I say it a lot, our world is a marketplace. And it is. We make our trades and deals, meet crooks and partners, friends and charlatans. Good moments spills over in bitter moments as tears turns into riddles and despair into laughter – and of course all reversed... as your brilliant laughter makes the canvas of a silent kill in your back or somewhere else... We are inside our own dramas always and we constantly insist on not being the authors of these dramas. After all we all seek to be the hero in our own journey, in our own life, so to accept that we were the rock in the road towards a temporary downfall in our own life is often difficult to cope with. When this happens we feel we are losing control of our life, naturally, as we have stumbled into confusion and become dethroned from our own life.
These moments are glyphs of miracles. Because they show to us that we are not alone, no matter how much we would like to be alone, rather everything is connected and control lost is always given over to something or someone. If you believe our world is a fusion of the visible and invisible (at least in the sense of wind and electricity having an effect on your life) you will have the capacity for appreciating the loss of control of your own life. This can be a good thing or a bad thing. If you don’t know who you are or where you are going losing control of your life can be your ticket to finding yourself and if you do have some vague idea of who you are and life turns upside down, it might be the perfect juncture to redefine yourself.
To be the Master of one’s Destiny is a tricky little thing, because mastery is about dominion and to secure dominion is about knowing what to keep and what to let go. The Man or Woman of Destiny is a Warrior on the path of Self. Certainly, a warrior is an opportunist, a master of deception and what not, but the skill defining a warrior is to set a goal and then measuring the environment so the knowledge of how to manipulate the condition to ones benefit can be a reality. In this process one need to display faith and one need to give oneself over to the surroundings in the hope that the path towards the goal was well measured.
So, sure, we are all warriors of vanity and greed, dignity wisdom, beauty, fantasy, ambition, justice, truth and what not. It is a common energy found in our human struggle that also separates us. Our common energy and our different goals can create enemies as it can create lifelong allies and moments of bliss and concord in alien lands with the most estranged people. We need to keep this to our heart. Every single meeting we have with a human being (and for many an animal, tree or mineral) is precious. It is precious either by its gift of blessing, curse or – the greatest gift of all – discernment.
As warriors we want to make our life, and as warriors we seek alliances, just to discover that people are really as Machiavelli said: “Of mankind we may say in general they are fickle, hypocritical, and greedy of gain.”
But isn’t this the element of suspense and thrill in the warriors journey, the warrior that seeks to become the hero of his or her own life and dominate his or her own dramas?
Ifá says in a verse from Ogbèatè the following:
Unhelpful persons are as abundant
As bushes in the forest
A good person is as rare as another eye
To find a good person, one must travel
A long way,
These were the teaching of Ifá for Orunmila
When he was going to become the husband
Of the world
When he was going to share the world into
Two equal parts with Olodumare
He was advised to practice sacrifice
He heard and he practiced it
This verse speaks of the human condition, being one of reluctance of help. It speaks of the good person being hard to find because of a division that occurred in the world. This division in the world is about paradox and contrast. It is about night and day, it is about earth and water, fire and air. It is about a deeper organization of the world that we only understand by approach the world with interest, preferably with a good heart and a sound mind... This is the attitude of a warrior of the world, to enter whatever that calls and then decide if to strike or to retract. This decision is mediate by clarity of vision and a purity of heart, because a warrior will always be clear in his or her goal. He or she seeks the honey draped gold at the end of the track. Pursuing this goal means to interact with the world and find allies, friends and fiends. And this is the consequence we are experiencing in a world divinely divided, we must make ourselves whole through the alliance we make and break mediated on the goals we set for ourselves measured against our mind and heart – and by consequence what is good for us, what we need and what we want. Darn, this life is not only a market or a circus; it is a playground and a feast of poverty as much as a celebration of your riches. Your life is a drama that you constantly seek to own, but at times fail in possessing as your own. You see yourself as the failed hero and the butchered heroin. Not a good feeling, no matter if you are a bad or good warrior, the feeling is the same. Although the warrior of bad character will be filled with insecurities and paranoia, while the good warrior will be filled with riddles and interest – so you might want to watch this space in the absence of self projections upon your own ongoing drama. This moment of “what now!?” is a condition the saint shares with the shithead – an only the honesty of solitude provides true answers, they be kept in vaults or shared with the world - the fallen warrior or the Hero to be knows the answer blasting in his or her heart...
Perhaps the following words and wicked rhymes tracking the footprints of a warrior on a sandy beach will serve as a good conclusion for the beginning of contemplation...
You are wicked, weird and wild
You have drown yourself in words, emptiness and fashion
and your words moves in the same empty fashion
singing elegies of gaps and holes to be filled
where we speak of sewers and rivers,
streams of honey and tears of gold cracks through
and sometimes they find junctures
where honey makes shit sweet
but the sewer still stink
and no sane person would stay
But in your wayward insanity you question
Yourself and wonder if you should stay
You can contemplate the shit
You have all right to do so,
I prefer my honey
So I can rub my eyes in sweetness
And be deluded
By the path of honey