GOB!G Quote of the Day

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

A heel snaps, and you stay calm under pressure

I laughed my guts out yesterday. I learnt my heart a good lesson too. A friend popped into my office, hilarious and all, to story-tell me that en route from the main gate of University, as she swankily walked across something embarrassing and dangerous happened. As she walked, she noticed a green stilleto fly in front of her with a snapped heel. She was discomforted and felt the heat on the ground at the same nearly landing herself on the ground. "I wondered, now whose show is that," she asked herself as she slowed down feeling some pain in her feet (all in this in split seconds, I imagine). Little did she know her shoe was, today, green and it had snapped the heel and flew right in front of her.

She tells me she was embarrassed. "Then I noticed all sorts of people staring at me, being me, I kept my calm, walked forward and picked my shoe, took out my other pair of flat reliable ones, and off I walked," she said. Being her, I'm sure she continued to walk with the same swankiness and grace le grande not caring what others made of her near-ankle tearing misfortune. When she got to my office to tell the story, she was laughing hilarious.

Lesson for me: Don't take yourself too seriously. Insomany things, just don't take yourself too seriously, that may work against you, it may make it possible for you to hurt whereas if you went light on it, you would laugh at the situation/problem and carry on with the same confidence. There may be pain, embarrassment inside from the failure, but hey, if you stayed calm under pressure and cared less what most people think, you are sure to bounce back equally well or even ten times better and continue to succeed, fail, succeed and succeed even more.

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Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Pressure inspires

Us humans are a funny and paradox-filled species. In May I had a tooth op due to some chicken feet bone shrapnel being lodged between the tooth and the gum. The pain was so unbearable hell had no fury. Now the funny part of the human species: in the midst of failing to endure the pain, I made so many promises. No, I made oaths. Countless solemn oaths about what dedication, committment and creativity I'll demonstrate should God only let me go pass that pain - yes, it felt deadly. And then the angels removed the pain - they came in white coats, one looking up my mouth with a drill in hand, the other passing all sorts of sharp needles. Then the months later, I never did all that I said I'd do when I was on my 'death-bed' - it was that bad.

It's true that us humans we do most awesome things under pressure. All sorts of pressure. What with me jumping an awesomely high fence in the village running from fierce dog that I was show intended to murder me. That fence is so high, when I told people I jumped it unscathed, they never believed. Call it adrenal moments. Now, when we're under pressure or at our lowest, we seem to connect far much better with some dormant, silent power from within us. A power that we know or suspect we posses, but never really strive to tap into.

I'm sure you do relate here. The things you've always wanted to say but never said because the was no pressure, be it emotional or otherwise pressure. But just that one time when the situation is so heavy on your heart more than your shoulders, you spit it the way you normally wouldn't.

I asked myself this question today: How would harness that kind of inspiration positively and use it at a time when I choose to constructively? What would happen? Wouldn't I be awesome, great? I got no doubt.

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Monday, December 3, 2007

The key word in Team is Player

Funny enough I'm at a point in my life where I'm forced to acknowledge a long known truth: things work out amongst people, teams, families, communities and nations because all involved have an active and practical vested interest - they're players in a team. Therefore, all parties involved hold dear the success of the goal and vision of what they either want to achieve or has to be achieved.

However, in most cases, especialy where feuds erupt, all parties involved may see the same vision, all hold dear to their heart that such an enriching destination be achieved, but paradoxically, some amongst the parties/team will not stretch their minds and hearts and sweat enough to make reality such a dream. This means that some people in a team naturally forget that they're in a team as players. Practical players. By virtue of a player being in a team doesn't mean that they are playing.

You find misunderstandings turning into feuds, simple feuds into complex conflicts, conflicts into irrepairable relations - therefore, a chain reaction: more and more conflicts. At the end, none wins, for we have been taught by our fores that sometimes winning in a 'war' is in fact losing more than that which you overpowered with your strength and tactics.

For me, there's no easy-go fastfood type solution to avoiding this disturbance of the peace and harmony which prevents the joy of life from thriving. I say so because as people, we're different, we have different approaches. But at the same time, we're so the same that in many ways that we forget that we share a vision: to live together peacefully with each of us being respected for their ways and personalities.

The danger with too much diversity too, and Kings and Queens would be happy I reiterate this, is that we all, as a team, never really move just in time to arrive at a common decision. Too much democracy kills advancement.

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Friday, November 30, 2007

Being the wiser

It is no offence to be a bit vague every now in then in life. So today I'm to say: As much as it's important to fight, to endure, to hold in there, there are times when it becomes a weighinly important to just let go. And most times, letting go is not as easy as fighting, enduring, sticking in there. But when let go time comes, just let go. It may be meant to be.

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Wednesday, November 21, 2007

SA has worst HIV rate in the world

This can never be more worrying. Yet the government is still convinced that the scourge of HIV/AIDS hasn't reached epidemic levels. To them, it' s just another passing pandemic, and as a result of the politicians' ill attitude, more and more of those infected will not have access to the much needed anti-retrovirals (ARVs). Our government is in denial, our neighbours and their new born babies die whilst a practical and temporary solution is available. May be it's time Manto Tshabalala-Msimang got her wake up call and started scoring points by making available and accessible, more ARV drugs to those who need them.

This story just makes one think if we are unique as a country, to any other:

SA has worst HIV rate in the worldWed,
21 Nov 2007 (NEWS24.co.za)

More than three-quarters of Aids-related deaths occur in sub-Saharan Africa and South Africa is now officially the country with the highest prevalence of HIV in the world, a new UN report said on Wednesday.
Improved monitoring of the pandemic has led the United Nations to revise its estimates, particularly in Southern Africa and Asia, resulting in a major revision in the assessment of India's epidemic, the country previously thought to be worst-hit.

"South Africa is the country with the largest number of HIV infections in the world," read the UNAids annual report on the epidemic for 2007.

Millions have Aids in SA
While the report did not give a figure, the South African government currently estimates some 5.5 million of the country's 48 million population are living with the disease.
While Aids continued to be the leading cause of death in Africa, sub-Saharan Africa was the worst affected region.

"More than two out of three (68 percent) adults and nearly 90 percent of children infected with HIV live in this region, and more than three in four (76 percent) Aids deaths in 2007 occurred there, illustrating the unmet need for antiretroviral treatment in Africa."

Women in the region bear the brunt of the disease.
"Unlike other regions, the majority of people (61 percent) living with HIV in sub-Saharan Africa are women," the report found.
"It is estimated that 1.7 million people were newly infected with HIV in 2007, bringing to 22.5 million the total number of people living with the virus" that causes Aids.
Southern Africa was the worst affected in the region with national adult HIV prevalence over 15 percent in eight countries.

A significant decline in Zim
"While there is evidence of a significant decline in the national HIV prevalence in Zimbabwe, the epidemics in most of the rest of the sub region have either reached or are approaching a plateau."
The UN data showed that adult HIV prevalence was either stable or has started to decline in many parts of Africa.

According to the report, Kenya and Zimbabwe were some of the countries where the slowing trend of new infections was most evident, with similar shifts in Burkino Faso, Ivory Coast and Mali.
Worldwide, new infections of Aids were levelling off, and of the 2.5 million people newly infected overall, more than half come from sub-Saharan Africa.
AFP

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Friday, November 16, 2007

She is, meaning she just is

One with pride
Pride that puts even Queen's to shame
One with beauty
Beauty that's better than the stars' flame

One with joy
One with joy
Joy that topoedos the waves... [continue]

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Focus

Something eating me for the past couple weeks. Hope it doesn't finish me bit by bit as the ant did an entire elephant. The lack of focus is chewing me up and I realised that without that focus which I managed to reach some months ago, my book will be just another wish on the fridge door.

It's a bummer to know what to do and how to go about doing it and not being in the right mode and mood to achieving it. I find that with me, if I'm not in the right state of mind, many things that require creativity or tapping into imagination just don't work out. If they work, not work out, but just work, they progress without reaching a destination. The goal. The bull's eye. This has been happening a lot with the novel. Nevertheless, am glad to say that it's a feeling that I'm fighting each day and the battle is not lost.

Soon I'll be writing on this very blog that my book is completed and undergoing manicures and pedicures here and there. I'll be proclaiming that PanMac already has the manuscript. And that won't be long.

So if you got anything that you struggling to complete, like me, I think you should think twice about how much of focus you're putting into it. The issue my really just be there - and get in the right mood. Well, that's an instruction for myself.

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Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Pleased about a turbo-charged restart

I'm quite pleased that this morning I went back to my 3am routine of writing my novel - The Half Prince of Timbuktu. I tried writing at other times other than early morning hours and all I had were pages and pages that I just deleted - thousands of words. Then I realised that my writing came specifically at the wee hours of the morning when all is quite and serene. So the routine of the morning goes on. Hoping to finish the novel by end January or December. Luckily, if I take leave in December, I can writer 20hours of the day and get to finish end December.

It's always good to flirt with the creative and as early as possible in the morning.

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Friday, October 26, 2007

Good to be back to the CREATIVE

It's good to be back. Back to the CREATIVE! I took a somewhat long sabbattical from posting on this blog, and in fact, from writing as a whole. That so because prior to that sabbattical, I was at some great level of creativity which however withered a little bit in the wind of some of my bad habits.

But as I'm saying, nothing is better than being back. And the chapters to my novel will now continue and I hope to be as inspired by the writing fairy as I was months ago when I conceptualised the epic and wrote it in the very wee hours of the morning - to this day nothing KOs that feeling.

Can't wait to get to that spontaneity one more time, and more.

