"how do you start from the beginning when you are already at the end?"
I saw a glimpse of her this morning as I stepped out of the bath. I don't think she meant for me to catch her. She wasn't looking for me, really. she passed as a quickly as she came.
in that second i saw her ,She was smiling and hiding in some mischievous way.. Like she had caught up with me before I caught up with her.. So i turn to look again.; i lit up when i saw her. She was so young, humming to herself as though it brought her more joy than anything to just hum. She looked ready and eager for whatever she was setting out to do. at the same time i could see contentment and confusion. Her puzzlement was directed at me. It was as a result of what she saw on me i believe, although i am not sure...
I realised i knew her. She was someone i knew
Now i heard this song sometime last week, i had no idea who Hozier was. Otherwise known as
Andrew Hozier-Byrne, this irish singer-songwriter's haunting feel to his music puts him right up there with some of my recent favorites like Sia, Sam Smith and James Blake. Now i am sure i am like most people. Meaning it is likely the tune, beat or rhythm of a song is what draws us firstly; way before we bother with what they are saying. This was quite different for me for some reason. Firstly i thought the title was catchy and i was intrigued.
Hozier's voice is very appropriate for the message too. Deep and arresting
Now the lyrics here y'all!! Oh people i think they were divine!. Its edgy, witty, depressingly beautiful and raw in describing that sweet despair, we call love.Love in all its forms. Love which should transcend into everything but really doesn't.
For me, i think this song tells me to have enough love to accept all things, even that which i cannot understand. Yes that one we all get caught up in that don't we?. So i thought i would shut up and share instead. Love it! I hope you do too
"Take Me To Church" - Hozier
My lover's got humour
She's the giggle at a funeral
Knows everybody's disapproval
I should've worshiped her sooner
If the Heavens ever did speak
She is the last true mouthpiece
Every Sunday's getting more bleak
A fresh poison each week
'We were born sick,' you heard them say it
My church offers no absolution
She tells me, 'Worship in the bedroom'
The only heaven I'll be sent to
Is when I'm alone with you
I was born sick,
But I love it
Command me to be well
Amen. Amen. Amen
Take me to church
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life
If I'm a pagan of the good times
My lover's the sunlight
To keep the Goddess on my side
She demands a sacrifice
To drain the whole sea
Get something shiny
Something meaty for the main course
That's a fine looking high horse
What you got in the stable?
We've a lot of starving faithful
That looks tasty
That looks plenty
This is hungry work
No masters or kings
When the ritual begins
There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin
In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene
Only then I am human
Only then I am clean
Amen. Amen. Amen
Giving up isn't as easy as it seems.It's so deceptive isn't it? It blurs out all the other options, making it difficult to hear those faint voices of laughter that call out to you. Waiting to show themselves if you would look harder. Giving up always looks taller; Standing alone, beckoning you, you the beaten drained gaunt looking contender; beckoning you deceiving, telling you your course been run; waiting to comfort you; perpetually in grief and sorrow, tears your drink, despair your feed...
It is a sad thing to see; you becoming something painful within and without. You are not you. You are lifeless. A thing outside itself.
Outside itself because the real you still had mileage left.some fire left.
I wish you well. I wish you break open from the gray. I wish you sustenance and hope.. For outside the gray is LIFE in ABUNDANCE
I get so jealous when i read other blogs; Great blogs. Reading about things I have also thought about at one time or the other but was too lazy to put my thoughts on paper. My whole body wakes up and i can literally feel my heart thumping because i know i should have written this when i should have. Damn,You feel me? I guess that's how every body gets when they are passionate about something and are not doing it justice. There is a lot going on. governments are screwing or unscrewing the people over, be it fuel crisis or high utility bills. men and women are living, loving, hurting, dying, killing, birthing. LIVING. I know I am part of this evolution and like you, I war CONSTANTLY with the thin lines of change; the old and new, what is right and wrong; Always questioning the original factors that have shaped my perception about the world, Africa, Ghana, You and what I allow in to continue this task. I care about all these things and I should talk about it too. Not to be seen but to share. For THEREIN sharing lies SOME kind of strength and a certainty.. For me at least.
Where is all this coming from? reading this: How to be a great African Writer by Elsie Eyakuzebit.ly/1t2pee4.
"So how does one become a revered African Writer? By not becoming one.
The point of this life-choice, I think, is to be a Writer. That is where
the actual pinnacle of success lies, above the cloud of adjectives, in
the pure clean air of indisputable mastery, in the hopes of living on
beyond the frailness of the body in the minds and hearts of generations
to come. Amen."
Well, Case Closed.
Hopefully it will be all the inspiration i require.
So Hi! I am Ghanaian. My name is Kwakyewaa and it is Nice to meet you!
