Heritage Day

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Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!

 

 

 

 

Druidry and Prayer – A Review

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It is just before midnight in a small, stuffy, but comfortable enough room to feel like home and I certainly am not fully aware of what I am writing; I find this is the best time to actually take it on. In my previous blog post: Experiencing The Storm I had only begun reading a book which in a matter of moments helped change my outlook on life.
I wanted to write the review in a formal manner, I  was going to research and practice until I felt I knew how best to write this (as if any formality or craftsmanship could ever do this piece justice).
When it comes to Nimue Brown’s work (the bits I have  been fortunate enough to read) I feel like a sort of groupie, never having anything but amazing things to not only say, but also feel.

‘Hello! Would it be so wrong of me to say, that I dislike religion to such an extent that I get nauseous just reading the word?’

Druidry and Prayer is not a self help book (because I cannot stomach those)… neither is it your conventional guide to being spiritual (those taste like cardboard in my mind) – it is the calming tablet for an uneasy mind…

The uneasy mind which loses sleep more often than not, because the ignorance of the world and its politics drives it to a point of maddening anger; because life is shit and there definitely would be no comfort in performing a mindless hand-me-down ritual of a religion that is filthier than the most neglected sewerage place thingy.

What I appreciate most about this book is that right in the beginning we are soothed and our doubts as to, whether or not we made a mistake opening the book  are erased as we are taken through the context of otherwise sickening words… for example,
‘ Religion: For me a religion is a formal and proscribed social structure with functions that can be understood entirely in social and psychological terms. ‘
Had this not been part of the book, I probably would have not carried on much further with it.
‘Talking about Gods’ in itself helps broaden your perspective and prepares you for an easy to swallow reality check.

I could ramble on about all the bits of the book that resonated and the bits I am certain will have an effect on any and every person who does read it all the way through, but why spoil this magical journey for the rest of you?

‘Dear whatever is out there, I climbed out of my self made grave because you threw at me a thing I would have never imagined could exist.’

Let’s forget all we have been spoon-fed, let’s work on the magic within ourselves and in the process empower those around us who need it most.

If there is one book I would say is a necessity to have read; Druidry and Prayer by Nimue Brown would be it. I’d have someone read it to me when the time comes and I begin chasing the white light – really… I would.

And The Winner Is…

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After a day of many bad emotions I decided it urgent enough to make  my business everyone else’s. Tonight I rage! Yes! Rage against every law, every stupid rule that society has deemed fit to exist. I do not and will never truly within myself accept other people’s opinions on what is right and what is wrong. Disappointment to me is worse than pain. It is a feeling that leaves one with such a foul taste it makes nightmares seem like nightingales in comparison. My passion in one is compiled of hatred for religion and politics for they are one and the same… for societal norms… I hate that I have had to grow up in an emotionally and financially hostile environment, I hate the people involved in it being so. For the first time in ages I feel truly like an 8 year old – hiding in a corner again, crying tears of hatred and pretending that I don’t actually understand how this wheel of shit turns. 

image

I have lived with broken, moulded, hard-working, honest fools. Yet I am doomed to be one of them because my stupid heart feels… it feels shame and pain and love and every other bullshit emotion that keeps us from
truly evolving. I feel like Vader before Vader if any of u know what I mean… I’m pissed off and I wish that I had it in me to be selfish enough to excel… to stand on top and laugh… laugh so hard that my heart ceases to beat. Is my idiocy worse, that I cannot allow my anger to overtake the bigger part of who I am? I love – I love a heart which wishes for me to be a just fool… a fool without fault… because I’ve been told;  I am a fool with potential… I am a fool who could slave the right way and earn the approval of monkeys that I barely care about anyway.
‘Monkeys killing monkeys killing monkeys over pieces of the ground. Silly monkeys, give them thumbs they’ll forge a blade a and beat a brother down; right in two.’

Art of Healing

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Human branding is the process in which a symbol or ornamental pattern is burned into the skin of a person, with the intention that the resulting scar makes it permanent. This is done by using a hot or very cold branding iron; alternatively a design may be stencilled on to one’s skin and thereafter burned using a hot, thin piece of steel. It therefore uses the physical techniques of animal branding on a human, either with consent as a form of body modification; as punishment or imposing masterly rights over an enslaved or otherwise oppressed person. It may also be practiced as a “rite of passage” such as within a tribe.

Why a brand?

Two weeks ago, my psychologist asked me to complete this sentence:

‘In life I have the potential to be…’

Before I could answer he added that I might want to think about something which in my opinion would require more than one lifetime to achieve.

“In life I have the potential to be a revolution.”

He then proceeded to tell me that there was an error in my sentence as one person cannot be a revolution… one person can (according to him) only be a part of a revolution or be a revolutionary. He teasingly mocked me for the bad sentence construction and I waited for him to finish off before trying to clarify my reply to him.

It went something like this.

“You asked me to describe my potentially achieving something which may take more than one lifetime to get to… being a single revolution is exactly that. The things that are done behind closed doors stay there for the most part, but what if we were brave enough to show even those things? What if we made a point of not doing anything that we would not feel free to share with the rest of the world? A revolution in my sense of the word means – a world without secrets. I do not mean the physical world, but a single world (my world) for example. It would take more than one life time for me to learn how to love myself enough to freely admit my wrongs along with my rights and to stop covering up the things that I am afraid of exposing. It would take more than a lifetime to speak without holding back or wonder how many people think me stupid for the things I do and say. So my answer remains. In life I have the potential to be a revolution.”

So far most of what history has to offer us in terms of branding or body modification is mostly negative… Anabaptists got crosses branded on their foreheads… and A was given to men and women who’d committed adultery… criminals and animals alike.

I prefer branding because in my opinion it is more personal. My first brand was of a bio hazardous symbol… it represented the chaos I had overcome, the chaos to come… the challenges and ‘hazards’. It’s not like a tattoo (don’t get me wrong I love tattoos as well) where you’re having to add-on to your body in order to create a form of art, but it is your own body creating its own form of art through healing.

Coming to appreciate a certain symbol or drawing to such a great extent that one would like to literally have it as a part of them must mean that it gave them hope throughout the bad times and made them smile broader when things were good… Branding is my form of art… a part of my Dada and also a part of my Druidry. Sometimes while the burn is still fresh, the artist stops to moisten the brand and then to air it out; those are probably my favourite moments, when I can literally feel the heat, air and water playing along almost literally under my skin slowly forming a part of who I am… who I am yet to become; Many professionals will tell you that attempting to doctor this wound will either cause infection or it will just prolong the healing process. The sun, the air, water while showering etc. And the earthly bacteria and germs… all those things help speed up the healing process.

I may not be a revolution in this lifetime, but I am striving to have as little secrets as possible.

So if branding is wrong according to everyone else, that’s alright with me because I am not ashamed of it and ‘If flowers want to grow right out of concrete sidewalk cracks. I’m going to bend down and smell them.’

Next up…

The Philosopher’s Stone