The Most Beautiful Bird

Traveling-in-the-Sunflowers

The most beautiful bird
in the whole, wide world-
for beauty is in the heart of the beholder,
the bravest of them all,
powerhouse behind the scenes,
the one with the largest role
and the greatest burden,
whose praises are too many,
too heavy for my lips,
is the vulture.

They put the unwanted in their bodies,
decaying, dying carcasses,
the excruciatingly repulsive,
with odours so bad they sting-
pinching the nose, mouth and throat;
they take the defenceless unburied,
and make them theirs forever,
desiring them,
keeping them,

crowning the untouchables in themselves.

They prevent the spread of diseases,
cleaners and healers,
eating the painful past away
as we welcome the future,
the keepers of the flame

when the fire is long gone,
proving again and again
that no one and no thing is a waste,
even in their lowest states.

Vultures give the purest love
but they never receive the same,
seldom appreciated,
as they constantly save the living
and quietly serve the dead.

Oh, to be half as graceful and strong as the vulture!
Oh, to be as willing!
Oh, to be as brave!
Oh, to be as good!

095f733f4f24ebd3a82c14ad34d965aa

_______________________

Vulture Spirit

“What seems hideous has its own beauty, and the recycling and repurposing the vulture does is as important as any other activity in nature that supports the cycle of life. Vulture Spirit’s message is that nothing is to be wasted, for Nature sees value in everything that exists. What seems rotten and ugly has the potential to be transmuted into something beneficial, and you are reminded that any suffering you have experienced has not gone to waste. Wisdom and understanding that arose from the experience are talismans that will serve you on your journey wherever you go. What is decaying is only changing form and will fertilize seeds you wish to plant, turning that which has passed away into the substance that will support new growth. All that you might wish to deny or discard has value and can be repurposed and reintegrated into the new you that you are becoming and the new life that you are dreaming into being. No pain was in vain and no experience was wasted, for you have the power to use it to co-create something far better. This is the miracle in your partnership with Spirit.”
– Colette Baron-Reid

The American Jesus

Michael-Jackson-And-Jesus

‘Michael, the American Jesus’ by David LaChapelle

Jesus is one of the ascended masters and deities that I still adore, that I still commune with. The Jesus (or ‘Yeshua’, the actual earthly name that he had) who loved children and was kind to everyone, who was so popular (people had to climb trees to catch a glimpse of him, and struggle through crowds to touch him), breaking as many stupid rules as he could during his earthly incarnation, focusing on love, forgiveness, kindness, and healing, despite the injustice that he suffered and the false news that was spread about him in religious & non-religious places. Yahweh, whose very essence is ‘spirit’, not ‘Christian’, not even ‘Jew’, not bound by any man-made ideologies or the accounts of who he was that was documented in the Bible many centuries ago.

The very essence of the spirit of Jesus is very peaceful, loving, kind, and true. People are focusing on the earthly incarnation of Jesus, mostly uninterested in who the spirit is. They are turning to the books of Matthew, Mark, John, and Luke to look up what Jesus the Man said (as far as we know, yeah), not caring so much about what Jesus meant, and most-importantly, what Jesus is saying now, which is quite redundant, if you ask me, especially since you acknowledge daily that spirits exist even after an earthly incarnation, that Jesus is alive somewhere.  

If Jesus was to return as a human today, you will absolutely not find him in a church, or a cathedral, or anywhere near the pope. There are more chances of finding him in Jasmine Masters or Bobrisky’s living room, or the orphanage, or with the people of the Amazon, than any of those places. To the Pharisees, he was a major weirdo, and it’s not hard to see why. He wasn’t a member of the religious elite, in a sense, but he was, and that was uncomfortable.

People have made an ideology, a political system, and a cult out of what they think God/Spirit and Jesus are, and it is scary, to say the least. The wickedness that has been carried out in those names, the discrimination, the hatred, the scamming, and everything else, is nauseating.

A majority of people do not understand what they are doing in Jesus’ name; they just go with the flow. It has become a game of ‘those who will make it to Heaven’ versus ‘those who will make it to hell’ much more than anything else, and that’s quite stupid because all our souls came from Heaven. We’ve walked the streets of gold, we’ve seen other realms, and we can all chill. Religion has an uncanny ability to make people very proud of and confident in their ignorance, and it’s an ugly sight to behold.

