely missing from the menu.
While I am neither castigating our culture and value system nor advocating that we throw it away and get another, I still think it's healthy to pause, breathe easy and wonder. I think it's okay to want to create wonders that will appeal to the heart even if they don't appeal to our sense of use. Art must not be fine, literature must not be lyrical, science must not be practical and technology must not be useful. I think it's okay to let ourselves create wonders even when we don't know what they will be used for.
Because of endemic poverty we usually seem primarily concerned with how much money any new venture will generate. Even God has become a tool. It is okay to do things that will stir the heart. The heart is both a better friend and a more useful tool than the pocket. It's okay to love and act because of love, even when the results seem farfetched. We don't need beautiful sunrises and pretty sunsets. The sun need not go out in grand style. You don't need all the stars in the night sky. The twinkling of the stars isn't also a necessity. Too much paint was spent on the skies. Too much time was spent drawing funny and lopsided figures with the clouds. You don't need the beauty of flowers (yes, flowers). The mountains need not be so finely cut and chiseled. God may have taken a degree in fine arts. The leopard could make do with less spots and the time used to paint his spots on would have been used for other things. And then there are the changing pictures in the clouds that look different whenever you look at them. Mountains look like wrestlers and forests look like open chests. There is an enigmatic beauty in creation that doesn't cater to your needs. This beauty does not have much practical use. It just serves to keep your face smiling and your heart mesmerized. That's the word. We tend to forget too quickly how to be mesmerized, just like little kids.
Paint your skies excessively. Slow down, breathe easy and wonder. Then create wonders.

Time is Not A Healer

You’ve probably heard or even said that a particular situation will get better with time. You might also have been told, if you’ve been fortunate enough to have had your heat broken, that time heals wounds. I’ve said it myself on a couple of occasions. We hear maxims that tell us time is a great healer and that time solves problems. I wish it were true.
Time is neither a healer nor a problem solver. No wound gets healed because of time alone. That is simply because time is not a force. Time cannot do work. Time will also not do work. Time will allow you do work. Time itself will not do the work. Time is an opportunity for everybody to live. It is one of the foundations of our existence on earth. We know our world as it is because of time.
If you have any healing to do then start getting it done. Pick the pieces of your broken heart up and apply a healthy dose of super glue or top gum. Leave it out to dry and before long you’ll have your heart all patched up and ready for more breaking. Don’t leave anything to time. You’ll be sorely disappointed. Tomorrow will only be better if today lays a good foundation for her. Don’t say time will tell. Time does not have a mouth. It doesn’t gossip.
Newton was such a genius. He told us that force is the only thing that changes inertia. Force will either make you start or stop moving. Time will not do it because time is not a force. Pretty clear, isn’t it? I would say it is. So, get a move on. Stop if you need to. Your journey and destination are dependent on you not on the passage of time.
One of the best lessons I’ve learnt is that nothing moves until somebody or something moves it. My coaches taught me that long before Newton did. They showed me time isn’t a force long before Physics told me the same thing. They told me to hit the road and to hit it in grand style. You could spend ages on Antarctica and you’ll remain there, probably grow some mushrooms on your head as you get older. Someone else will spend those ages trekking and after a generation spent changing worn soles and drinking tons and tons of water, escaping wild beasts and sleeping in unfriendly caves, that someone will get to the North Pole wearing a semblance of clothes, balancing on an ugly stick and smiling with whatever if left of his/her/its teeth. Time didn’t do it. Worn soles and lots of food and many other things did. Simply, time will not change your position in space. That is solely your responsibility or the responsibility of any meteorite you’re fortunate enough to remain in its path. Your speed notwithstanding, start walking and keep walking till you get to the North Pole, Antarctica or whatever your destination is.
Get a move on or hitch your belt hooks to a moving locomotive. Either case will ensure you’re on the move and that you wear out some shoes in the process. Isn’t that great? It’s good news that you don’t have to depend on time to sort out your feelings for you. Who knows how long time will take? Time might not even like you and would therefore decide to leave you in your misery. How awful! Good news! Your healing is your responsibility as is your prosperity, poverty and family size (imagine time determining how many kids you’ll have). You choose what to make out of your life. Choose where to go and get a move on. Don’t carry the victim mentality. Take responsibility and be a verb- a doing person.
Me, I'd rather be free, free to walk and fail, free to be right and to be wrong, free to choose when to be still and when to be a-moving. I'd rather be free to choose my life than be bound to a self confined prison.

