A mind of its own

Listen to the sound of the breeze passing through your body, notice the way your eyes fixed on God it reminds you of how the sun and moon can meet while the sun is quite hard. 

If you ever stumble on the month of September in a phase where time doesn’t yet exist, how do you explain the confluence of moon and sun? If I called myself the confluence; EclipsePoet, then what are the catharsis of my engagements with life and society?

Remember the first scene and realization of being a bipolar being, how a body can save within itself carry the very essence of evil and also propel the advancement of peace and love.

Now when you face your God as the main catharsis of your life, where do you want to move to in a life you don’t agree with the basics of its existence, like continuity, hope, faith and support.

Time is nothing but a case in which the body exists if I plan to exist outside the body in a pattern where my body never has the ability to limit me, can I still hold God like something that is essential t my life. 

Why does creation have to start from animal, trees and humans coming the late? Why should one agree to the things that the mind questions? I questioned everything, including my place in the church, including my engagement with life, my energy and place as a being in all its phases. 

The mind is a hall of doubt, if you exist in this place, how you can not doubt your own place as being. How can one connect back to the spring in a dessert if one doesn’t believe in the exception? Journeying so far with the mind has left me not only in the house of doubt but in a position to question all that exist now and in some time to be. 

Can a man be mad and still be in the best state of relation with its environment? Ayodele Olofintuade after a film screening said in response to my comment, being Bipolar is not just something you come about on the street, it stems much from how much you relate with your immediate being. 

Can the things we count as skills are the pain on our ribs? Can the life we wish for be the mirage we heard of? How can one embrace being a body that is forgetting itself and doesn’t have a concrete fact about itself to hold on to? I learnt who I am in a cold night prayer at the chapel ground, and then I said glory to God for calling me, later I asked myself if it is not at an imagination. That is years before now.

If I can create a whole country, man, places and new invention in my mind, why then should things like miracles, God and most things not be questioned, even protest against them. If apostle Suleiman at his visit to the University of Ibadan in 2017 failed to see how close I have turned to God because I needed him then. Why did God fail to listen to me in such a gathering?

Maybe I am not worth it; maybe I should only wait for my time? Maybe the apostle had planned all the miracle he performed because only people from outside were healed. We student are far from God sight I thought. If everybody comments that these priests are a scam, how then should I react to my mother becoming an evangelist with her own church?

Sometimes, the things we hide within us turn out to be the very cause of our death. Like how I will say there is God but I don’t want to relate to him because like a tsar, he his quite far away. How I will call my mother a priest but I stopped my race in that path.

How can one be free enough to decide for himself, like when I respond to being a Gospel musician even far from sleep with a resounding NO that wakes my mother up from her bed? That was in 2016. I can wake up in a dream where everything is just a home of nothing. Humans are here and there, in a trade they know not much of; not the currency they are spending not even what they are buying. 

Names and people are things that are universal. They connect even far away in places you haven’t been. Like how shalom find her way in a planet of colours, like how her colours created hope in me. Existing in itself is chaos, doubting is nothing much but the very basics of losing the good cause of chaos. 

If I am here standing and bent, my body a hallmark of pain, my mind the centre of every dazzling new innovation, if my spirit is that which can’t be killed, how then do I call myself a being. Are we not far too different for me to call myself one? I am here and everything is moving on, in the path time took.

Like time and humans, we are never-ending. Names are restrictions, anchor to who you are, they are also the map and notes to where to thread. For once ask if your name is truly your name? Nothing marks the advent of a new being like a name. 

I am here and there, dead and living, a body three years younger than the mind and spirit. What does a man entail? Who is a man? My mother’s first son who didn’t talk for the three years he spent alive died when my pregnancy was three month. You ever heard that the life of a fetus in the womb begin to exist with its own mind and spirit on the third month of pregnancy. So how easy is it for humans like time to slip into another body?

I am an eclipse, a catalyst for the difference, I am an egg with stones on my head, I wrote this in a poem some months ago, I am being crushed, shalom felt the pain than myself. How can humans be so connected? I am everywhere the street turns, a boy, girl, tree, water, birds and nothing. 

I still lay here this morning in the light of me, I still have questions that can’t be answered now, but I am sure of the things I am becoming in few times to come. I am not ready for most of these things but I am a human, with a body. I exist in the space I took years ago.

Find me where the bird sings, listen to me beside the steady lake, and call on me when all seems lost. You are all you need, we leave you with the peace and pace you need to move on from here. Travelling the last two decade together has been hard on you because you are the space in which we exist, but you are strong enough to stand. Nothing can crush you.

I have names in my heads that point me back to where I am from, who I am, and what I want to be, an Abiku, a free spirit exploring all I could in the body, I am here moving slowly and drifting away losing all I have.

Can we feel pains that aren’t our own first hand? I need not see your pains before I write about them, just listening to your story feed me the pain, what more do I want to say that I am lost in the race I chose. My body is forgetting itself; a ritual without a guide, I am feeding it death because I need light inside of me. 

I stand in front of the church entrance, my mind and spirit are inside, engrossed in the joy of praising, but my body is a tribute to the days I once own, I leave it outside the church. I am the light that shines after an eclipse, I can wait that long.

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