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Friday, October 5, 2007

Chapter Two: The Half Prince of Timbuktu

Facing the Emperor

The centre of the dimly lit room had about five rows that meandered in a maze on a white carpet. The room, with its artwork, was a daze and one felt lost in a fantasy when amongst its walls. At the entrance to the labyrinth within the room by the edge of the carpet, was a bowl filled with water. The carpet, together with the maze, curatored one amongst rows stacked with a rich collection of books that made up the Emperor’s library.

The generational collection ranged from mathematics, chemistry, physics, optics, astronomy, medicine, Islamic sciences, history, geography, the tradition of Islam's Prophet Mohammed, government legislation and treatise to jurisprudence. The large open space doubled as a meditation room. The holy spot occupied a circular-like structure the king had called a Bahija at the centre of the maze.

“This is the only place in the world that has a spirit. This very room you find yourself in,” said the Emperor as he emerged from the maze, stepping on the strapless sandals he had placed at the edge of the carpet. “A lucky few who have been in here have gone on to achieve great things in life. The hallowedness amongst these walls has opened their third ear which has the ability to listen to the song of the heart. Where are they now?” he asked almost arrogantly as he dipped his hands in a bowl and splashed his face. “My dear friend, they have become men and women of honour amongst their peers.”

“My Emperor, I am testimony to the awe of the sanctity of this room. Of that labyrinth. On the rare occasion that chance had permitted me to meditate together with a friend in the heart of this Bahija, I came out with a joyful heart and a wiser mind,” said Abubakar as he walked towards the low lying cluster of sofas by the books.

The Emperor had been meditating for the past three hours as part of his Sunday routine.

*******

“So what brings you here my dear friend Abubakar? It is only when there is a disheartening matter that you only plan to catch me following my purity of heart and clarity of mind,” said the Emperor as he sat along Abubakar.

“This matter would not warrant a better time than when a man is at his most peaceful with himself,” said Abubakar.

He coughed in nervousness before continuing, “My honorable Lord, a man’s natural journey of life is to embrace happiness provided by his material and the laughter of his loved ones. But his true joy is to fulfill the destiny called upon him by his heart.” Abubakar now stood to walk towards the edge of the entrance to the Bahija.

“What is it that you need? You can speak your mind freely with a friend,” the Emperor assured him.

“If I was not in support of this. If I did not think it was worthy of your attention, I would not propose it, spending your tranquil energy on waste,” he said as he turned to walk towards the Emperor. “But it is worthy of your consideration. My dear friend, it pains me as much as smile confronts my face to let you know that Khalifah has heard the call of his heart. He asks that you hear him for he needs to follow the path his heart calls him to,” he said as the Emperor dipped his face into his hands.

There was silence for a moment. None of them said anything as the Emperor’s face lay buried for what qualified as forever. It was not until the Emperor took a deep breath that sounded like roar in the quite room that Abubakar approached, “I told him it is unthinkable and unceremonious. That it simply cannot be. My dear friend, you should have been there yesterday when his heart cried on my words. A cry that begged to follow a dream.”

“He is always one full of surprises. Just like his father when he attacks, although I saw this one from a distance. But I cannot allow this. You were right when you told him this simply cannot be,” said the Emperor with a stern voice. “I sympathies with his heart to walk distant lands to capture its joy, but that young man’s destiny is to rule Timbuktu. It is here he must find happiness and nowhere else,” said the Emperor as Abubakar was interrupted in his answer by a knock on the door.

The Emperor signaled two men in to his exclusive sanctuary with a nod of the head. Bowing in greetings by the door, the priest then walked in followed by Khalifah who whispered what everyone assumed to be a greeting. His sleep deprived eyes were struggling to paint the white tiles that added purity to the room. He was in a somber mood although within a room that was also his refuge once a week in the evenings, although he now felt it was not to do him any favour.

“My Emperor, these are not easy news. I would not wish them on the enemies of the Almighty, who now unabashedly parade the breadth of the earth unhidden. But my Emperor needs to think upon these news and your heart feel them,” begged the priest as he tapped the prince on the shoulder demanding they walk closer toward the two.

“My son, the only heir to the throne wants to walk, and I have to let it be?” asked the Emperor not looking for an answer.

“It was the three of us, in this very same room twenty five years ago who decided to secure your future as an heir. It was not an easy task to maneuver with the G’bara. But in that we were a success,” he said as he stood facing inside his maze which seemed to mirror the difficulty of the issue itself.

“Since I had been guiding you over the years to silence the noise in your head so you can hear the song of your heart, it never dawned on me this was to be the music. It is a little unsettling a tune to an old ear,” he said almost in a whisper. “My son,” he continued, “I felt pain to be denied an heir in my marriages, but such pain was bearable to a soldier’s heart. But this, this Khalifah, will send a once peaceful heart to the depth of darkness. It just cannot be,” he said as his eyes filled with water. He used his cloak to catch the water before it could soak his pristine beard.

“The Almighty is most present where there is sorrow my Emperor,” started the priest.

“The mood filling this room will not linger forever. It will pass and a solution will be granted when we least expect my dear friend,” said Abubakar now holding the Emperor’s both shoulders. “You always reminded your army that a soldier forced into battle is like a torn man sent to die with an arrow to his back. That a man must be willing to steer his faith into the battlegrounds as it is the faith and will of his heart that wins the victory, not the will of another man or the sharpened arrow,” Abubakar said in reminiscence.

“Father,” called Khalifah, “it is with peace of heart that I can only rule over this great kingdom with success like you do. But it is such peace that I do not have. My heart must learn first to feel its joy and my recent meditation guides me to do so in isolation. This is in deed unceremonious and my apologies, but the call of my heart bears some honor.”

“Son, my son, you speak of things that are beyond you,” the Emperor started a little irritated. “I should not allow you to act in hazard to your future. It is also my honorable responsibility to the people of Timbuktu to nurture them a fit heir who will one day rule with love and insight,” he said as he paced towards Khalifah. “But you are right on one thing, one confused heart that cannot be led by its own master cannot rule seven hearts, let alone thousands of hearts of this city,” he said as he coldly stared at Khalifah.

“However, you have discovered that principle of discovering and maintaining a pure heart. Then all in here shall combine these grey hairs,” he said, his hands toward the other two, “to work on teaching you, son, how to live out that passion. No need to pointlessly dry your skin in the desert with vultures hovering above waiting for your feet to trip on sand,” he said with a feeling of anger in his voice.

“Father, do not stop me, please,” cried out Khalifah.

“I say we give this time,” said Abubakar.

“It’s no doubt that the young man’s heart cries to answer a greater call. A call that may be the path to a destiny the Almighty imprinted on his heart even before he was conceived. So is’t not stopping him to stand in the way of God,” said the priest as he felt the golden cross dangling against his chest. “Where is the honor in not serving He who created all beings? Better yet, where is the shame in dissuading his ways?” he pondered rhetorically.

The Emperor was pacing slowly about the room at a distant from the three almost as to not even hear their pleas. He suddenly stopped, his right arm resting on the other across his belly, a hand clutching his mouth.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, words struggling with the hand that is still at his mouth. “Son, this is not only your home, it is the future of your grandsons. This is destiny,” he concluded as he freed his hands to put them behind his back almost in frustration that longed for comfort in a perfect posture.

“Please, leave us,” he said, hastily looking at the two now seated on the sofas. “Allow me to have a private word with my son,” he pleaded before the two stood. The priest bowed and put on his hood. Khalifah, in a nervous mode to face the Emperor solo, watched in envy as the two man walked passed him, each with a well-wishes pat on his shoulder.

“Twenty six years ago, the mood in this room was just as intense and full of sorrow as it is now,” started the Emperor as he walked closer to Khalifah. “The sorrow that captured my heart then as much as it filled this room carried the same motive as yours: desire to fulfill a personal dream that seemed impossible. After my long prayer and meditation session one weekend, I sat where you seat now and wept. The first ever I wept like that. I hated the Almighty for not granting me my dream,” he said as he sat by Khalifah.

“You see,” he continued, the gestures of his hands bedazzling the air to pair the storytelling, “he gave me everything I ever wanted, yet denied my heart everything that could give me a legacy. At that time in this very room whilst soaking my cloak in tears of despair, I realized that that which I wanted the most I desired solely for my narcissistic completion of my achievements – MORE POWER Khalifah,” he screamed in boastful confession before looking down.

“Then in the quite of despair, I heard my heart. Its whisper was that my purpose is to serve others, not my ego. For in serving others I serve myself most as the effort returns by other invaluable means,” he said.

Khalifah’s face seemed attentive although he did not understand why his father was making such confessions besides attempts to convince him to ‘inherit his wealth and power at the peril of my dream,’ he thought.

“My son,” he continued as he held him by the hand, “some day you will understand why it is not only about you that the sun rises each day. The sun has to kiss the faces of other multitudes of people in the world and still care for you whilst at the same time maintaining its shine to be admired. As if that is daunting a task, it has to refuel many life giving mystical energies around us as part of its daily responsibility,” he said.

“Khalifah, it is too much to ask of a young man rebellious such as yourself to be like the sun. But my son, you have to consider yourself in the midst of others that matter too,” he concluded as he stood signaling to Khalifah that his decision is unchanged.

As they walked towards the doors of the now distressed sanctuary Khalifah asked, “Father, would this mighty Kingdom stand as the most powerful, ethical and wealthy today had you not followed your heart? Had you not risked everything you ever knew and loved to coup a rotten ruler?” his words struck the old Emperor such that he halted.

Turning to look at Khalifah, he witnessed what he had never seen in long time of his strong prince, a solitary tear speeding down a fresh cheek. The Emperor caught the tear with his thumb before rudely finding words to repeat himself: “You’re not going anywhere.” He shut the doors before Khalifah, then walked back to face his maze one more time – something unusual for him as he normally breaks his meditations by midday.

