The Wall

the wall

My size precedes me.
Say my name and people envision a hard time. A large guy with an ability to talk, conviction backed by brutality backed by humility, now there’s something to ponder over.
‘They can’t exist together’, you say.
Stereotypes of what should or shouldn’t be swarm your mind,
Overwhelm you until your mind collapses,
Your spirit bent over and I knee it to its head.
Beads of sweat fountain out of you,
Buts it’s not sweat,
It’s ignorance,
It’s arrogance, it’s your prejudice,
It’s your lack of compassion.
I built this body on purpose! Not for show, but for purpose.
I can verbose with you ad naseum about the health benefits,
How I will outlive live the average person, how I can crush the average person, albeit all in a perfect world.
But the reason I built it, I have come to discover is to keep you all away, I had to dig that one out on my own.
Whilst your fingers jab away at keyboards,
You comment and opine,
You sit your behind,
You snort the cathartic line
Of social approval, conformist, online.
I learned to close my fists, feeling it viscerally,
Neck pulsating,
Jugular vibrating,
Heart palpating,
Perpetrating,
Violence on flesh,
The real kind,
That’s done and dusted when one of us falls,
I don’t care for your flaws,
Man up and own them all,
Look up from the screen to see past the scores.
And multitudes of panderist’s, of safety network enforcers, of appeasers and cheer leaders.
Some people swear they are introverts,
Swear they like being alone but their guard is down.
I see their body language. They invite you all in willingly.
They don’t have the requisite guarded posture of an introvert.
Stay the fuck away from me. I’m pleasant, left alone.
Don’t come knocking and expect a half arsed attempt of insincere welcome.
Don’t come knocking expecting me to tell you my life’s grievances or what I heard or what I did on the weekend.
Don’t come knocking expecting cordiality and mutual acceptance if there is something I disagree with.
Really, I’m this big because I want to keep you away,
For your own sake, not mine.
Part of it is Gods work, I didn’t choose this height.
Maybe HE wants you to keep away.
However, the width and girth is my work.
The ability to fight you off with ease,
The ability to challenge your mind and break you down with my incessant pestering at the obsessive, compulsive details because you’re only happy if we only lament the surface trivialities,
Yeah, that’s my work too.
So step up,
Step up if you have the gall,
Talk to me, I dare you to climb the wall.
Maybe if you did,  you’d be let inside and realise this large cavity I have created was to be able to house as many of you,
Safely,
Securely and passionately.
Yes there is a wall, it’s high but if you have claws and feet, you can climb in, come over that wall, and be secure within its confines.
Maybe I purposely built it that high to only allow those with real drive, with sincere intentions inside.

Garden of the content

contentment

How long you walk in the depravity of excess determines your ability to find the solace of the garden of contentment.
How does one explain what that garden is, how do I describe the tranquillity with words that are not a unit of measure for the scientifically minded, for the logically minded, for the absent minded to comprehend? I cannot.

Ali, the son in law and cousin of the Prophet Muhammad peace and blessing be upon him said ‘Contentment is a treasure chest that never vanquishes’. For one to comprehend this, one has to understand their own nature, their hidden desire or former desire to covet, acquire and amass.

Who wouldn’t love to have riches on end? Never worrying about wealth ever diminishing? To comprehend that means to have been in need either via dire circumstance or via ulterior greed and dissatisfaction. In such a predicament, satisfaction and satiation is never present. One always wants more or at least more than what one currently has, whether it is to remove discomfort of bad circumstance or to remove discomfort of dissatisfaction. The later, far more blameworthy than the former. The later is what the above quote is referring to more than the former although both are blameworthy if they subdue one’s spiritual ascension and worse yet leave one dissatisfied with their lot or what has been assigned to them.

Deprivation can serve us in a very rewarding manner if we consciously acknowledge it’s prestigious station rather than looking grimly at our lot and looking bleakly with mundane substance to the future and planning for material consumption until it overcomes our basal natures, that is to be free of all things and subservient and obedient only to God. When you can do that, the garden awaits both in this world and the next.

Beyond silence, beyond me

tumblr_mnsv1jGOQ11r4gfq8o4_1280
Photo Credit: http://brownguymakesart.tumblr.com/post/52033467142/an-nafs-the-crossroads-of-human-disposition

If silence is the absence of noise,

Then take me to the place where even silence vanishes.

Maybe there, I, will cease to exist.

-ME

Seeing

mountaintop
photo credit: http://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/public/yourworld/article3696638.ece

How ignorant is the man who stands atop the mountain,

Bathing in his glory of accomplishment

Forgetting the sacrifice of the rubble beneath him

-ME

You’ll find it where it hurts most to look

ReviewCaffeine coursed veins

Lead to empty hall brains

With no lights on

But echoes of chains

The pains, the strains

The soul drained.

No we’re not at all insane

Just wanting higher plains

Trying to leave our mark, our stain

Not wanting to be contained

Trying to unshackle

The rein

Until none of me remains

And my ego does not complain

My spirit can soar, unrestrained

My attention to The Real

Not the profane, not the mundane

And I no longer feign

-ME

On writing.

50

Franz Kafka said to his adoring Fiance

You once said that you would like to sit beside me while I write. Listen, in that case I could not write at all. For writing means revealing oneself to excess; that utmost of self-revelation and surrender, in which a human being, when involved with others, would feel he was losing himself, and from which, therefore, he will always shrink as long as he is in his right mind. That is why one can never be alone enough when one writes, why there can never be enough silence around one when one writes, why even night is not night enough.

Yes, this true! I agree wholeheartedly with him. Any writer that needs an audience to complete his work is a show pony, not a stallion of the desert of words.