We are doing something very wrong

Thought you had all the answers to rest your heart upon.

Nobody has all the answers. Everyone goes through life trying their best to figure out what the meaning is. Some find deliverance in hands thrust high above whilst chanting about love, a love that I truly question they feel for The Saviour. But it’s there that they find the meaning. There are others who build dreams and lives on paper, whatever colour that may be, however fickle it may be, the sound and smell of money mean meaning to them. There are those who blindly navigate arms and ships and planes and themselves into other arms and ships and planes and people and bask in the glory of holy sacrifice. But nobody, not any of these people have all the answers. They simply choose to take a moment, a decisive moment of high as a rule of thumb for the rest of their lives.

If I was to wear a cloak of a person who speaks to many others: words of wisdom or truth or neither, I would find myself entangled in a desperate lie. If this world would not twist my stomach and would not turn my insides out from the deep disgust that it triggers in me, I would love to consider speaking the truth to others. I would love to devote myself to the search of a truth, to the search of an answer to everything. I would stand on mountains so high and would gaze in the dreamy eyes of innocent children down in the deep. I would walk fields of wheat and corn and meadows of fresh grass and woods of ancient oak trees. I would become one with the desert and one with the ocean and one with the body of the earth that I would kiss each time I spoke. But there is nothing in this world as I know it that would tempt me to follow whoever has gone before me and use what little resource I have to teach.

But it is I who is the cowardly. It is I who chooses not to look when looking is all that’s required of me. It is I who turns the page when the page needs staring at. And ultimately it will be I who will walk away from a destiny for the want of something more. My words will reach no-one and my teachings will never begin. I will never be enough to start to share and I will hide and speak only to those who come find me. The challenge is, that amidst all the evil, all the killing, the hatred, the lies, the blood: to see a seed where a shoot can grow from. To find that place that’s untouched by the wrongs of humans and bring back the love for each other without the banalities of preaching a perfect kingdom. Perfection has been lost eternally. The answers lie wasted and hidden away never to be found. Never to be found.

God, if he knows at all, is staying very quiet. God, if he sees at all, is staying very quiet. Men, who follow God, stay very quiet. Evil, that opposes God, laughs so loud it bursts my ears. Evil, that opposes God, finds many strayed hearts to convince to follow the loudness. But the answers, that would bring an end to all that make me not want to be the creator of words and ideas and stories and thoughts, have flown so far they can never be caught. The answers dance their sacred and voluptuous dance around all of us who try to woo them into our realms. They never give themselves to any of us, because somewhere along the way and up to this moment, we are doing something very wrong.

Thought you had all the answers to rest your heart upon.

From Work

I've never done this, but I will post from work. Most blogs I've read were written from the work place, when people had a moment to spare. More than a moment is what I have to spare. If only there was a moment, I wouldn't write this post. I also think that for once I should cast aside all my literary ambitions and write something that people can read and grasp and respond to. I tend to wander off into places that are even sometimes hard for my mind to follow. I just write and when it comes to reading the lines back and attaching meaning to them, I'm swimming in the stream of ambiguity.

But now time is on my side. I have an hour and a quarter left from sitting here pretending I'm coordinating and then I'm off. It's not the lack of anything that makes me feel uneasy. It's the abundance of time that I have to grapple with every day. There is only so much database updating you can do in a day. There is only so much excel sheet alterations you can do to crown your day. The repetitiveness of it all sometimes makes me go insane. And I am not a veteran, just a rookie, a dreamy eyed, inexperienced, full of mistakes rookie. But my mistakes are not embalmed and not nurtured to grow into small triumphs, they are nipped at the bud and killed instantly by the hands of the most ruthless one. Teaching is seldom what happens. Rhetoric with a tone of aggression is what stares in my face if my path is hindered by a mistake.

Maybe this is the way to learn. Maybe by hitting my face against a mirror, I will eventually begin to see. I will begin to see if my eyes are not blinded by blood and pieces of the broken mirror. I will see where I have gone wrong if enough pressure is exerted on me. If only hypocrisy would not breed in places it was never meant for. There is little I can do but silently disagree or take the pain and walk the line. But who am I kidding? Y'all can't walk no line.

Right peeps, only an hour left. Frustration will lead me one day to pack my bags and leave. This company does not have a power over me that can chain me to the now. I will fly if I'm further bruised and battered. I will not allow any dirty soul to throw sand in my face. Now here take this, from the workplace, undisturbed and uninterrupted, all along lovely on the outside but purely rotten on the inside. Venture with me further than you ever imagined you could be. Grin and fake the emotions until it's time to stop and cheer on the next. The task is set.

Katarina Zsófi Cardoso

There’s a little girl, barely a week old, on the island of Bermuda. The road she will walk on is still unclear. The joys and fears in her life - that will set in no matter how much those who love her want to protect her – will come and go and teach her of things she must learn about herself. She will play in the sand and she will draw paintings on the wall and she will utter words that will resemble love. She will smile and laugh and cry and struggle just to make sense of this crazy world. Her little life has now begun and it is up to all of us to make sure she can be whatever she wants to be.

She’s called Zsófi. Her middle name is Zsófi but for me, that’s just as well as calling her Zsófi. Her story starts somewhere in the deep jungle of Communism, or the glory days of the first and perfect love, or maybe the outer space that was only ever conquered by the Little Prince. All that happened was just I meeting a boy who claimed my heart. This boy took me on streets that never ended. He took me to places that never existed. He whispered words that never could have taken more of me. We had everything amidst the engulfing reality of nothing. We were kids and thought that John Lennon was really onto something when he said, “all you need is love”. So we built a world where only he and I existed. Where every word was a promise and where eternity set it. Only time was against us. We were against us. He went left and I went right and our paths never crossed again. He left my life and took something that can never be replaced. To this day, I mourn and celebrate the love that he and I shared. But him leaving allowed someone else to enter my life.

Our love crumbled but the Little Princess came to rescue. He, the silly, the vivacious, the unthinkably imaginative lured the lovely Michelle into his realm. It seems all along he wanted her and I to meet. We both only wanted to have him, but all along, he wanted Michelle and I to have each other. My message to him was always that which the fox told the Little Prince, “you’ve tamed me, you have me, I am your friend”. He passed it on to Michelle. As caring and lovely and beautifully hearted he is, he let another friend share those ever lasting thoughts. And with love in his eyes, he told stories of a girl called Zsófi, who on the other side of the world had him fully and Michelle listened endlessly.

When the timing was right, or when it could not have been any worse, he left. He left Michelle and I alone. So as brave soldiers her and I began to exchange stories. Stories about love, life, future, children, husband, dogs, names, books, things. Last week Michelle’s little girl Katarina was born. Because of love, because of loss, because of a desperate desire to hold on, because of the passion that burns for other people, because of a dream, Katarina got the second name Zsófi.

Not my merit. Not anyone’s merit. This little girl’s story begins with her mom’s friends’ paths that will always be inexplicably tangled. But I hope that little Katarina will once know the story of her second name. I hope that she will read the pages of the Little Prince. And I hope that she will once have a boy love her as much as he loved me.