A throw back in time;I miss my old village setting without walls

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It used to be said that the Great Wall of China is the only human artefact seen from the moon.

Even if this legend has been debunked by astronauts, the wall is indeed great.

It stretches an extensive 7,200 kilometres.

The Chinese have something to be proud of, marking how developed they were even in the pre-Christian era.

In my private thoughts,walls desecrate the environment.

They destroy wonderful panoramic views.

These days, I sometimes take an academic writing break in Kiambu,my hometown to my former village,my birthplace, a cosy little town at the
heart of central Kenya.

Twenty years ago when I left my birthplace to settle in my new home,it was indeed a village.

Don’t you misunderstand me: I am not really a crazy, romantic “ruralist” living up in the clouds,nor am I hypocritical GreenPeace member, not even an animal rights activist who concerns more about orphaned cats and dogs than the man dying on the
roadside;I’m just a moderate environmental conservationist.

I occasionally visit my birthplace village,but I miss its old rural setting.

I’m currently contracted to write an Agribusiness Best Practices manual by a client.

I normally take time off to go and do the writing from a friends home back in my birthplace village,if only to get inspiration from my past during the writers ‘block’.

Now I might begin to sound like Vasco da Gama!

Or I might sound very nostalgic showing wrinkles of ageing.

But what does a village mean to me, anyway: African mud huts, homes amidst farm lands, no cars or pikipiki’s (motorcyles), and most of all, no walls and gates.

NO WALLS, IMAGINE!

Those old days, when I was younger in the green Village – green it still is, most houses were just mud put around dry sticks, and you saw those
huts, there was nothing even to hide them from miles and miles of open view from all sides.

No walls, I mean.

Yes, there would be some stray marks of boundaries of farms with some thornyless plants of the euphorbia family, including
the “Gitooka”,a special succulent plant used to mark the four corners of farm boundaries.

I must hurry to add that the Kikuyu people have a sentimental attachment to the “Gitooka”,it not only marked boundaries but also lineage.

I was born long after my paternal grandfather,whom I’m named after, had already died in the Mau Mau insurgency in Kenya during the struggle for independence.

I had no idea about who he was or even a spiritual connection with his life.

As a curious young boy,I one day asked and old man who was my grand dad’s agemate to tell me about my grand dad who I never met.

I saw him almost coming to tears as he stood up silently,held my hand and led me to a far flung farm that used to belong to grand dad,but was lost during the long armed struggle for our country’s independence.

When we got to the corner of the farm boundary,he told me to pluck a succulent leave from the “gitooka” plant and wring it with my feasts;it produced some sap that he told me to rub on my face.

I was just amused,following his ritualistic instructions.

Then he solemnly said,”your grand father planted this particular “Gitooka” with his own hands. You almost resemble him. The sap you pasted on your face now spiritually connects you to his departed soul. Now you know him!”

I was moved by that experience,its spiritual connection with the past,and a plant that could connect three different generations,some who were already dead.

These days I take some long walks along the dusty village pathways of my former village, between my tight writing schedule: just to exercise my otherwise numbed hands at the laptop, to stretch my swollen feet, to feed my eyes with some green, and to get some fresh air – I am allergic to open windows while within my room!

What wounds my eyes when I am out of the hurting screen of the laptop are WALLS.

Yes, traditional boundary markers are replaced by walls, these days.

There are walls and walls.

Some,tall live hedges, are still growing up.

Others are a mix of bricks and grills, you could still have a peek through to admire the new mansions.

Most of them have a gate, some of which have large arches over them – Greek, Romanesque,Baroque, Neo-gothic, Persian, you name it.

Still other walls are high and tight – they can almost compete with the Great Modern Wall of Israel put
up by the wounded Israelis (I am afraid to use the ‘J’ word, lest I be blamed for anti-Semitism) on the
property of their helpless neighbours.

All in the name of sovereignty and security!

They have forgotten the story of the Berlin Wall,and why it had to come down.

I keep praying every day that this wall of Israeli insecurity too, should come down and like in my birthplace, should come down and free long range views of my old village!

It makes me angry.

I only pray that it will happen in my life-time.

All that it will take to bring that heartless wall will be one new Joshua – by the way, that is Hebrew for
Jesus.

That aside, coming back to the bourgeoning walls of my former village, they say, this is maendeleo
(Swahili for progress or development)!

After all, I work for holistic development, I am not against maendeleo: education, access to health-care, water, electricity, means of communication and transport.

NOLLYWOOD’S WALLS AND NAIJA MOVIES

I do care about quality of life!

My agonising question is: do we need walls and gates to celebrate maendeleo – advancement, that is a
better translation?

Now I understand why the Nollywood (Nigerian)movies are full of high walls and tall dark gates!

In the Nigerian productions, there would be that large lipped lady with a flashy red lipstick or the XXXL sized gentleman, steering their Mercedes
Benz with one hand and pretend to be attending to an important call holding the mobile phone with
the other hand, would hoot at a tall black gate that breaks the monotony of an equally soaring high wall, and there would be that house-boy who would leave his snaky watering hose aside and run to drag that heavy gate open.

Someone once said if you cut the walls and the gates out of the Nollywood movies, their humdrum
plots wouldn’t fill the time for a feature film.

Besides, how else will the Nigerians show off their affluence and extravagance?

To me the decision is simple, if walls mean advancement, I then prefer an underdeveloped world with no walls at all.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Live your tiny dream the best way you can!

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You may think that, your dream in life is only a tiny dream.

In that seemingly tiny dream that you hold dear in your heart, that doesn’t match the big dreams that others have, feel or look like much, joyfully go ahead and call the shots!

Own it and possess it.

Remember you are the boss to that tiny dream. You,and only you,can call the shots to your dream!

It’s your day, it’s your moment and it’s your time. You are not NEXT in line for success,it’s NOW your turn for success!

One of the most crucial lessons you can learn from life, that we are emphasising today is how to have fun and enjoy realising your dream.

The most joyful and energising decision of your dream life is to commit 100 percent to your vision and choose to immerse yourself in fun while at it.

It is good to know you’re on the right path, fulfilling the right dream, and that you’re not only giving the day
your all, but cannot wait to do it all over again tomorrow!

It is possible to go to sleep each night grateful for the day with victory becoming part of your lifestyle.

That is possible and is our lesson this
week.

First of all, be satisfied with your dream.

It is not the type or size of dream that measures success, but the successful completion of the dream
assigned to you.

Never allow low self-esteem or
perceived lowliness of the assignment life gave you to overshadow the dream and weigh you down.

What you do is your divine path in this life.

We all have different instructions from nature to fulfil in this life and success comes by fully honouring these instructions.

You too can enjoy this success by focusing on your instruction and not what others are doing.

The grass may seem greener on the other side, but who knows, maybe it’s growing in sewage!

You need to concentrate on your patch and water your grass the
best way you know, making it the envy of your neighbours.

Do look for your joy on the journey to greatness, because if you are living the dream, the two are not independent, but co-joined.

Having fun while at it is the fuel that fans the passion for it, and often times, is the driving force that renews you.

Your happiness resides within the dream itself.

It is acquired while fulfilling the dream and is steered by the motions of that dream.

Nothing gives me pure joy than to see a life transformed, a family changed, a community developed, a decision made for the better or an
addiction broken by one whose life is on the edge of peril or in the jaws of obliteration.

That is priceless, worth more than any amount of money or a holiday
in an exotic island.

It is uplifting to see such transformation and this motivates me to continually strive to touch people’s lives through inspiration.

The power in a dream to spawn joy for the dream bearer is probably the most compelling force for one
to pursue that dream.

Make your dream the source of your ‘fix’, the ‘dope’ for your crave and the origin of the ‘high’ that you need to keep pushing.

When you are down and discouraged, if you want to see weakness metamorphose into strength, go back into the ring of your dreams and fight some more!

Dreamers are too busy to fuss over their ‘good’ looks or ‘sterling’ performances.

They are too committed to get carried away with showbiz.

Their mantra is that, ‘when you are good, you tell people about it,
but when you are great, people tell you about it’.

To them, time is a precious and irredeemable resource.

They don’t waste it on their struggles,disadvantages and worries.
Your dream is not a punishment.

Don’t face it with grumbling, weariness and irritation.

It is a blessing.

Your life’s work is not a ‘job’, it’s a way of living.

Face it daily with a spring in your step and a smile on your face.

You may have started by expecting your dream to be simple,obvious and predictable, only for it to become
complex and challenging.

Just because you are in unfamiliar territory does not mean you stop the
journey.

You are still the boss of that dream!

Finally, reward yourself.

Work hard, but play hard too.

After work, go out and enjoy the fruits of your labour, the benefits and perks that come with genuine hard work.

Own what you do and don’t be
apologetic about it.

People don’t become great
because they did great things, they do because they did small things in a great way, until the small things became great.

Therefore, in that seemingly tiny dream, joyfully go ahead and call the shots!

Own it and possess it.

It’s your day, it’s your moment and
it’s your time.

You are not next in line for success,

it’s your turn for success!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Women sleauths and domestic house arrest

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Our Women love to see us at home.

Even if you leave dirty dishes in the sink, rummage through the clothes cabinet and leave clothes strewn all over, leave the toilet seat up … no matter how destructive you are, women are happier if you stay indoors where they can see
you.

They want you there even when you are hogging the TV with your sports channel and making them miss their favourite La Mujer de Alehandro,that Mexican Soap Opera.

They want you there even if they aren’t talking to you,for some reason or the other.

They would rather you sit through their lengthy brooding sessions, so that they can occasionally shoot you looks that can turn the blood in your veins into powder and offer you dry
monosyllable answers: Fine. OK.

Not funny.

I know many claustrophobic guys with very small concentration spans who would rather be anywhere but at home; guys who can’t stay in the house for two days running.

Long holidays running past the fourth day scare them.

Too long in the house and they feel the walls closing in,almost like they’d cave in on poor fellows; they just want to be on the move.

But sometimes as a man you have to learn to be still and do nothing.

Stay at home, because when
you start moving you become a moving target.

If you leave for a beer with a friend, or just to visit that pal in the next apartment block, your woman
will not take it kindly: “Why can’t you just stay in the house for once?”

Have you ever sat in the house on a weekend and wondered how you will leave the house without your woman getting all-emotional about it?

Or do these crazy things only happen to me?

It’s a public holiday, or a random uneventful weekend.

You are all lazing about and haven’t shown any indication that you might leave, which means you are in those
dreadful shorts or tracksuits, reading some old magazines or watching football highlights.

Then your friend sends you that tempting SMS saying that he is having a beer and offers to buy.

Or just to catch up.

So you sit there and struggle with one important question: how do I leave without upsetting the apple cart?

I mean, you could be a mandingo about it and leave without caring about consequences, but the problem with leaving like that is that you will come back and when you come back the house will feel so cold and unwelcome you will need to wear socks to navigate it in total silence of a trembling fearful mice.

And that’s too much work trying to keep things from blowing up on the slightest agitation.

But here is this other weird thing: The moment you start thinking of leaving,she will have gotten wind of it.

These people are instinctive animals: they can smell our intentions even before we act.

A Lady friend of mine told me: “You know, men think we are stupid. When my husband wears a particular cologne, I know he won’t be back before midnight.”

I was like, “The hell? You can tell this by the scent he wears on his craggy beard?”

“Yup,” she replied, “Not only scents but also clothes. I particularly hate some of his jeans because every time he wears them he comes home in the small hours of the morning drunk, and we always fight about it.”

I shuddered at the sophisticated level of sleuthing women can do.

There are guys who are known to
leave the house in bathroom sandals, because sandals are non-threatening and they say you are only next-
door.

Then they come back six hours later, bearing an olive branch –some meat.

You have to celebrate the Kenyan guy for bringing home nyama choma as an olive branch.

But sometimes our women will see through all this and attach a GPS on us: the child.

“Junior, go with dad to the shop.”

And in one swift swoop, your hopes of nipping into the bar for a cold one on a Sunday flies out the window, unless Junior doesn’t mind a drink too when he is still underage.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Life is Short. Travel light

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I do a bit of heavy travel in my field work.

This has made me learn how to travel light.

No unnecessary baggage!

I guess the same thing happens in life.

What’s happened in your past is not
nearly as important as what is in your future.

Where you’re going is much more significant than where you’ve
been.

But if you stay focused on the
past, you’ll get stuck where you are.

This is the reason a lot of people don’t have joy or enthusiasm for life.

They’re dragging around all of this
negative baggage from the past.

Somebody offended them last week,
and they’ve got that stuffed in their
resentment bag.

Last month, they lost their temper and said some things they shouldn’t have.

They’ve got that in their guilt and
condemnation bag.

Ten years ago,they lost a loved one.

They still don’t understand it.

They’ve got that hurt and pain in their disappointment bag.

They carry around their bag of
regrets, all the things they wished
they would have done differently.

Life is too short to live that way.

Learn to travel light.

Every morning when you first get up, forgive the people that did you wrong the day before.

Forgive your partner for what they
said.

At the start of the day, let go of
the disappointments, the setbacks
from yesterday.

Start every morning fresh and new.

Nature did not create you to carry around all that baggage,otherwise,it would have placed you on standard gauge railroad for your own safety.

Let it go and move forward in the life of blessing Life has in store for you!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

How “not” to eat Fish

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I like food.

I love fish.

I can describe with relish how you go about it,no chopstics,no knives,forks and spoons.

You just need the dextrity of your cute fingers.

A friend told me that he has stopped drinking river or lake water,because of the disgusting things that the fish do in there.

But I love my fish!

Truth is, you haven’t finished eating your fish until you have eaten the head.

But you can’t enjoy eating the head if you treat it like a hoof;inedible and disposable.

I treat my fish like you would treat your first date; respectfully, appreciatively and curiously –which, ideally, is how you should treat every
date.

I squeeze lemon all over it then I start with the midsection.

I divorce the meat from the flesh,
and I put it away.

I eat the tail because it’s crunchy when deep-fried.

When I’m done with one side, I slowly and delicately turn it over,careful not to break its spine in the process.

Then I do the same to the new side until all the meat is scrapped clean off the bones.

Until the fish looks like it has been sorely surviving on a diet of water
and hence has lost all its weight and looks like an anorexic fish on some fish fashion magazine.

A fish ready to step on the catwalk (pun?); gaunt and pale.

And the head is the best part.

The head is delicate.

The head is the zenith,saved for last.
You got to treat the head with respect.

I should have mentioned that before you eat your fish you have to look at its mouth.

If your fish has its mouth closed,send it back.

If they say they only have fish with its mouth closed, ask for tea and bread.

Or leave.

A fish that is brought to your plate with its mouth clammed together, like it died humming a tune, is fishy.

I can explain why but I’m already in 370 words deep in this rambling and need to get to the heart (or head) of this post already.

Infact,this story is about how not to eat a fish.

Reason?

After all that bragging about how I’m an expert on eating fish,I got chocked by a fishbone.

If I was a white man, my
face would have gone pink from just writing down those words.

It’s an oxymoron, that statement, an
abhorrence even because a fishbone sending a Luo-trained Kikuyu fish eater to a hospital is akin to a Luhya pushing away his tea saying, “ Hapana, hii chai ni moto sana.”

