"So much injustice..." Ernesto Guevara

I have a growing sense that the only way to bring about the change that is required would be to step outside of the boundaries of 'civilised' law, not just marginally. Real change will not and cannot arrive simply by abiding the boundaries designed to the benefit of a weighted die.

I make no reference to political change, although in response to the re-establishment of balance of social justice, a political upheaval will be inevitable and unavoidable. I by no intention refer to the romanticism of armchair idealism. I cannot see the revolution that is required in: thinking, in restituting not only the theft of livelihoods, but of basic dignity of the billions who find their lifeblood milked to the glutinous satisfaction of the few; I cannot see this revolution as the gnattering of old ladies, the apathy of 'activists' who carry the banner of anti-establishment in the valley during the day, while returning to their hypocrisy of 1st world excess by night.

This revolution will not become apparent through another mandate, another trade agreement, another aid agreement, another oil supply contract, another roundtable sitting of an agency proclaiming to good, while raping society's most vulnerable for cheap pleasure in exchange for a handful of colourful beads. 'African View Book Quote'

More and more I find myself secretly not able to judge the man who in final frustration at his impotence in the face of glutinous avarice, chooses to act by the most basic instinct in the defence of life, by another set of rules: that names the pursuit of liberty not according an ideology of privilege but delivers the harshest judgement for the crimes of few on the multitude with their head under a heel and their bloodied face in the dust.

What scares me more than the inevitable and impossible task ahead is not that it will result in the spilling of blood, nor the exploded fragments of bourgeois flesh hanging from the branches of trees! Not even my hesitation in choosing an ideology to defend scares me more than fear of my own human fickleness that in the face of this war. When the first blood is spilled, will I defend a society of injustice that ring-fences the peace and abundance of a few at the expense of the lifeblood of many.

Sadly, the knowledge that any change will only last as long as it takes the few to once again throw lots to divide the robes of the naked many forces me again to apathy!

Test

Test

The final battle

The great stand-off! I sit at my desk staring squarely at a the beast and it stares back with fire in its eyes! I must not show weakness or back down. Too often in the past month this monster has caused me to flee and hide in the sanctity of my ignorance. Finally the battle can no longer wait. My deadline looms, and I now have little time before I will have to file into the exam hall and wrestle the beast to the ground and let the bells toll its death knoll. But for now we stand and stare. I at my desk, the unopened study material on the far side of my desk safely out of reach.

Come Holy Spirit come!

It's incredible how Holy Spirit can in an instant cut through heaviness and bring refreshing like rain on drought parched soil.

Promises hidden in the night sky.

‎​When I was a child my father took me outside and we lay in the long grass in the middle of the african bush as we counted satellites and looked at the stars. That night he showed me how to find the Southern Cross and then taught me how to work out where South was using the Southern Cross as a reference point. He also showed me the 'false' cross. A couple of nights ago the Father God reminded me of the Southern Cross...and that like Noah it is my 'promise of direction' from God. Tonight as I walked through my front gate I looked up at the clear skies above Table Mountain and again saw the Southern Cross. In that moment I was again blessed to know that Gods promise remains.

In case you were wondering how exactly to find South. There are two ways.

The easy way is to imagine the Southern Cross as a Kite. Imagine the long spar of the kite or a line between the two stars at the 'head' and the 'foot' of the cross. If you extend that line out four lengths from the foot of the cross you will find the South Celestial Pole which is an imaginary spot in the sky. Then draw a line from this imaginary spot straight down to the horizon and you have found South!

The alternative more accurate way is to use the Southern Cross and its pointers. Extend the middle spar of the kite out from the foot of the cross as you did in the previous method. Then extend a perpendicular line from the mid point of the pointers. Where those lines intersect is the South Celestial Pole. Then draw a line from this imaginary spot straight down to the horizon and you have found south!

Wicked Heart

I remember when I was younger... I loved running. I used to run Cross Country. I grew up with parents that sacrificed their lives for their children. My parents ate out once a year when my grandparents used to visit us from the city... But apart from that they never spent money on themselves and whole life was directed at parenting their children.

My dad was born into a very wealthy british family. My grandfather was a cinematographer and started South Africa's first Film Production Company in Auckland Park in the 70's after spending his years post WW2 working in the industry.

My dad fell in love with my mother who came from a poor mining background. It was scandalous to my father's side of the family for their son to fall for this daughter of a convicted fraudster. My father chose love over loyalty and as a result faced rejection by his own family. My mom and dad decided to move hundreds of kilometres away and begin their family away from the scorn and hurtful rejection of the woman my father loved.

And so we grew up in relative poverty to the wealthy farming families who constituted our neighbours, and paupers relative to our wealthy cousins who enjoyed my grandparents favour.

I recall one season I looked at my running shoes and compared them to my fellow runners who were sporting the latest top shelf gear. I went home and asked for a new pair of shoes. My parents couldn't afford a new pair in their tight budget. I found out in hindsight that dad was earning less than R100 at the time, and I think mom was working for the church office half day at that point. Anyways, in typical manipulative fashion I demanded and sent my parents on a guilt trip until they eventually conceded. I remember that day well. I went into the shoe shop with my father and picked out a pair of shoes that in hindsight was probably worth twice his monthly income.

It breaks my heart now to know how my lack of thankfulness for my mom and dad's sacrifice must have cut my father's heart so so deeply to see his son's wicked heart. It was his desire to see me blessed beyond his capacity to bless. I can only imagine what they must have sacrificed to buy those shoes for their spoilt brat of a son.

Later on in my life I saw this situation revisited in the year after school. After a drug overdose I was rushed to a private clinic and spent a number of days recovering before I demanded that my parents book me into a drug rehab centre. I later learnt that the many thousands of Rands those 6 weeks cost resulted in bankrupting my father and he had to go begging to my Grandparents for financial help which I can only imagine must have hurt him deeply.

Why do I share this. Well I see the same pattern in my relationship with Father. I desire those 'shoes' more than I value the sacrificial relationship of the selfless giver who desires to bless to the cost of His own Son's life. How wicked is that.

Anyways I share that just as the Lord reveals my heart to me.

I can never take back the pain I caused my Mom and Dad in my past... But trust the Lord will give me the grace to value His gift of love and relationship with me before I go demanding shoes from the top shelf.

Procrastination

Multiple Ways to Avoid Studying For Mid Year Medical Exams!

