Intuitions

GOLD AND DAWN, SONGS, LONELINESS AND STRENGTHS

~ Che ~ 6 Comments

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Gold glitters, but if all that glitters were gold, the world would be a place of great glitter and much emptiness.

Dawn ever arrives. No matter how dark the night, it will melt away when dawn awakens the travelling sun, and there will be laughter when you hear the voices of children playing in the morning…

Songs are a thing that are born mysteriously, and every moment everywhere hath its own songs too and there is no end to songs and games – and this has often mystified me.

And loneliness is a guest that comes and goes as he pleases, and once you get used to him, he becomes easy to live with and, together, both of you achieve many things which on your own you could not achieve, even if the whole world were to aid you.

There are some masterpieces which only lonely artists can create. There are some wars which only an army of lonely soldiers can win. There is a certain love which only two lonely hearts can share with one another. And loneliness seeks itself in you – but when loneliness goes away from you again, do not follow.

I am not strong. But when I unite with golden dawn and lonely songs, they make me the canvas on which they paint their dreams, and I am strong again. And free.

Gold and dawn, songs, loneliness and strengths.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

LOVE AND POETS, FOOLS, DREAMS AND SEEKERS

~ Che ~ 5 Comments

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Our dreams do not die, but when we misinterpret them, we make fools of ourselves. Big fools. But it is love again that maketh the biggest fools of us all, especially of poets and dreamers.

I dream my dreams, I write my poems, but still the nearest I come to the love in my heart are these words on paper that I write. And it is not me that you love, but my poetry. And fools continue to dream and poets continue to write love-poems and I continue to change.

But I do not believe the myth, oh no. The younger you are, I know, the deeper you love. Love does not make fools of youths, only of adults.

My chest hurts. It is cold somewhere strange and far…

How really good are the things I write? If you knew the amount of pain and loneliness, the pressure of gleaned recognition, the deep sorrow under which I write them down, my friend, you would read them gently and tenderly and with a thought for all those who labour away but are called fools and dreamers by those for whom they also write. Aye, if you knew the pain mingled with the ink which write these lines, you would weep for everybody on earth and beyond.

But do not cry for me… when I write, I shed my pain.

But she never goes away, my love, like a deer. She is only shy and a little wary of strange men, and all men are strange. I’ve been to many places, but no place ever confounded me quite like the heart of the woman I love. It was a room of mirrors and all I see was myself everywhere. But so would everybody else too who found their way into her – and yet her heart does not lie. It only reflects the truth. So I got mad and smashed her heart… and – what do you know? – instead of hating me for causing her pain, she loved me fiercely for freeing her from her loneliness and fear.

Poets seek love – and find poems…

Fools seek love – and find dreams…

Seekers seek truth – and find love…

Love and poets, fools, dreams and seekers.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

FRIENDS AND CASTLES, LAKES, MOUNTAINS AND MYSTERIES

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Friends are true friends when they will not go away from you in search of something which they merely sense that you can give them; and they can wait a thousand years for you, because they simply love you.

Castles are places where those who have love can live without guilt, and those who have no love cannot live without guilt, because every castle is an amalgamation of the qualities of the souls that inhabit it. Castles breathe.

Lakes, although they treasure a mystery, will only show you your own face, and if you must know what lies inside the heart, then you must break through the face on the surface of the lake. Lakes speak never.

Mountains are mighty until you have conquered them… and then they become mightier than ever, each mount, but now you know why it stands there, because you have crowned it. Even after you die, the mountain will remember those who crowned him once, and forever; and when you return again, he will whisper your name not once, but thrice… mountains live forever in my heart. You are my heart, sweet woman.

Friends and castles, lakes, mountains and mysteries.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

FAÇADES

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When your friends frown at you, as you wonder what you have done wrong, remember that frowning can be a façade with which the supreme virtue in you masks its beauty, because of your envy or its love.

And when your friends smile, as you endeavour to smile along, remember too that smiling is the most convenient façade behind which the supreme vice in you can hide itself and remain undetected, unchecked.

And tears, even tears – our most sacred tears – cannot be trusted. For save when you cry to yourself alone, you betray. Friend, when you cry to me, you betray me, so long as you know why you are crying. And if you do not possess this knowledge, then it is your soul that betrays you. And you still betray me.

And, finally, there is Seeming, ah, Seeming… the supreme garment of all, which I weaved my very own self. Nothing is as dear to me as my Seeming, for it ensures that when I am with you I can feel at home without, at the same time, ceasing to feel completely at home with myself. Yes, Seeming is indeed the supreme garment, almost tending towards nature. Almost. If only it did not leave me divided amongst myselves – I cannot stand!

Façades. People hide behind façades, of ignorance or wisdom, of inarticulateness or eloquence, of bravery or cowardice. Human hides innocence and nakedness behind façades, for fear of being shunned by fellow human for being mad or simply different. We hide behind façades of which lying is barely even one. And the worst part of it all is that we have forgotten, forgotten going into hiding, forgotten who, forgotten what, we really are – and, in our gruesome attempt to belong, have finally become the façades behind which we die.

Think of a worse hell, and I’ll give you a clap.

 – Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

THE NOISY CHILD

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I walk the streets, the broken streets. I encounter people, broken people. I see the materialisation of broken dreams – and suddenly I understand a-deeper, that a child was silenced at dawn. Ssshh! Keepquiet! Shutup! Don’ttalk! Can’t you see that adults are talking! Stopthat! Standthere! Standstill! Obey before you complain! You’re just a child! You’re still a child! DO as you’re told! You will understand only when you’ve grown… – But by the time they grow, poor children, they’ve forgotten whatever it was they once wanted to say or what once they wanted to know… – – – I walk the streets, the broken streets. I encounter adults, broken adults… noisy… empty… silent… silenced. I see the forgotten memory of the broken dreams blowing in the evening wind under a sad sun. And I understand once again, that once upon a crucial early time, a child was told to be still… stillborn.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

LONELY, BROTHER

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I have a lonely brother, born of a single mother and father, lonely and alone, trudging patiently home through the land of snow-mountains and smoke-forests and sandy deserts, not to forget the bottomless sea. He has few friends, for few comprehend him, even though he treasures the goal also all so alone. I want to help him, but I do not know how to, nor does he always accept help. I know only that, in the end, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Are you lonely, brother? Nobody is ever alone. An angel, a beast or a solitary star – one of these is always there with you and me. If I am not my brother’s keeper, who is? And whose keeper then am I? I guess I keep again our second goal.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

FRIENDSHIP

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To laugh heart to heart always. To cry heart to heart always. No heart on today’s earth can laugh completely without first crying completely, because only that Pain can unbolt a bolted heart – the pain of friendship. Friendship does not come easy, even when you think it just popped up right from the very first moment – that was merely the seed. Now you have to plant it, water it, tend it, nurture it patiently – and, hopefully, finally reap the fruit and the flower, after the pain… the pain of friendship. I will always be your friend, I vow. When it grows dark, remember my words…

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

YOU, MY RIVER

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I see you in this moment as a river, flowing out.

If you touch it, it makes your fingers wet. If you drink it, you get thirstier. If you watch it, you never come to find out its wherefrom or whereto. If you dive in, it takes you to a place from which you can’t return.

So you have to be strong, and outriver the river and outthirst your thirst, for the river flows in you.

And if these words mystify you, then you understand the effect you have on many people.

But when you dive in, dive deep into the river’s bed and clench its roots with your teeth and bite, so hard, that it bleeds. Then will you see the river run…

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.