Khalifah walked into the scorching sun that immediately kissed dry his tears. Through the guest room window that he now found himself in, he saw Abubakar feeding the birds in the garden. He had doubts about joining him to report the news for fear the birds may hear and fly them to the rest of the city.

“That is not a joyful look son. What has transpired of my favorite prince and my old friend Askia?” he asked almost sarcastically to dispel the sorrow on Khalifah’s face.

“Like the sun, I believe I serve others. I can be of even better service to them when my dream is realized,” he said as he picked some of the grain Abubakar had placed by a small statue. “And pursuing my dream to seek the joy of my heart is not narcissistic. It is answering to my destiny, is’t not?” he wondered to Abubakar as he emptied a handful of grain into the air.

“So you finally heard the tale of the sun and its duties in the universe. That is good. That fable is rare to come by,” Abubakar said ignoring the pompous question. “But it is not good either that your father wants to deny your heart its true joy. Such can only break you, Khalifah,” he said as he clapped his hands to dust off the grain excess in his hands.

“However, he is not only your father, but also the most powerful Emperor in Africa. So you have your wishes going up against a force to reckon with. Give him time. He respects people with dreams of following their hearts. He needs time. And son, like I said, your announcement rudely caught my mind in slumber. I cannot imagine your father having prepared for this either,” said Abubakar as they walked together toward the house after realizing that it was time for lunch.
*******
There was something strange about the morning. The sun in Timbuktu seemed to have risen later than usual to bathe the sprawling sand dunes and great mosques with its glory. ‘Also,’ the spell in the Emperor’s worrisome mind fumbled, ‘the brightest sun in the world, the sun of the Timbuktu firmament, was today dimly lit than any other day. It lacks the spark that made the desert a wonder to wake in,’ the nagging thought went.

The Emperor, as he walked wondrously in the garden amongst hungry birds, said to himself, “aargh, another of the hallucinations since last night.” He stood to admire the birds as they picked on the ground what he could not see. ‘Like I thought, there’s nothing, the sun of Timbuktu is ever shining and never a minute late. The brightest in the world,’ he thought in an attempt to convince himself that it was just his mind playing magic on him.

The raging thoughts and troubled hallucinations started last night since the unimagined news from Khalifah. In fact, the Emperor never slept and in the mid of the night, he walked the same garden and sat by a statue to ponder on the news as he stared at the stars. Before returning to the house he had uttered a few words at the brightly lit moon. And he was convinced it could hear him. In the house, he went into the library to visit his Bahija for a few hours and his heavy eyes eventually forced him into slumber in the same room on the low lying sofas.

*******

After marching in the garden for what seemed like eternity, he joined the house for breakfast with three Queens and a few of his daughters. Khalifah, who is always present at all meals, was not at breakfast. The Emperor did not bother to torture his mind over what may have come of him for all was bare. Albeit ironic relieve, he automatically excused him and sort to not ask after him.

After breaking morning bread and all were dispersing following laughs amidst the unusual silence and tension in the Emperor’s brief remarks, everyone rose almost in unison to race with the sun.

“Shipa,” called out the Emperor. “Remain with me.”

Once all had exited the grand royal banqueting room, Shipa looked intensely at his father waiting for his first words.

“I could assign this task to anyone of your mothers or some of your sisters,” started the Emperor as he drew a chair signaling Shipa to rise from her distant chair and get closer to him.

Father and daughter spent the next hour and half in the banqueting room talking about only one thing and both so in distress. Every so often one of them would have their looking face down, another looking up the crafted ceiling, fingers rhythmically dancing on the Egyptian rich mahogany table in nervousness of what confronted them.

“Ok father, I understand. Although my heart is riddled with fear of what has to happen from this moment forth, I shall be strong when I send this news,” she said with anguish in her once sweet voice. “I pray he’ll be able to make peace with these.”

“It’ll never happen whilst I’m in this city. It cannot. Enough grief has been resuscitated already and I’ll not witness it multiply,” said the Emperor as he stood to pull his daughter’s chair out.

The Emperor wrapped his left arm around the princess’ shoulders as they started toward the main house with a sigh of relief at leaving behind the anguish that confronted them in the banqueting room.

*******

For the first time in a quarter of the century, the palace, which always sparkled with an orchestra of fire light, seemed dim. The darkness of that night blanketed even the rich array of royal lights. The sand dunes from a distance seemed to be howling along with the wind in a unique, but disturbing tune. Although it was not raining nor was there any other sign it would, the firmament tormented the desert tearing silence with thunder. It was as if the hearsay rain queen was somewhere engaged in fruitless attempts.

“Aah, a very strange night it is. Not a typical desert night. Interesting…,” mumbled Khalifah to himself as he let go off the curtain he had picked through.

“I suppose conference with father made you delusional, what with the prince speaking to himself,” said a sweet voice that interrupted Khalifah’s loud thoughts.

“It could not wait?” asked Khalifah.

“Just keeping on with your style brother, although this is the only urgency I am not proud of,” cried a soft voice.

“Shipa, any urgency I know of I learnt from you. Otherwise you would beat me to everything,” he said.

The two chuckled almost wary to not wake the night like the thunderous sky. Shipa drew open curtains in the banqueting room to reveal the loneliest night yet in Timbuktu.

“Is’t my eyes or are the stars dim tonight? Less sparkle in the light? The air colder than should be for the season?” she asked as she lounged on the sofa across Khalifah.

“I’d not say you are wrong. This strikes me too as a strange night. It is the night that resonates the darkness that my heart has now found. The loneliness that started to haunt me since this time last night,” he said taking many pauses in between the cold words.

“Khalifah, it’s just a different night. Not a strange one. It has signs of an eve of a dawning era of light. Of joy. It’s one that asks, are you sure about this?”

“About what? My future yesterday was painted dark and horrid like the very night that unsettles the desert tonight.”

“Father says he cannot stand between a man and his heart’s deepest desires,” she started as she crawled across the divide between their seats to reach for Khalifah’s right hand, tightly enveloping it in hers. “Brother, the wish of your heart has been granted. The gods and the Almighty have convinced father of your cause,” she said with a smile which battled with tears.

Khalifah shut his eyes before raising his joy-filled face toward the ceiling. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he sang.

His face was now watered with tears of joy. Shipa could not hold her back either as they both expressed their joy. Albeit they were also visited by emotions of loss, loneliness and the unknown. Shipa was hit the most by such feelings with the somber night aggravating the mood. But she knew she had to be happy for her brother, who seemed lost for words other than repetitive silent whispers of thank yous.

Once Khalifah had partially recovered from his celebratory paralysis, Shipa continued as she looked down on the carpeted floor, “He asks one thing of you in return: leave in his absence.”

The last words seemed to tear apart Khalifah’s moment of glory.

“The last words we spoke to each other were not peaceful. They were confrontational,” he started. “I have to see him. I cannot leave without conferring with him. Where are blessings of my departure in that,” he asked.

“Brother, do not look at it that way. Father loves you and he always will. You rescued his heart from sorrow and for that he is indebted. He says he cannot face the most important part of his life, his very legacy, walk away while he humbly stands,” she said.

“No, no. Not this way,” said Khalifah as he stood, unbelievably shaking his head.

“You must understand that this has given him pain. Even more, he still has to face the city and disclose that they no longer have a prince to call their heir. That’s difficult Khalifah,” she said.

Although still in a state of disbelief, Khalifah found the courage to indicate his understanding. He nodded.

“He says you must keep this with you. Guard it with your life and accept it as his honour for the joy that you brought to his heart,” Shipa pressed a cold object in Khalifah’s hand.

She then promised to prepare the whole family for the news before Khalifah sat with them. They agreed Khalifah would visit the individual families under each queen to fare them well. They both seemed to feel very awkward about attending to the details of something of this nature. For the first time they realized it was taking a toll on their emotions. Purposely or not, they were oblivious to the reality of what was in their midst and what followed.

“Oh Khalifah, this is not going to be easy. Not at all,” cried out Shipa as she wrapped herself around him. “You have to be strong and you must not doubt your decision and desire. It’s meant to be,” she said.

“Now that the doors to the lone isolated lands are open wide, my mind is dangling on a thin string of determination. That I must run toward those fears and allow my heart to find its true bliss, but the doubt is now trying to eat away at that thin determination,” he said as he lifted a jug of water from a small table by the window. The lightning was sparking the room incoherently, creating a silhouette of him by the window. He filled two cups.

“Khalifah, remember when we were about six and were warned to not go into dark rooms at night? Remember? You never dared until you were eight. And it was only when darkness came alive such as tonight that you ventured into this banqueting room to fetch us fresh grapes,” she reminded him. “You were trembling with fear that night like I had never seen before, but you walked into that darkness and came out with…,”

She was interrupted by a break of chuckle from Khalifah who spat a shower.

“…yes. I know. I came out with only one grape from the bundle after speeding out from the sound of thunder and blinding lightening that came through the windows,” he said as they both laughed. It was almost as if they were remedying the sorrow that had started to capture them. The sadness brought on by the looming reality.


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Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Chapter One: The Half Prince of Timbuktu

Chapter One

Beat the path of your heart

If a heart could implode from within a human body, then today was the perfect day for the prince’s body to succumb. Many would say that he died of a heart attack, for when a heart suddenly stops, it has been attacked, they say. Without doubt, it would be a shame in all of this kind of region for the most powerful son of the soil, the most revered warrior, to die of his own failure to command the armies inside his own body. More than a heart racing feeling, a contrast of thoughts of shame and honour invaded his mind with ease as he paced in circles in the silent room. The only sound was the unrhythmic pound of his footsteps.