I’m mortified. By this sheer accumullation of bad luck to the point of a mere small fishbone trying to extinguish my dear life!

So Tuesday, 6pm, I’m working deliciously on this fried fish when I feel a sharp pain as a bone grazes my throat.

I do what I have done for tens of years; take a bigger chunk of ugali(unlivened maize meal cake) and chase the bone with it, only
this time the ugali pushes the bastard bone right into my throat.

The pain!

Ooh my! Are grown up men supposed to wail loudly when they become so desperate during their final moments?

I send in another contingent of ugali.

Nothing doing.

Swallowing becomes a problem.

So I promptly stop being a
an expert fish eater about it and be a human being about it by driving myself to my Nearest Hospital’s Emergency department.

There – after skipping the queue –
I’m seen by, yes, you guessed it, a male Luo nurse called Abondo.

Cool chap.

Very calm.

His all-white uniform makes him look like a younger version of Morgan Freeman in Bruce Almighty, which makes Abondo almighty.

“What’s wrong?” He asks as he checks my blood pressure.

“Got choked by a bone.” I say, afraid to mention the word “fish”.

“What kind?” He asks while scribbling things on a pad.

“Uhm, a shishsd bone,” I mumble.

“Come again?”

“Fish bone,” I look away.

There is a pregnant silence in the room as he continues writing something.

I’m sure he wants to laugh out loud.

I’m sure he wants to make fun of me.
I’m sure he wants to look at me and say,“Fish bone? Wouldn’t it have been easier to down it in a glass of water?”

But he is a professional first then a Luo second.

“Don’t worry, we get that a lot here,” he says instead.

“Yes, but not from Luos! You get it from Merus,Tesos, Masais, Kikuyu’s and Luhyas!”

“Ahem, not Luhyas,” He mumbles. OK, he doesn’t say that.

I’m sent inside to see a doctor – a guy with a huge scraggly beard that covers his whole face.

A beard,so long and alive, that I could hear it breath.

He’s Muslim,which means I can’t poke fun at him even though
I’m dying to.

Muslims don’t take jokes that easily,

But I can’t get over that beard,his beard, man.

It’s indomitable, it’s unapologetic, and it says
“This is me, live with it.”

It reminds me of a Bushbaby’s tail.

Dr Bushbaby sends me to the X-Ray department where a picture of my
throat is taken in all angles.

Here is a. truth: the
Xray is the only machine that equalizes everyone.

We – or our insides- all look ugly in
black and white.

All of us.

It doesn’t matter if you smell good or are just from the salon.

All our insides look the same.

The Polaroid shots of my throat look like a cave in Hells Gate.

Twenty minutes later, I shamefully carry these pictures back to the doctor who sticks them up in
that thingamajig with background light and observes them.

I meekly peer from over his
shoulder and past his forest of a beard.

We see the bastard in my throat; it’s gnarled and ugly.

“You have two options,” says Dr. Bushbaby turning to face me. “I could send you back home, but you have to come back here at 5am to be
admitted for an endoscopy at 8am.

Or, I could admit you now and you wait for your procedure in the morning.”

I stare at his beard as I, well, chew on this.

“What would you do, Doc?” I ask.
“I would spend the night here.”

“Mmm…and what would your beard do?” I want to ask him.

I opt to book myself in.

A chirpy nurse called Songole comes and draws blood from my arms.

Then she takes asks me the normal questions; Any medication you are on
currently? (Apart from weed, you mean?);

Allergies? (Yes, fools, sycophants and Tequila).

Then she takes an inventory of what I have;wallet, money, cards, jewellery, clothing (she found it odd that I didn’t have underwear on, I
found it odd that she thought I had time to wear one when I was choking), shoes, phone, ring

(“Any navel rings?” she jokes at some point)

She later brings a wheelchair and says, OK lets go and I say, no, I will walk, I don’t want to meet
someone I know because people have a way of spreading rumours in this town about seeing you on your deathbed in a “wheel chair”..

My residence for the night is St George’s Ward, bed number 22.

We are two in the room,separated by a small wardrobe and curtains.

I have a small bed, blue sheets and a chair.

There is a matchbox size screen hanging from a wall which Songole calls a Television set.

I didn’t argue.

This feels all too familiar.

Last year I was admitted in Aga Khan
for three days; oesophageal corrosion, caused by
tequila.

Nowadays I see a bottle of Tequila,and out of respect, I
leave the room.

The very cheerful Songole hands me over to a male nurse –Ndegwa – and I feel a bit heartbroken because she has been a hoot.

Ndegwa is young, maybe 26.

Since he’s balding he shaves close to the skull.

“Look, Songole treated me real good, the bar is high for you, mate,” I joke and that breaks the ice because he
chuckles and brings out a cold beer.

OK, he didn’t bring out a beer, but he’s cool; laid back just like all balding folk should be.

He hands me my hospital regalia;
that gown that is closed in the front and open in the back, the one the leaves your butt out in the
cold?

He also hands me a gown, a TV remote control, some towels and a pair of blue shorts so big two people can fit in them.

These shorts had the words “South Wing” emblazoned across
them, which I guess is to deter folk like Mtu Fulani from carrying them home ’’accidentally.’’

Yes, I see someone stealing those blue shorts to hang out in them at the beach in coasto, or at
Blankets and Wine.

Ndegwa hangs this board written “Nil By Mouth” over my bed. As our house doctor (or is it Resident
Doctor?) Dr. Karimi will tell you, it means that nobody should dare bring food to the patient; the patient should be left to starve to death.

Thankfully, I didn’t want food because nothing was passing down my throat.

We chew some fat with Ndegwa then he leaves to deliver more shorts to other unsuspecting patients.

I change in my hip new Boyz to Men shorts written South Wing (that’s a label) and slip into bed.

I want to switch on the TV and watch
something but I’m afraid it will wake up the guy in the next room.

It’s 10p.m.

It gets still.

By midnight I’m still awake.

My roomie is silent for the most part, but once in a while he will moan
softly, or cough (a grotesque cough that seems to scratch his chest with large claws).

I wonder who he is, how old he is, what’s wrong with him…
I wonder what his name is.

When I was admitted in Aga Khan last year with Tequiloisis, I made
friends with the chap in the next bed; a boisterous professor who was a complete clown, made hospitalization bearable.

Which makes you think about private rooms in hospitals where you
pay more to be alone.

I wouldn’t want to be alone
when I’m sick, I’d feel like a leper, banished from the general population, cast away to die alone.

Sharing a room is warm, you always feel like your suffering isn’t isolated.

Hell, sometimes, when you see other patients, you feel lucky that you
only have a fish bone in your throat because some people have more than bones in their throats; some have cancer in their throats.

Some don’t even have throats.

At 1am – after Twitter starts feeling like walking through a graveyard at midnight – I climb out of bed and go to the nurse’s station where I find a
nurse writing something on a pad.

Nurses are always writing something on a pad.

She is pleasant.

All the nurses who attended to me
during my stay were all pleasant -and it wasn’t because I was looking funky in my South Wing shorts.

Talking of nurses.

Television propagates this image that nurses are sexy and naughty.

And almost every second guy who called me when I was in hospital last year (with exception of my
brother-in-law) asked me; “So, is some sexy nurse with a stethoscope listening to your heart beat?”

And it pained me because I realised I was in the wrong ward, or maybe the wrong hospital.

Thing is, you will see beautiful nurses, pretty nurses, lovely nurses, gorgeous nurses, but you
will never see a sexy nurse.

Those ones were last spotted in ER many years ago.

Anyway, I tell the nurse manning the night desk that I’m bored and ask her if there is a private nurses and doctors party going on in Wing B I
can crush.

She chuckles politely because she is
busy and knows I have potential to waste her time.

So I ask for reading material and guess what she asks me. And bang, this is one of the the reasons This Hospital impressed me.

She asks me if I would like a copy of GQ!

Would I like a copy of GQ!?

I mean, which hospital keeps a
copy of GQ?!

I say, hell yeah, if you have it!

She hands me a May 2011 Issue of GQ, the one with Prince Harry on the cover; Walking with the
Wounded.

This nurse saw my hip South Wing
shorts and thought immediately, GQ!

Now that is service!

The magazine is a 280page beauty
which I engaged me until the small hours of the morning before I conk out.

I dreamt.

I dreamt of my high school because,
perhaps, my hospital room reminded me of my fourth form room in high school; the small bed,the wardrobe.

I was in a dorm called Bowers 2,great dorm.

In high school there was always a
bell that went off at around 5am I think.

It spelled morning preps.

It was a loud, ugly gong that
went on and on, relentlessly yanking us from our dreams.

It pierced the cold night dawn like a
scalpel.

And you had to be up and out of the
dorm in 15mins of a prefect (we called the cops)came in yanking your blankets off and taking you
name down for punishment later.

I hated that bell.

In my sleep, I hear that gong; spookily clear and unmistakable even after 20yrs since I last heard
it.

I wake up with a start expecting to hear metallic boxes slamming shut as boys got ready to rush to preps but what I see, instead, is a
trolley screeching on the floor.

It’s the catering staff, delivering breakfast.

Have you noticed that all hospital catering staff wears uniforms that look like Kayamba Africa’s
uniform?

No, seriously, those corny shirts with
patterns and all that seem to say you are proud to be an African.

If you have to prove your
Africanese by wearing a shirt then you aren’t African enough because being African is bigger than fabric and if it has to be in fabric then it’s
woven in your DNA strand.

I wonder who copied who, me think it’s Kayamba Africa because most
guys who sing well always have a lousy taste in shirts…I mean, look at Kidum, easily one of the best artists we have seen in Kenya in a long time;a voice of a god and yet he wears these hideously tight designer tshirts that asphyxiate his beer
belly.

“Can I have bacon, buttered toast and some Spanish omelette please? No chilli.” I joke with Kayamba who smile and say that, I I’m not meant
to be fed.

“Hey, come on, I’m sure one crisp
strand of bacon won’t kill me,” I joke but he think I’m serious and so says,

“No, really, I can’t doctor’s orders.”

Who listens to doctors anymore
when there is Google?

The ENT consulting doctor is a no show at 8am.

At 10am he isn’t showed up either.

I’m getting real hot under the collar now.

At 10:30am I ask for a nurse and this guy nurse comes and – with
a small bow – tells me that there was a miscommunication and that the doctor is on his way.

At 11.30am he hasn’t showed up, so I call back the nurse and use words like “unacceptable”, “laxity”, “highly
unprofessional”, “explanation” and “my mommy.”

He promises that I will be in theatre in an hour.

Do you swear, man? I ask him and he smiles and says he promises.

I’m hungry and pissed by this
time and I plan to tell the doctor what I think of him.

I really do.

At 12.15pm an orderly comes to
pick me up in a wheelchair, I could have walked if I didn’t have on those South Wing shorts that were tripping my feet.

So, he pushes me out and this cat almost takes off my toe in a ramp because, as we go down a ramp, he
decides to push me in reverse to avoid the wheelchair pulling him down the ramp.

And this genius strategy goes all wrong when the damn thing starts veering out of control, spinning and
tumbling down haphazardly.

I was going to die hutling down on a flowerbed, not in theatre!

Luckily some passerby helped him control it and we had a good laugh about that when I asked the orderly,
“Chief, Kwani you’re also on Nil By Mouth?”

When the doctor walks in my anger evaporates because he is too charming; he’s apologizing
profusely, he’s playfully punching me on the shoulder, he’s cracking fish jokes, he’s dramatically explaining how he’s going to go in down my throat with modern technology and get the sucker out.

He’s a sport.

Plus he’s aged and I don’t know how to give him a dressing down.

So I suck it in and wince as he punches me on the shoulder.

I feel like a tosser succumbing to his
charms like that.

I’m getting soft.

By the way, I’m on the 2,728th word so I’m going to rush through this last part because this post has ran on for too long and I’m sure the Luhya
readers have to go take tea,and Kikuyus their Githeri,wish I had stuck to Githeri last night!.

Wasonga, hang in there old boy.

We are nearly there.

Endoscopy is when they shaft your throat using this long tube that looks like something off a sci-fi movie.

But first, they knock you out cold by
hitting you over the head with a club.
Yes,technology rocks.

The doctor then asked me to
count from 10 and I remember telling him, “Doc, I’ve done this before, I’m an Elephant, it’s hard to
put me down. How about I start counting from 20 so that I don’t emba…embarras…embaaa….”

And I was out like a candle in the rain.

Bang, long story short, he pulled it out and gave me the bone in a jar as a memento.

I had the sense to take a picture of it and upload it here but I didn’t because – to quote The Shy Narcissist in her latest post – “it’s not because I have sensibilities but because you probably do too,that we can understand each other.”

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

The hooker who seduced me into writing

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I’m going away on a tour of duty to a very remote part of DRC Congo.

I will miss many things in that outfif,but I guess reliable internet is certainily going to be a headache.

I’m just addicted to putting something for posterity,everyday.

But today,I want to share how I got addicted to writing,and incidentally,my biggest encouragement and commitment came from the least expected of all my acquaintances,a hooker.

I must hasten to add that we had no monkey business going on between us,me and that hooker that is.

But then here is the bit of that story for you!

Back in my College days,using black ink I wrote short stories on a hard-covered book, stories about escape from the mundane things of this life, something I was gathering
courage to do for later in life.

Of course I showed nobody these
literature, essentially because I didn’t think much of them.

They were a vaulted narrative of my
misery, of my rut but I always felt they drew me closer to a personal redemption.

Below the bedsit where I hanged my worn Jacket, lived a hooker, or rather a pretty chic I suspected was a hooker.

I say suspected because she always left at 10pm when I was coming in from work, dressed in short shiny clothes, and pitched back at 6am dressed in short shiny clothes and tired make-up.

Well,that’s a hooker,isn’t it?

We had water problems in that block and once in a while she would come up and ask me if I would kindly go down and close her tap if water came in the middle of the night.

One day she saw the notebook in my hand when I opened the door to
take another please-close-my-tap instruction and asked if I was writing a diary.

Standing to my full length, chin thrust defiantly in the air, I muttered
that diary was for girls.

She asked to see.

I remember her standing there for longer than I had thought she would, raptly reading that hard covered notebook, very slowly flipping the pages like they were brittle and they would shatter.

The word, engross, comes to mind.

She stood patiently at my doorway, a hooker reading a random story from a notepad.

Of course I was ill at ease, because I was afraid of judgment, even from a hooker.

But I waited patiently leaning on my doorwayand to kill time I stared at her cleavage that stared back indignantly.

When eventually she looked up – slowly – she was wearing a different
look; a questioning look.

“ Maybe you should just
write,” is all she said before bundling down the staircase, her burgeoning and overheavy cleavage struggling to catch up with her.

“Maybe you should just write.” Those words stayed with me for a very long time.

I’m certain men have been told more interesting words by hookers: “Woi, mimi siendi Mushadha,” “Ngai
Mwangi! Si hiyo underwear ni mzee sana?”

But all she said was, “Maybe you should just write.”

And those words, even spoken by a hooker, is sometimes all that can stir motion.

And when you start hearing them from different sources, it
gets into your head the word ‘maybe’ is introduced into the equation.