Time Does Not Fly

Because of gravity the earth is in orbit around the sun. So are other planets and extra-terrestrial bodies. The earth is not a flying object. Saying something is flying implies it has moved from a resting place and will probably land somewhere. Space is neither land nor sea. There is nowhere to land on space. Space is space. If you’re at a certain distance from the earth, moving at a velocity a little below the earth’s escape velocity, you’ll end up in an orbit around the earth. You won’t be flying. You’ll be moving in an orbit.
That said, time does not fly. Time on the earth is a function of its movement in orbit around the sun. And because the earth and the sun do not fly, time does not also fly. Time is a constant. It’s as constant as clockwork. Newtonian mechanics says so and we all know Newtonian mechanics is wrong. Before you start quarreling with Newton and Galileo, let me also assure you that at the scope of the world you live in and see most of what they said about motion is true. So yes, time does not fly. The earth moves in orbit, so does time.
There are about 24 hours in everyday. It takes about 365 days for the earth to move round the sun. It never flies. Rather than fly to 365, some years extend to 366. I wouldn’t call that flying, would you? You have more time on your hands than you know. You just don’t realize how much time you have. And when you finally realize how long you’ve been waiting at a spot, you think time flew. Time didn’t fly. You were just dormant. Get a move on! Don't wait till the end of the year before you realize the year has started. And please don't wait till your forties to come out of folly. Start and start early. And when you start, keep going. Don't ever stop.
Imagine the tortoise and the hare. Both agreed to a race and all the pundits awarded the race to the hare, what with his mighty speed and swift movements. The hare took off and the tortoise trudged along. Some kilometers into the race the hare decided to take a nap. He figured it would take the tortoise ages to get there. While he was napping the tortoise dragged past. When the hare got to the finish line, he saw the tortoise at the finish line. Can you imagine his surprise? He thought it was a short nap and he'd surely wonder how time flew within the short period he took a nap.
The tortoise’s secret wasn’t his slowness, it was his steadiness. He kept right on moving, one step at a time. Time doesn’t fly. Time is probably slow, any time spent waiting will reveal as much. Time is steady. In your best interest, be as steady as the earth on its path round the sun. The hare finished poorly because he forgot the middle walk. He started strong, lost focus after the beginning then woke up at the end only to discover how time had flown!
Aren’t we usually like that? We start with a lot of resolve and then decide to take a quick nap along the way. A wise teacher wrote that short naps are the fastest route to long bouts of poverty. Quickies are indeed quickies. The only problem is that they tend to quicken negatives.
Sometimes I think the movement of time is actually an illusion. I think a better way to say it is that our perception of the movement of time is misleading. During times of inactivity time seems to drag along and we assume we have more time than we actually do. After a long while we wake up and discover how much time has flown! How enigmatic!
Let me end here lest I overstress the point and do it more injustice than it deserves. It took you about two minutes to read this short piece, did you know that? Time really does fly, doesn’t it?