1.Sleep Late
2.Hit the Snooze Button
3.Sleep Later
4.Hit the Snooze Button
5.Sleep even Later
6.Switch Mobile Phone Alarm Off!
8.Sleep a little more!
7.Respond to Guilty Conscience-Get out of Bed
8.Have a Shower - A LOOOOONG Shower
9.Spend 25 Minutes sitting on bed staring at wall!
10.Spend 20 Minutes deciding what to do for Breakfast
11.Switch on LapTop, check emails
12.Read Online NewsPapers
13.Spend 25 Minutes reading random peoples FaceBook Wall Posts
14.DownLoad some MP3 Files
15.Now I am really Hungry! Get dressed!
16.Go to favourite restaurant and have an extended breakfast
17.Order another Espresso
18.And another one!
19.Go home
20.Clean Flat
21.Rearrange Desk
22.Surf the internet
23.Check Emails
24.Download some more Music
25.Chat on Blackberry Messenger
26.Rearrange Pens
27.Write Heading on Page
28.Stretch Legs
29.Check Emails
30.Stretch Legs
31.I am hungry!
32.Realise there is no food in the flat
33.Plan trip to shops to buy food
34.Decide to have a quick Nap
35.Perhaps a quick DVD will put me in the mood for studying after my nap.
36.Change mind
37.Sit at desk
38.Rearrange Pens
39.Underline Heading on Page
40.HighLight Border around Heading
41.Number the Page
42.Underline Page Number
43.Get Bored
44.Stretch Legs
45.Still Hungry!!!!!
46.Check Emails
47.Decide to Rearrange Room
48.Perhaps I should go to the Gym and then Study
49.Decide not to gym or rearrange Room
50.Search Flat for food
51.Now I am hungry and need a coffee!
52.Decide to study before heading to supermarket
53.Rearrange Pens in Colour Coded Order
54.Notice that Green pen is empty
55.Decide to go to the shop and buy a green pen before I study
56.Realise the stupidity of that notion
57.Stretch Legs
58.Scratch in Cupboard for a snack
59.Find Stale Biscuit
60.That would go so well with a coffee
61.Realise have no milk
62.Decide to take a quick nap
63.Hit the Snooze Button
64.Sleep some More
65.Hit the Snooze Button
66.Sleep even More
67.Respond to Guilty Conscience-Get out of Bed
68.Make Bed
69.Sit on Bed
70.Stare at wall
71.Decide to go to the gym, get something to eat, take out a DVD and start the studies tomorrow!

The peculiar child. (Part1)

Once upon a time there was a boy born into a God fearing family. Before this child's birth his parents had fled the city and moved to a small country town. The child's father came from a privileged family who enjoyed the trappings of wealth, but to their shame the son married for love a woman from a poor mining family on the wrong side of the railway tracks. The couple, shunned and scorned, moved away to start a family in a small farming community on the country's border. The child born was not the first child, that was a delightful blond headed gem called Katerina, neither was the child under discussion the second born, that privileged bearer of his fathers name was Gregory. No, the boy in question was the third born.
At the time his family was living on the magnificent slopes of the Maggies Valley mountain pass, in between forests of pine, jungle of natural bush, and cultivated orchards of avocados and banana trees. This happy family lived a contented life away from their own families, but knitted closely into community with the generous and hospitable families of the valley.
When this young boy was born, he was a gift of life following two devastating miscarriages. He was the conception of lust and longing and love on the return of his father from the border war that was raging at the north western corner of their paradise land. And his parents named him Claude.

Claude was a peculiar child. His maternal grandmother visited the family in all her pretended Victorian glory...took one look at the squawling child and declared that he would either be a priest of prime minister. And so from his first breathe young Claude was destined by that prophecy of expectation to be above average, and determined to be the leader of the pack, or not at all...

Tears

If ever I wished I could hit the 'stop' button on my spinning world, it is today. I wish I could hit the stop button on my spinning confusion and pick my sanity out of the air and allow the rest of the puzzle pieces to stall so that I had opportunity to complete the picture of my broken heart.
A few years ago a girl I love deceived me and in my vulnerable place she chose to lie and crush my heart. And for all the time since I have hated her...wished her to feel the pain I have borne because of her actions. For three years I have been held prisoner to my hatred...consumed by my desire for vengeance... But God loves her and blesses her and does not hold her sin against her...
And still I suffer.

Joel's Army

Every time God moves in the church, He always calls His people to a higher state of holiness. But without fail, we always botch it and jump over into legalism and control. (John Crowder, The New Mystics)

"Nancyboy"

As I walked away I am certain I heard him say "NancyBoy!", as he slipped in between the floating icepack to begin his swim.

Nancyboy!

Like a real novice I arrive at Seapoint's 50m pool this morning with a thermal swimsuit... I swim 10 lengths and decide that I just cant carry on...I have lost the feeling in my face and toes and hands...and I swear they start looking frostbitten. With my tail between my legs I 'warm up' under the cold shower (I kid you not) before I see an old man wearing just a budgie smuggler walk past me and get in for his daily swim. "A bit fresh today at 14 degrees" he says ... I managed a strained sheepish smile through my frozen cheek muscles as I waddled off in my swim suit to rather drive to Long Street Baths for a swim in the heated pool. I can only imagine what he must have thought as I walked away I am certain I heard him say "NancyBoy!" As he slipped in between the floating icepack to begin his swim.

Doctor's Orders

The aroma of freshly cut stems fills the carriage, mixed subtly with the smell of freshly smoked cigarette, the sweat of a long day. "Kruie...Kruie" croaks a peaceful voice of a Rasta as he passes each row of faux leather seats filled with liquorice allsorts of people. "Vir jou suiker....ja" a well dressed middle age woman starts discussing her health problem as normally as one would expect in a doctors consulting room..."Ja, net een keer 'n dag...vir suiker... So jy vil hoeveel he? 40grams..." He holds up 4 fingers and disappear up the carriage to his dispensary to collect the patients prescription.

"Blessed is the man who giveth, or the one who does not worry" sings the herbalist before he abruptly stops to have a political discussion with a young cape coloured... "Kyk, almal sal mos huise kry...hulle moet net wag..." His voice fades as he leave the carriage on his mission unknown.

I love South Africa...the rich tapestry of life away from the sanitation of wealth refreshes my hope in mankind.

The Lobbyist who cried wolf.

This subject requires qualification before embarking on. For the record, let me state that a single human being trafficked, is one too many! The idea of vulnerable women and children facing extreme distress and abuse as result of the greed and lust of humankind can only cause a horror reflex in the response of any normal individual. Anecdotal evidence of exploitation of vulnerable workers by immigrant Chinese factory owners in South Africa, the media storm surrounding recent policy changes relating to Labour Brokers, and stories of Fictitious Employment Agencies in South Africa recruiting and enslaving citizens drawn by promises of a better life ( http://bit.ly/at8O6m ) point towards significant human rights abuses by a criminal element within South Africa. This is well documented.
However, in reference to recent shock-tactic emails circulating regarding hundreds of thousands, and in some versions millions of victims facing human trafficking in South Africa, let me say that the misrepresentations and exaggerations of data by lobbyists and campaigners discredit the cause of the hundreds of people trafficked in or from South Africa annually.
The educated public is no longer shocked by big numbers and shock predictions when it comes to environmental issues, health claims, politicians promises, nigerian scamsters', and sadly, lobbyists' exaggerated trafficking statistics. Or are they?
I encourage those who forward these trafficking emails to exercise caution and commonsense. By over guessing the prevalence of this activity will only sensitize the public to the issue and so harm the plight of the unknown number of victims.
The only credible study on the occurrence of Human Trafficking within the Southern African context, was recently carried out and published by Carol Allais of UNISA who states:-"... these huge numbers...are...alarmist and exaggerated. The number of people trafficked...is currently not known, but that the real figure is more likely to be in the hundreds than in the thousands..."
Let me again repeat that a single human being trafficked, is one too many! But the exaggeration of the real statistics by well meaning, but ill-informed lobbyists misrepresents the true nature of this crime, and cries wolf to the detriment of the real victims of this crime.

