What is Your Drug?

God did not create religion. He created man, he then commanded man to multiply and fill the earth. In that very instant, he gave man a  precious gift; love, because he said; Love me, then love your brother like you would yourself. Religion is a weed sowed into man’s heart by the ruler of the world. It is a drug to many.

Why do people experience thoughts that aren’t real?  Feelings that plagues and subdues them into believing there is no escape, no better life for them until their lives end. It assumes the role of a god, but it’s just one in a plethora of worldly spirits.  Not too long ago, I had such a demon. It filled me with feebleness, told me nobody loved me, I was nothing; but by what some might call a lucky streak I received the saving grace and clung to it, albeit it wasn’t luck because that grace is abundant and available for every single person, whether they have a worldly spirit or not. Just forsake that tormenting voice of hopelessness and destruction. Find that reinvigorating grace and let it become your new addiction.

What is your drug? Is it an abusive relationship, is it grieve over a decedent, or is the fear of letting go? What will you do when you have no more tears left?

I have never learned to say goodbye. After my Grandmum’s premature demise, my family hid it from it for as long as they could. It was easier too because I was in boarding school.  Then I found out, and I was insouciant. The origin of my alexithymia, and many lonesome nights. I avoided the funeral, matter of fact, I have no clue about her final resting place. Then one night I was having a  nightmare. Or a vision, not sure, but I saw her, she came to me. I wanted to know where she was, so I asked and she told me to come to her, with her and find out. I was going to, then I got a bad feeling on getting closer. That apparition wasn’t my Grandmum, I woke up. It took a while for me to process that dream, and I still haven’t completely but I do know why it happened. I had to face the fact that she would never come to visit again, bringing toys and food, that we couldn’t stay up late in the night practicing Yoruba anymore. I had to bury her.

So you see, alcohol and oxycodone are not our only drugs of choice. It takes a lot of self-reflection. One must be willing to tear themselves apart. What we discover could shake the foundation of our identity. It’s hard but then we discover whom/what the master is. We all have one or more, even the people who think they don’t (In that case it’s probably pride).

Religion is a contentious son-of-a-bitch, imagine a scenario where you’re free from your master, and you’re running into the world, there are too many belief systems out there, all assuring you that their’s is the truth. Now you’re caught in between a rock and a hard place.  Here is where that sweet-savory graceful salvation swoops into the scene. Irrespective of religion, I chose to serve the omnipotent God.  You may take me to the Sikh’s gurdwara and I will extol him there because he alone is the plug. He has no hidden agenda.

There is no value in religion, race or human wisdom. The only valuable commodity is love. Even if we chose not to believe in anything, let’s not dismiss people because they haven’t attained similar social status as us,  or because they are freaks who have been admitted into the psych ward, once too often. They’re family. We should have compassion nevertheless for that is God’s will for us, to be addicted to the love he so richly provides to us, his people. God bless us.

 

 

 

Stella

In time, we will be nothing but a speck of dust, Buried in the ground, for others to tread upon Leaving a footprint that’ll haunt the living The beauty of life is that print we leave.

Father, Transform her from dust to dove. Release her into the wind. She’ll soar gracefully, through the valley of death

Transform her from dove to angel Heaven has no windows, yet she sees God, As clearly as a neonate opens their eyes for the first time to behold her parent. And she will know peace like never before —the kind the world she left behind could only imagine.

Dearest Stella.

1963 – 2018 .

Ode to a friend

With my eyes, I saw Orion

sculpted jawline, strong chin

Intelligent & prideful

 we’d compete, and you’d make it to top three

 

I wasn’t fair to you,

 just like he wasn’t fair to her

 I’d been a bad friend

my arrogance lead me

to the point that even when you

 were at your humblest,

 I turned away from you.

                                                                               

We should talk more

 I will call you more,

 sorry, not now. Not today.

                                                                               

 Then I see it

 tears trickle down, down, down

 I called. 

only this  time,

you’re not there to pick.

 You never will.

 

 

If my heart implodes,

it would be because

I couldn’t stop it sooner

from drowning.

Lost seemingly, without you.