Colonies and Emperors

The very first step in acquiring a territory is hoisting a flag. It is that simple. Just get a piece of cloth, color them with your least favored set of rigid colors, and nail your painted piece of cloth to a stake, preferably a long one. Congrats, you have a flag. Now, just get an uninhabited land, island, sea, moon, asteroid, planet, star or galaxy and hoist your flag. More congratulations to you! You’re now an emperor.
If you’re the emperor of a hitherto uninhabited land you won’t go through the pain the colonists went through- the pain of stealing from somebody else, the pain of having to explain the theft away as being for the affected party’s benefit and then the very big pain of having to live with the other pains.
On Emperors: they’re usually smart. Take it from me. Acquiring territory isn’t easy work. It’s the cause for wars- physical, legal, financial and so on. They waged wars and fought battles just because of territory. Sometimes I think they fought wars and waged battles.  Why fight over a little corner of the Earth when all of Mars is free? Makes little sense to me. Maintaining territory isn’t easy work as well. Microsoft versus Apple on the former’s use of the icons the latter designed for hardware in software. But guess what? Steve Jobs stood up and so did Apple.
Imitation is more labor than you can afford. You ought to know that. A dormant brain is more expensive to keep than a working one. If you’re excellent at copying you deserve a prize. It means you’re a genius who has only focused his attention on copying. Try using that brain well. Draw a circle; flip a switch; read the billboards. Who says you can’t fly backwards or walk upwards? Forget Hollywood and their flying cars. Think Nollywood and their bicycles that sound like locomotive trains. It’s called Kinging, not just creativity. Call it “emperoring” if you like
Pick a space, wherever in space, that is uniquely yours. Uniqueness is our birthright. Learn to meddle in your space. You’ll find it becomes easier to meddle out of other people’s affairs. Seriously, create your space. Develop your colony. Build your kingdom. It’s not just about gathering subjects. Good emperors don’t make their empires about how many subjects they have. The best emperors know how to serve. Ask the world’s greatest leader ever, and it’s not Alexander the Great. Don’t build a house that will die with you. That’s all!
Don’t mould anybody into yourself. You’re too much trouble for the world, as it were. Don’t also decide to be a guinea rat, a tool for experiments. Yes, the world needs you. Yes too, the world needs only one of you. Hoist your flag in your territory. Keep it flying!

Another Homecoming

Round and round, around and around, up and about. And the winter, now gone, has left me with harsh reminders of the beauty of the winter that is now gone. And while spring now is here, I look at the beauty of the Earth, the colored images of the atmosphere and the smiles of the skies. And I remember the beauty I now see and I also remember the beauty I missed- the cold whites of the winter now gone. And I remember the faces of the newborn flowers I’ll now see, happy to be rid of the nuts and bolts of autumn and her close friend. The nostalgia remains afterwards. You’ll wish you went right on painting the mountains and the valleys during the winter. Or that you at least went out bowling with Santa. Winter has its fine points. Madagascar penguins are good witnesses.
And perhaps now that the Eastern sun is pressing its fresh, noble gaze on us, we will bask in its glory and once again sing our songs of night. Another Nite of Sine perhaps.
It is a privilege to be the son who came home, to be the one who returned after the years of wandering. New beginnings aren’t worse off than old beginnings. It is a privilege and a blessing to start all over again. The one who comes back won't be turned away. He won't.
Some things we can never leave. Some things can never leave us. Divorce is a myth invented by ancient aliens who never existed. We love those things like they love us, from that place deeper than the cleft in the bottoms of our heart of hearts. Life is quite simple. Don't keep wandering. Just go home. And home is that place where the heart belongs. Follow your heart. It'll lead you home. It is good to be back. I sincerely hope I have been missed, as I have missed you all…

