Dead and the living Dead....
I have been in the path where life becomes a thread
that bond my soul and coven me like a child
trying to sprout from her mother's womb....
my life become complex and vale,
clouded with imaginations of the realm,
which makes me think;
it is better to be a dead person than being alive
in this cold world, this world of trails and tribulations.
This world of the LEAVING DEAD....
I sometimes see him in my dream,
wearing a white garment, his face I can't see
but I can tell who he is.
this makes me wonder what it feels
like to be there all alone in somewhere you
who knows if they eat, or drink
or go to party the way we do on earth.
I wonder if they a free liberty.
But I don't stop thinking or dreaming
of these signs and which always keeps
my imagination awake all the time.
I feel they are as free as we can imagine
it is a realm of simplicity, a space where souls loom
and feel free to become what they were not
been able to be on earth.
I don't know if what I'm writing makes sense or in any way communicate to you reading it. But one thing I an certain of the truth “IT” possess. The forces that flows with these breathings( spirits). I sometimes imagine things ahead of myself, which makes me feel concern of wanting to know and share ideas and communicate with people in more detail with these kind ideology.
The world we leaved in today is affected by so many forces around, millions of thousands of them supernatural or the spirits looming around us which of course we cannot see nor touch them, but sometimes we tend to feel their presence around, or dreaming about someone who is close to you, or having visions and sights of these nature. It becomes a question we all need to ask ourself what is it like to be in that zone. For one living in these vibration on earth.
I used to remember him when he was still alive. How he looks like, how he goes about doing his traditional work (herbalist curring people). Things he does when he was alive, and then he will say, “kitchen eyeri ogbe gwevhe”. Which means; “a kitchen doesn't fit two people”. Then we use to joke with him with these words, little do we know that this man was trying to tell us something, something that is very important to him. Not until he passed away and I can still see him sometimes, at times when my memory is drawn to his side. I remember those words he use to say. How he treats other people and he never seems to treat himself. How he was so concern about other people's well being; why didn't he do the same for himself? I want to challenge these thought, but then, you let some things go and for some to stay.
Then I see this life as a poetry, a dance, cos the world is all writing in lines, movements, forms, rhythms and collection of thoughts, imaginations, feelings, agony, victory and so many words you want to think of. When I heard the news that he is dead, at first I was not shock about it, cos I feel It some kind of maybe illusion or day dream, but I'd never felt the impart of loosing someone before who is so dearly to the heart. I remember seeing him laying on the bed that morning before I left the house and it was that same spot on the bed I found him when I came back to the house. He looks like he is in a deep sleep and doesn't want anyone to disturb him. His face was so gentle, his arms where cold, his body were stiff, he couldn't move any inch. Tears drip from my eyes, the feelings of lost burn inside my heart like fire. All I wish for him is to get up and say those words he use to say to us once again. Then I will know he is sleeping. But he was just there, not moving his body or making any sound. The whole house was silent, peaceful that is the only word I can use in describing the situation at that moment. My mother was very devastated, she couldn't eat for days, my brother and little sister where so shocked when there heard the news, our compound was so calm as if a terrorist had attacked us over night. The whole scenario was isolated.
I remember sleeping with him the night he was taking to the mortuary. Both of us laying side to side in the same house because nobody wants to stay with him through the night so I offer myself to stay. I couldn't sleep but looking at him, he was facing the celling with his eyes closed, he was very calm and innocent like a new born child. That night I have that same dream; he was on a white suite, standing on a corner glancing afar, then I try to make contact with him, but he restrain from me. I could see that he was looking at a party across the road, he then move behind a very tall building and then vanish to the air. Maybe he is still there looking at us or he wants us to see him on his white suite. Which in real life he never had one. The week before he died, my sister cried that she saw he him with some strange people and they were walking somewhere, which she cannot describe in detail. But I know that this was not a good sign.
When we was young, we use to think that whenever we don't see someone for a while, cos they use to tell us that they've gone to somewhere far, so with our own initiative we just assume that person has travel to visit his/her families and relatives in the village. Not until we grew up to understand that there is two type of leaving. One is the type we are now which is THE LEAVING DEAD. Those of us who is still breathing, those of us who is still wearing cloths, those of us who is still in constant influence of change and conscious of the world around us. The second leaving is the DEAD. Those who are no more in this world, those who never seems to accomplish their mission on earth before they depart, those who do not see the next daylight, those who died in accident and those who where murdered.
We leave in a world of DEAD and the LEAVING DEAD which of course many will want to use their cunning ways to demolish others because of self greed. When I see my step DAD passed away, I fully understood what he meant when he said: (kitchen eyeri ogbe gwevhe) a kitchen doesn't fit two people”. The world is like a market place you come in to trade and then when you are done in your trading you will quietly leave for the next person to trade her in own life adventure.
I said early on that life is like a poetry, its lines, its writings, its rhythms, its synchronization, everything has it own meaning, every word that is written by the author has reasons why he wrote them. The creator knows before he creates us into this world, he knows that we will one day depart this world and reunite with him again in His beautiful house which He has reserves for us. But I tell you, some of the dead are still roaming around us, looking for where to rest their soul in peace.
But this is life, this is what it hold for us. This the path the maker has set for each one of us to tread, a path of reality of deferent species, a path to decide which course you are in, a path of truth, a path of human cruelties, a path of liberation in the race of racism, a path of black and white, green and blue, yellow and pink. A path of DEAD and the LEAVING DEAD........