And when that gets in your head, it doesn’t leave; it squats there
reading a newspaper until you do something about it.

And I did.

I look at those days with envy,because I was deranged with proving something.

Now, I don’t.

I don’t need to.

My ego is grown up.

Let me break this down to gang, very slowly.

You sit in your office, crunching figures, fixing systems, balancing books, setting up communication strategies, troubleshooting IT,
selling products, recording in studios or writing course works…whatever your hustle is.

I don’t just write poetry to feed the arty ogre in me.

I don’t write part-time to balance out my life, to purposefy* it.

I write for a living, I write to live. Writing is my safe-boat in these seas of life I ride.

It’s all I have.

Since not many people want to pay top- dollar for some tight copy, since many people imagine words come out of the holes in your ears, they won’t pay you your worth because they won’t appreciate your art (that almost rhymed, “worth and “art”…
eh?).

So you resort to peddling your word art to the people who can pay you the most.

You write your fingers out until they bleed.

That’s what I have been doing the whole year; peddling words.

Are we together, so far?

Because I can stop here
briefly and let Hardened Mama MIA there go use the bathroom, she seems squeamish in her seat.

As I was saying, this simply means you write as much as you can, you work as twice as hard to
make half what those white-shirted chubby yuppies that work for blue chip companies make.

Those chaps that throw more office parties than they change the printer’s toner.

You write to pay bills yes, but you also write because it’s who you
are.

Folk say, you shouldn’t be defined by your job, that such bollocks, those are guys who are motivated by living through to end month for their jobs to seem relevant.

Take away my pen,and watch me drift off to an abyss of confusion
like a hollow trunk.

When you churn out over to 10,000 words a week for a year, you will burn out.

And that’s something you can put in your pipe and smoke.

I knew I was burning out, hitting a plateau.

That straight line.

I could feel it; I took longer to write
intros; I lost creative consciousness in the middle of sentences; I struggled with thought and
construction, I stared at a blank word document longer.

And that blank stare scares you.

I’m at a point where I’m having a conflict with my art, I’m insecure of it and I’m questioning it.

For months now I acted like I was okay and like the proverbial ostrich I buried my head in my Sandals.

Sorry, sand.

But when one or two of my regular readers – Fra
and Mufasa – raised a flag I had to be honest with myself.

I had spread myself out too thin and it was showing in everything I wrote.

When you write for a living, you don’t have the luxury of burning out.

You keep writing.

You change the times you write, you change the desks you write from, but you don’t stop writing because stopping is a learned habit that
eventually works against you.

Here is my confession.

There is something I do; I never say bye to people I’m drinking with. It’s
called an Irish Exit. You slip your portion of the bill under your half finished glass and you step off your stool to go to the loo.

And you don’t come back.

You can’t adequately say bye to folk
on alcohol, they will whine and ask you to sit down for just one more.

They will make fun of you, and offer to make a call home to extend your
curfew.

So you save yourself that drunken
gibberish and you slip out unnoticed, like a dark knight.

Last week the blog wasn’t under construction.

The jury was out on it.

I had the half mind to shut it down.

I really did.

To walk away without a word and concentrate on gigs that actually pay me because the blog takes the best of me and someone who takes the best are usually the ones to destroy you.

But first I bounced this idea to my
Mentor, because he walked away
from writing at some point but got seduced back by the evil temptress that is words.

“You’d be foolish to walk away!” he said.

It’s hard to walk out and bang a door when you are not sure you won’t want to knock on it again.

It’s even harder to walk away from who you are.

So what I’m going to do here is, I will put my feet off the pedal of this blog and post only twice a month.

First and last week.

And during this time off, I will head to the Congo forest, where I will
live with the pygmies and do nothing but hunt,fry and eat monkey meat, grow armpit hair and swim buck-naked in meandering forest rivers of DRC.

And I will not read any form of literature save for primitive inscriptions in caves and on the backs of their women who are slightly taller than coffee
tables.

And if I’m lucky, I might just be made
King of the Pigmies.

I’m going native and primitive.

Fans, it’s not you. It’s me.

The death of a friendship

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You were never meant to understand me,
I guess no one should ever,
‘Cause friendship is all about taking for who I am.

There’s not much going on now,
And I can sit still and look back,
To the days we had together,
Not without some good memories,
But these good memories came at a price,
That was always too high to pay.

You say you are sorry for all the time we wasted,
Always wondering who was going to be the brave one,
And say that all this farce gonna stop,
You always wanted to fix things,
That were already too broken to be fixed.

I wish things weren’t the way they were,
The way it used to be,
You know what I’m talking about,
It was just you and me,
But deep in our hearts,
we knew it was never meant to last.

I know you still don’t understand me,
And I know you never will,
I guess what I’m trying to say is,
There was no need to understand me in the first place,
It was never worth my time,
Neither yours.

Some friendships are never meant to be,
And we should never mourn them,
When they die their natural death,
‘Cause they free us to seek more meaningful ones,
With those who are predestined to add value to our life.

Our friendship was a draining one,
One that always took more from us,
Than it was ready to give back,
Though my eyes tear at this eventful end,
My tears are only for the years I wasted with you!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Power of Life over Death

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Even though we never seem prepared for it,
I know that death is one of the main guarantees of life,
and one has to experience it to truly,
through death of our closest friends and family,
to understand what it is all about.

Sometimes,we face our own death in reality,by suffering a terminal illness.

It forces us to reconcile ourselves to our certain and imminent demise.

Life,incidentally,becomes sweeter as we face our own death through old age,or terminal illness;we value each day more and take out the best out of it.

I know that death can bring one down,
but I also know that eventually,
no matter after how long,
one moves on from fear of death,or its grief,
and that is when they discover just how strong they really are.

I know that death somehow inspires one to find their passion and live it, because they make out that life
is short.

You realise that if you are to leave a legacy,
you will have to start doing something to better
your life now, today.

I realise the irony of life.

Your world could be at a standstill but the sun will still rise and the stars will
shine.

Heck, others will be heard laughing their loudest.

I know that death jars one to reality because what has been happening to other people has happened to you — right here, right now.

Suddenly, all the fun, jobs, money and the status they all bring don’t matter that much.

Love, life, honesty, peace and togetherness are what matter more.

This realisation is what gives life power over death.

Death cannot destroy the life we are living at the present moment.

It can only steal away our future,not our present moment!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Cultivating gratitude in every day life

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How often do you pause to appreciate what you have in life?

When I was a young boy, I took very many things for granted.

I believe many other kids did so, as well.

After all, we were young and we didn’t know what life could be like on the other side.

One thing we took for granted was education.

In my country, it’s compulsory for all kids to go to school, so it was a given.

But how was I to know that even in my country,some kids never had a chance to go to school?

I never thought about how lucky I was to be educated.

I also took my teachers for granted.

I never thought about how lucky we were to have teachers who cared for our growth so much, and poured
their heart and soul into their lessons.

Then slowly as I grew up, I began to appreciate things around me more.

As I saw more and more of the world out there, I realized all the things I’d been given are not rights, but privileges.

I realized that being literate is a not a right, but a gift.

I realized there is a lot of war,hunger,poverty and violence in the world, and I’m lucky to live in a country where it’s relatively safe and peaceful.

I realized there are people out there who don’t have their five senses, and to have mine is a gift.

I realized the world is so beautiful, and we’re lucky to live in such an amazing world.

Sometimes it’s easy to feel bad because you’re going through a tough time in life.

However, remember that no matter how bad your situation may seem, there are tens of thousands of things to be grateful for in life.

Below is a simple list of things that I’m grateful for in my life.

Most of the items, if not all, will apply to you too.

They are things that we just consider as ordinary,so we are oblivious to them as things we should be grateful for.

I’m sure as you read this list, you’ll think of many more things to be grateful for,that are not included in my list.
So here we go on things to be grateful for in our lives:

» Sense of sight – for letting you see the colors of life.

» Sense of hearing – for letting you hear trickle of rain, the voices of your loved ones, and the harmonious chords of music.

» Sense of touch – for letting you feel the texture of your clothes, the breeze of the wind, the hands of your loved ones.

» Sense of smell – for letting you smell scented candles, perfumes, and beautiful flowers in your garden.

»Sense of taste – for letting you savor the sweetness of fruits, the saltiness of seawater, the sourness of pickles, the bitterness of bitter gourd, and the spiciness of chili.

» Your speech – for giving you the outlet to express yourself.

» Your heart – for pumping blood to all the parts of your body every second since you were born; for giving you the ability to feel all kinds of emotions.

» Your lungs – for letting you breathe so you can live.

» Your immune system – for fighting viruses that enter your body. For keeping you in the pink of your health so you can do the things you love.

» Your hands – so you can type on your computer, flip the pages of books, and hold the hands of your loved ones.

» Your legs – for letting you walk, run, swim, play the sports you love, and curl up in the comfort of your seat.

» Your mind – for the ability to think, to store memories, and to create new solutions.

» Your good health – for enabling you to do what you want to do and for what you’re about to do in the future.

» Your school – for providing a environment conducive to learning and growing.

» Your teachers – for their dedication and for passing down knowledge to you.

» Tears – for helping you express your deepest emotions.

» Disappointment – so you know the things that matter to you most by losing them.

» Fears – so you know your opportunities for growth by overcoming them.

»Pain – for you to become a stronger person by standing up to both physical and emotional pain.

» Sadness – for you to appreciate the wide spectrum range of human emotions.

» Happiness – for you to soak in the beauty of life.

» The Sun – for bringing in light and beauty to this world.

» Sunset – for a beautiful sight to mark the end day.

» Moon and Stars – for brightening up our night sky even when the bright sun has taken a rest.

» Sunrise – for a beautiful sight to start the morning and the promises it has for the day.

» Rain – for cooling you when it gets too warm and for making it comfy to sleep in on through weekends without guilt of having to look for an excuse to just rest.

» Rainbows – for a beautiful sight to look forward to after rain.

» Oxygen – for making life possible.

» The earth – for creating the environment for every form of life to begin.

» Mother nature – for covering our world in beauty.

» Animals – for adding to the diversity of our human life and empathy for living things.

» Internet – for connecting you and others despite the physical space between you.

»Transport – for making it easier to commute from one place to another,no matter the distance.

» Mobile phones – for making it easy to stay in touch with others,whenever you feel like.

» Computers – for making our lives more effective and efficient.

» Technology – for making impossible things possible.

» Movies – for providing a source of
entertainment that feed the vanity of our minds.

» Books – for adding wisdom into your life and sharing experiences that one never have in a single lifetime.

»Blogs – for connecting you with other like- minded people.

» Shoes – for protecting your feet when you are out exploring your environment.
»Time – for a system to organize yourself and keep track of activities and enrich your lifetime experience.

» Your job or business – for giving you a source of living and for being a medium where you can add value to the world.

» Music – for lifting your spirits when you’re down and for filling your life with more love.

» Your bed – for you to sleep comfortably in every night.

» Your home – for a place you can call home,a sanctuary away from the hustle and bustle of our daily life.

» Your soul mate – for being the one who understands everything you’re going through.

» Your best friends – for being there for you whenever you need them.

» Your enemies – for helping you uncover and see your blind spots so you can become a better person.

» Kind strangers – for brightening up your days when you least expect it.

» Your mistakes – for helping you to improve and become better.

» Heartbreaks – for helping you mature and become a better person who can handle all kinds of people without resentment of having got nothing in return for your kindness.

» Laughter – for serenading your life with joy and hilarity.

»Love – for letting you feel what it means to truly be alive.

» Life’s challenges – for helping you grow and become who you are.

» Life – for giving you the chance to experience all that you’re experiencing, and will be
experiencing in time to come.

And last but not least… :
YOU…
For being who you are and touching the world with your presence.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Happy Fathers day-Sunday,15th June,2014

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To all those fathers in our nation, I say to you, Happy Father’s Day!

In today’s world, men are often seen as the villain–and it is certainly the case,that men are often the
cause of great pain in the lives of their children.

When I visit my jailed friends in our various prisons(most people find it awkward to admit that some of our closest friends have ended up in prison for one reason or the other;it would be very immature of me to disown them just because they are in prison!), I find that most inmates had a poor, or no relationship with a father figure.

Abusive, passive or absent fathers are the cause of much societal destruction in our nation.

Which is all the more reason we must celebrate those men who are doing their best to be good fathers!

It’s much more effective to applaud good deeds and examples than to bile about or simply ignore the bad ones.

Because it’s true that you get what you celebrate.

When we celebrate the good fathers in our Nation,we inspire the ones who are finding it hard to own up to the responsibility of being good fathers to follow the good examples of the good ones.

Even those fathers who haven’t done as well ought to be celebrated for whatever little they do right.

It’s not easy to be a father in today’s world.

Men feel alienated from their families by the stress of having to face a very competitive world,where their value in the society seems to be diminishing in the modern world.

The rise of single mother families by choice,or by default denies the growing boys in our Nation a father figure from whom they can be exposed to the attributes of being a Man.

Most men have grown up having had few examples of what good fatherhood should look like.

They had no fathers in their families to emulate.

And if they were there at all,they never took up the responsibility of being good examples to their sons.

We,men,must take it upon ourselves to tutor our boys into becoming good men and fathers to our Nation.

Men cannot learn to be men from anyone else in the society,other than from a fellow man.

I dread the day that our boys will start seeking affirmative action,or relevance in the society,having had lost the footing of what it is to be a man!

I’m always amazed at how valuable the fatherhood experience is, to the many who take and brave it,through its many challenges,some of which are not of men’s own making,but they must face them all the same.

And so here’s to all those fathers out there who are working hard to provide for their children,both emotinally and materially.

Here’s to all the daddies who,though separated from their families for one reason or the other, at least make an effort to visit their children regularly.

Here’s to the single fathers who have chosen to faithfully bring up their
children (I know quite a few remarkable ones!)

Here’s to those men who are seeking to develop a relationship with their kids, even though they didn’t have one with their own fathers.

Here’s to those men who take their kids to Church or Mosque, because they want them to grow up with good morals.

Here’s to those fathers who are passionate to see their kids have what they themselves missed,when they were growing up.

Happy fathers day,the fathers of our Nation!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

I’m right at your door,anticipating on your love

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There’s a spell cast between us,
left unspoken, left unsaid;
like a dog outside barking in the rain
to be let in.

I’ve been knocking at the door of your heart,
have you heard me?

I haven’t heard you answer yet,
but in due time you should let me in.

We both are tied in moments,
That we’ve shared with others,
scared to slip away to another place.

We fear to be locked out yet again,
and crawl back to the lonely aching mind.

Our lips are shut, temptation to kiss,
but we don’t dare to share the bliss.

Hands so close, but do not touch.

They’re wrapped in someone else’s clutch.
Fingers held and intertwined,
like the words laying low inside of your mind.

You can’t speak clearly,and I will not hear you if all you do is mumble.

My heart is already taken by someone dear.

But in my chest, ready to escape,
are feelings for you trying to wait.

Patiently they lay, forcing me to hold my breath,
they’re slamming against my heart, deep into my chest.

I knock on your heart again.

Are you ready to open up?

Are you ready to peel the bandage
off of your healing cut;
the cut that was sliced by your lover’s grasp,
the choking hand around your heart.