Churchill's Black Dog

I have never really believed in Depression. For most of my life I have considered that it is the luxury of the rich, the attention seeking of the bored, the theatrics of the pained drama queen, and the clutching at straws of the hypochondriac. This may not be so strange a view to you, that is until I confess that I have found myself fighting off Churchill's Black Dog for most of my post pubescent life. It may seem ever further alien when you discover I was once hospitalised following a parasuicidal drug overdose, or that I have been under the care of at least two Psychologists and a Psychiatrist since my 16th birthday. Why do I mention this background colour?

I had the privilege of meeting a best selling author recently. He was the Wunderkind of his time. I am not relegating him to retirement yet, but just giving perspective. At 18 he published a novel that shot to the top of sellers lists worldwide, and 15 years later and a number of bestsellers later, he is still weaving the tapestry of tales that keep a diverse readership begging for more...BUT...he suffers from depression. I am fully aware of the new nomenclature for our shared condition. Polite society has decided to allow us to avoid the stereotyping of 'Manic Depressants' and has couched the condition in the fluffiest of terms: 'Bi-polar'.
Suddenly with the single stroke of a pen, my own condition made perfect sense...I could identify the extreme vacillation between sparks of creative genius, and trenches of deep despair and heart crushing heaviness. I always considered my brilliant,creative self the normal me...but I am beginning to realise that the more normal me may in fact be the middle of the road kind that is neither churning out Picasso's, nor writing my own Eulogy.

My new author friend has found his middle of the road with the help of Psychotrophic medication, and still manages to captivate any audience, in person or in script. I on the other hand have not yet found that middle road. I no longer take medication, and by choice chose to deny my condition as I again have lined myself up for the most glorious of fall through my creative explosion over the past three months.

Malema,ET,Viljoen,Dozi&Hofmeyer's Circus

What a great week to be a satirical political cartoonist or political commentator in South Africa.
Amidst the ANCYL choir warming their voices and Malema's heart to a rendition of "Ayasab' amagwala, awu yoh dubula dubula aw dubul'ibhunu" a well known voice is heard bitching about how 'black people' (substituted with liberal helpings of the K-word) do not know how to govern the country. One suspects that Dozi breathed a massive sigh of relief when the news of Eugene 'fall off my horse" Terreblanche was beaten to death over a pay dispute. One wonders whether the AWB's press secretary smiled as he strummed his neoNazi beard and in a gruff aside said to himself "there is no such thing as bad publicity', although he would be forced to swallow those same words as a bitter tonic a couple days later in the theatrical rendition of "touchmeonmystudio" ... Which entertained the nation in the genre of an absurd Monty Python Sketch.
During the intermission the News stations ran an exclusive interview with Mr Malema during a break in his conference with Bob Mugabe... "Mr Malema, how do you respond to the accusation that you are responsible for Mr Terreblanche's death", and with cheshire cat grin, Julius responds "but I cannot be responsible...I am in Zimbabwe!" One can't help credit Mr Malema with the observation, that the victim was in fact a man who recently used his 'get out of jail free' card after spending two years in the slammer for attempting to murder his farm workers, and for assaulting a petrol jockey. Oh, and let's not forget his involvment in the bomb that killed 3 innocent people, and ripped limbs of those unlucky enough to survive.
The week went from strange to bizaare when Steve Hofmeyer, who is obviously clutching at straws to revive a flagging career, was interviewed in a leading paper and shared how heartbroken he was at the death of his hero.
After the discrediting of the erstwhile AWB spokesman in the 'touchmeonmystudio-gate' scandal, where the white supremist aryan took affront to a 'maid' interrupting the 'baas', Steve appears to have taken it on himself to stand in as spokesman in the place of Mnr Andre Visage for the unity of all racists against the 'swaart gevaar'. One wouldn't find a more ridiculous script in a Rowan Atkinson script.
One can't blame Mnr Visage can one? He was afterall a good Afrikaaner boy who probably sat listening to the Dominee preaching about the chosen Volk, and their right to oppress the Third Crown like dogs! I wonder if Steve perhaps fell asleep in the part of the sermon that instructed good afrikaaner boys not have multiple bastard children outside of wedlock.
Oh yes, speaking of 'bastards'... Julius arrived back after his Hero Worship Tour of ZanuPF head quarters to little fanfare and controversy... He didn't see his name on the front page of any newspapers, and as any presidential candidate knows...its all about press coverage... So he decided to redirect the distracted and now weary spotlight with degree of vitriol worthy only of the seasoned drama queen he is... and kicked a 'white bastard' BBC journalist with 'white tendencies' out of Luthuli house...and then went on to announce the ANC's endorsement of Mugabe and ZanuPF in the next elections. It doesn't take a political analyst to see Bob Mugabe's grubby paws all over Malema's plastacine mind. Perhaps the most amusing commentary on the event was the fact that the BBC did not consider the event as newsworthy enough to report on... And the journalist probably welcomed the opportunity to take a break from the circus and head off for a long sauna and massage at his hotel room.

As a final comment, let me say how encouraged I have been to see that the majority of peace loving South Africans (of all race, colour, creeds, and language), while keeping one eye on the two tiny groups of extremists left and right, have kept their main focus on the goal of unity to create a better South Africa for all who live in it. One does however wonder whether we shouldn't ship the AWB and Andre Viljoen, Malema, Dozi, and Steve Hofmeyer off to Robben Island to play in the sandpit for 27 years. That way we could let them continue their circus while the adults get down to the business of nation building.

The irony of the situation is not missed.

On my final evening in the Northern Suburbs, I lay on my bed with my window open as the sounds of Bok v Blerk's 'DeLaRey Sal jy die Boere kom lei' floats on the breeze through the window. The irony of this does not escape me...Its final confirmation that the oppressive,racist attitude of the northern suburbs of cape town are not fertile ground for my core belief that every south african has a right to their place in the sun free from the hatred of those hankering after the past.So I dust off my feet and spit the slimy aftertaste of this cursed people out of my mouth as my car is packed and waiting for my departure on the morning breeze to the fair green pasture of Cape Town... Where a greater respect for humankind exists. I will not miss your offensive racial prejudice Durbanville, and if Vesuvius erupted in your midst I would not stop to mourn!
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Letter to God

Dear God.

