Rivers of change: Spirit is listening

Real wisdom, intelligence should leave an imprint. When you communicate you want to be remembered for not just how expansive your vocabulary is, but the density of the words impacting the soul of the listener. I was thinking today about greatness and the people we listen too, not the know it all's, but those who have a snippet of our experiences. Those who can connect. Talk is cheap because time is so expensive and yet, it is a priceless thing some conversations. We wish we could rewind back in time and have them all over again, they are like song in our eardrums. We like the company of the person talking and the advice they give. The right conversation can sell a book, a brand, an album, an individual, so speak to yourself. Speak to all the bruised areas of your soul that cannot be cleansed by mild conversation. Talk to self esteem, self love, motivation fighting spirit,challenge denial. Speak to growth, and just keep on talking, spirit is listening, so you must speak. Speak rivers of positive productive change.

Explorations of the self

Illusions of perfection are a seduction. There is an ease to which the world suggests who we should become. Through mass media, through social media, ever since globalisation and modernity.we watch these characters through the tv sets, hear invisible rules through the radio, flicker photoshopped images from glossy magazines. Yet here it is in a nutshell, a perfect thought in its embodiment. We are a soul and develop into a self, we are only being the best version of ourselves we can be, from that time, with that learning, and the things we have access too. If you listen to a society that tells you your not good enough, you will become a slurred sentence that is drunk on not good enough. Everybody wants to be the best on a superficial level, have nice houses, nice cars, claim nice things. You are a stone that is being polished, a rock that is being shaped, you will evolve into something brilliant, blessed and bright. Believe in who you are meant to be, not who society tells you you are. We are a variation of flawed selves, we are selves that need to be explored.

The death of Aspiring to be

Make it you?Successful? Hell yeah. It is a myth that the impossibility factor even exist for you right now, their saying your on cloud nine, what have they been smoking? I once came across the most disgusting figure of a human being who expressed to his friends, loud enough for me to hear of course, all nasty people do, that I would die aspiring. Good looking guy, but I could see he thought his looks put him in a power position. He was not exceptional to look at. In fact he just looked like some blind persons lazy anime drawing, actually, there are talented blind people and I apologise for the disrespect. When you are climbing, trying to reach that place where you can look out at the rest of the world, you will meet fools like this. Focus and zone in. You are closer than you think, wiser than you think, and I'm here to tell many of you, you are greater than you think. You will get there. Believe in touching your glory, tasting your glory, feeling your glory, do not let people like this with no shadow no form, damage your vision. It means protect it like a new born baby, nourish it like a mother and watch it grow. It requires consistent action, self love, and respect. Do not die Aspiring to be.

Heartbreak hotel: The quest to let the world in

We all have expectations of people, and when their dashed and were denied the opportunity to express our emotions we blend into a maddening haze of purple. Expect the best from yourself at all times. Expect that your version of you will not be immaculate , glossed and shiny you have met trauma and shaken it hand, disappointment has tapped you on the shoulder then sent you along your way. There is an itch in all our skins for infinite love , we all have a hidden need to be validated, it is part of the reason people are so desperate to conform , to fit in for fear that they will be without. Yet sometimes life is about the jigsaws within, it's about getting to know the spirit within the self, healing, understanding , loving you.The past tattoos the soul, and when people let us down we are terrified of letting the world in. We are quivering little mice, terrified of the winter cold, ease yourself in little by little. Our own minds can be our kryptonite, change your perspective, it will change your energy. Expect the most from yourself and trust that you can handle anything.

Love I whispered, come and find me

I write for secrets to glimmer like icicle chandeliers , spilling loose threads of sanity weaving shame. Ss humans we are so duplicitous to ourselves, telling sweet marshmallow white lies that loose the teeth and potentially cement the jaw. Self this is a letter to you, a squiggle from the heart whence once we were soldiers, once there were troops of people who worshipped our trumpet existence now there is void because selves are quiet. Why do we do what we do? Jezebel, Icarus stumbling from grace, did you taste the blood on the kaleidoscope lens or did it stutter like ink across the ledge. And how we wept for love beneath the moon tide, angry that the world couldn't see our swollen eyes, fed up that the snot which knotted our nostrils dangled like Egyptian beads. I wept for love I couldn't find , and then when it found me, it broke me, a caricature mounting me in forestry then disappearing for months. I was desert then, lapping little more than jigsaws of pools. Love I whispered, come and find me.

Bethlehem baby

I wanted to disguise myself amidst your confidence hose myself down with your patented charm.id become you , in some sensuos way. I like things to make sense, but we don't. Our love is a frame, everything outside the box. Everything that's bad for your teeth, yet vinegar on your tongue. You made me a promise that day by the beach remember. That you would always tell me I was mad, never buy me roses, always eat the chocolates, and never scribble love notes. Aghast! What have you done? It was Saturday, no it was Sunday, I refused to go to church, and you said "here's a note to Bethlehems baby," I was mad at you then. Mad at world's that were spinning into hostile loops of oblivion, questioning everything like a child confused at the lap of a cemetery. This world and it's Limerick of shadows, nothing neatly folded anymore, pastel colours smudged, young eyes ripe for the poison of a non fiction world. You said I love you in that note, now and forever, so don't be scared of creatures in the dark, there are fireflies everywhere, and as smoke you disappeared.

Shuffles of blinding feet

It changes much, all those little things about yourself you take for granted. Those fears chafing your skin, eating at you like maggots, were you a child when you dreamt such a dream, where was your wisdom when you risked such a risk, delicious on your tongue it was, lost in translation somebody's wrong. Your right, you needed it so much ,it hurt your teeth, this weird wacky, wonderful you, a paradise for beings, a paradox for self. I laughed at your reflection that day, like the martians did, eating into your psyche, spooning your subconscious, all those numbers you counted, what are you really capable of ?