It’s time to break out of the leash,
it’s time for the dog to come out of the rain.

It’s time to take a stroll down lover’s lane.

I hear the keys jingle, I hear the knob of your door shake.

Out through the door, you try to escape.

Breaking through love you once had before, trying to peacefully end this battle at war.

Then through the chaos you open the door.

Here I am standing, waiting for you
to make the next move.

My body is still, my soul is lifted,
up through the gates of love my heart has drifted.

Our lips are waiting to take a chance,
our tongues are craving to take a dance.

We will be together again someday.

We will splatter colour on our darkest grey.

The stars that seep through the sky’s black,
will seal the love of your heart’s past.

And soon you’ll forget the pain you that began,
and soon your lover will love again.

I’m knocking on the door to your heart,
can you hear me?

I’m feeling my way inside,
can you feel me?

Our hearts are racing a mile a minute,
our minds are shut off for the night.

Nothing in the world can break us now,
We’re fearless lovers knocked all the way down.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Inscructability. The beauty of listening. The power of silence

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Isn’t it a nice idea to be open with
everyone we meet, to give people
the benefit of the doubt and always
assume they have only good
intentions?

Nice indeed—except I don’t believe it for a second.

Men are always accused of holding all their thoughts to themselves.

Our partners are always asking-”what are you thinking about?”-during our silent muses.

Personally, I’m always evaluating
why people say what they say.

Nobody does anything without a
reason, so when I’m faced with a
question about something that
matters, I ask myself: “Why does
that person want to know? Is he
trying to manipulate me? Is he just
being friendly? What’s his true
motivation?”

Maybe it sounds paranoid, but I think it’s just a smart, thoughtful way of engaging with the world.

Before you talk about your feelings, plans, priorities, values—anything at all of substance—ask yourself: “Whom am I sharing this information with, and do they deserve it? Why are we having this conversation?”

Search your mind before you put your
thoughts into words.

And never miss a good chance to shut up!

I think you have no business taking
others into your confidence until
you really know what they’re all
about.

How do you get that critical
information?

By listening, not by talking.

You can always learn something when you’re listening.

But as soon as your lips start
moving, you’re disclosing, and
whenever someone knows what
you’re thinking or doing, there’s
risk involved.

Now, that may sound cynical or overly cautious—but I believe you need to approach life with a strategy in mind.

Consider this wisdom attributed to Cardinal Richelieu, a 17th-century French statesman (who knew a thing or two about strategy): “If you give
me six lines written by the hand of
the most honest of men, I will find
something in them which will hang
him.”

That guy was onto something.

So was my Granddad, who said it a bit differently: “Never miss
a good chance to shut up!”

Words are powerful, and so is
knowledge.

When you tell people what you’re thinking or doing, you are making a decision to empower them with information—and you may be unintentionally giving them ammunition they can use to
exploit you, compete with you or
somehow get in your way.

I once knew a guy who casually
mentioned to a coworker—who he
thought was also a friend—that he
was applying for a job that was an
incredible opportunity.

Next thing he knew, that coworker had been offered the position instead.

True story.

Do I think everyone is out to take
advantage of you?

Absolutely not.

But I do believe that people need to
earn your trust from the get-go.

Don’t just give it away freely until
someone abuses it.

You need to operate with a level of awareness about what you’re disclosing every time you open your mouth and make sure you’re not giving away information indiscriminately to people who aren’t worthy of it.

I’m not saying you have to give up
friendly chitchat or meaningful
talks with people you know well.

There are healthy reasons to
converse, and there are unhealthy
ones.

It’s your job to recognize the difference.

Think about this: How often do you hear yourself talking just to fill silences?

Do you ever discover that you’re revealing something you never intended to share just because you’re
uncomfortable with a lull in the
conversation?

I want you to know that it’s perfectly okay to be quiet.

Maybe you’ve heard the saying, “You
can’t take back stupid words already said.”

Once those words come out, you can’t retrieve them—so when in doubt, keep your cards close to your chest.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Benefits of Buddhist Meditation

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A lot of the time our minds are
busy, caught up in an endless
stream of thoughts that leave us
agitated and tired.

Every day we experience worry, anxiety,irritation and many other un-
peaceful minds.

However, the true nature of the mind is clear, peaceful and expansive.

Unfortunately, the busy
thoughts racing incessantly and repeatedly though our heads are like storm clouds that obscure that true peace we could experience in our hearts.

Occasionally there is a natural break in the clouds and we get to enjoy a comfortable and peaceful mind
but these experiences are often fleeting.

Through meditation we can undo our busy thought habits,and gradually make the gap in the clouds grow
bigger and last longer, until in time the clouds disappear completely.

The main benefit is that when our mind is peaceful happiness naturally develops in our hearts.

However,there are many other benefits to be experienced along the way.

Studies have shown meditation to
reduce stress, normalize blood pressure and help people to feel more relaxed.

With our mind at peace we are more understanding of others and our
relationships improve.

Immediately, meditation can help us to improve the quality of our mind and help our physical health.

However, the benefits of meditation go far beyond developing short term rewards.

By using meditation to understand the true nature of reality we can
develop an experience of inner peace and happiness that is always with us regardless of our external
circumstances.

It is this permanent freedom from
difficulties and problems that meditation offers.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

My thoughts on tranquility of heart and mind

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We may read very many books in our lives but the only one book worth reading is the
heart.

The Buddha taught us that what
ever makes the mind distressed in our practice hits home.

It’s not that the mind is
distressed!

The problem is that we don’t know what distresses our mind and what those distresses are.

Whatever we are, we aren’t satisfied with it.

Our way of life is not difficult.

What’s difficult is not being satisfied , not agreeing with it.

Our distresses are the main problem that robs us of the tranquility of mind.

The world is always in a very feverish state.

The mind changes from like to dislike
with the feverishness of the world.

If we can learn to make the mind still, it will be the greatest help to the world in achieving its own tranquillity from the tranquility of our minds.

If your mind is happy, then you are
happy anywhere you go.

When wisdom awakens within you, you will see Truth wherever you look.
Truth is all there is to set your mind free from the feverishness of this world.

It’s like when you’ve learned how to
read, you can then read anywhere you go.

But If you’re allergic to one place , you ‘ll be allergic to every other place.

But it’s not the place outside you that’s causing you
trouble .

It’s the “place” inside you.

Look at your own mind.

The one who carries all his things along with him, thinks he’s got things and takes false pride and gloats over them, but the one who looks on, only sees the heaviness of all the things you drag along with you. Think of tramps!

Throw away things that burden your heart, lose them, and let the mind read the lightness that is now in your heart,and you will find peace and tranquility in your mind.

Our mind is intrinsically tranquil.
Out of this tranquility, anxiety and confusion are born,because with think that peace and tranquil are things we can’t find without a certain amount of turmoil and struggle in our lives.

In other words,we have sketched our life in such a way that,we must first lose peace and tranquility,so that we can struggle to find them again in our lives.

This detour is quite unnecessary;maintain your tranquil and peace,and you will never have to search them out of yourself.

If one sees and knows about this unnecessary confusion, then the mind is tranquil once more.
Buddhist meditation is a religion of the heart.

It is like this;the one who practices to develop the heart is one who practices Buddhism. Buddhist meditation does not draw you away from your theological faith. It only seeks to compliment it with personal development that settles your Christian faith,as in my case,into a peaceful coexistence with one self!

When the light is dim, it isn’t easy
to see the old spider webs in the
corners of a room. But when the light is bright , you can see them clearly and then be able to take them down .
When your mind is bright, you be able to see your distresses more clearly too, and clean
them away.

Strengthening the mind is not done
by making it move around as is done to strengthen the body, but by bringing the mind to a halt, bringing it to rest.

Because people don’t see themselves, they can commit all sorts of bad deeds against themselves without being aware of it..

They don’t look at their own minds.

When people are going to do something bad, they have to look
around first to see if anyone is looking :” Will my mother see me? “Will my husband see me? ” “Will my children see me?” “Will my wife see me?

If there’s no one watching , then they go right ahead and do it. This is
insulting themselves. They say no one is watching , so they quickly finish their bad deed before anyone will see.

And what about themselves? Aren’t they a “somebody” watching ?

That’s why learning to read your heart is the most enlightening experiences of all;it teaches you to clearly look at yourself and keep all harm out of your heart and mind-this is what we call meditation-the one I’ve said is the religion of the heart.

Theology as opposed to meditation,is a religion of the soul,it helps us connect with God. Meditation helps us connect with our heart and mind,so that we can find peace and tranquility for both.

Use your heart to listen to the these
Teachings, not your ears,and then you will be home and safe with buddhist meditation.

There are those to do battle with
their distresses and conquer
them .This is called fighting inwardly.

Those who fight outwardly take hold of bombs and guns to throw and to shoot.

They conquer and are conquered.

Conquering others is the way of the
world .

In the practice of Dhamma we
don’t have to fight others, but instead conquer our own minds, patiently resisting all our moods,to maintain peace and tranquil within ourselves. When we conquer our own agitation,there is no need for an ‘outside war’ to try and conquer others,so that we can validate our own peace!

I ask you,where does rain come from? It comes from all the dirty water that evaporates from the earth, like urine and the water you throw out after washing your feet.

Isn’t it wonderful how the sky can take that dirty water and change it into pure, clean water?

Your mind can do the same with your
distresses if you let it to,through meditation.

The Buddha said to judge only yourself, and not to judge others, no
matter how good or evil they may be.

The Buddha merely points out the way, saying, ” The truth is like this. ”

Now is our mind like that or not?

Have you found a way to look at yourself,judge yourself through meditation,and not judge others?

When you do that,you will maintain your own peace and tranquil,and the world in which you live,will also know peace and tranquility!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Courtship and Marriage

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It is very interesting to see the changes in promises that a boy makes to a girl,before,and after marriage;

BOY: I have been waiting for this
day.

GIRL: What, do you now want me to leave?

BOY: NO!!

GIRL: Do you love me?

BOY: Of course!

GIRL: Will you ever cheat on me?

BOY: Never in my life.

GIRL: Will you ever kiss me?

BOY: Every chance I get.

GIRL: Will you ever beat me?

BOY: Are you crazy??

GIRL: Can I trust you?

BOY: Yes.

GIRL: My Sweetheart….

AFTER MARRIAGE

Now, just read from bottom to top to see the radical change in the very same promises that the boy made!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

The bachelor and the toddler

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The bachelor lived in isolation at his pad.

He saw them every day,his colleagues at work,all married men.

And he hated them. The married men. The soiled men.

He never made any conversation with them.

For this occasion,when one of them invited him to his birthday party,
he made polite conversation,as if that’s what he always did at work.

Perhaps the husbands talked to their wives about him,how reserved and eccentric he was. How he sneaked into the shower every time he attended to one of his female patients.

Those who had previous encounters with him always sought to avoid his consulting room.

His colleagues were always very understanding when patients begged to be struck off his cases.

There were wild rumours especially from female nurses about his peculiar behaviour.

But none could be confirmed.

He never talked about his life.

He never talked about himself.

He never talked about anything.

Anything he wanted done by colleagues,he scribbled in the yellow legal paper.

He laughed. He always laughed when reading his morning newspaper.

He never laughed at anything else.

He talked. He always talked to his caged parrot.

To anyone else,he sneered,and said only the necessary few words.

He was genius at his work.

He was a bore with anyone else.

At the party,he merely smiled and the others discussed airy nothings;wives talked to him, perhaps as a butcher’s wife will talk with another butcher,just because her husband is a butcher.

And the children,when they were brought to the party,in their best clothes and with their hair tidy,were cooed over and complimented.

The five year old and the three year old boobed and curtsied at him as they were told not to try to shake his hand,but Hilda was only one-and-half year old,and when she was put down on the floor,she escaped from her mother with a gurgle of glee and ran with unsteady steps and outspread arms into the crowded room.

The bachelor drew hastily back to avoid her clutch round his legs-he did not want his legs to be touched with dirt-and she fell with a bump on her nose at his feet and wailed in consequence.

The women looked in disapprobation at him for allowing it to happen,but he was only a bachelor,old,after all,and had nothing to do with children,so they decided he was to be pitied rather than be condemned.

He was obsessive about cleanliness.

He could not lose that memory,however he tried of the toddler’s cold and wet nose bumping over the boots on his feet.

As a medical doctor,he had a professional familiarity with insanity,naturally,and he knew about the growth of delusions;he had seen the delusions of touch before.

But much later in the shower,it was hard not to stoop down and with a scrubbing brush, scrub and scrub at his feet in hope of abolishing the feeling of cold saliva,cold poison to his sick mind,upon his skin.

Did a snake have saliva?

The cold salive of a snake was the idea in his mind at the moment.

Absurd,of course,that had no relation at all to-to what had happened.

He swore violently.

He remembered now in detail about that minor incident with the toddler.

It was even worse ten minutes later,just when he was talking again to the host’s wife and priding himself of behaving naturally.

Something bumped against his feet,a table leg?,and he jerked and snarled.

The wife saw the expression on his face change,saw the horror in it.

The wine glass that he held jerked out in a golden arc as he kicked out wildly.

There was a sharp yelp and everyone looked down and round to see the host’s little puppy,which had managed to make its way into the room when the children were taken out,proclaiming the sorrow of an affectionate advance being received by a kick on the ribs.

There was more reproach in the eyes of the women as they looked at him,but he was hardly aware of it,with the sweat standing out in his forehead and his hands shaking.

A strange suggestion was making itself felt in his mind.

These soiled feet,these horrible feet,might be got rid of.

He pictured himself lying on his back with a revolver in hand,taking aim at those feet and shooting them off,bit by bit.

There was something strangely tempting in the idea;it would mean the end of his troubles.

But what was left of his sanity asserted itself again and argued with his insanity.

It would be painful(but was that not really an argument in its favour?),and it would be impractical(but perhaps not to a man as filled with an inward spirit as he was) and it was the insane who practicsed horrible mutillations upon themselves(but the insane did not have the justifications he had-they had not had his experience of hating dirt,especially of coming into any sort of contact with women and children) and he would feel better in the morning(but before morning he had still to go through the night with his soiled feet)

Insane,isn’t it,this hatred of women and children? He thought to himself.

Why do other men go crazy about such dirty beings?

He stood up.

He stamped with his disgusting feet in rage as he opened the drawer that held his gun.

A cold barrel of his revolver kissed his temple as he held it close to his head,the only kiss he has ever had,and the last one.

Then he pulled the trigger.

And the room was filled with the sound of his freedom from his misery.

By inviting him to this birthday party,his medical colleagues had hoped to cure him of his irrational hatred of women and children.

Instead,they helped him only to end his misery for good,

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just friends

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We find excuses not to see one another,
or even to talk to each other.

I believe we both know,
there is no more to it than that,
but to say so would just ruin it all.

It seems such a shame,
that the world is so full of hurt and pain,
that we tend to avoid commitment altogether.

We only dream of what could be,
if we were to find that “right”
person.

The fear of broken hearts and pain,
is the enemy that keeps us apart.

We may in fact meet this “right” person,
but let them slip out of our lives,
without ever knowing,
what a good thing it could have been.