I missed our relationship today. I had a moment when I was stirred by an inspiring discussion with someone when my thoughts were shifted to You.

Once again this week, when I had my hands elbow deep in creation's goo during our anatomy session, I realised how futile it would be to defend a belief that You are not there. I cannot refute the evidence of science and evolutionary hypothesis very confidently...but when I hold the human heart in my hands, or try and unravel the human viscera with their delicate blood supply and impossible arrangement of nerves and attachments, I realise that no amount of genetic material stirred in a pot, could result in the artwork of life and life's sustenance I see around me.

Despite my awe of your handywork, God, I often wonder why You chose, and still choose to handle us the way you do? I know the doctrines, the rules of the game...yet in the light of the pain and confusion and sense of loss we as individuals and communities feel everyday, I sometimes question the deity of a God and His fitness to govern in the light of His inability to set a world free from its problems without resorting to fairytales and mythological and religious routines contained within church structures.

Why do I feel so guilty asking tough questions and sharing my doubts and fears? Surely You cannot be intimidated? You have to be secure in who You are. Why am I afraid to call you 'unloving' when I see a world unloved and observe your lack of willingness to love them practically. I know the theory is that Christians are your hands to love the world, yet most of the world wants nothing to do with a Christian's expression of love. Why am I afraid to blame you for my lack of choice in life, why when I experience your involvement in my life as little more than a parachute of last resort, should I not be able to ask for evidence of Your commitment to see your Word through. I seem to be making up more and more excuses for You. The way I see it, I can no longer cover up and defend Your character to a disillusioned world. If you chose to allow suffering, then surely it is only fair to describe you as the God who allows the vulnerable to suffer.

God, I trusted you with my life two years ago, and with my heart...Am I allowed to say that "You took your eye off the ball?" My heart ache was due to Your failing to keep Your promise. If I as a man have had to carry the scars of my choice to act on Your failed promises...it would help restore my trust if You would at least own up to Your failure to protect and cover me when those promises dissolved.

Why do I feel so guilty?Surely You are able to defend Your right to my devotion? At the moment, I honour You and pay service to You because I cannot deny Your existence...but if I am honest, I have been hurt one too many times by Your hand to allow you too close again! Earn my trust again...not with wealth and riches....just with Honesty God.

I missed our relationship today... It appears to have become one-sided...

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Ding Dong! The Witch is dead!

I woke up to the news, on a sunny autumn Easter Sunday, that Eugene Terreblanche was murdered over this weekend. What shocked me more than the death of a right wing, racist, prejudiced, quasi-Nazi, White-Supremacist remnant of a very sad era in the history of South Africa… was the outcry from people I had considered reasonable people. I was silly enough to make a comment on my Facebook profile that said "White supremacist leader Eugene Terreblanche murdered in pay dispute…if you live by the sword of hatred and racial prejudice, it is likely that you will eventually die by that sword! Without condoning murder on any grounds, one can't help but wonder (in private consideration) whether justice in this world has finally been served?" I am all for differing opinions, but I saw a group of Afrikaans speaking individuals react angrily towards me in response to my statement. I cannot imagine any individual who claims not to hold prejudice views aligning themselves with this evil man.
The main English speaking newspaper then ran an interview with a popular Afrikaans celebrity who expressed heartbreak at his death. WHY? WHY I ASK, WOULD ANYONE WHO ISNT A RACIST, PREJUDICE, RIGHT WINGER ALIGN THEMSELVES WITH THIS MAN?
So in order to incite these people to face their demons, let me say:
"Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. She's gone where the goblins go, Below! Let the joyous news be spread. Wicked Old Witch at last is dead! "
There must be dancing in the streets!!!

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Racism and prejudice is alive and thriving like scum in this toilet bowl

(First Published: Thursday, 11 February 2010)

How ironic! On 20th anniversary of Mandela's release,a new right wing prejudice-racist organisation launches on Stellenbosch Campus! What a sad day. The rest of South Africa is celebrating the 20 year anniversary of Mandela's release which is so symbolic of our own freedom from our own ignorant racism. The day Madiba walked out of Victor Verster Prison we were forced to examine our ideologies, and given the grace by a forgiving downtrodden people to change (without recrimination for our hatred.) Sadly, on the 20th anniversary, a group of right wing afrikaaners in Stellenbosch University are launching a society that isolates them even more from the spirit of South Africa.

Written in 1955 the freedom charter declared that "South Africa belongs to all who live in it", that Education should be "universal and equal" and that higher education be "opened to all". The narrow minded few quote the part of The Bill of Rights that declares that "Everyone has the right to receive education in a language of their choice" but they selectively chose to leave out the proviso that this be a right only when "reasonably practicable", taking into account "equity, and the need to redress the results of past racially discriminatory laws and practices."

What man would attempt to defend the exceptional and superfluous rights of 3 million previously advantaged at the expense of the basic human rights of 45 million people who previously shared in none of the opportunity to educate themselves and their children. What a sad day it would be to entertain the demands of the advantaged.

The vocal minority 'reminds' us that the birthplace of apartheid is an "Afrikaan's University built with Afrikaan's money" ....

Will we count the cost of the blood of so many, and the sweat and tears of those enslaved as so cheap as not to challenge them... Who will remind them that it is first a South Africa University, paid for with priceless South African blood, and each brick laid by torn enslaved South African hands. Cry out the cry of 1955: "South Africa belongs to all who live in it"

So while the reasonable man remembers the powerful change of our universal consciousness in South Africa 20 years ago.... And while we gladly embrace the ideal that "South Africa belongs to all who live in it" in a common cry of celebration with the enslaved masses of 1955... Keep in mind that the battle remains simmering in parts of this grace filled land. That there are those who would once again choose to attempt to entrench as 'THEIRS' what people died to establish as 'OURS'.
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I blame my parents...

I love travelling... I love the feeling of stepping through the X-ray screen at security... its the gateway to new and exciting worlds. The fascination with the world beyond my garden gate began when I was very young. For as long as I can remember I recall dreaming of exploring old worlds and discovering new. I blame my parents and their love of books. Once a week on a Saturday morning, and if we were lucky on a Tuesday afternoon the family packed into our small Mazda or later the bread loaf VW Kombi...and the 6 of us went off to the local library. I often wondered whether mom and dad had read every book in the library. I remember marvelling at dad's method for choosing books for both himself and my mother. Initially I think he began with his favourite authors or in my mom's case her favourite genre... But I realised during a visit from University that he had long read all his favourites and to my fascination was working thought the shelves alphabetically. Mom had resorted to reading even the large print books, in the search for variety. I had to break a smile when mom told me that Dad now orders books through the library. There is a feud that exists between the retired police chief in the community and dad as to who gets to read the new books that arrive. I am afraid that the police chief has a "special friendship" with the head librarian, and so to dad's chagrin he has to wait a week before he can get his hands on the latest addition to the library.