“If I may suggest, my prince, it aggravates your mood that you pace about so violently around that thing. Such is only the reflection of what is happening inside you. Calm yourself down,” said a hoarse voice.

“Yes, please Khalifah, you need to try and relax your body and mind. For your body and mind to listen to your heart’s whisper, you need to be at peace,” a sweet voice sang with plea.

Khalifah Mohammed did not understand what the two voices were saying. But as if his heart heard their plea, he started to gradually slow down his circling of the sculpture of The Elder at the centre of the room. He sat dwarfed below the royal statue. The four had gathered abruptly after the prince had sent for them to “attend to an urgent matter that could not wait”, said the note from the messenger.

“‘You are neither to make mention of the contents of my visit nor where you will be during the time of the conference,’” he would conclude the Prince’s words before quickly disappearing without waiting for any question.

His eldest sister, Shipa, was first at the room they were to meet. As she walked through the doors of the imperial chambers, she wondered in fruitless effort what the urgent matter that could not wait for Monday was about. What awed her though, was why meet in the chambers – a sacred place reserved for when the top members of the imperial G’bara or Great Assembly met to pass or reject an often controversial life altering law.

She saw her brother was standing by the statue looking restless.

“In my life, my short life, I have never been fazed in this manner by an issue, regardless of its significance. Like a warrior that I grew to become, I controlled my thoughts as my father and my numerous mentors had taught me over the years,” said Khalifah with a near-cry in his voice. He stood to walk towards the window, his piercing eyes racing through endless white sand and he could almost hear a call from the distant dunes.

“What I’m about to confide you with, must stay in the most trusted corners of yours hearts – unless at my wish, you may not share it.”

The four that gathered in the chambers with Khalifah have been his closest allies since he had ascended officially to take up his royal duties. Abubakar, a top member of the G’bara, ever wise and charming in his wise words, is, in fact, the Emperor’s confidante. Khalifah was not sure about involving him in this pertinent matter, but on Abubakar’s dazed arrival at the chambers, Khalifah apologized exclaiming that he had no choice as this could make or break stability in the city and therefore, one of the wisest heads in the city could be of absolute assistance.

Abubakar at that moment, after Khalifah said that he would understand better once everyone had arrived, knew in his heart that the chambers were the only place he had to be at that very hour.

Another important person in the prince’s life, in fact, his heart, is the priest. In his early 50s, the priest had advised the royal family on difficult matters even before Khalifah became a formal member of the family. In fact, the priest, more than anyone else, could be ascribed to be single handedly responsible for Khalifah’s royal fate – he was central to his adoption into the first family.

The physician, the best at Sankore University won the prince’s admiration and confidence when he saved the Emperor’s life by bringing him back from the dead – as the prince would put it. Although the prince had once had nothing but mistrust for a man who attended to his father’s health, including being first to treat the prince from dehydration on his first day at the palace, they since became close allies with the prince consulting him often.

“Shipa, I love you no more than all my sisters. I love you all equally. But I have you here today because you argue well with your heart and always have the courage of following it,” he said.

Khalifah has always had the weakness of most people of going with reason in every issue. He admired his sister for getting it right for he also felt it is important although he did not think it necessary for him until his meditations. His father and the priest have labored for years to mould him to hear the song in his heart, something he never got right, and to the priest’s much surprise, that was about to change.

His back now against the fateful desert and after gaining their confidence of secrecy, his voice went deep as he continued to explain the cause of the meeting.

“My heart cries for its freedom. The freedom to achieve what it most desired for years. I discretly meditated for over half a year to arrive at this point where I think I have the solution to the cry of my heart. I am leaving the palace to seek the joy of my heart. I am headed to wander the desert in a week's time,” he said to faces that now swelled with different emotions.

“This cannot be. This is not to be,” said Abubakar with sharpness in his voice, cane crushing to the tiled floor.

Shipa leaped out of her chair to race toward the prince. “Brother, what is it that you speak of. Please allow us to convince you otherwise. I find that there is a lot of happiness in the palace for all of us to share. For you. Please, you need to reverse your decision at once before reigniting father’s lifetime grief,” she said as she held Khalifah’s hands. Her eyes became watery when she mentioned her father’s grieve, a pain that ended twenty five years ago with the fortunate arrival of a son ‘granted by the gods’, the Emperor would often say.

“In your meditations and prayer, what guidance did the Almighty grant you my son?,” the priest asked.

Without immediately answering the priest and releasing his hands from her sister, Khalifah said, “if I do not do this, I will be of no good to the people of Timbuktu. My father always said, ‘a wise ruler has purity of heart. It is the peaceful voice and joy in his heart that help rule with love’ and my heart is wretched with confusion that had been growing before I saw a path to my solution.”

Cane still to the floor and unable to stand as if paralyzed by the news, Abubakar dipped his face in his wrinkled hands. He wanted to embrace the prince’s wish and assist him in proposing it to the Emperor. From spending time with the prince, even from a young age, he had learnt that he was a very stubborn youth although so with a cause.

*******

At a tender age of nine, the prince had an encounter with one of his many mothers. The royal family keeps special gowns besides their average royal gowns that are worn casually. The special gown, called a Purack, was to be worn only on two occasions: the Emperor’s valorous ascendancy to the throne some forty years ago, and the prince’s own fateful arrival at the palace whilst only seven months of age. During those two days, the city metamorphosed into a carnival with multiple celebrations staged at various points within it. Other royal families came to enjoy song and dance with Timbuktu for the enlightenment that befell it.

One of the prince’s mothers, following a day after the celebrations, commanded the prince to surrender back the special uniform to the royal keepers. The prince, in rascal-styled politeness, refused to comply. His reasons: “father said that the celebrations must stay in our hearts throughout the seasons…” he started as his mother interrupted him at which point he continued ignoring her, “…that we must never take a break from the joy such fateful days brought to the many hearts of Timbuktu,” he concluded, as he paced backwards from the approaching mother.

“So you want to tell me that you plan to wear that two-day-a-year Purack through the seasons?” she asked although not wishing for an answer, but instead suggesting that it come off immediately. Her instructive words mimicked an angry instructive voice.

“The uniform stays with me. Father insisted in his speech. It stays…” he turned his back to suggest that the Queen must chase her if she wanted it back. “Son, I’ll get your father here now if you don’t take off that uniform this very instant… KHALIFAHAAAAH!” she screamed to the four walls as he shot out like an arrow from the palace door. True to his stubborn nature, the boy religiously kept the gown on him for the next five days.

It was not until Abubakar, on the Emperor’s intervention, successfully, but with difficulty, negotiated him out of the Purack and to take his first bath in days. Khalifah only washed his body where he could reach without taking off the gown for fear of being surprised by a ganging entourage of Queens and Princesses who were now very angry with his “unlivable ways,” they would say during the fruitless daily screaming matches they had with him around the palace.

*******

With his wrinkled hands coming off his face, Abubakar sternly remarked, “you want to have us all in trouble. Your father will be disappointed in all of our presence here, for he will insist we are in concert with your unceremonious wish,” he continued as he found the courage to pick up his stick before standing.

“I say, again, this must not be and this meeting must be adjourned at once,” he now stood before the prince, holding his shoulder but looking away.

“My prince, Khalifah Mohammed, the words of the wise assure life and peace. I do not think Abubakar would have ill-interest in advising you to abandon this wish. This is to preserve you from thoughts that are extremely abrupt, if I may say,” pleaded the Physcian.

“Life and peace?” burst Khalifah’s voice. “You are right,” he continued. “I do have life and peace and such in abundance. But where is the joy of my heart? Is anyone here even listening to my heart’s cry?”

“Brother. Please. It is your heart that needs to listen to our hearts. Ours cry for yours to do the right thing,” cried Shipa.

“Perhaps I must be clear with all here that I did not necessarily summon you to counsel my heart. Instead, I meet with you here to assist me in finding a peaceful way of proposing this difficult news to my father. So I am not here to listen to your heart’s nor for mine to be counseled. As I said ealier, I asked the Almighty for guidance on this. And my priest..." he said staring "... the light that was shone on my heart during my meditations is that I must beat the path of my heart at once, and such a lone path will lead to joy. For it is only by such that my soul will grant me the joy that will ease the pain of seeking that confuses the peace of my heart,” he said with a voice so fragile everyone in the room was captivated by empathy.

Almost surrendering her fight, Shipa held his hands again trying to comfort his brother’s inner cry.

The priest had walked toward the prince. “My son, I suggest we have a conference with your father at the earliest possible. He may at least be compassionate toward your heart’s desire. I trust so. If a half-year consultation with your soul and the Almighty has in deed revealed a path to your purpose, no man, with as much power such as your father possesses, can stop you,” he could feel his throat wrestle to free or swallow his last words. “In fact,” he continued, “the entire energy of the universe will conspire to grant your wish because it is your heart’s true desire.”

The physician, not wanting to let an important, but scary thought pass said “my prince, if I may, will not your actions bring about sorrow not only to your father, but the heart of Timbuktu itself? You have an important duty to the people of the city. They need a prince,” he said with a begging voice.

“Such will be sorrow in deed. But I cannot lead a city if I fail to have the courage to lead myself. I cannot listen to thousands of hearts if I turn a blind eye to the needs of mine. The sorrow,” he continued as his palm slowly caught water that met at his chin before wiping both his cheeks, “will be healed by the peace in my heart. I may be away when I feel such joy and peace, but the city will reap the spoils too.”