The wounds and hurts of the past run deep,
And the slightest embers of love,
Just seem to awaken a fear,
That keeps us away from the bliss.

We enjoy each others company
but for the most part, we avoid it.

We pretend there is nothing there,
We’re just friends.

Every time we meet,
it’s awkward at first.

We check our guard,
and put up the walls.

We’re just friends that’s all.

We call each other on the phone,
and always have a good excuse,
for doing so even when there’s none.

Do true friends need an excuse?

You remind me that “We must be careful”,
“We can’t go there”, you say,
The rules have been set,
and we live by them.

We sit and talk for hours,
two sets of cold eyes interlocked,
and neither turns away,
For fear of showing our true emotions.

I hang on your every word dutifully,
Your simple presence in a room,
gives my life a different purpose,
From the one that should be common,
to us both.

Add your voice and a smile,
and I melt away,
to a of a completely different person,
That’s not you.

The thought of you touching me,
makes my body scream out with yearning,
For a touch from a different person.

But we’re just friends, right?

Why do I feel it’s more?

Are we in self-inflicted denial?

Our past hurts have made us so afraid,
We’d rather be lonely than to take that chance again.

I wish I could tell you how I really feel inside.
That I’d be willing to take that chance,
But with a different person.

I don’t want to be more than just your friend,
I know you sense this,
as I do,
but it’s easier to pretend.

Saying it would make it real,
and you’d run away and hide from me,
To my shame of being truthful to you.

So I’ll try and keep the flood gates closed,
and be content that you let me be,
Just your friend.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Strong men need not fear feminists

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I’m a strong believer that men gain a huge amount from feminism.

A man gotta be a man in all circumstances that face him,be it wild animals,”wild” women feminists,war,starvation,disease-name it.

You are not a man when you avoid a the distasteful experiences,but more of a man when you thrive in spite of them!

But, let’s face it, you don’t make omelettes without cracking a few eggs.

In this case, the eggs are the
forms of power and privilege that we, men have traditionally
enjoyed:

In the past, we men only had to compete with half of humanity for most jobs.

Now, we have to compete with all of humanity.

At night, men got to relax, go out with friends, or pursue our careers, sports or hobbies while our partners
(even if they worked outside the home) did most childcare and domestic work.

Now, we’re expected to do our fair share.

Some workplaces were straight out of locker rooms.

Now, with sexist behaviour challenged, for some men,work just isn’t as much fun.

No matter our personal abilities, society automatically valued us.

Some religions said we were closer to God.

We were automatically seen as
stronger, more rational, and leaders.

In relationships we got cooked for, shopped for, cleaned up after, and emotionally stroked.

We could (if we so chose) have power in getting sex.

Now, we can get put in jail for things that not long ago were seen as men’s rights (think of marital rape and wife battering).

In some families and relationships, we were the ultimate decision-makers.

Now, we have to share power and decision-making.

In other words, some men are afraid of feminism because it challenges forms of men’s power and privilege that one-half of our species foisted on the other about 8,000 years ago.

Giving up is hard to do.

Being a Man is Hard to Do for weak men in our midst who are always whining about women gaining more ground.

Here’s the strange thing: many men also fear feminism because they fear they’re not “real men.”

I’ve meditated a lot on this, what I call “men’s contradictory experiences of power.”
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What this means is that the ways we set up our male- dominated societies not only bring men power and
privilege but, paradoxically, is the source of pain for men.

One source of this pain is that we set up impossible ideals of manhood:
You know: always strong, fearless, in control, etc. etc.

Of course no man can live up to these ideals.

The best way to go about it is to acknowledge our own limitations as ordinary and mortal human beings,just like women are.

But so long as we had uncontested male-dominated societies, we could
pretend to ourselves and each other that we did.

Why?

Because we could contrast ourselves to the other half that clearly did not.

Now that women are asserting their strength, power, smarts, and sexuality, now that women are saying that anything a man can do, they can do as well, it takes the air out of the sails of many men.

If deep down they didn’t feel like real men before, now those feelings are unconsciously multiplied.

Changing Ideas is of course hard to do.

In spite of amazing changes that are benefitting most women and most men, the ideas associated with male domination still cling hard:

Religions and traditional beliefs have a life of their own and a deep staying power.

Especially in a time of economic, political and social upheavals when the future seems tenuous, some men (and women) cling to old ideas.

Old ideas continue to morph and adapt.

You might think that right-wingers are against women’s equality.

But actually, many of their current ideas would have been seen as crazy feminist ideas forty years ago:

A woman can be president or prime
minister? Women are as smart and capable as men?

Women have as much right as men to pursue careers and education? …

In other words, feminism has actually had a big impact even when it seems there is still huge opposition by some men and women to it.

Parts of the media have continued to do a remarkable hatchet job on feminism.

Ask people in many countries about the specific issues associated with
gender equality or violence against women.

Man (and in some countries, most) will take a feminist stance.

But ask if they agree with feminism and they’ll bring out their stereotype of who or what a feminist is and say “No!”

Finally, feminist women and pro-feminist men haven’t done a good enough job of transforming the
mainstream.

If we truly believe our ideas are just and are right, then everyone should subscribe to them!

We should not be afraid of working in the mainstream.

We should not be afraid of differences among us, but rather we should find ways to work with those who we don’t see as natural allies, and agree to disagree on specific issues.

We should not be afraid to make mistakes or to not be perfect.

Note; The writer is a senior self-styled bachelor by choice.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

We can be as strong as we choose to be

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Like the most of you, I was raised among people who knew – who were certain.

They did not reason or investigate.

They had no doubts.

They knew that they had the truth.
In their creed there was no guess — no perhaps.

They knew the beginning of things.

They knew the origin, the cause of evil, of all crime, of all disease and death.

But one thing I do know now; and that is, that
neither hope, nor fear, belief, nor denial, can change the fact that we are as strong as we choose to be.

It is as it is, and it will be as it must be.

We can be as honest as we are ignorant.

If we are, when asked what is beyond the horizon of the known, we must say that we do not know.

But be ready to be strong for whatever lies beyond there.

We can tell the truth, and we
can enjoy the blessed freedom that comes with this simple decision.

We can destroy the monsters of superstition, the bliss that surrounds
ignorance, and chills of fear.

We can drive from our minds the frightful things that tear and
wound our hearts.

We can civilize our fellow-men.

We can fill our lives with generous deeds, with loving words, with art
and song, and all the ecstasy of love.

We can flood our years with sunshine — with the divine climate of kindness, and we can drain to the last drop the golden cup of joy,
That comes from bracing ourselves,
To triumph over whatever comes to us,
In this enjoyable journey that we call life!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

There is still hope for a lost soul

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To my friend,SE,
who is living through this dark hour of his life;

You are my friend,
I’ve known you since our childhood days,
Happily dreaming of good life,
But life has now dealt you a bad card,
And my words alone,
Cannot wipe away your tears,
After all that you’ve gone through.

But there is hope in our Lord,Jesus Christ,
the best friend in these trying times.

Search for Him in your heart dear friend,
like we always did when life was hard on us.

We are grown men now,
And the tears in your eyes depress me,
Like they always did in our younger days.

I’m here for you brother,
But my presence alone is not enough,
To dry the tears that I see in you everyday.

When you are lost and can’t find any new road to take,
Don’t lead yourself alone,
it’s a big mistake.

If your heart is too broken up,
from scars and cuts,
and bruises of a hard life,
hold on to Him,
and He’ll keep you safe,
He won’t let you mess up.

You may want to run far away,
’cause you think you don’t matter,
But tell yourself you do,
and forget all the sorrow and despair,
In your present life.

Your eyes might be closed shut, ’cause you are scared,
to see the world that has hurt you,
open them cause your almost there.

Almost there to the place you belong, the place you loved all along.

Your life might not be,
the best one out there,
but it sure is popular here,
In the eyes of the Lord.

There are who people care about you,
day by day,
Even when you feel lost,
just pray so that your soul is not lost,
In this deep bottomless hole,
That is depression.

I promise you are not alone,
You have and always will have this one friend
That is the Lord and your saviour.

He can lead you to the promised land,
and make you his loved child,
take all your sorrow and shame,
and put it all under his name,
Cause your burden is His burden too.

He has loved you,
even when you are all messed up,
so don’t ever give up your soul,
To the desperation that beckons,
In the darkest hour of your life.

He will hold your sin for you,
and carry your cross,
because for you,
no burden is too heavy for Him to carry.
“You are a child of mine,
and I’ll always love and forgive you,
so don’t be scared”,so says the Lord.

He will always lead you,
so your soul won’t be lost,
That soul that anyone else might not value,
Is so important and treasured,
In the eyes of the Lord.

So wake up and start living again,
The life that you have always wanted to live,
And when you falter,
Just call His name,
And he will take your hand,
And make you stand strong on your two feet,
Because you are his loved soul,
A child of his Kingdom,
No matter what you feel,
No matter what others might think about you,
You are a loved soul.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Of Glory,Love,and Power

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I have dreamed as young men often dream
Of glory, love and power;
I have hoped as youth will always hope
Of life’s sun-minted glory.

I have seen as other children saw
My soap bubbles burst in air,
And I have learned to live it down
As though I did not care about love.

But,

I want to die while you still love me,
While yet you hold me in your eyes, Still fair and handsome,
While laughter still lies upon my lips
And your soft fingers in my hair.

I want to die while you still love me,
Lay still in this bed that we share,
Your kisses fervent and passionate
To warm me when I’m dead.

I want to die while you still love me
Oh, who would care to live another day
Till love has nothing more to offer
And nothing more to give?

I want to die while you still love me
And never, never see
The glory of this perfect day
Grow dim or our love cease to be!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Watching the grass grow

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This is my garden,
I’ll plant it with care,
Here are the seeds
I’ll plant in there,

The sun will shine,
The rain will fall,
The seeds will sprout
and grow up tall.

In the heart of a seed,
Buried deep so deep,
A tiny plant Lay fast asleep.
“Wake,” said the sunshine,
“And creep to the light.”

“Wake,” said the voice
Of the raindrops bright.

The little plant heard
And it rose to see,
What the wonderful,
Outside world might be.

Little Brown Seeds
Little brown seeds so small and round,
Are sleeping quietly under ground.

Down come the raindrops
sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle.

Out comes the rainbow,
twinkle, twinkle, twinkle.

Little brown seeds way down below,
Up through the earth they grow, grow, grow.

Little green leaves come one by one.
They hold up their heads and look at the sun.

A Daffodil
A little yellow cup,
A little yellow frill,
A little yellow star,
And that’s a daffodil.

I have five little peas,
Five little peas in a pea-pod pressed,
One grew , two grew, and so did all the rest;
They grew…and grew…and did not stop,
Until one day the pod went…POP!

I dig a hole and plant a seed,
Cover it with dirt, and pull a weed.

Down comes the rain, and out comes the sun,
Up grows my plant,
Oh! What fun!

But I’m not happy,
There is still a seed,
Locked deep in my heart,
A seed that they call love.

Rains come,
seasons come,
But I’ve not had time,
To plant this seed,
And watch it grow.
Like all the rest.

I’ve just wasted all my life,
Watching the grass grow!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Quote

I love rainy Saturday nights

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I like waking up to sunny Sunday mornings,
But-
Well, I love a rainy Saturday night,
I love to hear the thunder that, shakes my body,my bed too!
Readthe
restofthisentry»

Watch the lightning as it blazes,
the deepest recesses of my mind,
When it lights up the sky of my mind
You know it makes me feel good,
it rocks my life…

It’s such a beautiful sight,
in the eye of my mind
I love to feel the rain,
of the tears of her joy on my face
Taste the rain of love on my lips
In the moonlight shadows,
of warm sighing bodies…

Saturday rain showers,
washes all my cares away,
Then I wake up to a sunny day,
‘Cause I love a rainy night,
Ooh ooh-the sound,
of the thunder in my heart!
I love a rainy night…

I love to hear the thunder,
that creaks my bed,
in the rhythm of love,
You know it makes me feel good,
to feel like a man after a whole week of labouring under the African sun…

It’s such a beautiful sight
I love to feel the rain of love,
on my face flushed with rigours of love,
To taste the rain of love on my lips,
In the moonlight shadows of rocking bodies,
It puts a song in this heart of mine…

Puts a smile on my face every time
‘Cause I love a rainy nightt
Ooh ooh-the thunder of two hearts beating as one…
I love the rainy nights,
And I love you too!

Love and thunder,
rocks my Saturday nights,
Makes me high,makes me sigh,
Till I wake up to a sunny day,
and the beauty of my sleeping angel

That’s why I love the rainy nights!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

I love my Africa!

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I’m not just saying I love Africa
because it is not politically correct for an African to say, ‘I don’t love Africa.

Do I really love Africa?

Well, many Africans say they love Africa because it is not politically correct to say, “I don’t love Africa”.

If I love Africa, it’s not because of the political competence of our leaders or their honesty.
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Not because of their insatiable hunger for power or their brutal
treatment of their citizens.

Not because they are more accountable to their Western donors
than they are to their fellow citizens or that their ears are more tuned to rebukes from richer countries than the plight of their people.

It is also not because they snatch money from the mouths of hungry children and destitute women to stash it away in foreign banks.

Forget problems.

I just love my Africa!

Nevertheless, I love Africa for its long-suffering people.

If they had reacted to every injustice as quickly as Americans or Europeans do, we may not have been left with a continent worth living in.

I love Africa because its people never lose hope that things will get better someday.

I love Africa because Africans forget their problems very quickly, without which they would have turned the continent into one large institution for the mentally ill.

I also love Africa because people gather in large numbers to mourn with those who mourn and to rejoice with those who rejoice.
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It’s a continent where guiding,correcting and rebuking children is everybody’s’ task; a
continent with green forests, clean rivers and air and undiscovered natural resources.
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I love Africa because it has great things which take me closer to nature and ensure my physical and social wellbeing… and one example that
comes to mind is Busaa beer.

Busaa is a local African beer brewed wholly from guinea corn (sorghum).

This drink is pure and natural.

That is why after taking even a whole pot of it, one never suffers from
any hangover the next morning; rather, one is stronger and more
active.

I will never stop taking
Busaa because it is a drink and also food at the same time.

Regular Busaa drinkers never feel hungry after a drinking bout, indeed they even put on weight.

I have also put on more weight from it.
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I love this African beer because the spirit of African communion comes alive wherever it is present.

We normally sit in a circle sharing from a common pot from which imaginative discourse is fired.

Yes, round the Busaa pot, we find solutions to problems like unemployment and sickness.

This is why I love Africa and everything therein!

I love Africa because of the colour in every aspect of life.
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From the body-ochre paintings in initiation festivals, to the brightly
dressed women on their way to the weekly market.
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From the people of all shades – black, brown and white – to the rich black soils and the barrenness of the brown Sahara.

From the golden yellow sunrise to the amazing sunsets.
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The unending green covering the land, the music, the dance, life itself is colour.

Africa, the land of colour, rise, shine and light the world, I love you!

“Skyscrapers? Cars? Where are the naked humans? New visitors to Africa will always ask.
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No, this must be the wrong place…”

Those would probably be the thoughts of a first- time Western visitor to any of the major
metropolitan areas in Africa, with further expressions of astonishment as they drive from the airport to the city centre.