Anima shook with laughter, and said "Ei Maame, as for you, everyday different story". I looked at her with a mock gasp and said "But it's true! He was scrolling down contacts on his phone. He paused at SWEET WIFE 1 and SWEET WIFE 2. I thought to myself, "his wife has two numbers". It was ridiculous how I was shamelessly spying at this man's business on his phone while the bus was moving.( I didn't really feel that bad too. There was really nothing else to do, I was bored and my own cell phone battery was running low). After a couple of seconds,quickly, he kissed his teeth, like he had come to the conclusion that calling his wife was a very bad idea and the world could sue him for not calling. Then he went up to contact ADOMAH and called in a voice that was clearly his sexy I'm-about-to-turn-you-the-hell-on!".
At that point, it was everything I could do not to throw my head back and laugh. I mean Diana Asamoah worship tunes were blaring from the radio so it was not a great setting for him kraaa... He proceeded then to tell ADOMAH how he had missed her and was heading home all by his sad sad self :(. There can't be a more obvious hint than that.(i sat there and rolled my eyes too many times) Anyway after a few mushy words, this man and ADOMAH ended their conversation. He wasn't getting down with ADOMAH tonight. NB: He did not call contact:SWEET WIFE 1 or 2.
I thought the whole experience was funny. I still do. it's sad though isn't it? So many couples aren't friends anymore. When life and realities of who we are start to set in. When love or the lack of it is misinterpreted, when pent-up pain turns passion cold. So there you are; the most important part of you, ever present in the MIND and HEART is unable to make you happy anymore. Soon all you have are some really great memories but no power to make them new all over again. You can't call because you are wary of what you will get back. things unsaid, words misinterpreted, escalated conversations, neglect, disrespect.. Yet you remember something familiar that got you here in the first place. The pure, core thing...
I hope he did go home to SWEET WIFE. I hope he would tell her he still loved her. I hope he would say he was sorry if he hurt her in more ways than he meant to. Not because he wasn't trying hard enough, not because he got things wrong every time but because they had something bigger that was worth fighting for. Something bigger than pride or anger. Something bigger than ADOMAH. I hope SWEET WIFE 1 and 2 would do same.
If I had a pattern to how I function, life would probably BE easier. I mean, if i woke up everyday at 5 o'clock in the morning, had coffee, called a boyfriend, checked my mail, systematically and got to work (in good time of course, beating traffic), I would know what to expect, I guess. If I could see with a certainty where i would be in five or ten years from now, doing the same things.. Would I be any different? No. so yes, i am not a person of patterns really. sometimes I will wake up at five, sometimes I won't, sometimes i will have coffee and other times i will have waakye. Sometimes i don't check my mail because I know there is nothing in there. I don't know where i will be in the next five years. But I change? Maybe. But what i do know and what is certain is that my mind and heart is ready for something. something big. something small. something beautiful. something different. something new.
“Be still and welcome the truths for which you are ready and
with each exhale, release the lies that no longer serve you. Feel the sense of
lightness, surrender and trust that belong to you. Breathe”
I am laying down in my bed, listening to Gregorian music. It
is normally my therapy music when there is a lot on my mind. It doesn’t really
cheer me up but I lose myself and I forget for a while. Anyway, the first song
playing is called WEAKENED SOUL. It talks about being able to give and not
being able to receive. It makes sense I guess yet it has no real relation to
what is going on in my mind.
As I listen to song, I remember seeing this homeless man in
my head. He used to sit somewhere on the tetteh quarshie- adenta road. He would sit there, surrounded by empty cans
bottles, patched dirty clothing, sacks full of more cans and bottles. He seemed
oblivious to the fast cars as they speed by. Most of the time, he had just one
can in hand, peering inside as if he was searching for something that is
supposed to be there, or he would simply sleep on his sacks. He was always
surrounded by his numerous belongings. The picture you see when you pass by him
is pure filth, compiled at one place on an ordinarily clean highway. It was
really hard to miss.
I keep wondering how much his possessions mean to him, this
cluster. Are they just junk? Does he
remember where and why he picked up each can? Does he have a story for all of
them? If I had the courage to talk to him would he tell me what all those
things were? Does he keep collecting the
cans because he is looking for something he hasn’t found yet? Maybe not. Maybe
he is simply an old hungry homeless man.
I don’t know where I am going with this.
I have been asking myself how different I am from this man.
Phase to phase, experience to experience, achievements to achievements, hurt to
hurt, mistake to mistake, failure to failure; do I pass through the times to
collect one more empty can? When we are born, we try to walk, run, understand,
love, to be loved, belong; and while we do this, our circumstances, man-made or
not, shape us into what we become. Good or bad, it is to whose benefit? When is
it enough? What are we looking for? What do we get back?
If acceptance, contentment, love and above all, happiness are
what we seek, how can we when we do not understand what these things are? I
already know it takes little to be any of these things, if we truly have a
healthy perception of ourselves and what we believe we deserve, so why is it so
costly? why does it take so long?
This piece of writing answers nothing, it solves nothing, and
it destroys nothing. It really is NOTHING.
Perhaps I will keep collecting cans, sucking out its
fleeting gift of happiness, if it be happiness at all, until the next one;
until it starts to make sense. i guess.