New World

That was what they called the Americas. It wasn’t really new. It was as old as Europe and had been inhabited for as long. Technically, Columbus didn’t discover anything. America was inhabited ages before his great grandfather was born. He just brought the attention of the world to America. It was new to the Europeans, not to the Native Americans who had lived there all their lives. And so it was that the New World was discovered. It was fresh, fertile and larger than little Mother Europe.
As necessary as it is that we leave our comfort zones and go on a spree of exploration, we need to understand that our greatest treasures are within and around us. The early Americans did not consider their land as valuable as the Europeans found them. They were content to live there that way. They walked the forests of California not knowing they were walking on gold mines. Many would have made their camps on those gold mines. Imagine how man gold mines you’ve made your bed on then walked away from the next morning. A Jewish patriarch had a similar experience. He woke up and told himself that he had slept at the very door of heaven and didn’t know it.
The new world is not a place. It is a mindset. While place is important, mindset is much more important. If it was about the place my country would be one of the most beautiful countries in the world. The mind rules the place. And there is no form of life apart from democracy. Democracy means that the will of the majority of the people is done. That is the form of life everywhere in the world, even in countries that claim to have a socialist, communist or monarchical government. Every place is a reflection of the dominant mindset of the majority of its people. If you want to change the place, please change your mind.
The new world is a mindset that sees and embraces opportunities unique to it. The world is a macrocosm of worlds. It’s big enough for the microcosms that are you and I. Live and let live. The onus is on you to find your new world. Don’t start with a place. Start with a dream. Dream of oceans and the shortest path you’ll take through them walking on feet. Dream of building space stations in the middle of the Sun. Dream of making ice creams in Pluto. The ice there is free and available. Dream of vacations in Atlantis (Yes, it is a real place). Dream of skyscrapers on Everest’s peak. That is the new world.
The new world is not discovering something new. It is letting something find you. It is answering the caller within. The end does not justify the means. The means is an end in itself. Let your journey therefore speak to you in soothing harmonies. Let it sing the secret words of your native tongue. Let those words lead you on, spell-bound to that clearing you see ever so often with your better eye. Symphony is the dream. Magic is the word.
The new world is faith. Faith is simple. It is putting one leg ahead of the other confident the ground under you will hold. Faith is closing your eyes at night because you trust in the flight that will move you to the planet of talking rivers and dancing mountains. Faith is waking up every day, getting up, going out.

Mending Broken Pieces

Just a simple thought. This is a very little piece. No exegesis. Little piece; huge message. Popular message, powerful all the same. I think common things hold the most uncommon messages. We really learn most lessons from the familiar. The mundane is more than we think. That is a matter for another day, tomorrow perhaps.

Tonight, I have a question. And I would appreciate answers. Speak your answer to the wind if you can’t speak it here. Let the winds blow our answers to us when our spirits gather at the great baobab. Speak your answer quietly before speaking it out. Who says speech is louder than silence? Have you endured the silence of the world? Have you ever sat in the midst of noise and wished someone would speak? That is a matter for another day.

Tonight, I have another question. My question is simple. That much I know. The question itself I am still trying to remember its form and shape. I know what I want to ask but I don’t know what to ask. It’s not a crazy world, in case you’ve been wondering. The earth is spherical, flattened at the poles. Antarctica is an icy world. The Sahara is arid. Lions are fast. Cheetahs are faster. Eagles are big. Ostriches are bigger. America is younger than Europe. Papa is 84 gone. Twenty-five. Big deal!

Why don’t we get back up? Why do we condemn broken bits and pieces to the trash? 

Crazy Idealist!