I loved the travel section of our library, and used to plan my travels around the world carefully listing travel times, accommodation costs, visa requirements etc. The fact that my budget was limited to R1.50 plus 10cents for each year of my short life meant that most of my imagined travel plans considered only Africa with a tent in my backpack living off canned food and what I could catch with my fishing rod. In my last year of school when all my cohorts were planning their first year of university I had taken out every book I could find on Botswana, and was planning to escape my garden gate and run away to become a professional hunter/tour guide. When that plan was foiled once again by my parents sensibility (God bless them) I ran away to the seaside instead, and in a town a thousand kilometres away from home I plotted my great escape. I worked 16 hour days delivering bank mail in the day and pizza in the evenings. I bought a ticket to New Zealand and planned to finally escape the prison I considered myself in. I have never quite figured out what I was running from. Even though that flight never happened that year, my pursuit of freedom was established and by the following year I had travelled to China, Thailand, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Lesotho, Swaziland and a decade later the list continues to grow to most of continental europe and Southern Africa, the Middle East and Asia

My love for travel remains... I can imagine that the high of stepping through the boarding gate onto a plane, or train must be equivalent to the satisfaction an addict feels.... I keep coming back for more. Leave me without a stamp in my passport for more than 4 months and my spirit dies slowly in me...only to be revived by the smell of burning oil in Bangkok, the whiplash of a Tigerfish taking my bait on the Zambezi, the smell of ocre and burnt cattle dung in Zambia, the stern headmistress commanding me to 'mind the gap' in London, the smell of chestnuts roasting on the fire in a winter square in Prague....

Please excuse me while I book a flight to 'I don't give a damn where, just get me out of here........'
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Sazakhela Primary School

I am always amazed at how many unworn clothes are packed in my closet. I am busy moving home, and have packed 3 crates of clothes... most of which i havent worn in months... most brand new.

I am not suggesting we all pack up our clothes and send them to third world countries... I learnt many years ago that guilt driven aid to third world countries is often part of the aetiology of the collapse of home grown industry in these countries. In the same breath I see my excess in stark comparison to the boys at Sazakhela Primary School. We recently arranged for a UK based School to send the unclaimed school uniforms in their lost property bin to South Africa, and gave them to these deserving young learners. What we write off as 'lost property' would be a prized possession in these communities.

Planting in the dust

While packing up my apartment for yet another move, I came accross a scribbling on a post it note. I have a habit of having profound revelations in the middle of the night on long haul international flights, and at other inconvenient times when a pen and note pad are not at hand. On many occasions I consciously decide to make a mental note to write this thought down once I wake up. Sadly I can never remember the idea or sound bite of my dream. On a few occasions when I have written down my thoughts and allowed myself to fall asleep I have woken up to find incomprehensible drivel or very ordinary observations. This note was penned just before I started pursuing an amazing college flame. I decided to stand up out of the ashes of Cath leaving me in the way she did, and I felt that God was telling me to step forward in faith and pursue a girl in Cape Town. Two years on I am still smarting from a wound so deep I wonder if i will ever recover. My planting in the dust resulted in me allow myself to be vulnerable in love once again, only to be deceived and used by the angel that turned out to be a devil!

Musings of the Heart (Scarlet Thread)

I am fully aware that when I see things that force a response in my heart, it is most probably likely that the "problem" lays 100% with me. So it is from this position that I write. I know that when I identify things in people's lives that I self righteously identify as sinful and worthy of judgement, it is usually as a result of significant pride in my heart, that either is blinding to the fact that sin is greater in my life, or that I have moved from remembering the grace on which I stand. If I start finding fault with people, and I start speaking judgement… I have often had to repent upon realising that the sin lies in my life…
I have been wrestling through a 'lack of peace' with a few things… and the fact that I realise the root of the issue is most probably in my life has really burdened me. I just have a lot on my heart at the moment and feel a bit trapped. The reason I feel so trapped is that I really cannot share it in many contexts since I would hate it to cause division and confusion.
I am really struggling with church and Christianity and my expression of church. I love God, and realize my salvation is based on Jesus' complete work on the Cross. I am not pointing fingers at a specific church. I love and respect my leaders, and acknowledge the massive selfless sacrifice people have made to contribute and build into my life. I have always been committed to the family God has me in, and committed to the vision God has for my family.
I lost my peace a couple months back. I had started regularly attending the intercession sessions on Tuesdays and Friday morning. It was during this time that the warning light came on in my spirit and my peace flew out the window.
In the UK they have any number of Television Channels with Séances and Astrologists and Illusionists. I obviously don't watch them, but have on occasion while channel flipping come across these channels where I have seen 'Séances' who prey on audiences. They usually have an Audience of a couple hundred, and the 'Mind reader' or 'Séance' who will stand in front of a live audience , and say things like... "I think, I feel there may be a woman, but it may be a man, who is sitting in that part of the audience. (PAUSE) but no, it may not be there, I feel it may be over here on the right. A woman, or maybe a man who has recently lost a man. Yes that's it, I think you have recently lost a male figure in the past while, or in the past but it is still seems like it was recent. Yes, you lost your husband,  or maybe your son.. it may be a boy or a child." I don't watch the stuff, but in the short exposure to it I realised the obvious superstition attached to it. I also recognised the potential for the occultism, but also that the Séance was manipulating responses and reading body language and at the end of the process eventually found someone who had recently lost a husband or a son or even their dog. I know how possible it is to manipulate people by eliciting an emotional response. We are usually unable to think with rational clarity if we are emotionally engaged. That's why all these Scam Emails work. You switch on someone's 'greed' switch, and they let down their defence to believe that they really do stand to receive millions of dollars from some deceased president in a distant country.
It was during these sessions that my 'warning switch' was flipped. I lost my peace. I have to admit that it was not instantaneous. I cannot say that one person prayed one thing caused me concern. All the prayers were biblically sound intercession from pure hearts. But it was during the intercession, that I realised that the sense of disquiet I felt was exactly the same as what I had in watching the Séance on the television channel. Over those couple weeks I listened to my family members in intercession share things they had 'seen'... things that they 'felt' God was 'saying'. I really sensed that I was seeing a spirit of superstition at work.
This is where it becomes difficult, I have just thrown a stone at the Church … and I don't mean a specific church, I mean the Bride… and I spent the next weeks repenting for my pride and arrogance that I could question people's motives. So I looked inside myself and questioned how many times I have 'manipulated in prayer'. I know how to press the right buttons. I can bring a man to tears by praying about 'sonship', or about ' God's purpose and destiny and promise'… all good things… but when wielded manipulatively in a self promoting fashion… it was pure witchcraft. I had to repent of praying 'emotionally' for people in the past. My heart has been to bless and see people established… but if I am honest I have prayed manipulatively upon more than one occasion in the past, in order to establish myself in the eyes of others.
I believe with all my heart that God speaks to His children. I have no doubt that God desires to speak to His church and through His church. I believe I have 'heard' God guiding me clearly and specifically through His Word, and by the gentle 'nudging' of my heart, and even through visions. I have testimonies of how God has used Words of Wisdom to powerfully bring about change in lives. During one service, I believed the Holy Spirit was showing me a picture of a girl in a wedding gown who had been raped. Her wedding garments were torn and tattered, and she was soiled. I shared it, and when I called the pastor the next day to repent and say I am sorry for sharing such a crazy thing in Church, he told me not to worry that a girl had responded and God had ministered powerful restoration to this girl who had seen her chances of future marriage and intimacy destroyed by the abuse she suffered. A girl came up to me two years later and thanked me and told me that she was the girl who responded. So yes, I do believe in God speaking now, himself, and through his children, and through normal family members, and through prophets, and through nature… and yes even in intercession in pictures.
But, I came to a realisation that what I was seeing and discerning what not the 'voice of God'. I sensed that I was seeing in the intercession and intercessors the same 'superstition' I had seen in the audience of the Séance programme. I see so much superstition in the Church. I feel like a member in the audience of séance show, with people prophesying and seeing figments of their imagination and proclaiming it to be the word and the will of God... I see superstition and manipulation in prayer...And before you feel I am judging people.... I point my finger at myself! I am the worst of this counterfeit....
I had someone pray for me in February and He said... 'I feel God showing me a pen'. I thanked him and blessed him. In the same breathe it caused me concern. When I read God's Word, He speaks eloquently with awesome prose/poetry... He speaks so clearly to Adam, to Eve, to the Serpent, Noah, Abraham, Jacob, Laban and Joseph ... and that is only in Genesis... When God speaks in images to Jeremiah it is an incredible clear and distinct communication…its beautiful poetry:-
"The word of the LORD came to me, saying, "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,before you were born I set you apart;I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.""Ah, Sovereign LORD," I said, "I do not know how to speak; I am only a child."But the LORD said to me, "Do not say, 'I am only a child.' You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. 8 Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the LORD.Then the LORD reached out his hand and touched my mouth and said to me, "Now, I have put my words in your mouth. 10 See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant."The word of the LORD came to me: "What do you see, Jeremiah?" "I see the branch of an almond tree," I replied.The LORD said to me, "You have seen correctly, for I am watching to see that my word is fulfilled."The word of the LORD came to me again: "What do you see?" "I see a boiling pot, tilting away from the north," I answered.The LORD said to me, "From the north disaster will be poured out on all who live in the land. 15 I am about to summon all the peoples of the northern kingdoms," declares the LORD. "Their kings will come and set up their thrones in the entrance of the gates of Jerusalem; they will come against all her surrounding walls and against all the towns of Judah. etc etc etc"