This is a really good painting. There are distinct similarities between the last earthly incarnations of Michael and that of Jesus, both being sons of ‘Joseph’ but not really, much more, betrayed by the very people that they trusted and loved (for money and acceptance).

Still Feeling Good

pink-shells-bob-and-jan-shriner

Birds flying high
and pooping on me,
sun in the sky
and burning my skin,
breeze winding on by
and coming at me,
it’s the same day,
there is no dusk,
it’s the same life for me,
but I’m feeling good.

Sex is Ruining our World

Mulata

I actually don’t mean the title, it’s ridiculous, and I am a hater.

I went to the database of the International Association of the Unlaid to find the list of individuals who are destined to depart from this cold, hard [lmao, what fuckery] world without ever experiencing intercourse with other individuals, and my name was first on the list. Brethren, believe you me, I was not surprised in the least.

Each time I imagine myself existing in that state of vulnerability that one has to be in to engage in the moment of action that is sex, the thought sends shivers up and down my spine. That won’t be me, God; that can’t possibly be me. Inherently, or perhaps it isn’t, I don’t know,  I can never find true pleasure in a state of vulnerability, and sex involves many things including the surrendering of pride and power. It is a non-violent act of violence. Don’t take the last sentence seriously; I don’t know what I’m on about.

A few years ago, when I used to travel to my mum’s rented residence at Okuku, the same town where my mum was a professor and the head of her department at the Osun State University, there was a perverted individual within the vicinity. He was the landlady’s son and I called him ‘Uncle Raphael, as per the culture. If someone is old enough to be your uncle, ‘uncle’ has to precede their name before it is uttered.

Whenever my mum wasn’t looking, he would look at me weirdly, suggestively, so I avoided him at all costs. I have never told my mum this, and I can certainly see how people who have gone through serious forms of molestation, especially of the sexual nature, keep quiet about it, even for the rest of their lives.

Whenever my mum gave me her clothes to wash, and we sometimes would travel with dirty clothes so I could wash them whenever she was away at her university, I would wash them indoors, in the bath, and although I knew she would give me a piece of her mind whenever she returned for doing so instead of doing the washing outside, I couldn’t exactly tell her why. I was trying to avoid Raphael. I stayed indoors until the afternoon or evening, until I could hear my mum’s car horn outside the gate; I am an indoor-loving person anyway.

Raphael was a completely different person whenever my mum was around. He was a bit cold towards me, almost mean. There was this one time that I slept off and rain fell, making the clothes that I had spread get super-wet all over again, and as my mum was scolding me for not paying attention to the rain, he was too. It was mind-blowing.

My mum spoke highly of him, and she would many times call him ‘Uncle
Raphael’ too, even though she is very much older than him. She would thank him for running errands for her and stuff- some of it had to do with the fact that she was the landlady’s son, I believe.

My whole family took a vacation of sorts to my mum’s residence at a time, and after I had made the meal [I am the first and only daughter of four children, my natal Saturn is in the 1st house, I am not even 30 yet but I have the maturity of a 55-year-old, and I have had to work quite hard till this day], I was told to go into the car to get something- I don’t remember what it was. I grabbed the torch, left the residence, and headed to the car.

There he was, right in front of his residence, as it was next to my mum’s, staring at me like a wild cat [no offence to cats, I love y’all], like he was about to devour me. He was calling me, and I think he may have hastened his steps as I ran to the car. He didn’t run after me, so instinctively, I knew I was going to be ambushed. I remember being very terrified to return to the residence. I got whatever it was and headed for the residence, and as I expected, he was lurking by a wall in the dark, waiting for me.

I kept telling him to leave me alone. The whole thing happened quickly; he carried me, and he kept trying to force a kiss on me. I kept trying to struggle free, but of course, he was stronger than me. I used to be short and slim. I’m still short, just not slim. I can remember how uncomfortable I felt that night; the whole thing was quite distressing.

Then he heard his mum’s voice. It happened not too far from his mother’s quarters and she must have heard me tell him to leave me alone. She was seated, and I can remember her calling his name, ‘Raphael!’. He seemed surprised that she had seen him since she would have been asleep at the time, I assume, and he quickly left me alone.