I understand pessimists. It’s the others I just can’t fathom- the realists! What stuff are they made of? It really beats me. Somebody please help!
My name is Chukwualuka and I am an optimist, an idealist by profession. I love realists but I don’t enjoy being realistic. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s crazy. Okechukwu Aneke thinks I am the crazy one! Ha! We shall see!
In 2016, against a 500-1 odd (put out by the realists), Liecester City won the English Premier League. They didn’t have a “single star.” Chelsea, the defending champions came tenth and Jose Mourinho, the Special One, was sacked again. In 2016, world number 772, Marcus Willis beat world number 54, Ricardas Berankis at Wimbledon. As if that wasn’t enough, Novak Djokovic, the world best, lost in the third round to No 41, Sam Querrey. The realists were pretty surprised. World best player, Lionel Messi missed a penalty against Chile at the finals of the Copa America. “Unbelieveable”, the realists exclaimed! Are you kidding me? He has lost more goals than he has scored.
Approximately 90% of the world’s all-time population is dead. That means 9 in every 10 people are likely dead. Being realistic is believing you’re 90% likely to meet a ghost every day, 90% of your friends, family, well wisher and enemies are ghosts and that you’re 90% likely to be a ghost. The mistake the realist makes is that he takes statistics at face value, forgetting the data behind the figures. If Edison actually tried 1000 times before getting the filament for the light bulb, he had a 0.001% chance for success. Was he crazy to have tried some more? Or were those who told him not to try anymore the crazy ones? The statistic behind failure fails to account for the innumerable lessons learned during the course of failure. Take this other instance; about 55 million people die every year. That means 1.375 billion people have died in the last twenty-five years. Realistically, all of China could die in 25 years. That means, births aside, if you are above 20, there is more than a 13.75% chance you’re already dead. That’s just how crazy being realistic can be.
Phew! That is why I am forever an idealist. Being idealistic is knowing that it’s not stupid waiting up for the moon. The fact there was no full-moon yesterday doesn’t mean there won’t be one today. It is knowing that the fact you don’t see the moon doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It might just be behind the trees in the distance. It is knowing that although there is a 100% chance clouds will cover the sun every now and then every day, the sun will still come out of those clouds. Being an idealist is looking forward to tomorrow, even if today doesn’t make sense. It is assigning tomorrow her own clean slate not judging her on the merits of yesterday or today. It is assessing tomorrow based on her own offers, not writing her off because of the colour of her skin or the look on her face. Moody sky or hard earth, tomorrow is still a gift. Being idealistic is sleeping out on the balcony, waiting for my brother who never came home.
Now that I think of it, I think in a sense we’re all realists. We just choose to be realistic about different thing. Some choose to be realistic about the imminence of defeat while others choose to be realistic about the fact that if defeat is possible then victory is also on the line. There are only two sides to every coin. The chances of throwing a head or tail are dependent on the spirit of the one who tosses. That’s what statistics don’t tell you- the spirit of the man behind the wheel.
I read novels and I don’t particularly fancy happily-ever-after endings. They are usually too simplistic.  They’re not simple, they are simplistic. They ring too much of Hollywood and too much of Hollywood can’t be good for an idealist. The point is, life isn’t fairyland, but life could be a fairytale. How will you tell your story? Life will throw you lots of rocks. That’s why you can build a rock-solid foundation. Me, I believe in happy endings. Tragic endings could also be overly simplistic. I believe in happily ever afters.

All the King's Men

I always wondered what falling looked like, till the day I fell off a tree. By jolly it was a huge tree and so it produced a huge fall. Falling is synonymous with climbing. Your consciousness isn't suspended. You’re well aware you’re falling. You remember everything you thought you’d forgotten, the colour of the cookie you just threw away, the taste of those hateful salads you now miss, and the stench of your excreta. You’ll remember your assignment lying at home and the leery eyes of the stupid bus driver. Forget the movies. You don’t get to shout when you’re falling. You’ll likely be too stunned, too busy wishing you’d run into Gecko the mad dog and he’d chased your life out of you, wishing for anything other than this slow, stupid and rapid fall. You get to shout towards the end of the fall though, but it won’t be Hollywood style. You’ll just scream like you were a chicken caught pants down, peeing.
Broken bones are easy to mend. That’s not to say orthopaedics is a piece of cake. You just compare it with what it’ll take to mend a broken spirit and you’ll understand why some risks can’t be insured. I’ve been there, both places, and I know what I’m saying. A needle to the buttocks is hell; now try getting a needle to your spirit. A broken spirit; who can bear? Call 911?
All the king's men helped with my bones. Then they wondered why they failed, I knew. It was because they couldn’t reach my insides. No matter how much help they offered with my stitching,  I’d never climb trees again. And that meant I’d never live in a tree house, never have a gang to hang out with in a secret hideout. Don't ever trust king's men. This isn't about spite but all they offer most times is paint and a lot of makeup.
When people fall, the first question they ask themselves is what they were doing climbing in the first place. That's not a very smart question. Then they wonder why they didn't play safe and take the easy way down. That's also not smart wondering. Its not about the fall. It's about afterwards. Questions should be about afterwards.
Isn’t that why the caged bird sings? Free spirits come in different packs. Some come in broken packs, others don't. That's why it's not really about the pack. Prisons are funny. They’re very much like celebrities. They don’t exist until you acknowledge them. I followed a squirrel up a tree today.