As he raised his face, Khalifah’s teary eyes met with Abubakar’s, which now displayed only understanding. Looking toward the distant decorated white ceiling, Abubakar exclaimed “ay ay ay Khalifah! My prince, my prince, my prince! Why do you always find a way of putting a frail old man such as myself – and I told you this before – in a situation where his heart has to race with his thoughts?” he wondered, his eyes still glued to the artfully engraved high ceiling, cane rhythmically crushing against the sparking black and gold trimmed tile. “Besides your joyful wish, is your dream to see me reduced to a pile with my weak heart surrendering?” he said with orchestrated annoyance in his voice before asking everyone to be seated.

“No man must be curtailed from beating the path of his heart, such will only hang their soul. Anyone of us has our purpose in this world, and extremely varying and unique they are. But they are all made common in that we must strive to fulfill them for the universe awaits us to support our individual causes ,” he said as he stood like a teacher in front of them. “As humans, we are cut from the cloth of many mystical energies that make up the universe, forces which will move mountains if we so wished. But it is conditioned restrain that reduced us, like the heart that keeps on failing me, to mediocrity,” he said, his hand feeling the heartbeat that had just normalized.

“Are you ok father,” Yelled Shipa in interruption as she stood to approach Abubakar.

“I am fine. In fact, my heart was feeling a settling dance of the joy of dreams,” he said as he signaled her down with his cane before looking at Khalifah.

“Khalifah, my son, man has become mediocre because of beating only the path of their mind and following the crowd. And they fear much to trust the call of their hearts. I cannot say I am proud as I stand here for your stubborn and abrupt decision, but I do feel joy in my heart that you have been careful enough to realize the importance of choosing your destiny to find joy. It still eludes the wise and wealthy of this world. The priest is right and with him, we shall prepare your father for your news,” he announced.

Abubakar asked Khalifah, without fishing for an answer or comment, “Have you ever heard the tale of the generous nature of the sun and its responsibility to multitudes of beings beyond itself?”

“You have always shown courage son and listened to nature’s guidance, but this, it pounced on my trained mind as it slept quietly,” he said as he concluded that his part in the chambers is adjourned.

As Abubakar showed them his back as he raised his cane waiving farewell to the emotional silent four, the priest followed suit after kissing Khalifah’s cheek. The physician waited to be released by Khalifah. “Thank you for your valued time physician. Know that your heart has good residence in mine at all times. I am indebted,” he said on releasing him. As he walked passed the prince, the physician halted to touch his shoulder as their eyes met. He nodded his head and started to disappear in the blinding light coming through the door that was left open.

“Did you tell her? She deserves to know, you know!”

“Sister, she will be buried in never ending sorrow if I did. I cannot tell her. Not a word to her. I suggest you also not make mention of this to her. It will bury her in sorrow.”

“It has been hard enough for her not having good access to you, but now you leave without informing her. And Khalifah, you speak of yourself and your joy, what about her dreams? This is not only about you. You have people attached in your life you know!”

“I saw her last night. I showed her a part of me so beautiful it could only be naturally displayed at that time and only to her. Her heart will understand why that moment was so intense and different. I cannot wretch up her heart with my words. Only in this regard, silence is golden.”

The look in her eyes did not agree with her brother’s last words as she went on to express her support.

“I hope you do understand that my heart is sympathetic to your cause. In fact, I am proud to have a brother as courageous and wise as you. Remember what father always said, ‘man seek happiness from finite material of this world, whilst it is infinite joy that they must seek within their hearts,’ so unbeknownst to him, he led your heart to this destiny. He may be furious with your abrupt departure, but his heart will be joyful,” said the princess as she pressed Khalifah close to her chest.

The two, reminiscing of events of their common stubborn nature whilst growing around lush gardens within a desert, started walking out of the chambers. The hot sun bathed their faces as their sight struggled, just coming from a hardly lit room, to appreciate a triplet of the gold statues in the courtyard which stood guard of the three royal meeting houses’ grand entrances.

*******
NB: Chapter Two is coming on 2 October 2007, probably with three other chapters.

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Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Long sabbatical to complete my novel

I won't be able to update this blog for some time. This due to time constraints as it's exam period for this one writer. But the main reason is that I'm pouring all my writing and thinking energies into the remaining seven chapters of my epic novel, which might be published by Pan Macmillan UK. Trying to complete the seven chapters by December - so far done seven chapters.

During this time, I'll also be making the pilgrimage to my roots in the village of Tamandai, Chipinge, Zimbabwe again.

Until I make a return, go big on life in all those pursuits. May the endeavours meet with the sunshine.

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Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Listening but not hearing a thing

Life is full of paradoxes. Imagine finding yourself doing something that you’re not in fact doing. Imagine having the quality of life that you in fact are not even close to. Imagine being delusional and thinking you’re absolutely logical. I was forced to admit that I have a habitual paradox that revisits me even if I kick it out and many that I’ve come across fall in that trap, especially people of this fast fast instant world.

I found that I sometimes listen in conversation but I don’t hear what is said. Not that I fall short of understanding what the other is saying but the words simply escape the net. I’m sure you may relate in one way or the other. Not a habit to boast about. However, I found, also, that this happens most of the time when the conversation is deemed as not so worthy. The danger here being that this would be my subjective opinion whilst the other person believes their words to be most precious and worthy of my hearing more than just listening.

In this ‘I’m busy, I’m exhausted’ world of today, most people operate with this kind of habit. A habit which makes us bad listeners. Nothing wrong with selective listening, but everything wrong with ignoramus behaviour. I pity myself for falling in this league sometimes, but I’m working, with the harsh help of my wife, daily on it. And soon I bid this ignoramus group farewell.

If you fall in the Hearing Ignoramus League, I suggest you also device your way out by adopting a no fee practice of active listening, which, by requiring you to engage in the talk, you’re forced to listen and hear at the same time. Don’t be fooled that listening and hearing are the same thing. They are far far much difference and distinctive, but they’re inter-dependent. If you can't hear and in fact don't want to hear, safe the other person their breath and 'precious' words by excusing yourself from the small talk. The both of you can make better use of your times.

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Monday, September 3, 2007

Finding Zimbabwe, my roots

I made my pilgrimage to Chipinge, Zimbabwe. I was accompanied by my dad, brothers Josh and Ishmael. The tour was mostly country although we extended it to Mutare, Harare, Mutoko and Bulawayo over five days.

To say the least, the experience was AWESOME. I'm going back month end for two more days.

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Friday, August 24, 2007

The deluding comfort in procrastinating

Lately I’ve been trying to determine why is't that I put off what I could do today for tomorrow. This to me, and I believe many can relate, is a painstaking battle which I tend to keep failing. Instead of doing the usual, finding a counter to the problem, I found myself thinking hard about why I’d do anything to avoid doing that which is due to be done. The answer, although obvious, was stupendous.

I came to the realisation that I put off projects, tasks and especially necessary action toward my dreams off for a paradox: Comfort. I say it’s a paradox because there isn’t real comfort in procrastinating work that is intended to add value in your life. Yet most of the time, I now believe, I tend to put off work just so that I can lounge a bit. So that I can do a bit of thinking. Have a long chat with buddies. Stare endlessly at the screen. All these simply delude me that I’m enjoying comfort and avoiding toil or pain, and labour of love isn't really pain.


The truth: remove the delusion and what you get is a rude awakening. That when the delusional comfort has passed, precious, invaluable time will have elapsed too. And the hard truth here is that once the delusional comfort has blown off like smoke, one will still have to face the need to start working toward achieving those very same goals they dodged yesterday. And it clearly won’t help the results to work on it at the eleventh hour.

There’s no running from it. What we set out to do we have to get down and dirty and do it. You've got to give it to Nike for getting the most difficult part of life right: Just Do It. The comfort that we seem to derive from procrastination is only there to work against the comforting feeling of achievement. The mesmerising smell of success.

The hard part for me is having realised that I can put my own preferred and ideal life (which should follow with the achievement of my attainable goals) and lives of those attached to me put on the back burner. I know when I work daily at my goals with consistent action, I get closer to realising them, yet the lounging, the procrastination seems to somewhat provide instant comfort. Imaginary comfort.

In short, such imagined instant comfort is, I’ve realised just recently, extremely dangerous and has planted in many of us what flirts very well with laziness. Very few overcome laziness, many, like myself, need to remember that procrastination makes an empty promise of instant delusional comfort. And perhaps we can recall the importance of discipline.


Procrastination keeps you today in the very same place you were yesterday. And it masterfully succeeds in this job by way of trade: you forgo, for now, your potential achievements for delusional comfort. In reality, at least for me, it makes fcuk all difference in my life this kind of delusional comfort. So it is my goal to stop all trade with this addiction called procrastination. And surely, replace it with addiction to action.

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Thursday, August 23, 2007

Perfection can hurt you and your project

Today, or the past week, hasn't been a great one. It hasn't been a fruitful period. For various reasons things have been dragging. Too many questions ran a watershed on my mind enveloping it with thoughts of doubt. There has been emotions of frustrations. Almost like I'm back to square zero, although not quite so considering the successes of recent.

It is during this time that I was reminded that as humans we're not perfect and it is perfection that we must not aim for. But we can, by all means, aspire for greatness. And greatness has not much to do with perfection, for perfection is that which has no room for failure and new biginnings. Perfection is getting it right the first time round and having a set formula to repeat that success with each different endeavour. At the same time, be able to maintain the momentum of success throughout.

During the downtime whilst writing my book, I'd sob at my wife telling her that this is just not going fast enough. This is just getting too difficult for my taste. That I'm losing the chutzpah. And I was reminded that 'may be you're taking yourself extremely seriously. Take it easy on you and go with the flow'. I refused to hear this words. But now I know that I mustn't be too hard on myself. For it is when I'm hard that I'm caught up in the dangerous phenomenon that is the perfection trap.