To an ordinary person in Europe or North America, Africa is the
dark continent where nothing good comes.

A place full of monkeys, jungles and naked Stone Age humans.
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Most Westerners only hear about the
continent’s doom and gloom and tend to believe that Africa is the
same all over, oblivious of its rich and diverse cultures, languages, ethnicity and religions – to mention just a few.

Yet, we supposedly all live in an age of advanced information technology.

Africa is besieged by disasters, disease, starvation, poverty and wars; however, these are
not only unique to Africa, which also possesses good and desirable qualities, just like other continents.
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Many urban areas in Africa can be compared to those in the developed world despite what detractors may believe.

Come and see for yourself.

Experience, they say, is the best teacher.

Coming to Africa?

You don’t have to carry your sunshine;the sun is always shining in Africa.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

The mystery that is a woman…

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Women are mysterious beings-i mean,some of the women are,that is.

What this means is not that I understand women more than the next guy, but that I have honed the skill of my observations about women.

I think I can be quite objective about women,’cause,well,I’m not very much attached to women by disposition,except when I’m observing them from a safe distance.

And I also know that writing about women is not quite like writing about men.

Women are indeed more ardent
readers, and perhaps more faithful readers, but also women read with more diligence, they read with
more purpose and thirst for intricate interpretation of the subject under discussion.

Women pick nuances and they have the most uncanny recall power.

They tend to read with a fine tooth comb.

They are into minutiae.

And they read between the lines.

Women are excellent with feedback; they write back to say they loved or hated a story.

Men? Too proud, but if they meet you in a bar they will say they liked/hated
something you wrote.

Then they will buy you a beer.

You would imagine that after all this time writing about women, I would understand women,but I don’t.

Women, to me, still remain a mystery,like a baffling and ominous
blot in an X-ray chart to a layman.

Isn’t that exasperating?

Not to me. There is beauty in writing about something you don’t quite understand. it’s about chutzpah.

I live with two women, (well, one is a mini-woman,an adored daughter from a different relationship from a long time ago!)and being the only man in my house doesn’t make my life any easier, and it certainly doesn’t make me more adept to understanding women.

But I’m better than the next guy because I can always see an
impending storm, and avert it…by fleeing from the charged and potentially explosive scene for a boys’ day out.

I can also deal with my women’s moods slightly better- but only because I have to.

And I can deal with coded talk ; long before men figured that when a woman says “it’s okay, don’t buy me anything for my birthday, I don’t find
birthdays a big deal,” was a trap, I was already ahead.

But to write for women, and to write about women, you got to love women.

Yes.

You got to be very curious about women; emotionally, physically and
even spiritually.

To be attuned to women, you’ve got to listen to them, even if half of what they might be banging on about doesn’t make sense, or is a repetition from the previous week,or even the previous year. To them,everything is currently relevant,from things that they did as toddlers,to the wrongs you did yesterday. Just about everything is relevant,especially the wrongs.

I, unfortunately,don’t have that skill to listen raptly for more than a few seconds; my main handicap is
my threshold for attention; I get bored very easily.

I drift.

But from the few things I pick, I try to construct rationale around it.

It’s in my best interest to look like I’m really listening and understanding every nuance,innuedo and such like things that women use as a form of communication to their men.

And so, when one of my women readers here suggested that I write about women, like I did about men here sometime back(see ‘The art of being a man’), I thought “why the hell not?

Sticking my foot in my mouth about issues that I don’t quite understand is my favourite pastime after all.

So here we go, to the eternal question…who is a woman?

A woman knows her man.

Most women don’t know their men.

Sure they know what dish they like,
or what colour of shirt they prefer, or what gets them really worked up, but they really don’t know who their men are.

A woman can date a man for three years, maybe even live with him under the same roof, and yet one day
the man does something so “out of character”,something that elicits a typical female response,“that was so unlike Ben to do that!”

It’s laughable because actually that was Ben. The real Ben that women would rather not see,because they have the ideal of who he should be imprinted deeply in their minds.

The greatest tragedy is that women see their men in their own image.

So yes, a woman should know her man and if she doesn’t she tries to know him…without following him
everywhere.

A woman doesn’t lick a can of Redds sherry, or her liquor bottle.

It’s tacky.

A woman knows how to keep down her alcohol.

A woman doesn’t think drinking like a fish makes her cool, that partying constantly makes her urbane and suave.

And that’s why the world is full of
chicks, and not women.

A woman is inherently moody.

It’s her hallmark.

Her moods changes without warning.

A woman also knows that she isn’t defined by her career, that not any amount of academic degrees will validate her.

A true woman gets her degrees to serve her intellectual curiosity and nothing else.

It’s okay if a woman didn’t know how to cook,but she has to want
to learn.

A woman doesn’t let her girlfriends run her relationship.

A woman knows that cleanliness is next to godliness and so a woman who looks like a mechanic in downtown Grogon open car-garage in Nairobi is half a woman;inexcusable.

A woman cries, mostly without solid
reason, but sometimes with reason.

But a woman who cries soon after love making is a keeper.

I repeat, a woman who…OK, you get the idea.

A female who sees a suffering child and feels pain in her chest is a woman.

A woman who has been failed by her womb is also a woman, perhaps even more of a woman than the one with children, because she carries an ugly pain, the need and guilt unbearable to man.

A woman doesn’t poke strangers on Facebook.

A woman doesn’t steal; an idea, a concept or money.

But she can steal another woman’s man.

And why the hell not?

A woman who has her man stolen from her had no business being with that man in the first place.

She didn’t own him.

You gotta own your men ladies! (This last part is best delivered while
thumping a holy grail book on relationships!)

A woman is jealous.

A woman is kind and tender.

A woman is vindictive and calculating.

A woman is craftier than a man, sneakier than a man even.

In every woman lies astounding but well intended evil.

A woman doesn’t dance to the song ‘bend over’, that’s for girls.

A woman sometimes buys a man a drink.

Oh hell, who am I kidding, not in this city!

A woman knows at least
five love songs; if she knows less, then she is a pretender to the throne.

A woman doesn’t talk with food in her mouth like most men do.

And she doesn’t pick her teeth in public.

A woman doesn’t belch. Okay, not loudly.

Sometimes a woman has to ‘fake it’
because men live on a staple diet of vanity about “some skills”,and she has to bolster their vain ego.

A woman respects herself, and if she dare ask how, then an explanation on how she should go about it wouldn’t do her any good.

A woman sits with her legs crossed.

A true woman doesn’t need to “be a man,” unless her womanhood is
waning.

A woman doesn’t wear Safari boots shoes, unless she’s a painter or she is an apprentice deejay at some
Madhouse.

A woman is not defined by the size of her boobs or the size of her butt.

But! It would be nice if
she had butt on her because, come on, to a man,butt is king…I’m just saying.

A woman preserves her dignity by not sleeping around.

A woman prays because a prayer from a woman is a powerful prayer.

Plus, I secretly suspect God favours women.

A woman is a lousy driver, even
the once who think they are great drivers.

A woman shops and spends money she doesn’t have.

Sometimes a woman- especially the hot ones like Eva Longoria,or Elin Nordegren of Tiger woods – is cheated on .

It’s never a reflection on the kind of girlfriend/wife/mother/fiancé
you are; it’s an inexplicable reflection of manhood flaws.

A pompous woman who is obsessed with her beauty is never worth any man’s time.

A woman takes pride in how she looks, which is to say a woman with a forest in her armpit and dirt under her nails is a woman who can’t take care of her man because she obviously can’t take care of herself.

A woman who dates for money is a soft gold digger, but then
again a gold digger is a gold digger. Period!

A woman tells her man to straighten up his act if he slips.

That’s a woman to respect.

A woman isn’t scared to be judged, not if she knows who she is.

A woman has to have a plan. Any plan.

A woman knows when to walk out.

A woman has a bar which she has to be treated, if she compromises this bar once by lowering it, then she changes the composition of her relationship.

A woman never stays with a man who beats her up.

Or a man she beats up.

A woman doesn’t sleep in a tired baggy tee-shirt for chrissake!

A woman, even a broke one, takes
pride in her dignity, because that shines brighter than a 45carat diamond.

A woman holds her man’s hand
because men – even though they may deny it – need a lot of active guidance.

A woman observes oral hygiene.

A woman cares for her mother.

She holds the family together.

A woman doesn’t compete with her man, because she will surely lose, because men were cut for
brinkmanship, it arouses them.

A woman who says,“I don’t know what happened, I swear I normally
don’t do this,” is a liar.

A woman watches her decibels when laughing, unless the joke is really
funny.

A woman doesn’t pick her nose,like most men do.

A woman says “fine” when it’s not.

A woman waits a whole week to watch the wedding show on TV,even when she is already happily married.

A woman doesn’t eat like a man.

A woman doesn’t constantly get on Facebook and profess undying love on her boyfriend’s wall; it’s insecure, exhibitionist and childish.

Let girls do that.

A woman will read this, and see the ugly head of chauvinism bobbing just beneath the surface, and she will smile wearily at all the mess I’m making about this mysterious subject.

A true woman loves to get ‘hot’…with a man.

But if she prefers it with other women, then she’s not a woman, but our boy.

A woman loves sand between her toes and the sun in her face.

A woman should never be embarrassed by her sexuality.

A woman doesn’t need to know how to milk a cow,or change a flat tyre,and even if she knows,she pretends not to,in presence of a man.

A woman doesn’t whistle.

A woman never tells the exact number of men she has slept with, but if she is crazy enough as to do so, we will add twenty five more guys on top to get the exact number.

A woman loves herself first, before she can let a man love her.

Never the other way round, because
the hardest woman to love, is one who doesn’t love herself.

A woman gossips. It is her staple food. A woman who doesn’t gossip is a psycho!

A woman, just like a man,is imperfect, and isn’t all together shocked or derailed by it.

A woman doesn’t seek a perfect man, but if she really has to, then she buys a Daniel Steele romantic paper backs where such perfect men can be found,and spends the rest of her life fantasising about them.

A woman shouldn’t judge all that is me, just from skimming through this article (hehehe).

A woman who likes making love in pitch darkness has deeper running issues than she knows.

A woman learns to appreciate her body (even if it looks like a stuffed doll) but if she can’t, then she joins a gym, damn it!, and she works hard on it!

A woman listens.

A woman can sooth, to silence, a wailing baby.

A woman is a decision maker, because women’s intuition is supreme.

A woman fears rats and bats and insects and caterpillars.

A woman takes not less than three days to reverse a car correctly into a
parking lot.

A woman never, and I mean never, pays rent for a man, and if she does then she’d rather call him Jackline, not Jack.

A woman hides her man’s “nakedness” in public, she protects him.

A woman should smell good…not necessarily expensive, but
good, because there are women who wear expensive perfume but still smell cheap.

A woman can smoke if she wants to, it’s her lungs after all, and hell,let’s admit it, some women make smoking so damned sexy, like Christina Hendricks in the television series, ‘MadMen’.

Talking of which, a woman loves Brad Pritt, because he is what most of us men aren’t.

A woman has to read secrets,including going through your wallet,phone messages,and when she fails on all this,she tries to pry them right out of your mind when you are drunk.

A woman prays, eats, and loves.

“You are the best I ever had,” only a woman will tell you that, but that’s not even the sad part.

The sad part is that you will believe it.

And lastly, a woman isn’t afraid of hitting her thirties, because it’s
in her thirties that she really begins to understand and enjoy her womanhood.

That’s my twisted take on women.

What’s yours?

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Cultivate your calm around difficult people

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It’s morning; you’re in a great mood.

You’re relaxed and have plenty of time to practice your morning
routine.

After an energising breakfast you head out to start your day.

Then it happens: you encounter a
difficult person and your calm turns to calamity.

We all have encounters with people who prefer to stay miserable, making everything difficult.

They exist, and perhaps there was a time in your past when you once were one of those negative people.

Perhaps you still can be at times.
As a former miserable person{ before my advent into buddhist meditation and Minimalism}I know it was my inability to handle my mental and emotional states that kept me oozing all over others.

I felt so disconnected from life, living
obsessively in my mind, that I truly felt helpless.

Most often that helplessness manifested into continuous critiquing, judging, anger, and
sometimes even pure rage.

I was unwilling to take full responsibility for my relationship to life.

I wanted peace, joy, and harmony, yet I was unwilling to do the necessary work to experience
them.

Difficult people are demanding.

They demand something from the external world in hope of
filling their own disconnection and restlessness they feel within.

Whether they are demanding our attention, a certain action or reaction, or a particular outcome,
the root of their behaviour is a demand for something other than what is.

Difficult people haven’t yet learned to take responsibility for their whole selves—mind,body, and spirit.

Feeling disconnected and restless gives rise to their need to argue,judge, critique, and tweak everyone around them.

Their inability to handle themselves adds fuel to the fire, which perpetuates their harshness.

Underneath their personality is a feeling of being separate and a desperate plea for help.

We can’t change another and we can’t also easily make someone want
to change.

The only way we can help is by being
true to our self, finding our power within, and being an example of calm.

Here are a few practices I’ve found useful, loving, and extremely effective about how to conduct yourself around difficult people and maintain your calm and peace.

» Be still and ground yourself.

Naturally, when we are confronted with a rude,irritable, or irate person, we tend to avoid them.

We think that if we avoid them they will go away, or at least we hope they will.

The truth is that, although this may happen, it is much more likely that they won’t until we learn an alternate way of dealing with them.

Negative energy has a force and it can knock us on our butt, usually in the form of us engaging in toxic
behaviour.

If we are not grounded and well centered in our reaction, we may find
ourselves arguing, judging, or stomping out of the room.

Making sure we are firmly planted in our body enables us to look the person in the eye and be completely present.

It gives us the opportunity to remain calm and pause rather than engage in behavior we may later regret.

» Look them directly in the eyes.

Darkness—negativity—can’t stand light and more, so it can’t remain in the light.

Looking someone directly in his or her eyes dispels darkness.

Your Light pierces through the superficial persona to their being.

When I practice this tool one of two things always happens:

The person walks away or stops talking.

The conversation takes a more positive direction.

We all want to be seen, from the cashier at self-service store to our spouse or partner.

Taking the time to look at someone
offers them the greatest gift we have to offer:connection.

Try it as an experiment and see what happens.

» Listen to understand.

I find that whenever a difficult person confronts me, I automatically tense up and mentally consider my defense.

When I am calm and open-minded, I
know that I never have to defend myself, ever.

The most effective way to diffuse a difficult person is to truly listen to what they are trying to say,which means keeping my mouth closed and
hearing them all the way through.

Whether or not I agree with them is irrelevant, and I certainly don’t need to let them know what I think.

I can listen and get back to them if necessary such as with a partner, co-worker or friend.

I find the following responses to be most effective:
“Let me get back to you on that.”
“You could be right.”

When a person is being difficult, it is because they are responding to their perceived reality rather than what is going on in the moment.

Often times their frustration has very little to do with us.

I find when someone’s reaction seems over the top for the situation that repeating the same response
diffuses the situation.

» Learn when to be silent.

Some people are extremely closed-minded and impossible to talk to, but we need to speak to them.

