Kindness

There is too little understanding in this world of the strength behind kindness. To be gentle, empathetic, considerate, sensitive and compassionate is not a gift freely handed to the half-willing, nor is it the curse of the weak. True kindness requires thorny, gruelling questions of oneself and a complete dissection (and often undoing), of inner beliefs.

To know kindness in its most raw form, there must first be an uncomfortable 

unravelling of the mind’s deepest secrets and the honest forgiveness of oneself. Only then, can life – and the people we walk with in life – be loved with deep, beautiful, unrequited (but conditional), wonderful fullness. ------- If and when you hear somebody described as too kind, too gentle,  too soft or too sensitive, or when you yourself use those words with distaste to describe the ‘lacking of a backbone’ – know that the backbone of kindness is the most courageous of them all. Behind the face that smiles warmly is a body that has borne the weight of suffering and learnt to forgive. There, behind kindness is the bearer of loss who has learnt to keep giving. There, behind kindness is the traveller who has journeyed inward to find strength to love outward.

Notice when you stumble on the depths of compassion in the shallows of the world, beneath the chaos of a roaring life: in the waitress that is determined, and the till keeper that loves his job, the Uber driver that cares to ask about your family, the friend whose presence does not condone cruelty, the protector whose hand reaches out even when they themselves experience fear… When you see kindness – in its pure and gentle form – 

recognise the strength that is in your presence. Understand the brave choice that that kindness has required, and ask yourself,

 “What will be my choice?”

Artwork by a lion-spirit friend, Kerri Dunshea https://www.instagram.com/art.by.kez/?hl=en

The Personification of Love

Love is strange, isn’t she?

People spend their whole life looking for her

But mostly they walk right past her

They don’t believe Love can exist beside them

Or realise Love is already inside them 

So, they search for her in higher places –

On mountain peaks and in the tallest skyscrapers

They even imagine her with wings.

But Love has a fear of heights, she hates pedestals

She is not in the air, she is the air 

She is not above, she is beside

And always – 

She must exist first in the one seeking

Love together requires love alone 

Love is awkward, isn’t he?

His socks don’t always match 

And he’s not always on time,

But he gets there when he needs to be –

Sometimes when you least expect him.

People imagine Love is some sort of hero

Carrying a sword to save their world from itself

But Love is terrified of war

And Love never carries weapons

The only pain love causes is when he is not there

And your lungs collapse for a little while 

Before you remember how to breathe again

From the place where

Love lived before

At her worst, love hurts like hell

– A sword between the wings that hold us close

But at her best love is your best friend and your teacher.

Teaching you things you never knew

About the world and about yourself

He makes you inquisitive and considerate

She makes you vulnerable and passionate

You’ll never forget his eyes or her soul

Even when there is a world between you 

Even if there is heaven between you

Love – awkward strange and beautiful Love,

Remains

Artwork by a talented Zimbabwean friend, Tara Wallace https://tarawallacestudio.com/

African Bones

On an African morning,

Where the half circle becomes whole

Where sun lifts from the source, a rising flame from a bowl

Where yellow grass shimmers beneath bending blue folds

Red soil licks bare feet –

And it sticks to the soul

On an African day,

Where the river rolls like a hymn

Where colours are rich and where wanting wears thin

Where peace lives beneath branches

And branches arch in green praise

Towards the face of the sun

In sepia rays

On an African evening,

Where the African roof is a bougevvilla coloured sky

Where the laughter is deeper and smiles are bright

The voices, that are heavier,

Sing the anthems of light

Where the red dusk of the day gives birth to new night

On an African night,

Where dappled dusk falls and dappled clouds rise

Where Kudus move sleepily and the nightjar cries

Where elephants make thunder and dry sands call rain

Lightening makes art

And the whole sky is its frame

In an African soul,

Wherever a travelling soul goes,

Strength, like a mountain, still carries the bones

Deep in that place, with new seasons and old

African laughter from ribs like a river still flows

And African love runs rich and fast in the veins

Carrying the soul

That red soil has stained

Images by my dear friend, Alexandrina Fleming https://www.anamcarafilmstudios.com/alexandrina