Tuesday 24 December 2013

Crossing the Bridge

Society’s culture is  very strange. It seems as if the very fabric of the culture/ belief systems which we embrace as a collective is cryptically stitched in such a way that it seeks to make people feel as small as possible wherever it can, however it can. How unfortunate is that? How unfortunate is it that most of us have to struggle to operate beneath a sheet of not good enough while knee deep in fear and an unrelenting self doubt? And why has this been perpetuated hitherto?

About a week ago I made a very minor mistake in the public. The mistake however, had the potential to be destructive to another person’s liability. All in all my attempt at apologizing proved futile. And while I did understand the person’s frustration with my mistake, the reasons for their less than polite reaction towards me even after my offertory of apologies, eluded me.

The habit of defining a person by one single action must be done away with. I think with the clutter of emotions and harsh realities that surround us it’s easy to forget that yours is one story out of a vast and varied seven billion. It’s important to remember that though your story is both sacred and important, as is the rest of the seven billion. 

When one reflects on society's past it is clear that we have been conditioned to relegate another’s worth from a very young age. Most parents continuously and passionately relate to their children that they are special, that they are important, that they are indeed a genius. And while all these may be true, it is not the whole story. But the whole story is never explained, the weight of the of the seven billion stories is too often left out in the scheme of things with regards to how the family as an institution socializes the child. Hence too many a time generations have been birthed with a self-indulgence, an innocent blindness, to the other worlds that that are revolving before their eyes.


When that type of mentality or outlook has been breathed into you from birth by parents who have had the same thing done to them it is hard to deviate. But it is important to note that that breath exudes negative energy in its self affirmations and unrecognized selfishness and that is not a life. That is not a life well lived. A life that actively does work to belittle others is not a life. And while in a world full of social constructs and boundaries of which very little is often considered too far or too much with regards to proximity, social responsibility, honesty and heartfelt kindness, one must still try to rid oneself of ignorance and proceed accordingly.



Love & Light
~Kerry-Ann

Wednesday 11 September 2013

Of souls.

      When I die,  when life has relegated me to nothing more than a lifeless host, I want to be cremated. There is a quote, one I cannot seem to remember quite accurately but I'm presently too lazy to search for it. However it expands to something of the effect:
              “You do not have a soul,
                you are a soul.
                You have a body.

      In this very moment, I feel as though our bodies are more of a cage than a companion to our souls. We spend our days full of worry and misplaced excitement over the preservation of our bodies. All its wants and selfish desires. In this moment, I feel as though our bodies often offer us unnecessary wars. And the weight of these wars lay heavy on souls that are merely trying to exist in joy. In this moment I feel as though even in on our good days our bodies are often not in the business of being a humble parallel, a home to our souls.
      Most nights of my teenage years have been spent contemplating the actuality of freedom, the reality that it is indeed a fleeting notion and the value it holds when placed in the same sinking boat of our survival. I try to think about freedom in its truest sense. Have I? I am unsure.
     By physical and scientific definition I am 19 years old. The science says that my body is 19 years old. But  I have come to know enough of myself in the past couple of months that my soul feels far older.There is a silent hint of familiarity that I can often taste in my tea on nights when the stars and my heart can't find the right amount of light to offer.
     I have come to believe that freedom is always fleeting. It is not something you stumble upon gracefully, it is not something you fall into like love, unaware of your thirsting. I believe that freedom is all the blood, sweat and tears of our choices. It is the badger of our beliefs. It is the flinting coursing through our veins in the face of resistance. Freedom cannot be stumbled upon. It is not the pretty or the hidden away of lighter things, those that soothe souls on Sundays. It is to be fought for. Everyday. It is the good fight for that good culture, that pure vibes. It is the god fight on the days when the tears can no longer hold secrets.
     It is the choice. The passion to choose and the bearing of the lacerations that come with such a choice. Freedom is not the ability to choose but it is the choice. Everyday, there is a fight waiting to be fought. Your freedom is waiting for you at the finish line, in the company of that authentic Jazz music and the spirit of the poets.
    When I die, I want to be cremated. I want my soul to be free, without the bother of a prison like body that is more enemy than friend. I want my soul to be free. I want my soul to be free, be embraced by the wind and make up for all the battles that I have failed to conquer.But while I am still breathing, I want to be free in such a way that I leave the choice as my legacy.


