I woke up and a memory from years ago assailed my mind.  It was a conversation about spiritual sicknesses and how they are like boils and cancers.     An elder from my former church who held me in high esteem and whom I respected a great deal phoned me up after she heard I had a child outside wedlock   I recall that sunny day vividly as I stood at the balcony of our Banana Island offices overlooking the car park of the Telco where I worked   When the issue of my burden of shame and feeling like a failure

"How were you invited to the party and your brother was not?" I prodded as we cycled around the Park. "I don't know" "But aren't you all in the same class?" I tentatively asked during this mother-and-son bonding session. Drawing water out of this well when he does not want to talk is an art I am still learning "Yes. But *Sean* and *Prince* are in different groups so they do not talk to each other" Sean is his friend-brother while Prince is the birthday

"Do not tell me.  I don't want to hear it again".  I groaned as anger-spiced tears sprang.  By now, I had uncurled from the Baby pose to a Plank position on my Prayer Mat.  The words rankled as I read them "for I know the plans I have for you, plans for welfare and not for evil. To give you a future and a hope.  Then you will call on me and..."  "But when will you do it?   I have been banging on your door for how long now over this simple thing yet you.....". I pounded the floor in frustration with fists thereby

The Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi celebrates the transience and imperfection of life.It sees beauty where we see ugliness. Detour where we see a cul-de-sac. And from it derives the concept of Kintsukuroi - A word which urges us to accept failings and extend grace to ourselves and others.Kintsukuroi profoundly challenges our grasp of aesthetics. In a world where damaged and ageing are shamed, kintsugi takes broken pottery and instead of tossing them away like rubbish, restructures them with gold. That simple process ushers in a new life while still celebrating the old.   In a recent post,

As I stood there with the flower vase staring at him angrily while he argued, conflicting thoughts crisscrossed through my mindfield.     "Think before you say the next thing now so I do not smash this thing on your head"  But as he continued talking, I shut the door and walked.   "Phew, that was close!  at what point did I leave the soothing warmth of my early morning Father-daughter bonding to this mother-son heated brouhaha?"   The last thing I recall was going to the fridge for some milk.  And now I stood by the kitchen counter pacing my breath.  

Hello Lucifer, My grandfather, Reverend David Nwokocha, died at 100+ years.  He could not stand the boredom after his wife left. My grandmother, Mama-Ukwu was 87 when she bowed out with dignity My mother SUB, a septuagenarian is still here. My father SI ran off at 74.  His soul became weary after the accident and for the next six years he humoured his willful wife by holding out .   You and I both know that your intent was to take him out when that car ran over a stationary man.  A plot which Heaven foiled. I did not meet my paternal grandparents.