My family was to leave the town not too long after, and he asked me for a parting gift after he let me go. I gave him a can of Malta Guinness; it was either out of relief or confusion, I don’t know. There were only six cans in the house, and my family members were to have one each. When my mum asked if I had taken my share, I pretended that I had taken the drink. My father was around too, and I couldn’t tell either of them what had happened.

It bothered me for a long time; it bothers me to this day. I wish it didn’t, because nothing really happened, and a voice in my head keeps telling me that the experience I just narrated may be quite insulting to people who have been through more-serious forms of rough handling. The memory of being so vulnerable and unable to defend myself, unable to save myself from Raphael’s very-strong grip, is quite painful. I could have been somewhere between 11-15 years old; I don’t remember vividly.

I have a very strong phobia of being kissed, being held or hugged for longer than necessary, and definitely intercourse. I somewhat believe that my experience has nothing to do with those fears; it is who I am inherently, guarded, not just a late bloomer. I gave myself my first kiss with a mirror and that’s it; I don’t need anymore.

I have a feeling that there will be a change in the future, that perhaps, when I am in my 30s or 40s, I will meet someone, male or female, I don’t care, and when we both look into each other’s eyes, the rest will be history- I will want to be touched in that way. I just don’t see it happening, and I am, for some reason, quite determined to not let it happen, but we’ll see. Life always happens, and life has a very interesting sense of humour.

I mean the title, it’s not ridiculous, and I will tell you why I think so when I make a second part to this- Sex is Ruining our World II. 

Outeraction

sunflower-5-daily-oil-by-Krista-Hasson

‘Sunflower’ by Krista Hasson

I’m running out of breath;
my sweat is overflowing.

My thighs are widely apart;
he’s in six-feet deep.

I can taste my tears;

I can’t feel my legs.

He’s giving me life but
I know this is deadly.


Whose grave is he digging?

Is it mine or his?

Will I die again 
or is this the good living?

Till Death Do Us Part

ttt

Let’s stay together,
if not my heart you’ll sever,
till death do us part.

I’ll do anything for you,
try anything you want to,
till death do us part.

Your pain is my pain,
your love is my gain,
till death do us part.

This isn’t right,
this isn’t healthy,
but you say that I’m your lady,
and I like when you call me ‘baby’,
so let’s be wild,
let’s be free,
and listen to no one but we,
let us be one and the same,
neither needs to take the blame,
my life is you and me,
without you, I cannot breathe or sleep,
without you, I cannot see,
our love is ill,

and it might kill,
but I’ll stay with you,
oh yes, I will,
till death do us part.

Enough is enough, except you can’t get enough.
Substitute Title: Houston-Winehouse Love

Differently-Abled

Disabled-parking-731338

My legs may not walk as they should,
and my eyes may not see,
my ears may not hear as they should,
and my mouth may not speak,
my nose may not breathe as it should,
and my arms may not reach,
but I am not flawed,
and certainly not disabled,
I am differently-abled,
earth angel on a special mission
to create, heal and inspire,
and whether you know it or not,
or love and understand me,

what a beauty that is!

For Toma.

painty

🌻
Accessibility/convenience and the portrayal of differently-abled persons in the media, especially in movies, must be looked into in Nigeria. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to see an actor play the role of a person with cerebral palsy if there are people with the condition who are looking to perform but have never been given a chance. I will personally rubbish your movie on any platform that I get a chance to. Fight me.

From the classrooms to the stores to the public vehicles, the structures that are in place are rather poor, most of the people are terribly insensitive, and the environment is rather hostile to differently-abled persons. This goes for several other African and Asian countries too.

My Love, I Don’t Understand

Screen Shot 2019-05-31 at 3.14.35 PM

‘ Reclining Lady’ by Margaret Garcia

Baby, now that you’re out of flesh,
do you really still see me?
Do you rub my belly when we’re together alone?
Do you still hold my hand when I pee?

Darling, now that you don’t have a mouth,
can you still taste some of my food?
Do you still giggle when I dance unclad for you?
Do I still get you in the mood?

Honey, without your hands and arms,
can you feel my temperature when I’m ill?
Do you twitch my nipples and kiss my lips?
Is my love a thing you can feel?