Love, Light and Freedom
-Kerry-Ann 

Friday 12 April 2013

Saturday 23 March 2013

Post Poetry Slam

Tonight was Convent's poetry slam, Surge. What an event it was! And in the haze of this loss of motivation and me struggling to hold onto everything that seems to defy gravity that vibe that polluted the convent air tonight didn't sit well with me. It was mere disrespect stirred well into a cup of immaturity. Maybe Mrs. Reyes was well within her right to call the police officers and to "put ppl out" of school. If you behave without regards for the dignity that rests inside of you and that rests inside of others then who is to respect you and what justification reels this respect in. Tonight the Convent girls and their companions were like animals caged for far too long who often go crazy with the taste of freedom. I imagine that Mrs. Reyes will be up late tonight like many form 6ers, cup of coffee within reach, wondering how to address us on Monday morning. I imagine that the school population is be riled up with uncertainty and confusion, ready to make senseless remarks drunk of their immaturity. It is easier to point a finger, say YOU! YOU! YOU! but it is also imperative to look at yourself and see the errors made by self in its self indulgent nature. It is important to understand cause and effect. It is important to introspect and see the boundaries that you may have crossed that may have triggered the reaction and the "tough love" of Mrs. Reyes. It is important to grow up and start trying to understand content.

#Selah

Monday 4 March 2013

#March. In like a lion. Out like a king.

Don't forget how lion-hearted you are

I prefer to be on my own. I do not wish to relegate the importance of souls and the joys they have to lend but I have come to know that my growth is accelerated when I'm taken out of the floods of noise and shadiness. The haziness tends to make one forget how lion-hearted they are. The pressures tend to make you feel so small, insignificant. This is not say that I do not possess the strength of a warrior. I am only trying to express that it's easier to face those silent most infernal wars in the absence of people.

Friday 1 March 2013

Discipline.
Discipline.
Discipline.
Discipline.
Discipline.
Discipline.
Discipline.
Discipline.
Discipline.

Tuesday 19 February 2013

#thestruggleisreal

I am going to get 6 ones and whatever physics gives me in these CAPE exams. THIS IS GOING TO BE DONE.


MIND OVER MATTER.

MIND OVER MATTER.

MIND OVER MATTER.

MIND OVER MATTER.

MIND OVER MATTER.

MIND OVER MATTER.

MIND OVER MATTER.

MIND OVER MATTER.

Sunday 17 February 2013

"There will come a day when the fear of death will be the favourite joke passed among corpses, and they're already laughing"


Remembering


For months, something kept reminding me to keep forgetting how lovely it was to waltz with God. Tonight, somehow, I didn't remember to forget that answers and a wealth of Sundays are safely set in God.  Tonight I remembered that God is a poet. Tonight I remembered that I am Catholic and that there is an imperative truth that I’m still yet to find and live and be baptized in. Tonight I remembered that I am not God. I am not God. I am not God. Tonight I remembered how much faith my Grandfather had in me. Tonight i remembered my grandfather.

Sitting alone on a Sunday night listening to all it’s well kept secrets my chiffrobe fell apart.There were bottles of vodka, Hennessy and afflictions falling everywhere. There were tears falling everywhere. Sitting in a river of tears I learnt about baptism. Sunday, there is something so sacred and holy about you. There is something so raw and truthful about the way the strength of your silence doesn't hesitate to say " Kerry-Ann you beg too much! You fuck shit up too much!". As I sat alone, on the cold cream tiles bare and lost with all my broken pieces scattered before me I remembered how to heave afflictions up, stare them in the face and come to terms with reality. This Sunday I sat, broken pieces before me sprinkled with salty tears, I sat there and learnt all about how minimum my growth has been. I realized that something in the soles of  my feet insist on dancing backwards and my clumsy heart keeps forgetting how to love and has become far too familiar with hate. Tonight Sunday told me that the struggle is real and that there is nothing comical about it.

...