Perfection can hurt you. It can derail your project. It can make you feel like you're not worth the job, because from the onset of the aim, it sets you up for a rude shortfall. When you hit a lower mark, you start feeling that perhaps somebody else could have done this better.

Don't allow it to make you feel like that. Instead, aim for greatness because greatness allows room for failure and starting up again, for it realises that we're humans and we're only aspiring to do better than we have done before. To stretch ourselves. Truth be told, our failures teach us a lot more than our success. Our success measure our progress, our shortcomings weigh our strength. Our rise-again power.

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Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Enter the zone and be high

During this course of writing my debut epic, I realised that when you have the opportunity to immerse yourself into a project, you have to always remember to maintain such good momentum. That you have to stay high and crazy about it as through-and-through as you can. The moment you take your eyes off the bull’s eye, off the goal posts, is the moment your mind and emotions wander and lose touch with the end product. With the destiny.

I try to immerse myself in my book although it’s not easy especially when you get a curve ball here and there, and then there and there thrown in every corner. But one thing I know for sure is that most of the time inspiration comes with being immersed. With being in the zone. With pouring yourself into your goal/project as deep as you can. It’s like that with the beautiful labour of writing and I believe it is so with many other projects and undertakings.

Think of something average as your gym contract and commitment to it. At the start of it, the newness and freshness of things motivates you. Inspires you. And you truly do commit and do what you set out to do – at least for the first few trips. But then the mood changes – that third wind stops carrying you. The excitement catches the side wind. And you’re left all to your own strength. The momentum is gone. At most, you let it blow over with the passing bad habit side wind.

Imagine if you always remembered that the momentum could be the good wind beneath your wings – at least the wings of your commitment. And with remembering that daily, you get to boost the momentum to inspiration and before you know it, your commitment has turned into second nature. It’s become a habit. Completely effortless.

I feel this applies in so many situations including relationships. That when the excitement blows over, you’re left to your barren self and you have to make ends meet or you go down. You start losing sight of the bull’s eye and your goal. With this outlook, I bet you’d never smell destiny. The pure, fresh feeling of achievement. SUCCESS. I do fall in the trap many a times. But I’m working on it.

So, once your realise that momentum has set in, keep it. Find ways to stay high and crazy about your project, commitment or goal. Then watch it become a habit, at which point it starts happening naturally. This is the case with my writing, gym and running – for the most part.

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The unique touch of your hand

It’s my lifetime goal to ensure that anything that I lay my hand on, anything which becomes the production of my thoughts and efforts has a unique signature to it. And for such a special mark, the mark of my hand, to shout or silently pronounce, Izz was here. To fly a proud flag that says, ‘I gave it my all and I couldn’t have done it any better’. Have you pondered lately around this very important issue?

I believe that people’s passion for life is expressed in their labour. In what they produce, either in words or the actual toil. So I guess that one has to ask themselves then, ‘will this project express who I’m when am done with it? Or will it just wallow in the myriad of the also-rans. That is the current dream that I wake up each day to pursue helping me stamp my unique mark on this world, especially to make a difference in the life of those around me?

I don’t think it’s of any shame to dump what one feels isn’t really what they should be doing on a certain day, month, year or being involved in something which one feels doesn’t really serve a good purpose. A purpose which must help us express our love and passion for life. Otherwise, we may find ourselves drowning in what we thought was an opportunity to make a difference and leave the mark of our hand.

I may not get it right most of the time, but I do intent to try harder to ensure that I pour myself into the life projects which can allow me to create a legacy of contributions. This by giving myself and energies to any good purpose labour that I get involved.

This forces me, or calls on me, to find ways to excel at what I do. At my job, at being a father to two sweetest princesses, excel especially at remembering to love my wife, at being a good brother, a great friend and making a difference by expressing my thoughts and strengths in this world and leaving a unique touch of my hand. With this, I can sit back after taking a deep breath and proudly say to myself, “damn, I love the work of my hand”.

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Monday, August 20, 2007

How will you meet your luck?

No, not your death, but rather, your lucky stroke. I hear many a time my friends family and others speak of somebody being successful because they were lucky. “Very lucky,” they’d say. And sometimes, out of naivety, I’d simply agree with them. But isn’t true that those who are lucky, on the majority, are those who had toiled hard prior to their success or crossing with their luck?

Of late I’ve been asking the One above to throw a sweet ball of luck my way. Contradictory, I reminded myself that if I got lucky today, would such luck change my life permanently or simply bring a fresh passing breeze of success into my life. What with the potential of abusing the luck and spending it all before I realise how to take advantage of it? With this, I realised that for me to meet my luck, I better be prepared to crossroad with it. That in fact, hard work and goodwilling toil do attract luck. The sweat somewhat whisks in lady luck into your life because you had been prepared for it and ideal to exploit it to the benefit of your life and those of others around you.

Wishing for luck is simply wishing for manna to fall right into your palms. I stopped that, just recently and I hope I don’t revert to such futile exercise. This particularly with the struggle with my debut book. And since I stopped wishing for luck, I’ve come to appreciate better the value of hard work and I toiled forward.

The value of running right into your fears and right in to that thin path – where others have said ‘it can’t be done’, ‘it’s impossible’ – is life altering. Believing and labouring at something of value in your life makes the world step apart to allow all the right forces to tag-team with you in achieving your goal. And I personally believe it is during this time that luck is met or grows on your thorny, lonesome and thin path. However, if and when you meet it unprepared and with the hard work factor missing, I doubt luck will build around your life and goals. It might pass you by and nest in the dreams and sweat of the next fellow. And what would you, “what a lucky fellow. Very lucky.”

Make sure that when your lucky stroke comes, you are damned prepared for your sweat to capture it.

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Friday, August 17, 2007

Bring out your stubbornness

Just when you thought you had fixed it all. That you had ironed out the major problems and inhibitions, they stem out their even uglier side. Their thorny side. That’s what happens with recurrent habits sometime. You kick them off so hard, when they return they come back a little thorny and ugly. I guess just to reclaim their home, their territory. They re-enter whilst we can’t help it during a down time when we’re sloppy. But it is really up to us whether we allow them to take over our lives again. That’s a time when we need to bring out our thick skin. The most ideal time to be stubborn.

Some of my life sapping habits are hard to die, I'm sure most people would relate. These habits keep making an unceremonious return because they're stubborn. But then again, they are stubborn because as people, we’re very stubborn ourselves. At least most people are. I thought to myself, since I don’t want to get back to a life of unproductive habits that I kicked, I started taking pride in my stubbornness. I’m known for being extremely stubborn sometimes. And on this, I thought then why not be stubborn against my bad habits and inhibitions. With my fears. With my sticking to my goals, to my plans.

As I was traveling back home, I thought quite a bit about the movie 300, ­which is based on the legend of the erstwhile Spartan king Leonardis and 300 of his bodyguards – Spartans who considered themselves (along with their brothers at home) as ‘the finest soldiers ever. Soldiers who descended from Hercules himself’. And I admire the courage and valor demonstrated in that, especially in the source graphic novel, 300 by Frank Miller. Leonardis is so stubborn he has balls to stage up and stand against an army of a million driven by a ruthless power-hungry emperor, Xerxes. And without doubt, he could have simply lost with shame had he not been as stubborn in attitude as he had been. And with his stubbornness, he taught the large army a thing or two about standing your own.

The morale, for me at least, is that amidst the consistent struggles to live a life of greatness, there’re times when I just got to call upon my stubbornness to help me stand my ground until my cause is achieved.

When the tough really gets going with your goals and projects, remember to stick it out and not only with faith, but be stubborn at it. Stubborn to even put a bull to shame. And whilst at it, make sure your skin comes out as thick as the rhino's. Stubborn can help you tip over to the other side. Just a toughen-up boost to lift you until your wings catch some wind.

Be stubborn especially when your good and worthy cause is threatened. You started it, be stubborn enough to push until you see it to the end. For at the end, the beauty of achievement awaits you patiently.

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Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Who're the aces in your book, Sir... Mam?

Who are the aces in your book?

Often it happens that we misuse and even abuse our biggest life asset: time. We find ourselves putting on the backburner what we could do right away. This particularly with spending time with family and loved ones – the aces. Not so strangely surprisingly to us, we get a rude awakening whilst on a wasteful path devoting our precious invaluable hours to the wrong people. People who wouldn’t care less about us even if their life dependent on it. Basically, we do find ourselves at a juncture in our lives spending time with people who don’t matter, don’t add value to our lives or the lives of those close to our hearts, or even worse, they simply sap all the right attitude and life out of us.

It’s not such a bad idea to sit back one afternoon and really ponder: ‘who are the aces in my book? Who are the people who truly matter?’ And, in fact, you could even ask yourself, as I’ve been asking myself this past weekend, ‘which people in my life can add value I to? Who can I make a difference in their life with my precious time?’ Doing this equals respecting your own time.

In that way, with that focus, one can be able to determine who they spend their quality time with without being headed for a rude awakening. You can determine whether you’ve been throwing your invaluable asset down a hopeless hole that shouldn’t be dug in the first place. This with a person who wouldn’t give a dime whether you spend time with them or not.

So, who are the aces in your book? You don’t have to pick them. Don’t tick and cross out. I allowed my heart to see those individuals and direct me to the important ones. The ones who smile when they see me. The ones who believe in me. The ones who feel I have a purpose on this earth and are ready to assist me in fulfilling it, even if I don’t even know as yet what I’m supposed to do. They say “it can be done Izz. You can do it”.