I am not pointing fingers at the intercessors, or at the pastors or at the church.... I know that if there is a problem with the church, it means there is a problem with ME... because I am the church... And it is likely that my rebellion and pride filled heart needs to cry out to God for mercy.
If God speaks today, and I believe He does, when was the last time I heard him speak with the poetry of His conversation with Job:-
" Would you indeed annul My judgment? Would you condemn Me that you may be justified?Have you an arm like God?Or can you thunder with a voice like His?Then adorn yourself with majesty and splendor, And array yourself with glory and beauty.Disperse the rage of your wrath;Look on everyone who is proud, and humble him.Look on everyone who is proud, and bring him low; Tread down the wicked in their place.Hide them in the dust together,Bind their faces in hidden darkness.Then I will also confess to you That your own right hand can save you."Look now at the behemoth,which I made along with you;He eats grass like an ox.See now, his strength is in his hips, And his power is in his stomach muscles.He moves his tail like a cedar;The sinews of his thighs are tightly knit.His bones are like beams of bronze,His ribs like bars of iron.He is the first of the ways of God;Only He who made him can bring near His sword.Surely the mountains yield food for him,And all the beasts of the field play there. etc etc"

If God speaks today, and I believe He does, when was the last time I heard him speak with the specific clarity of His instruction to Peter:-
"...go to the lake and throw out your line. Take the first fish you catch; open its mouth and you will find a four-drachma coin..."
I feel that the Donkey who had its mouth opened by God to rebuke Balaam was more eloquent than what I am seeing and experiencing at the moment.

Where am I going with this.... I know God speaks to His children, I am concerned by what I am seeing and am part of...What I discern to be false prophesy and testimony...I also realize that I don't want to swing the other way of "Thus Sayeth the Lord"... because much of what I have seen of that from American 'prophets' who have been prophesy such conflicting things that anyone trying to discern the voice of god from them would be even more confused.

I cannot judge... but I desire to 'hear' my God like He intends His children to hear him...I don't want anything to do with superstitious false testimony... and I am concerned. I don't want to sow confusion or bring division, or cause people to stumble. I am aware that in life when I start finding fault with others, I need to very quickly turn my fault finding inwards, and repent, because I invariably find that my attitude is rooted in pride and rebellion etc. Here is the second point that is crucial to my understanding of where I am at. DESPITE REALISING THE PROBLEM MOST PROBABLY LIES WITH MYSELF, I HAVE TO BE AWARE THAT WHEN MY PEACE LEAVES ME, IT MAY WHEN BE FOR A VERY SOLID REASON THAT I SHOULD INVESTIGATE AND NOT IGNORE.

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Musings of the heart (Secret Garden)