When I find myself in a situation with
someone who just can’t hear me in the moment, I don’t force the issue.

Trying to get my point across to someone that can’t hear me only escalates the situation.

Sometimes the clearest form of
communication is silence.

At a later time I can revisit the conversation with the person and communicate what needs to be said.

Regardless of the person’s response, I can share my feelings and thoughts and let go of the outcome.

Focusing on them responding a certain way only results in two difficult people unable to accept what is.

» Be honest with yourself.

If we are repeatedly in a situation with someone who is abusive verbally, physically, and/or
emotionally, we must stop trying to change him or her.

If we find we are practising a spiritual way of Life and someone close to us isn’t changing, it may be time to get honest with our self and find out
what is really going on.

The question of whether or not to end a relationship with a difficult person, whether a friendship, work or romantic relationship, can only come from within you.

If you can honestly say you have done what you know to do, have asked for help from a friend or
professionally and nothing is changing, then its time to go within for the answer and trust what you
find.

On the other side of a difficult person is an opportunity to grow.

No matter what we are presented with in life, we have an opportunity to choose more or less responsibility.
Remembering that true responsibility is our ability to respond in the
moment.

Of course, this takes practice and is not easy.

However, as we take more and more responsibility for our life, circumstances and people lose their
power over us.

We learn to choose our responses
moment by moment, no longer being dragged around by emotions, thoughts, or circumstances
created by another or our self.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

A rare gesture of gratitude

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Seven years ago, a former female student in one of my college teaching years sent me an SOS.

She was in dire need of any sort of job to help her keep above the water.

Apparently I had the capacity to intervene, so I did so, and the young woman got a job and I forgot all about it.

It was around the same time,that I left the teaching career and forgot
about the whole episode.

She didn’t.

Last week, she managed to trace me, but careless me, I could not
even recognise her name — you know how teaching so many students can be,and the young students are still growing,so their faces are bound to change after some time.

Moreover, being a former female student,her name did not immediately ring a bell.

Keeping close to female students is a sure way of killing a male tutor’s teaching career!

Anyway, I connected the face to the name and my ageing memory finally placed her.

After I had got over my surprise, she updated me about her current position – a mid-level IT specialist
in some government office.

She declared her modest salary and asked what she could do for me!

I realised she was serious and was absolutely stunned by her forthright gesture.

She insisted she owed her current station in life to me.

I could not remember when a young man or woman last expressed gratitude at being given a helping
hand.

Rather than telling her what I wanted her to do for me, I wished I had more opportunities to offer her instead.

Anyway, I did give her some advice about saving and investment.

Later in the day, I shared the story about what had happened with friends on my social circle.

I was in for round two of being surprised.

Apparently, there is a multitude of people out there living in silent disappointment with ungrateful young relatives and beneficiaries of actively solicited help.

From the comments that poured out,
most people have come to accept that ingratitude is part of our new culture.

Some said that relatives and friends tend to treat whatever help, donation or sponsorship they get from you as a right, and even feel cheated over what you fail to give them.

Others declared me very lucky to have such a gracious young woman as a beneficiary of my modest help.

Several actually shocked me by saying that beneficiaries of your help and generosity tend to become your
bitter enemies for what you fail to give them!

The contributions to the discussion came rapidly as people I had not heard from for a long time joined in
In form of emails having heard the story from my close friends and gave their opinion.

They all described me as a very lucky person to have such a rare and gracious young woman as a beneficiary of my help.

From their emails and Twitter Direct Messages, most have never received a word of appreciation from the people they have helped.

But as the middle aged express chagrin at what they consider lack of manners and decency, it is beginning
to look like decency is no longer a necessary character trait in developing countries, otherwise
social evolution wouldn’t have allowed it to die out.

Apparently, being modern means demanding everything as if it were a right.

Maybe treating privileges like rights is the surest way to get ahead in life these days.

If some elderly fellows expect you to thank them for extending a privilege to you, tell them they can thank themselves if they want!

You are too important to say “thank you.”

Unless of course, you are my wonderful former student.!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

A friendly bird outside my window

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A bird came down the walkway outside my window:
He did not know I saw him;
He bit a hapless worm into two halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew drop,
From a convenient grass blade,
And then hopped sideways to the wall
To let my cat pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes all around him,
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
Then hurried all aflight to a fence pole,–

He stirred his velvet head,
Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unruffled his feathers
And rowed himself afloat to his softer home,
Atop my favourite shade tree.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

I’ve just been wondering…

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If I looked through your eyes,
would you see me as I see you,
perfectly imperfect in
all your idiosyncrasies, breathtaking?

If I saw into your mind,
would you think of me as I think of you, hilarious, or
the serious mindblowing that you are?

How do you manage to be on my mind all day long?

If I held your hand,
would you hold it back
with the same grasp as mine,
the same grasp I have on your heart?

Does your heart race as fast as mine
when I see your shining smile,
piercing eyes, your presence, all intoxicating to me?

Would you say I complete you,
filling your every empty thought,
every lonely moment,
every sad day,
giving you a reason to smile,
and push through the day?

My heart has been wondering so…

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Torn between my Heart and Mind

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Sometimes, my heart tells me to
help someone find their way, but my
mind tells me that someone needs to find their path on their own to grow.

Sometimes, my heart tells me to love someone who is not on the same page as me,but my mind tells me our differences will end up pulling us both a part.

Sometimes,my heart tells me to endure the cheating
and abuse with the hope of change, but my
mind says I know I deserve better.

My heart and mind sometimes disagree; my peace in all this struggle will surely depend on whose advice I follow.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Dont magnify your enemies

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There is one story from the Bible that won my heart,may be because I’ve always been a tiny wiry man.

It is about David and Goliath.

Did you know that when David faced
Goliath, he never called him a giant?

Other people did, but not David.

He didn’t brag on the enemy’s power.
He didn’t magnify the obstacle.

He did just the opposite.

He called him an “uncircumcised Philistine”.

Not only did he not acknowledge who Goliath was, or his strength, his power, his experience, he took it one step further and diminished him.

When he said, “He’s an uncircumcised Philistine,” he was saying, “This man
is not in covenant with my God.

He’s not in covenant with Jehovah.”

In other words, “He doesn’t have the favor on his life that’s on my life. I
know the favor of my God keeps my
enemies from being able to defeat
me.”

So when he went to face Goliath he
said, “This day, I will defeat you and
feed your head to the birds of the
air.”

How could David, a teenager practically half his size with no
military experience, go out with such
confidence and face Goliath, a skilled
warrior wearing a full set of armour?

It’s because he understood this
principle.

David is the one that said,“The favor of God keeps my enemies
from defeating me.”

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Dara. My greatest success

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Dara was a girl who caught my fancy during my boyhood years.

We used to do laundry jobs for Joseph,the ‘Blackie’ together,her and two other girls.

Unlike me,Dara didn’t go to school. I thank my guardian priest for ensuring that I did.

The four of us,all orphans and somewhat rejected in the society,were bosom friends.

As we approached puberty,it was Dara who took my fancy as a potential girlfriend. She was very beautiful and confident,sometimes arrogantly so.

But we were so used to each other that there was no way I could break this old mould and bring her around to my new way of thinking.

Then came the school debate.

Dara and her friends could not help sneaking in into the Church hall with other Families that came to see their children at it. They too wanted to see me in action.

I was flattered. I had no family to share this important occasion with. But if Dara and her girls came,then I was home. My stage fright not withstanding.

It is now difficult for me to remember the topic under discussion for that debate after all these years, but I will never forget the girls reaction to me after that debate. Dara was sixteen. I was Fourteen at that time. I didn’t see them at the hall during the debate session that evening.

I felt abandoned, and lonely.

As I walked back to my room from the Church hall,which was quite some distance away,I saw three white figures ahead of me pacing up and down, under the big mango trees in the compound bathed in April moonlight.

They hurried towards me. They were waiting for me.

“Oh Ben,it was splendid”,Dara was breathing hard as she always did when her feelings outran her lingual abilities. “There isn’t a man who could make a speech like that in this neighbourhood!” I just stopped your grumpy guardian and said so to him”. “He won’t tell you,but he told us he was awfully surprised himself,didn’t he girls?”

Dara never liked my Guardian priest. He was an impediment to our comradeship. Dara never saw it any other way. The morals of girls and boys company had not yet fully captured our young minds,the way the priest would have liked to see it.

Chelsie sidled up to me so teasingly,”what made you so solemn. We thought you were scared that we won’t show up”.

Dara became more possessive, and wistfully said,”it must make you very happy,Ben,to have thoughts like that in your mind all the time,and to have words to put them in. I always wanted to go to school myself,you know,Ben,so that we can talk out things at the same level”.

She said it in a way that made me feel sad about her. But Dara was so headstrong to draw any pity to herself.

She continued breathlessly,”Oh,I just sat there and wished that I had a papa who could hear you talk like that,Ben,and he would know that I have the right kind of a friend”.

It tore my heart to hear her talk like that.

“I thought about your papa,Dara,when I made that speech,and I dedicated it to him”.

She threw her arms around me,and her beautiful face was all wet with tears.

Then she stared at me full in the eyes and said, “Thank you”.

Without another word,the three girls in their white dresses glimmering in the moonlight walked down the sidewalk to their dungeon room.

I have had no other success that pulled at my heart-strings like that one in all my years.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

It is a man thing

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“Surely, you can’t convert my towel into a rug.
That’s absurd!” I exclaimed to my horrified partner as I stared at my
old green towel on the floor.

Old is a polite word for a threadbare, faded thing that is 15 years old or more.

In fact, the honoured “thing” has a partner that preceded it that I use to clean the bathroom;it is about 25years old,a cherished memento forcefully gifted by another girlfriend I had many years ago.

Everyone who stays the night in my bachelor pad can access a couple of decent towels that I keep in there, but im not interested in any towel
other than this ancient once-green one.

My partner points out that it is too old, likely even to harbour something dangerous.

After tolerating that towel for this long,She just had to make an executive decision to dispose
of it.

But she’s not through with me yet.

She only gave me enough time to mourn my old friend before she finally carried out a spring cleaning of my closet, since I never come round to doing it myself.

If our partners do not make such decisions, some of us would walk around looking as if we just escaped from a cat-training camp with torn,but cherished garments.

Hoarding is a term nobody mentions to new brides until they wed
that man and start sharing a bed, bathroom, and home.

Suddenly, they notice the handsome pair of shoes he has got on the shoe rack, but never touches.

Instead, he wears a tired pair that would qualify for a place in the national museum.

And that tattered vest, clinging to his chest by the sheer might of three determined threads.

Or that belt that looks as if it came off a dinosaur’s hide.

A friend told me about this jungle jacket that her father wears for every occasion.

During a trip abroad, she got him a trench coat, a woollen jersey,
a winter coat for the bitterly cold months, and a couple of decent suits.
He has never worn them — they
hang neatly in his closet.

Her frustrated mother left it to the children to convince their father that the jungle look was long out of vogue, but like me, their father has
no intention of letting go of his old friend.

Back in high school, we thought our physics teacher had only one orange shirt.

Then one day at the teachers’ quarters, we counted over 15 replica orange shirts hang out to dry.

I wonder, is it a man thing?

Men can wear the same hair style for life, but who said they have to do the
same with clothes?

I almost always look
traumatised when i open my drawer to find new underwear in place of my old pairs.

Which I would say is so thoughtful of my partner to gift me with new ones,but where the hell has she taken the old ones? I feel naked wearing a crisp fresh and new pair of undies!

At a bridal shower, one single girl described her potential husband: “He should be financially stable,
have a nice house, and dress well and stylishly…”

“You are describing an already married man, honey,who has a strong willed wife to throw away his old tatters that he loves so much!” said
the moderator.

Maybe there should be another saying that behind every neat man is a ‘headstrong woman’.

Some things I can change, but there is no way I intend to be seen in public with new clothes as if I’ve just been released from a long jail term.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts©

A Child Of the Slums

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My bedroom was an outcrop structure in the kitchen store at a Catholic Parish that was my home for very many years during my memorable and deprived childhood.

I can cut through all the years that have now passed and still see those days like it was only yesterday.

I used to retire into my room early on Saturday nights and pretend to sleep in early after the days hardwork,doing Laundry Work for Joseph,the ‘Blackie’.

I waited until it was all quiet and the old priests were sleeping,then raised my window softly,climb out my room and walk very softly on back lawns of the parish and into the narrow streets of Kawangware slums in the West of Nairobi.

I never used to have much fun in life,but I had several distractions that I could choose from to alleviate my loneliness and boredom.

There were no lights burning in the narrow streets after 9 o’clock during the night except security lights near the Native hooch dens.

On starlight nights,I used to pace up and down those long and haphazard laid cold streets,scowling at the little sleeping cardboard houses on either side of the street.

They were flimsy shelters,some of them made of green raw poles and mud.

Yet for all their frailness,how much envy,and jealousy and unhappiness some of them managed to contain!

The life that went on in them seemed to me made up of evasions and negations,total loss of human dignity and privacy in face of abject poverty.

This guarded mode of existence was like living under some invisible tyranny.

People’s speech,their voices,their side glances were furtive and repressed.

Every individual taste,appetite,ambition was bridled by caution.

The people inside those houses,I thought,tried to live like the mice in their kitchens;to make no noise,to leave no trace,to just slip over the surface of the earth in the dark.

The growing piles of stinking garbage,ash and cinder in open-kitchen backyards were the only evidence that some trace of life could be found inside the dark slums at night.

The Laundry Man,the ‘Blackie’, was a kind and wide old fellow who paid us well for helping him out in the Laundry.

He had no children of his own.

His only daughter died aged seventeen of late-life measles.

He told me once during an unguarded moment,which were not many in his life,that his own daughter doed just as she was getting old enough to help him out in his Laundry business.

On summer afternoons,he used to sit for hours on the sidewalk in front of his laundry,his old newspaper lying on his knee,watching boys and girls through the big open window as we. Ironed and tried to serenade girls with hummed tunes from lovesongs that usually played on the radio.

The clouds of white and red dust,the gusts of hot tropical wind that withered his vegetable garden in his backyard,never seemed to disturb his calm.

His very facial expression and countenance amidst all these chaos,seemed to say that he had found the secret to contentment.

Morning and evening,he rode out in his bicycle,distributing the clean and ironed clothes,and collecting baskets of linen that cried out for washing and drying in his sun-drying lines at his backyard.

The girls from that laundry were hot during dances;the smelled of lavender ironed clothes and soap fragrances rare in our part of slums.

It is them,Dara,Christine and dimpled Chelsie that I usually visited on my Saturday night strolls in their rented one room dungeon.

Wherever you are,you three girls of my youth,remember that I still hold you so dearly in my heart.

So many years of fighting the weather,and not being together have not weathered the cherished memories I still have for you!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts©

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts©

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts©

Bob Marley-A personal tribute to my HERO

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Sunday,May 11th,2014 will be my hero’s day.

The true essence of my life has always revolved around music and its beauty.

We don’t always know why destiny brings us to the paths we take, or the people it propels into our lives.

I never formally met Bob Marley.

But from the fateful moment of my first musical encounter,I knew Bob was, and is, an integral part of my life and my identity as an African.

