Sanctum of Echoes

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My soul had found its timeline, 
restored by the comforting familiarity of jazz. 
The taste of herbs drawn from the earth, never bound by company, time, or place—just a moment of pure bliss. 
A contented cat, belly full, sat meditative on the bed. 
Used matchsticks, now curved into hooks, seashells chiming, the soft cracking whispers of burning paper nearby, adding to the essence of jazz playing from a speaker. 
This is what I’ve been dreaming of—the aesthetics of a fleeting mood. 
Blurry images come into focus; 
A clip of a scene that beckons all my senses to create what I love: art! 


A cigarette’s breath mingles with the sweetness of a chocolate tart and the sharp bite of a lemon tart. 
The contrasting colours of flavours add to the beauty. Blown!
There, in the silence of words, played at the moment of surreality. 
I tried to prolong the essence of tasteful living—intercepting the pulse of a placid thought through my inept doodling. It does no justice. 
Perhaps a photograph could capture the stillness of my newfound sanctuary as it was? 
Regrettably, a futile gesture—merely capturing surface value, forfeiting the beauty in its layers. 
And so, I relinquish my greed to have it all. 
To hold on to this moment for as long as I can, I choose words to express my feelings, placing my sincere hope that they might someday teleport me back to this time. 

And if only traces of this memory remain, let it be known that I treasure every sense of your being, and your company. 
Despite the gray circumstances that afflicted my personal life then, 
In that moment in time with, I was happy. 
For that, and for every encounter before and since, I must confess earnestly to you, Becky, 
You are, and always have been, my greatest escape and refuge—someone whose presence has been a constant. 
Where words fail, know that through every crossroads, your presence has been my anchor. And that you’ve been nothing short of extraordinary.

The Full Circle

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The full circle- the class of character. What is it really?
Like many theorists of life these days, I would like to pick your brain on the matter but first, allow me to add ‘new colours to your paint box’.

Regardless of the path we embark upon, we’re all dealt the same hand that plays out in circles. Bringing light to the phrase “what goes around, comes around”, which in retrospect is an understatement, to say the least.


Our journey is a culmination of relationships. Putting aside inanimate objects, the relationship we have with our family, friends, peers, colleagues, pets or and even a stranger all run its path into a full circle. An Infinite loop until we wither away.
As staunch critics of our true inner self, we are given the power to choose from what needs tending to and those that don’t deserve our attention. Like a gardener, we weed out that which doesn’t belong there.

The Mark of Potential
We all start ordinarily, the sprouts of new beginnings! As time goes by, and with the labours of our work, we begin to see the bloom of a familiar fragrance and eventually the fruiting of the moment that grafts the value of our relationship. Now heed the warning, this moment right here is what I call, the ‘Note of salvation‘ that we carry forward with us.
I find that happiness is doled out in equal measure. When the tables turn: The moment of bliss that solidifies the relationship will reverse itself into an entwinement of chaos.
So to speak, the people that once enriched your life with happiness will someday, equally be a turbulence.
‘I choose you to hurt me the most.  It is only those we let in, have any kind of impact on us.  After all, we are hurt by many but broken by few.


Crossroad of the critics
At this juncture, we find ourselves in the throes of analysis. Where the wager of time comes to collect its debt.
Here lies the crossroad of the critics; evaluating and measuring up the worthiness of evergreen moments to the bitterness at the hour they wronged us.
Ultimately, it is we who decide who can further their roots within us.
The fortress of power now rests in our judgement. To rule out and let wither on the vine or grant pardon and gradually as time nurses our restless spirit, welcome the offspring of a new circle.


Who is it that you see?
In the end, however, the finger that points will someday be the same one that points back. It is easy to embrace the good moments but in times of conflict, your character will be put into question. Do you have the courage to salvage what once occupied your time or flake out and leave it behind? They say, ‘You can dish it out but can’t take it’; Were they probably right?  

For this pictorial theory, the grand design of the circle is illustrated with the cycle of the olive tree; The rich complex flavours that olives bring to the table and in comparison, as do relationships. Also, adhering to the fact, that not all olive trees bear fruit. Similarly, some relationships run their course and that’s alright.

Stemming from the concept of the Olive branch, the full circle is a constant reflection of one’s inner self. Does our character take shape in choosing to embody what we believe or weigh more on what we do instead?
I believe the full circle applies to us all, in multiple forms, across several junctures through life. In the end, the reflection of a thousand faces comes together as one. The stranger staring back hold traces of the people you once knew and left behind. The test wasn’t theirs to take. The judge of character now sentences you.

‘Is it fair?’, you ask. The question is… were you?
“The eulogy you’d write for others will find its way back to you”.
This is my epiphany, the dawn and dusk of another theory that has been sent into the digital void.

The Pulse of Art

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10/7/2015

There is a ringing truth in the art of expression.
The composition of music for instance, is penned with the singularity of a passionate moment;
-The lyrics weightlessly carried through the tune harbors the passage of time, the inescapable memory of the artist.


However, with the transition through generations, falling on a different set of eyes/ears each time, it is morphed from its origin- misplaced and misinterpreted.
The truth is lost in oblivion.

Perhaps there is beauty  in it somewhere. Despite its distinguishable contrast, it offers refuge to an unsuspecting stranger. A connection in the place of perspective with the innate subconscious ability to reflect and project one’s state of mind unto another.
We do after all, see people as we see ourselves while the echoes of music untwine wired thoughts.