I love my church family. It has been a difficult year for me, but I point to my own inability to adapt to change… but despite this I love my family. I love the members. I love the guys in Intercession who sacrifice so much of their time to sow seeds for the future life of the church. So please hear my heart. This is not an attack against a specific church family. I realise that to share what is on my heart openly in any other context will cause people to be defensive, or cause huge offence, or sow massive seeds of confusion. I have instead wrestled through this in an attempt to come to a place of repentance myself so that I can resolve this without this process hurting my family.
There is something else that I need to repent of. At the same time as my warning light was flipped that weekend I starting thinking over my walk with God and the 'Expression of Church' I am part of. I have been in church since I was born, and gave my life to the Lord as a young boy. As a family we regularly attended Church and my Mom and Dad walked lives really worthy of praise in the way they brought us up to love God. Despite this I remember hating being dragged to church each week. I had to sit and listening to hour long sermons week after week for the past years and years. I realised that apart from a couple years of rebellion, I have been listening to teaching and sermons week in and week out for 32 years. I have suddenly become incredibly bored!  I LOVE HEARING GOD's WORD FOR 'NOW'. I love sitting under the teaching of someone who has waited on God for a Word , and then speaks something that is timeous and has impact... I love the freshness of God's Word when I directly see lives (mine included) changed by God's clear and specific Word for a church. And don't get me wrong, I realise the need to teach the basics. But I suddenly found myself spending an hour of sermon repenting for my boredom and judgemental heart and rebellion while I sat listening to 'lectures' rather than the Holy Spirit bring the Word to life. I had to repent, because my heart was rebellious The sermons felt like lectures, and I didn't sense them as God's Word for now to be honest they were simply Bible School lectures on Demons put into sermon format. I spent much of the service repenting of the rebellion in my heart. Then I really felt shattered by my sinful heart when 3 people recommitted their lives after the sermon… I prayed that God would forgive me for my heart, and that if I had to sit through a lifetime of sermons to see people come to know Jesus, so be it, even if I became bored. The gift of life was far more precious than my desire to be entertained. So I feel terrible that I would entertain such judgemental thoughts again.
Despite making a choice to repent, I kept being reminded of how I sat through hours of church services as a child. It was a recipe that was followed week in and week out. We had the procession with a Hymn, and then we read through and prayed through the same Liturgy week after week...stood up, kneeled down, stood up, sat down, repeated the Lord's prayer, and the Nicene Creed... and then sat for the sermon... I lasted 12 years before I asked my parents if I could move to a new church. This was during the 80's and God's Spirit was being poured out on South Africa. I joined a local youth group and with my family and my Minster's blessing I moved churches to a place where I sensed the Holy Spirit and the Life of God in the Church. I remember how I suddenly felt alive! I was filled with the Holy Spirit so powerfully I was floored and was unable to walk properly for hours afterwards. God's Spirit burned through my body like a flame or pins and needles. We left that town, but I remember walking into a Godless School as seeing God minster powerfully through 3 of us who were on 15 years old. We went from 3 people praying and fasting in the forests of Nelspruit over the weekends to 5 people who used to wake up in the mornings at go and pray over the school to God to large prayer groups that filled classrooms crying out to God for salvation for our school. I loved God, I knew God, I knew Holy Spirit, I had courageous faith. We would lay hands on the sick and see them healed. It seemed our faith was unstoppable.
I have to admit that I feel the same boredem now as what I did sitting in the little Church in my youth week after week after week. I sense emotionalism in worship, I see and sense that we have glorified worship and music production above God. I keep wanting to cry out what was in Matt Reddman's heart when I was 19 years old " When the music fades, and all is stripped away…"
I am NOT HAVING A GO AT A SPECIFIC CHURCH… please hear my heart. I have really struggling and battling with my expression of Church and the Expression of Church I am part of.
I feel like I am back in a service in Church in the town I grew up in where I am worshiping by following a liturgy that I have learnt off by heart, but that has lost its relevance and its power. Having said that, that church is now filled with life, and God is moving powerfully in that church and through that church in that town.
In 1998 when I was part of a missions organisation, I became so aware that the organisation I was part of was sick. The organisation had received incredible mandate from God during the Jesus movement of the 1960's. But then in 1998 it was still applying God's plan for 1969 and I sensed that God had moved on. Missions were never meant to be carried out by a central institution like the one I was part of. God intended the local church to reach out. But in the 60's there were thousands of hippie youth joining the church who needed discipling and needed outlet to share their faith worldwide… this organisation is now hurting more than helping. I have had to minister to at least three young people who have become deceived during their time working for that organisation, and was even asked by a family to go and try and convince a young 18 year girl to go home to her family after she ran away to this institution and rebelled against her family who love and honour and serve God. In London I had first hand experience of the Salvation Army. William Booth was sent by God to minister powerfully to the East End of London… these days they have huge administration buildings with Charity Stores, and are working as a 1st World Charity with massive overheads. They have lost their relevance. God has moved on… The salvation army in stuck in the past.
I feel as if I am stuck in an expression of Church globally, who follow a meaningless routine week in and week out, because it worked once... I give no freedom for the Holy Spirit to change lives... and when I do, I allow the same superstitious drivel I spoke of earlier. Sometimes someone will bring an awesome word that is straight from the heart of God. At other times I have heard the people share a prophecy or a Word, and sensed that the person feels the need to fill the silence with a random scripture that bears no real fruit in the life of the church. I really feel like I am sitting through a traditional church service looking out the window... counting the minutes till I can get out of the building and do real life with real people. I long for the time I was 15 years old. Holy Spirit was the air I breathed, ie I sensed God's presence with me tangibly and saw Him change my life and other's day in and out. I read Acts, believed that was how church was supposed to be, and we simply took it for granted and lived Acts. Now I am walking in superstition and manipulating people for the advancement of self, or simply in deception.
 
I experience the same thing in churches all over... we (I) have lost our (my) first love, and have settled for the same trap of the orthodox churches of trying to revert to Liturgy... to Church in a Box.
I cannot live in this desert anymore. Something needs to change. I AM FULLY AWARE MY LIFE HAS TO BE THE FIRST TO CHANGE. THE PROBLEM LIES WITH ME…NO ONE ELSE.
I want to hear God's voice as Moses did, I want to be part of the Church that Jesus started one in which there is love and genuine relationship. In my quiet time on Wednesday I realised that everything I do, needs to be out of 1. relationship with God, and 2. in relationship with others.
I am seeing a church who have a limited understanding of salvation. People who hold onto the 'baby Jesus lives in my heart' philosophy. In short, I don't think I can buy into the expression of the Church that I am now part of... I do not feel I can covenant myself to it.
 I agree strongly with the view that we need to eat our vegetables at the same table we eat our dessert and meat… ie I realise that I cant just look to be entertained… and as part of a family it sometimes means sitting at the table eating broccoli because it is good for you. But I have to respond to my lack of peace and ask God… Am I in the right place? Do you want me to consider my options in terms of church? I need God to answer the concerns on my heart about the Expression of Church.
"Father, please forgive me for any pride or rebellion in my heart. Please will you correct and discipline me Lord. I really desire to be in your will, and not act according to my own will, but walk according to both your will and your purpose for me in the season you have me in now."

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Brick Walls

Spent a frustrating hour trying to have an objective discussion about Land Reform. I again realised that unless we can agree in every South African's right to life, dignity& opportunity...it is a futile discussion that will not mature beyond the prejudiced perceptions and narrow-minded generalisations.
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Tantrums in the Candy Aisle

In the movie City Slickers, the character Mitch Robbins bemoans "Have you ever had that feeling that this is the best I'm ever gonna do, this is the best I'm ever gonna feel... and it ain't that great?" This observation has often struck a tender cord in my experience of life. How often have I asked myself "is this the best I will ever be, the fastest I will ever run, the furthest I will ever jump?" Like a spoilt child throwing a tantrum in the candy aisle, I demand my share of this world, I shout at the heavens, I tally the journal entries in life's ledger, and cross check against my peers.