Three Humpties

ALL THE KING’S MEN- THOSE WHO FAIL US
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.
PLAYING SAFE
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty took a detour
Through the king’s mazes, knowing them all
Humpty walked down safe, unknown to the floor.
MENDING BROKEN PIECES
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Ere the king’s horses and ere the king’s men
Olé broke Humpty limped to his feet again.

Ancient Treasures

The wonder of the Old World is not just a wonder of beauty. It would be condescending to look at the Pyramids of Egypt and wonder that it could have been made by those people. That will be assuming that our generation is a more intelligent one. I would rather say our generation is older. And age does not always translate to wisdom. That might be why historians tells us that the only lesson we learn from the past is that we learn nothing from the past. If that is true then the study history is a worthwhile development. Anything that can teach a man a lesson, any lesson, even if the lesson is that he cannot learn, is a dire needed blessing.
History is representative of the ancient. Although everything old isn't a treasure, the mundane will become a celebrity if it acquires enough sense to outlive its more accomplished fellows. Antique dealers and other collectors will do well to bear me witness.
""Since hunters have learnt to shoot without missing, I have learnt to fly without perching", said Eneke the bird when he was called to court." Igbo proverb.
The lesson this bird shared with his questioners was the lesson of adaptability. This is also the lesson from antiques. They weather storms and endure generational changes. It's only those who survive that will be celebrated. Eneke the bird found that out and decided to learn something new, adapt and survive.
This is the first lesson I would learn of history. It is the fact that some survive while many others do not. Those who survive are those who have learnt to adapt to the changes in the Ages. That is why Mona Lisa survived the industrial revolution, the Holocaust etc. Since Photoshop has learnt to create without clay and water, she has learnt to smile without ceasing. Although none of history can be written off, some remain with us while others leave us perpetually wondering about their identity and whereabouts. We appreciate those who remain.
I would rather be part of those who survive like Eneke the bird, those who choose to adapt for survival. Surviving asks different things of us. At times it asks that we be radically different. Sometimes it asks that we simply go the extra mile. Some other time it simply asks that we be like the coin that falls into the drain and there endures the kindness of humanity for 200 years when it'll be dug up in the building of a new subway. Those who survive, they are the heroes we know. If in the midst of a deadly battle a soldier hides only to emerge after both sides have all killed themselves off, he has by hiding won the battle for his kingdom. He is the survivor and hero.
History may not have been kindest to those who have sacrificed the most. That is a question for another day. But we ought to decide to remain and survive. Those who catch the world's imagination and never let go have that rare opportunity of whispering into the minds of generations. Their impact is more lasting.
The problem of every nation is the mindset of the majority of its people. Democracy isn't only a form of government. The minds of the people rule even where their votes are denied a voice. Those mindsets are imbued by the loudest voices from their history. We all can speak into our futures. We ought to.
The matter more pressing is the voice with which we speak. Every good dream ought not to be denied a place tomorrow. Those who do not dream well should keep sleeping till they learn the art. The shaping of the future started long ago. Some of it continues today. Those who will champion the future are those who survive, who remain relevant in those ages, those who adapt without aging. You choose how to.

For the Love of Jesu

I long to sing
With words I do not have
In no language I know
Seamlessly weave, string
tunes. Suave
like the staccato
of this songbird.

I long to sing
Of love that kissed
my face. Clapped
my aching cord.
Smoothened these lines
Carved by worries
fears, smiling ghosts.
Love that caressed
Like the fingered wind
My drumming t’mple.
Love that silently
Whistles my secret name.

I long to sing
Of this phantom
Grips my heart so.
I ache to sing
Of these feelings
And thoughts
I do not know
In this song I cannot sing.