My love, do you like my new waist beads?
I can’t tell, and it’s driving me crazy.
Why won’t you come take me,
so I can be with you?
Will we never make a baby?

Talking About the Way We Talk

margaret garcia

Painted by Margaret Garcia


I am beginning to dislike talking. 🤷🏽‍♀️ I don’t get irritated all the time, but yes, I do most times. I can bear hearing people talk, nicely, for hours and hours on end, as long as my input is not necessarily required, and if it is, not for very long. It is a weird thing to confess but it is true.

My solar return chart says my Mercury, Mars, and North Node are in the 12th house, and this feeling may or may not be related to that, but the hard sounds that we make when we talk, as humans in general (me included), are getting very hard on my ears, especially when we say unkind things. It makes my ears bleed. Although there’s never any blood, 😫  it feels that way. I wish we would speak softly more.

On the other hand, I enjoy music. I can’t survive for the next 12 hours without listening to lyrics and beats. I would get very uncomfortable.  

I listen to all kinds of artistes- Fela, Freddie, Sinatra, Michael, Nina, Amy, several others, for hours on end, and of course, some of these artistes are more soft-spoken than others. It’s interesting how beautiful even yelling becomes when it is done musically. I don’t ever get tired of listening to music. As a matter of fact, as soon as I stop listening to music, I get very stressed. It takes me about a minute to adjust to regular sounds.

I don’t dislike singing along either- I enjoy it! I sometimes get carried away at work.  I’m seated in front of my desktop, working and all, but I’m not really there. I’m somewhere else dancing away while doing my work, efficiently too. It’s amazing!

So, ladies and gentlemen, humankind, I would like to propose a change to the way that we talk! I am so excited; I hope you would be too!

Drum roll
😋
Drum roll
😋
Applause here
😋
Applause there
😋
Drum roll
😙
You probably already know what I’m about to propose.
😃

Let’s not talk; let’s sing! 

You know, speak rhythmically, even in our day-to-day conversations.

‘HeLlo, DiD yOu HaVe A GoOd NiGhT?’, la-la-la-la-la, and stuff. It’d be amazing! Imagine how beautiful it would be to speak rhythmically, and even quarrel rhythmically. ‘WeLl,  yOu, HuRt Me VeRy MuCh’ and stuff.

I’ll give you a minute to picture it. Go on.

1

It’d be more difficult to say something unkind because you would have to sing it. Ha! *sinister chuckle 😈*

I hope someone takes me seriously and this becomes possible sometime in the future. It’s 2019. By the year 2219, I (in whatever form I will be) would be pretty disappointed if we still speak the way we do.

Already, I know that we will use words less in the future. With the emergence of emojis and signs and stuff, and the vast reduction in the use of unnecessarily lengthy and vague words, it’d be interesting to see what’s next, as far as language is concerned.

It was pretty normal to say something like ‘wherefore hast thou made all men…’ in the past, but it’s reserved for theatre performances now. I will not be surprised if the way we speak now is even diluted further in the future.

On a more-serious note, I’m trying to picture how talking rhythmically would work in classrooms, if we were to start today, all of us. I teach Yorùbá language on YouTube, and it’d be super hard to try to teach the language rhythmically. Maybe we can reserve the way we talk now for certain functions, like teaching languages and presidential speeches, but speak rhythmically when addressing our children or co-workers and giving speeches. I’d love to give or hear a rhythmic speech.

This could work! It would be good for us and for mother nature, and for my eardrums. *Tsk* 😄

The First One Dies First

Hip Bone

‘Hip Bone’ by Gilbert Young

Yesterday,
you braced yourself.

With all the courage that you had,
you told them how you really felt,
and what all your affection meant.

Today,
they tell you that they love you.
They’re here to make your dark sky blue.
You give them butterflies inside too,
so they show you life,
and it’s brand new.
It’s an exciting time for you two,

and there’s nothing,
for your baby,
that you can’t do.

Tomorrow,
you’re going to have a big fight;

the things that they’ll say will hurt you.
If you threaten to leave if they don’t change,
they’ll react in a way that you’ll find strange.
The words that they’ll say will be quite true,
“I didn’t come to you first,
I didn’t want you.”