And these very individuals are the ones who allow me to do the same in their lives. To make a difference in my own little way and they say “thanks Izz. I really appreciate”. And I’m not only humbled by that I made a difference, but my heart is heightened to a trance dance because they said ‘thank you. I really appreciate it’.

You must see to it that you don’t waste your time with the people who only manage to find reasons to rub of their life sapping attitude. They tell us that life has nothing to offer us as much as we have nothing of value to contribute to it. That we’re just cruising by this planet waiting for the end of our days. Don’t collaborate with this parasitic pack to slowly and silently suck life out of you. Allow your heart to illuminate the names of the aces. And then double their seven star treatment to fourteen – and watch what happens.

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Thursday, August 9, 2007

Here stands a man, or is’t a coward?

Today as I write this women’s day is seeing the last of the hours in South Africa. I wonder how it’s been celebrated by many. But more so, I wonder if most, particularly men, have sat back to contemplate on their contribution to the life of a woman. Whether this day says ‘acknowledge the need for a woman to express her talents and abilities’. Such a need is a natural need, and not an asking. It’s innate to humanity.

I thought about it a little and asked myself, why can’t each day be a woman’s day? Why can’t each day be a feminine day? I asked myself rhetorically after imagining the reality that, in fact, each day is a man’s day. Not because we carpe diem every time we wake up. No. It’s because the scales of humankind have always favored men. What we do as man, and also what we many a times fail to do, a woman does and often does even better with more care. But nevertheless, on the majority, the female species is going up against the odds. Against a whirlwind of disadvantaging walls invented by men before us and maintained tooth and nail by us each day whether knowingly or unbeknownst to us.

Methinks a man can be summed up by how he treats any other female person. Any man worth his two balls will know that he can’t respect himself enough as a man of worth if he treats a woman as less capable than himself. When a man can say he is a man and boastfully hit his chest to celebrate that, he first got to celebrate the level of his respect for a woman. In a non-patronising way of course. In a meaningful way. Then such is indeed a man.

I’ve been blesseth enough to grow up in a household where love prevailed in abundance. And such love was demonstrated by my father toward my mother. And I grew up witnessing that each day is a woman’s day. At least for my mother as she was (I shouldn’t say fortunate enough, but) 'fortunate' enough to spend such days with my father. And I’m proud to say that the man that is my enterprising father is what he is, every bit, because there’s a woman of strength and brains behind her, my mother.

So if a man shall stand one day and say I’m a man in the most meaningful of terms, I’ll look at how he treats female people in his life. And then if the treatment is queen-worthy, I’ll concur that indeed, here stands a man. Isn’t he a coward when he prejudices those that he has long labeled as a ‘weak’? Isn’t he the weak one he who can’t allow her to start anything on a par of resources? And better yet, won’t this global society that we live in today that lacks the basic of human necessities, love, be a better community when he whow is male can treat better her who is female! That’s not a question. But you can ponder upon it. Oh, and spread the love.

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Destiny, our doing or the hand of mystery?

I’ve been thinking on the word destiny in the past few days. In fact, contemplating on the concept of destiny itself. In the conventional wisdom, destiny is that which will be. That which lay ahead of our path already as a result of our previous choices or by preordained force – this bit meaning that we have little or no part in it except for puppetry. How you chose to define destiny, methinks, is utterly up to you. But I know, for my own good of course, a few conceptions and misconceptions about destiny that may break or make me, or at least the next fellow.

That destiny means that I have to add only a little bit of spice and salt here and there and things will work out fortune for me. That I don’t have to sweat my palm or break my back in toil to control my own destiny. That there is little and individual can do to influence what most spiritualists define as Maktub – ‘it is written’ (therefore it’ll be).

I believe otherwise. My conception of destiny tutors me each that it is the choices we make in the day that define our future. Our tomorrow, our very destiny. It’s the individual human being that alters the course of their life by every bit of action at each moment when they live out their thoughts. At this juncture, I must make mention that: select your thoughts carefully, for such is the seed of your life. The DNA of your future – is’t to be one of success of failure!

Of course, the Almighty has the might to influence our energies to make certain choices as much as provide us with the strength to make real our choices and endure them either in celebration or in pain. But the ultimate lies with you, with me, with us. The real deal, the doing is all up to the individual. Up to each and every one of us. I don’t think it’s negligent to state that many people day each day short lived not because it was written in their destiny that their lives be cut short. Many marriages today tumble not because God is part of the ignorance of the little bits of daily failings that went unattended. States war with each other not because God has a mission to accomplish on society as more powerful than the next. Many lead stressful and unhappy lives not because their destiny is laid with misery.

No. destiny is in the minds of each and every one of us. In our minds and hearts. We invent destiny by making the right and wrong choices each and every day. Fortunate are those who listen to their hearts and make the correct choices. Fortunate enough are those who realize they made the wrong turn and turnaround their choice at that very instant to correct it and choose and even happier destiny.

We fall each day when we lead our lives under the misconception that it is destined to be and we have not much to do with it. For me, I choose to arrive at my destiny confident that it was, in the most part, my own making and all the other mystic forces played cameo roles and God provided the strength and insight to getting it right.

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Wednesday, August 8, 2007

The test

There're times during our journeys that we just feel the juice to on has run out. That the chutzpah to continue blazing a meaningful trail has dried out with the suns each day past. That our minds can't stretch any farther than we've already exploited them. That our tired bodies can't shed an ounce more of strength to sustain our cause. That our courage has withered with the few storms that cornerd us at our most vulnerable.

It is during this times that we're in fact called to the test. We're called to break or make and during this very time, the siff starts to run its cause too. The wheat slowly separates from the charf. It is that point were those labeled genious hold their own, and those labeled anything else not resonating triumph being to wallow at the brim of a bottomless pit.

The testing moments such as these call for something that we can't see or touch. It calls for us to be faithful. Faith. To find and draw that innate voice that whispers, 'go on, it will be done'. That voice that says it was made yours the moment you had the dream to achieve, the moment you begun, the moment you shed the first sweat in your palm.

Almost like one can say it's the tipping point. The juncture where we get what we wanted and needed or we 'go home'. A road without tests is one that doesn't mould a person to greatness. Like the blacksmith would burn, burn again, then hammer, burn, hammer a metal until it takes a shape that is more beautiful and becomes a masterpiece.

Allow yourself to feel the faith so that you can give your dream and opportunity to turn this one corner, just as you will need to allow it to turn the next harder one. In this way, you get closer to your dream. By doing that alone, you'll feel triumphant - like I do right now - and imagine the feeling once the dream has been achieved. DESTINY!

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Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Tears of the heart

Why does it be, why,
Why is this heart so torn apart,
Ripped into countless pieces of an unfitting puzzle

Is this heart that loves so much to be punished,
Banished to infinite desperation,
Despair-ation which knows prayer but not answers

How does it be, how
How that I love man and hate my Creator,
Man exists with me to love and war with,
He who created me denies ... [read more]

Read the rest of the poem at my dedicated poetry blog: http://izzonlinepoetry.blogspot.com/2007/08/tears-of-heart.html

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Monday, August 6, 2007

Be damned good in your true passion

Life is vast. Interests are wide and many alluring. Our minds, hungry for demonstrating their prowess, want to take on any 'cool', 'chic' interest that comes our way. Especially interests that are the 'in' thing. Our hearts, ever focused and determined and genuine, cry of a need to express our true love and passion. To display the marvels that we were born to be. However, we almost always go with our minds for pop culture pummels into us that such is sense. And we do so at the peril, most of the time, of our true passion. We end up being the Jacks and Janes of all trades - good at mastering nothing, great at wandering and wondering everything.

It dawned on me recently that I needed to pick one skill that I have, or feel I was born to, and labour tirelessly to craft it, sharpen it, love it and in fact, perfect it. To let that one skill be my prime prive passion. Allow it to define me. I can demonstrate all my other skills and take care of them, but the volume of the time has to go to one skill, one love, one passion that my heart can sing with and dance on. It's more like focusing the laser that is the energy of the power of the heart so it can make better cuts and trims.

Since contemplating in such a way, I found that I love writing. I'm passionate about words and the way they weave together into a beautiful message that can laugh or cry. And with that, I shall spent my life devoting myself to labouring on words. To sweat my palms wet expressing the love of an art that I can one day perfect in such a way that the words themselves can start to seem to breath a life of their own. Almost like for them to become alive, breathing back their awe and beauty to anyone who reads them.

What's your one true passion? That one thing which you feel you do so well that you're convinced you were born to do? That one thing that whispers, "devote your entire life perfecting me - and I shall make you a genius". It helps to find out and zoom in closer to that passion. To focus and really go big on it in every way. I think in that way, we could all become geniuses in our own little spots, which when joined together, will make a tapestry of beauty that makes life a lot more enjoyable with happier people.

Find your passion, and pour every ounce of your heart's energies into it. Draw every thought of your mind to crafting it into perfection and watch yourself amaze even... You. My writing, although still raw and unperfected and wobbly - yet growing - is starting to amaze even me.

Bedazzle yourself, be damned good in your true passion.

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This thing dreams this, very mystic and non-chiccultured

I sit at my desk in my study now and I'm gripped by fear. Such fear that moments ago my eyes were watered so much that parts of the top brown wood of the desk turned white from the flooding of tears. I'd awoken only to continue a routine of progressing my novel, and strange enough, the chapter (four) I'm working on is titled "The strongest of hearts cries" named for the reasons that the emperor in the novel had a strong heart, but at a certain time, it was brought to its knees.