In the Beginning

In the beginning and even before there was a beginning, the end had come. The costliest journeys in life are those that are never taken. We tell more stories about them, long more for them, dream more of them. They suffer a lot of embellishment in our hands too. It seems the dead and the unborn garner a lot of respect from the living. Absence creates an air of mysteriousness that presence quells. And so we respect and worship those journeys we never took, more than the ones we took. We ought to learn to respect life more than death.

It’s important to keep going. It was the tortoise steadiness that gave him victory over the hare, not his slowness. It’s also important to finish strong. But what of the vast majority of us who have never started? Of course, I am wrong. Everyone has started something. What of the vast majority of us who haven’t really started because all they started was what society expected of them or what family and friends asked that they start? What of those ones who have not started that journey they want to take? One of them will be a writer, the other a scientist and the third will probably be a historian, I said concerning my children. Then I remembered to let beginnings remain beginnings. My children will not be a continuation of me. They will be beginnings of themselves.

In the beginning was the days I decided to take my own journey and the many more days it took me to get a move on. It is the day of purpose, the day when night finally melts into dawn, the moon meshed in the sun. It is the day the dream receives the breath that will give it life. Everything good thing started someday, somewhere, with someone who did something little, something seemingly inconsequential. Ask your parents how you were born.

First steps aren’t so difficult. Even baby knows that. With her entire family cheering her on, she takes a wary look at the crowd of fans, a wicked look at the unsmiling ground, braces herself for that first step. She looks up again at daddy rushing towards the shelf, allows him time to come back with his camera, even allows him get it ready to take the shot. She looks intently at the ever incoherent TV with disinterest, and then at 2- year old brother Toby holding and luring her with her lovely Woody. Finally, little baby takes one last look around and gently hits her bum on the ground. Of course, everybody still cheers. “Maybe she’ll walk tomorrow”, Toby offers. They don’t understand, baby thinks, that walking is so mysterious. It’s easy but mysterious. It’s really unlike grabbing the light from the candle. That isn’t scary. But walking? Walking would make you equals with grandpa and mean nobody would carry you up the stairs again. Nothing could be as mean as that. But because walking would also mean being able to walk up to mummy’s room and get a taste of those red lollipops she used alone, baby decided to show them walking. With the camera out of sight and everybody facing the box, baby grabbed the centre table, pulled herself up, took on mummy’s pose, confidently thrust out her leg and landed flat on her face! So much for easy!

Why not take a journey? If I could walk to the moon and back, then so can you. All it takes is snacks for the journey, some courage, plenty creativity and lots of walking! In the beginning I began. Now I live because I began. And in this world of beginnings, only beginners have a place.

I Walk to the Moon

I got up prepared for the walk only to hear him tell me it was impossible. I wondered at his blindness. How could anyone think it impossible to walk to the moon? More than my shock at what he said was my shock at his shock! Can you imagine? He was actually shocked that I had my hiking boots on and my knapsack filled with snacks, water bottles and oxygen tubes for the journey. He will never cease to amaze me!

Painter of the skies

Sculptor of the clouds

Let me walk your ladder, sanguine,

Neither interfering

Quietly, I’ll pass. Your vigilant hands at work

On the form of yonder jaundiced clouds

The lights for this night

Songs for accompaniment.

Quietly, I’ll pass. This Eastern canopy you nurse

On my walk to the moon and back.

After he told me it was impossible I quickly reached for my knapsack, hung it on my back and got going. I wasn’t even planning on settling there yet, just wanted to take a walk and back an here he was making noise. He forgot it was he who told Orville God would have given humans wings if he wanted them to fly, that it was he who told Marconi waves didn’t have wings to fly across the Atlantic with, and that it was he who told that blessed inventor that erasers weren’t necessary since one could always trust his saliva to do a better job.

I come back from my walk and there he still is, afraid of taking a step for fear he will miss and fall, all his energies directed at telling others they will fall too. He is only good for aborting dreams and judging from the number of people seated around him, he has been quite successful. But the world is such a sweetie and this age such a darling that before he can say it cannot be done, someone has already done it!