Past Musings

These are from a particularly tortured time in my past.

Are you listening?

The soothing silence of my home calms my spirit, refocuses my mind, helps me find my centre once again. Alone-ness and silence are not so bad. You learn to listen and hear and see. When you find your center you are grounded and nothing can shake you.

I am a star – a gas, slowly but surely burning to destruction. A process I did not start and cannot stop. I can burn longer and harder and cast more light in the night sky, but sooner or later the inevitable end will present itself. Just like a wormhole all the lives my spirit has truly touched will feel the withdrawal my death will bring and elicit a fight from each as they struggle to overcome the grief of my passing into the next life.

I will not be grieving – not for this life. The constant pain and regret for a past I cannot change or return to, will be gone. For that timeless place where the lover of my soul rules over all – completely, cannot carry that kind of hurting. My wretched sorrows as well as my memorable joys will be left behind. Those souls that I have chosen to love will find me there someday. I will be free. I will be whole. All this will not matter anymore.

My Life Discovery

I made a discovery about Life. That force that every human being is influenced by that keeps us from being medically “dead,” is not ours to control. No matter how we try we cannot decide how our actions or choices influence it – doesn’t stop us from trying!

Life is not individual and a thing to be possessed, claimed or controlled. It is not singular and neither is it plural. It consists of nothing and yet it is everything. The entire human race, past and present and maybe even the future is somehow connected to it. The very essence of who we are leaves a distinct and unique DNA-like print on it which cannot be erased, changed or forcibly placed.

The other thing about Life – somehow each individual “experiences”(for lack of a better word) it in its entirety. It is not separated into bits and pieces for each separate individual to have their own, to do whatever they choose with their own piece. It chooses how we are to be remembered. It chooses how we can influence it. It cannot be possessed, rather it possesses us and then at a time when it so chooses it releases us and then we die.

Life is completely in control of its own self.

Written for the first man in my life!

Strong towers aren’t built
With dreams and sunbeams
Or Marshmallow clouds
that are tossed by winds or whims
absorbing the changing mood
of the sun by day.

The strong brick, rough and worn
scratching post for sheep shorn
stretching tall shading
harsh rays from strays resting
in it’s shadow.

The rough surface tickles my hand as I walk around it
Finding deep notches where moss
has found a home
making it smooth.

I’m safe in this fortress
I dont’ even notice the storm
that rages outside
covering the parts of me that must grow to show
how you fathered me.

See it was never about
the clothes on my back
or labels that come with it
jor the fact that we walked home
from a full day of slavin’ it

It was the
Keep your back straight
and your chin held high
let the world see your pride
there ain’t nothin’ to hide.

You said
C’mon child don’t slack
They’ll shoot you in the back
and attack your ineptitude.

When you
Held me close as my heart broke
as the screen of smoke
covered the bloke who left me.

Saying
Kinyagiro come here
don’t let this breed fear
you will find love again.

It was the
tears in your eyes as sweet
sorrowful goodbyes
soaked through the glass
that separated us.

Still hear you say
It pays to remember
what you learned at home
all of your days sweet one

It’s in the smile I hear
on the other end of the phone
when I call and know
you take pleasure in the sound of my voice
it’s your choice
to let me know

Thank you for being
the only father I’ve ever wanted
for sheltering me, I’m content
For a lifetime of memories completed
supporting m dreams even when I’m defeated
depleted and done.

I love you Daddy!

About the Author

I am a story teller. I’ve been telling stories since I was a child, when I’d wake up in the morning and stress the family out about listening to some crazy dream I’ve had at night. The madness continues even though my morning audience has shrunk.

I’m passionate about African stories and even more passionate about Africans telling African stories. The rich colourful backdrops, filled with vibrating colours, guiding the eye and mind; The full texture of the culture without criticism or comparison to any other and the interesting characters that lie curiously within; The villainy of terrifying evil and the soft gentle fall into the bosom of firm but comforting friend; the worn feet of a traveler along paths that are familiar while cutting new roads through unexplored territory, never knowing what lies ahead. Stories my father (Mugarura) told me. Stories his father (Mutana) told him. Stories Mutana was told by Mutambuka and so on to the Nth generation, pulsing through time to lil’ old me in my dreams.

I do have my idols and my loves who are forming an ever growing list.

• Jane Austen (what?! She could be African!!!)
• Octavia Butler
• Wole Soyinka (especially the trials of Brother Jero)
• Rachel Tumwi (sometimes fiction, most times blog)

I will try to keep a book list of the books I’m reading on a different page. I’m not reading much right now coz I’ve got to concentrate on my novel and this blog, but please come back soon and find out what happens with Chumbusho!

Thank you!

GChild

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