Now this room I sit in feels, all this sudden since 30min ago, so spooky. So supernatural. It flabbersgasts me that only an unusual phone call about a dream of somebody far away - and I mean far, brought all such aura to my room. What perhaps painted my walls with such dark mood is I was asked by a silent broken voice, "please pray for me this very instant", than "I had a really bad dream a moment ago". From the instant I heard that, I went into panic mode, in an auto kind of way. Everything around me suddenly felt supernatural in a scary type of way.

To make a pompous small confession of a hallucinated man, I'm one blesseth with having meaningful visions. Not too often, but each time I'm shown in my sleep things or events I'd never seen before, and on further investigation, fear grips me after finding out that I wasn't dreaming. I was being directed, by who knows what force, to something that truly exists. And as I'd seen it, there would it be, in front of my eyes happening just as envisioned.

I'm sure you also have your own premonitions and visions that visit you in your slumber. I'm not talking here of de javu. I speak of some not-so-natural phenomena that you don't fear for the quasi-events that happened in it, but for the supernatural feeling that accompanies them. The feeling that you just had your soul travel to a place or event in the future and come back and inform you.

On the phone call, I explained to my little brother that "don't fear... and don't face up when you sleep" - in a way, I was trying to calm myself too.

Now I ask myself, is this universe really connected like the alchemists before us said? Is this world inhibited by more souls than our own? Do our souls sleep and rest with our bodies at time of slumber or do they travel the girth of this planet into far away places - witness somethings, and if related to our lives, our conscious then notices and we then have visions of such, and because we are so real and faithless, we scare and imagine it's a nightmare?

I told my little brother, "remember what grandpa always said, 'our souls don't tire like our minds. Like our bodies. They have no day and night. They travel all the time all over the place and mingle with other souls.'"

I figure, that if that contains a pint of truth, and I can't see why not, then our souls could really tell us so many things we need to know if we quiten our conscious and clear our minds well enough. I doubt I can do that. I doubt my brother can do that. Perhaps you can.

Many a times, on the occassion that I do, I'd kneel down and say some holy phrases and my mind would play games with me that 'if anything near supernatural were to happen this instant, remember: fire up your heels... top speed'. You see, faithlessness. We even fear in our dreams. So alchemy is far from men and women of today. Many a times we disregard premonitions and our dreams and their interpretations as perfected mambo jumbo - popular common sense always shruggs them 'naaah, no ways'.

My point of this piece: releasing the fear that gripped me. And it's now gone. But the assertions I made in the above lines still stay solid like the one perfect vision I had in my sleep some time months ago, which others confirmed to have been real life (future) event. And I was oustounded to witness it happen later on as I'd seen it in my slumber.

This thing premonitions this! What to make of it. We're faithless man. We either misinterpret it or we're coward enough to disregard it because we're modern, civilized man who believe only in psychology that is preached by those with civilized university degrees - as they qualify to counsel us because they ticked the correct multiple choice answer. And we toss aside the alchemist in each of us. And yes, those words sound dilusional even to me because I'm as faithless as the next fellow brainwashed by supermedia into chicculture - a culture of dissident and common sense (of which common sense is pop culture sense), not innate sense like the animals in the jungle live by.

I'm awake now, you can stop reading if you got this far.

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Saturday, August 4, 2007

ISBN for The Half Prince of Timbuktu

It may be a NO BIG DEAL to anyone else except one person. Izz. But hey, I just have to make a public announcement: I got the ISBN for my debut novel: 978-0-620-39285-3, The Half Prince of Timbuktu.

I celebrated. Not that it was administrative pain to get it, it was in fact too easy. The reason for the elation is because it was a real first step toward ensuring that I can publish my own novel - and retain all control of my work.

I'm still investigating whether to independently publish with Lulu.com or Booksurge (Amazon). But one thing for sure is that I'll be it doing myself mainly because I want to exercise my entrepreneurial spirit.

The book will be hitting and heating the bookshelves in early 2008 (although I finish writing in mid September) and hopefully I'll create enough media buzz for the novel by implementing my previous PR skills. The best plan is to perform magic so that it can be top 10 on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

By the way, the book already has two sequels planned: 'Sundiata' and '1884'.

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Thursday, August 2, 2007

Mikhaela's tragedy

[]WARNING: Some readers may be offended.[]

What was I to be, a girl, a boy?
Was I to be light, dark?
Was my nose to be sharp, hair curly and rich black?

Sob, sob, what do the others conceived in my time look like, like me?
Do they today life and its spoils enjoy?
Was I to play with them?
Was I to give mama and papa joy, pain, joy, pain, perhaps ... continue

Read the rest of the poem on my dedicated poetry blog: Izzonline Poetry

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Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Pain teaches us the harder lessons

When times in your life come that you must go through pain, that your body or your emotions must take a toll because of something horrible that's happened, try and see the lesson. Try and see the message the pain may carry. It may be a success, love or miracle in disguise. And it takes a little bit of stepping back sometimes and looking, reassesing the pain with a new eye that you may realise, 'so, this is the lesson', or that 'it's this new fruitful direction I must take from hereforth'.

I felt it. Massive, grievesome pain recently. And because of that pain, today I appreciate life better - or at least started to. I look at life with a new cleansed eye. It's almost like the pain was there to say 'Izz, you getting wayyyyyy too sloppy at your game. At the game of life'. And it was of course a rude awakening. It made me rethink my ways of living with others. My ways of understanding things. My ways of speaking about things.

During, or rather, post that pain, I kind of thought of the blacksmith or shall I say blacksmithing (don't know the science's name). I thought of a metal that's taken an odd and unappreciative form of its own. And for it to change, for it to become a metal of better, meaningful shape, the blacksmith needs to put it through a furnace. An extreme, supernatural degree of heat and even after that, beat the hell out of it with a fiver pounder. Only after sometime in that heat and massive hammering will the metal give away its stubborness and release its ill-form and take on a new shape.

You and I are blacksmiths of our lives. Of our destinies and habits. But we need that furnace in order to change our metal to a form that is useful. A beautiful form that can be better appreciated. Pain tutors us to absorb the harder, more difficult lessons that we otherwise would not have the ability to understand in our normal merry state.

Basically, the long and short of it is that: Allow yourself to see the lessons, messsage, intent, reason or objective for that pain in your life to be. Why is it there? Everything in this world for a reason - don't the wise say!. So that pain is something else in disguise. Think upon that will you. I'm grafting on it as I write.

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Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Getting more personal

I'm happy to announce that I've moved my blog to a new personalised branded address: http://www.izzonline.co.za/ which is right where you are now. The old address will from now on no longer be treated as a live blog and will outdate. In all future visits, please dial http://www.izzonline.co.za/ . Isn't that easy to remember when you need to refer a friend to!

Thank you for your support and I'm busy thinking of more daily writings to put here for the next four months. Yes, the year has gone by just before our eyes, hands and energies. Make sure the rest of it doesn't go by before your very dreams. That will not be good a feeling at the end of the year when your emotions automatically go into stock taking mode and you discover, to your shame, that not much of value has been attempted, done, or achieved in the year that is the 007.

In case you hadn't noticed during July (07), 2007 was the only year in our lifetime to have the lucky number sequence, the jackpot: 7.7.7. I'm happy to announce that I took full exploiting advantage of it as I used it to rocket launch myself into achieving my childhood dream of writing a book - and boy is the book going well (I'm even toying with a plan to self-publish so you can bet it will be on the shelves and Amazon.com, without doubt or rejection slip collection from you know who.

And it is on the 07 07 07 that I laid my first sentence and in fact, created the entire plot and characters of the story. These words sounds vain, but the story and the writing are brilliant. Anyways, this entry was about custom domain http://www.izzonline.co.za/, which is a bit vain itself. Pardon me, for it is rare of my nature.

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Friday, July 27, 2007

Izzonline July compilation

Each month end I'll be recollecting, in compilatoin, izzonline best posts, if not most, in terms of what really helped me get through multiple rainbows of emotions and maze of thoughts. And hopefuly you can cement some of your personal learnings too. On your marks, ready, GO:

Conversation withi Paulo Coelho
Now, what happens Mr Coelho, when you do all the best that you can to be better in your community and interact humanely with others, especially your friends - and they throw it all back in your face.
http://izzonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/conversation-with-paulo-coehlo.html

Beat the path of your heart
Heaped with worry that trickles to our hearts, we fail to develop a sense of hearing the song in our heart - a calling that says, 'beat this path', 'this is your purpose give it your all', 'follow your heart'.
http://izzonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/beat-path-of-your-heart.html

Smiles and laughs half the stress
Take time to smile and to laugh. That's the best medicine for so many inner human malices. When you smile, you're turning a frowned or otherwise indifferent face in to a beautiful emotion mirror.
http://izzonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/smiles-and-laughs-half-stress.html

Be honest with your heart
Better be the best first version of yourself than a second version of somebody else, it reminded me. And with that, I made a pact between my heart (the inspiration) and head (the writer) that you shall write as you feel and think. Not as you read and copied.
http://izzonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/be-honest-with-your-heart.html

Forgiveness purifies your heart to keep more love
Now for you, in moments of challenge, a challenge to forgive when forgiveness is most needed, where do you stand? (And it's most needed when you deny it).
http://izzonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/forgiveness-purifies-your-heart-to-keep.html

We fear a thing called nothing
Fear is pure melancholy and no more. It's a feeling like any other and we can either choose to embrace it or let go of it and just be.
http://izzonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/we-fear-thing-called-nothing-laughable.html

Don't fight your own
And because I was in fight mode, it took me longer to realise that the damage being done didn't justify the fight. That I was eating away at the foundations of something precious, something I could barely be happy without.
http://izzonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/dont-fight-your-own.html

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