Those I have mentored buy supercars and waterside apartments. Those I have partnered with buy island resorts and golf courses. And as I audit my life, I experience a sense of lack. I grieve my lack and loss relative to their excess.

During periods of review this realisation has ignited many new endeavours to establish my virility, creativity, and youthfulness as result of the accounting of regret when the finals totals are tallied. Despite perfect health, a world class education, a top 2%paycheck, caring friends and a loving family; I regularly lament my lack, and bemoan my insignificance in the light of comparison with my wealthy and 'happier' peers.

How can any man who has a roof over his head, who eats 3times the Recommend Daily Allowance of Calories, who drinks imported coffee from organic cardboard cups, who takes 4weeks vacation a year on private yachts, who travels the world and who owns too many clothes to fit into his wardrobes; bemoan his lack?

My annual coffee bill is greater than millions of families' annual food bill. I own three pairs of designer sunglasses...three pairs of sunglasses that are worth more than the value of a human life in the world war zones.

I have travelled the world, made my first million, lost my first million, made my second million and spent that second million. I have fallen in, experienced rejection in, and rejected someone in love. I have experienced loss, experienced life, and even attempted to take my own life. I have celebrated and mourned, laughed and cried, danced and limped. I have kissed a lover, used a lover and abused a lover's trust. I have deceived a friend, lied to my family, dodged the taxman, and stolen while no one was watching. I have faced death in the face of Ak47's and enjoyed relief on my freedom. I have defended the vulnerable, fought for the freedom of the downtrodden, and exposed racist's prejudice. I have never missed a meal !

In the face of this excess of life I bathe in, both good and bad, I am forced again to ask "Is the best I'm ever going to do, the best I'll ever feel, the best I will ever be, the fastest I will ever run, the furthest I will ever jump? If it is ... and "It ain't that great!"

I remain the spoilt child throwing tantrums in the candy aisle!
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ταυτότητα

Searching for identity : Ψάχνοντας για την ταυτότητα

Young love lost

"He can run, but he can't hide." Joe Louis (1914-1981)

I find life tensioned between a rock and a hard place;between a rock and a heart break... Do I chose to live in the heartland of prejudice, or move to the precinct of the memory of heartbreak. After a year of butting heads with narrow minded right-wingers who are unable to loosen their grip on their corrupt ideology, I have given up trying to convert the stubborn to a philosophy of respect for his neighbour apart from skin colour.

A man needs a place of peace to lay his head albeit it a long journey home at the end of his day. But by choosing to move to a neighbourhood more embracing of every mans right to life and opportunity, I find myself choosing to lay my head on a bed of thorns; remnant of the once blossoming roses of young love that is now bereft of life and thus to subject my heart to the suffocating distress and agony of seeing the one I loved in another man's caress.

I will convince myself that I suffer for a greater cause, this small deception surely not a crime in its innocent mask of the folly of young love lost.

Accessory to Crime

Arguing a secular Israel's "God given right" to an illegally occupied 'promised land' at the human cost of Palestinian's basic right to life, cannot be morally justified on ANY level. Failure to challenge this Apartheid by reasonable individuals is paramount to being an accessory to murder. An armed struggle by Apartheid victims is surely justifiable?

Stale Cheques and Spinster Morality

Einstein is supposed to have said (paraphrased) that we should try not to become men of success, but rather to become men of value. It appears that I may have been barking up the wrong 'ambitional' tree!

In my short life I have changed course numerous times on account of the revelation of Einstein's sentiment. Four years have passed since I resigned a directorship, and walked away from a lucrative business contract that had expended years of establishing ground work, for the satisfaction of the desire to uphold the core value of the 'striving for integrity.' Two years later I walked away from a 98th percentile remuneration package at a London firm to pursue a core ideal of pouring out my life in the service of humanity rather than selfish materialism. Despite the apparent altruism, it never takes long for my keel to cut the path of least resistance to my nature of greed and self-centredness. Two years on I find myself again pursuing the upper tiers of maslovian utalitarianism and self actualisation, while others shred their bloodied fingernails as they attempt to claw their suffering families out of lives of poverty.

"Try not to become a man of success but rather to become a man of value." Is it becoming too late to cash this cheque?

Where did it all go wrong?

The couch philosopher arrogantly proclaims insight into the failing and flaws of individuals, corporations, politicians, governments and God. Yes, despite my piety, I secretly harbour criticism even for God. How often I look at the failings of society and blame it on God. Is God to blame for poverty? Is God enjoying popcorn and soda in a premium cinema seat while viewing in 30x60ft the misery and pain of man? Those who have reasoned God out of the equation must surely sleep blissfully.

The theologian's brainwashing of decades of Sundays screams in my consciousness that "God is good!" Should I blame the devil for the baby choking on its vomit. Is it diabolical that a young mother discovers the tentacles of death growing in her breast. Is the pulpit correct that man bears the responsibility of his own evil? I wrestle with my morality everyday. Does the 7year old naked boy at the traffic lights, begging for bread, bare the righteous judgement of a kind God, or the deserved penance of his own sinfulness? Only the self-righteous could possible consider the inner aside that this forgotten and forsaken child should 'Just get a job!" I struggle, in secret, to reconcile a loving God to the inner vortex of emotions a woman must feel the first time she sells her dignity to feed an addiction which left her letter choice.

I bare the scars of consequence and the cloak of shame for decisions made for me, and pathways chosen by me in the diminished candlelight of youthful insight. Yet, I will not blame God, nor man...but myself alone! My faith remains, albeit challenged.

Revision births direction!

At a point in man's history he has to journey backwards in order to make forward progress. To journey without review is to crawl blind to the scouring that shapes a man. Am I what I am because of yesterday's kiss on the lips of my identity?

Come dance with me!

A life consumed by lust and driven by the satisfaction of desire! 'Short lived satisfaction' vs 'Lengthy regret'. Is moral character evident in "this" life? The plumb line is best hanged in private. Rotting flesh beneath cosmetic character, shouting at the devil, blaming the demons hovering all around. Apportioning blame for my frailties, perhaps then I can be freed. Like a dog to vomit is a man seeking satisfaction in the arms of random lovers. Cum find satisfaction, before the shame. 'Short lived satisfaction' vs 'Lengthy regret'.

The fragile heart

My heart is a fattened turkey trying to fly! Perhaps your concerns are with my sanity rather than the condition of my heart. But,I have come to the conclusion, that the greatest malady that can befall a man is not the tragedy of cancer, or the shame of dying of an incurable sexually transmitted disease... It is not the horror of sudden death of a loved one, or the loss of a fortune; No! It is the hopelessness of a broken heart and a crushed spirit as result of being rejected in love. Take a man's arm! Cut out his eye... It will hurt less than a man having his vulnerable honest intentions trampled by a witch.

To be ignorant of one's ignorance is the malady of the ignorant. — Amos Bronson Alcott (1799-1888)