Yes, that’s right. Bob spoke to me…literally through his music.

For that, I consider myself one of the privileged few to have lived during his time on earth.

I loved his music.

I still do.

I loved his image.

I loved what he stood for.

As a child growing up in the 70s Africa(and Kenya borders Ethiopia,considered to the cradle of Rastafari Movement), Bob was, and still is, a legend.

He is, and will forever be, the king.

Aside from his music, it was his love for football that always kept bringing me into proximity of his presence as I played a ball made from rags with my fellow boys.

My pre-match nerves and butterflies
approached heart attack proportion after listening to his music in my transistor radio.

All the boys in my village tried to emulate him both in his musical prowess and his love for football.

Well, at least I tried.

But you have to understand.

This was Bob,a living legend.

And in our very own minds, we were in the presence of a living legend.

Who could perform under such immense pressure?!

In those days, my young life seemed to revolve around his next concert or the release of his next album or “Forty-five” (yes, I bought vinyl records in those days, not CDs or mp3 downloads).

And I bought them all; Burning, Catch a Fire, Natty Dread, Rastaman Vibration, among other iconic works of the lyrical genius, often sacrificing lunch money to obtain them.

His words and music were life and
sustenance.

My gurdian-priest- father could not understand why I was always so hungry after school in spite of giving me lunch money.

I remember that staggering moment on TV when Bob
called Jamaican political leaders, Michael Manley and Eddie Seaga on stage and issued the proclamation
of what has become Jamaican anthem of unity…One love, one heart, let’s get together and
feel alright…I remember the atmosphere, the vibes and this magical moment that I shared with my friends and twenty thousand Jamaicans far away from my continent in the stadium that unforgettable evening.

Surely now
Jamaica,the home of my musical icon, would rise above its pain and shortcomings and fulfil its potential after such an amazing display.

He did the same thing in Zimbabwe during its independence inauguration in 1980.

Yes, Bob was king.

And as king he was commanding his subjects, Michael and Eddie
counted among them, to unite for a cause.

As an enthusiastic 15-year-old, I didn’t quite fully appreciate the real significance of this great moments,but they inspired magic.

I was truly inspired.

And I mentally followed him everywhere I could to soak up the music and musings of this great man; his mystical performance at the first ever Sunsplash in Montego Bay; his release of the Survival album at the
National Arena in honour of the International Year of the Rasta Child (Peter Tosh unveiled his famous
‘M16′ guitar there too); and an awesome time at the National Stadium with Stevie Wonder.

But I especially remember Bob’s highly charged and miraculous performance at National Heroes Park just a few nights after the assassination attempt on his
life.

How dare these people try to take our Reggea king from us?

Despite the obvious dangers and extremely
hostile political environment, Bob
could never be stopped by a mere bullet.

I remember when he sang, arm bandaged from the gunshot wound… “Woman hold her head and cry as
her son had been shot down in the street and
died…” and the special meaning so soon after his brush with death.

Here was an exceptional man who
despite it all and the natural fear for his own life, would not be denied the place in history he was destined for.

Here indeed was a hero.

Not that my guardian approved of me going crazy about Bob and his Music.

My guardian-father once gave me his clearest thoughts on the topic when he unceremoniously ripped a poster of Bob (which had come pre-
packaged in the Kaya album) from my bedroom wall and ordered that never again should a picture of this
‘dutty’ Rastaman appear in his house.

You see, parents in those days feared one thing, that their sons would ‘tun Rasta’, smoke ganja and become ‘wuthless’.

Bob’s immense influence and
popularity was terrifying to them.

I would spend hours at his Catholic Parish house copying Bob’s music to cassettes (thankfully technology
had moved on from just vinyl records).

I even remember getting some original Bob recordings,some that I don’t think have ever been published –or at least I’ve never seen them on any album.

How I wish I could find those tapes now!

Looking back and remembering how influential Bob was, I totally understand many parents’ fear of him.

But like the world over, they would eventually come around, and I even heard my Guardian-dad arguing with one of his friends a few years before he passed away, about how much of a prophet Bob was and how he
should be made a national hero.

My Guardian had by then become a Bob aficionado; My! How the world
turns!

But that was due in large part to Bob’s immense popularity globally.

He made us all proud to be
African everywhere in the world we went.

It didn’t matter whether you were in Sydney, Mumbai or Timbuktu.

Mention that you were Rastafaran and the only point of reference for further conversation…was
Bob.

I see the same craze when every other foreigner thinks every Kenyan is a track athlete!

In fact, at any T-shirt stand in any city in the world, there are only two images that you are guaranteed to find — Bob and Che (Guevara) — the
unmistakable global images of revolution and change.

Believe me, I’ve checked.

His popularity over 30 years after his death speaks volumes.

Drop a ‘Bob’ during a party and
even today’s youngsters who were born years well after his death break out singing word for word, ‘Get
up Stand Up’, or ‘Buffalo Soldier” as if they were the latest release from Lady gaga or Kanye west.

Internationally, Bob still
outsells any other Jamaican artiste and is loved globally even in death.

To westerners, he is Bob Marley — international reggae icon.

To us, he was, and is, simply…Bob.

I remember that devastating announcement and the hollow feeling it left in me.

It was May 11, 1981 and I was right back to school after Easter Holidays.

The radio announcer interrupted the music to tell me that the
King was dead. That was over the famous lunchtime music in KBC radio that I really loved listening to.

Knowing what he had meant to me,
my friends huddled together and offered condolences as if he was my relative. I couldn’t face to watch his funeral at the National Arena on TV.

I wanted to remember him as I knew
him…smiling, playing ball, smoking a ‘spliff’ and sitting on the grass after a game of football; chanting down Babylon one more time on a stage.

I was going off for my A-Level the following year and I took with
me his music and his message.

And of course, since
I was moving out of my guardian’s house and could do what I wanted in my own dorm room, I also took his
poster.

Yes, Bob and I have come a long way together… I’m almost 50 years now.

I never formally met him.

But he spoke to me.

And his voice still reverberates through my being, my life, my identity…as an African.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Demystifying Meditation

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I am far from an all organic-cotton-wearing, vegan zen master.

My days,just like yours, are filled with stress (work-imposed and self-imposed) and a general feeling that I haven’t stopped running—in pursuit of things I hold dear in my life—from
one thing to the next.

And, like most, I am in a
serious monogamous relationship with my BlackBerry Smartphone.

If you met me just now, you probably wouldn’t guess that about Six years ago I started practising mindful
Buddhist meditation.

Since that time, I’ve meditated almost every single day without fail—and have noticed a huge difference in my general well-being.

My practice has completely changed my relationship with…myself, my friends and family, and my
Home,which is my sanctuary of peace from chaos that beset the outside world.

I knew that meditation was doing good things for stress levels, my overall mood, and efforts
to quieten that voice that runs incessant negative
commentary of what people (including myself) are
Doing with their lives.

But it wasn’t until more than one person said I was “glowing” that I realised meditation also
had some pretty amazing physical benefits.

My furrowed brow has relaxed, and the anxiety that once kept me up late and gave me dark circles under my eyes has
diminished.

I’m here to tell you that ‘The. Mental Glow’ is also possible—without retinol or a raw-food diet.

Allow me to clear up some of the misconceptions I’m constantly hearing about meditation…
»You need tons of extra time. Not so, it only takes 20 minutes or less a day. That’s shorter than an episode
of your favourite TV show.

There are people who say even just a few minutes will do,but when you have lived as long as I have,20 minutes suffice to audit the important things in your life on daily basis.

»No, seriously, I don’t have 20 minutes. You can meditate during your commute. If you take the train,
bus, or car pool, just pop your earbuds in, cue some mediation music (search it on iTunes and choose your favorite), and close your eyes.

»You have to give up all of your favourite vices. You don’t have to give up any part of your life once you
start mediating. You can still come home and have your glass of wine or beer before settling into lotus pose.
Might make it easier at first,but don’t make it a habit. The rewards of meditation are far more superior to any vintage wine or world class beer!

»It’ll turn me into a grumpy recluse. You don’t have to start wearing hemp fibres or going to yoga if you
don’t want to.

»I can never clear my mind enough to meditate. It’s totally normal—and expected—to have thoughts
come up. This is actually good! It means you’re working through something that’s on your mind.

»Still, “I meditate” sounds really…try hard. If you think it makes you sound kinky to say that you meditate, you simply don’t have to tell anyone.

»I tried it a couple of times and didn’t feel anything. Every meditation is a good meditation, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You probably won’t see or feel instant results—this isn’t a haircut.
You’re getting your mind in shape, so the first few times, it might
feel like a struggle. Slowly but surely it will become easier to focus and relax. You are essentially rewiring
and rebooting your brain, so it will take a little time and
patience.

One of the fundamental points of the
spiritual journey is to persevere along the path.

»I don’t know any Tibetan monks. You don’t have to: there’s
an app for that. I use the app ‘Meditator’ to announce, via a pretty realistic gong sound, when
time is up. Guided meditations are a great way to start—this is basically when an instructor tells you
what to think about during your practice, either in person or via recording. They generally involve an
introduction and centering thought. Then your guide will help you visualize a beautiful place and will talk you through, with nice spa-like music playing in the
background. Guided sessions are also a good way to mix up your meditation practice from time to time.

I’m partial to Deepak Chopra and Dalai Lama’s themed, month-long guided meditations that they do every season—you can download them on Youtube.

Personally I use a mantra, a repeated phrase that helps you focus on your breath. (“Ohm” is considered
the universal mantra.) But if you don’t have a mantra, just concentrate on breathing. This is a very simple process: when you are breathing out, know that you are breathing out; when you breath in, know that you are breathing in. Be aware of this without supplying any extra commentary or internalized
mental gossip; just identify with the breath.

You don’t have to be an anxious person, a spiritual
person, a religious person, an addict, or a hippie, to meditate. I think of it like working out—it’s just
something you do to make yourself healthier,both in body and in mind.

If you give it a go and like it,let me know. If you get stuck,let me know how I can help!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

A blog post a day. The daily Rituals of a Minimalist

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When I became a minimalist,I had to do away with most things that were distractions in my life.

The first to go was the TV set. The news made me sick. I knew it . But I was doing nothing about it,until I changed into a minimalist.

The second was social media. I unfollowed all my twitter followers. There is no news feed timeline on my Twitter account. I only use it to share my private business news or my blog posts.

I converted my Facebook profile into a business page. I unfriended all my friends in Facebook. It too,has no newsfeeds.

Then came the shock of emptiness!

What do I do now that I’m no longer checking on facebook updates or twitter?

It has been an interesting personal journey.

Friends rarely call me nowadays-they still can’t get over the fact that I unfriended them on Facebook or Twitter.

Ok. They do call sometimes,but their calls have a definite pattern. Whenever I receive a call nowadays,it is usually about asking me for some monetary help,probably after calling all their other buddies in vain.

As a minimalist,I’m not willing to fund their consumptive orgy that I took measures to ran away from. So,often,unless for very needy cases,they get nought! Which infuriates them into not calling again for a long time!

Any way,back to my daily rituals.

I run my private business from my home office. Sometimes I travel to do field work on site. But mostly,it’s just me and my laptop in this wide world.

The work keeps me going most of the time,but as with any other routine work, it becomes monotonous.

This is where I use my daily rituals to break the monotony.

I have developed the following rituals unwittingly through my buddhist meditation;

1. Being grateful.

I start my day by giving thanks to where I am now,for all the wonderful things that have happened that transported me to this beautiful time and place called the present. I start my day by having quality time with my maker every morning with thankfulness,not whining.

2. Marking time.
Before I fully connect with my starting day,I let my mind idle a bit to prime it for the day ahead.

I make myself a big pot of herbal tea(Lemon grass and chamomille are my favourite), sit down in my
favourite spot, and snuggle up with my thieving cat,Jaffa(he stole two of my sausages last evening!) at the bottom end of my legs. I just
give myself time to greet the day, to breathe in the crisp fresh air, and to feel.

$.I draft one inspiring blogpost for my Random thoughts journal. I don’t publish it immediately but schedule it for publishing during the course of the day. This is my most important ritual for every morning in my days. It helps me reboot my mind for fresh things over the rest of the day!

3. I Connect with my vision.

Before changing into a minimalist, thinking about the future meant thinking about all the things I do not yet have or do.

Connecting with my vision is different.

It means envisioning a world much bigger than myself. My vision guides what I do today. If today is
a step, my vision is the direction in which I take that step,a part of a whole that is now embedded in my soul.

4.I Choose a theme for the day.

The kind of music I play and listen to in my morning hours brings into light the theme I choose for the day.

Each day, I choose a theme that feels right.

It reflects how I want to feel and what I want to accomplish.

It can be anything, long or short,
specific or general. “Today is all about…cheerfulness,gratitude,love,contemplation”..anything.

5. I set my three priorities.

Focussed Meditation Research shows that you can only do three to five meaningful things per day.

I feel comfortable picking three and leaving enough space for the day’s magic to happen.

6. Assign celebrations.

Since I tend to gloss over my accomplishments after five happy minutes and move on to the next
thing to do, I now assign a celebration to each of my three priorities.

A celebration can be anything
I love, big or small. It can be a walk in nature, a drink with a friend, a physical workout, or reading a
chapter in an inspiring book.

I hope this ritual inspires my fellow minimalists. If you try it out and
like it, I’d love to hear how it goes!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Let peace be your referee

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A referee calls the players to safety in any game.

It is obligatory for referee to ensure that all games under his watch are played safe!

As humans, we have an
internal referee, so to speak, calling
the plays and giving us direction.

Before you ever make a hard decision on life, you should stop for a minute and see if you have peace inside your soul.

If there’s unrest or an uneasy
feeling inside, then don’t move
forward. The game is not safe!

Let peace be your referee.

How many people get into a
relationship that they didn’t have
peace about and end up miserable?

They buy things they didn’t have
peace about buying.

They end up in debt.

They take a job they didn’t have
peace about.

They end up frustrated.

Here’s the key: If you don’t have that inner peace before you make the decision,you’re not going to have peace after you make the decision.

If you don’t have peace about that person who is your current romantic interest now,you’re not going to have peace if you get into relationship.

If you don’t have peace about buying that new car,you’re not going to have peace when the payments come each month.

Remember, Nature gave us that internal peace for our protection. It is a beacon that calls us to safety.

No matter what circumstances look like, always trust that inner peace.

Let peace in your heart be your referee and settle any
questions you have in your mind.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

The Klaxon in my bedroom

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East, west, home is best.

That is always what we say
when we miss home.

In my profession that entails a lot of field trips, it has become more of a habit to miss home. It works like the clock.

On a seven day tour of duty, the fifth day is when the longing begins.

On a 15-day tour, the tenth day is
when the tiredness kicks in and I begin dreaming of home, a strong cup of coffee and some home noise,like playing my best of Country Music collection.

Talking about home noise, I once finished my tour and headed straight home for the usual cold welcome from my furniture.

I did expect the home noise but that is not what I got.

I got more than that.

Once I had settled down to dinner, the home noise subsided and the
place was quiet save for the murmuring of the refrigerator motor.
That was what I was waiting for so
that I could relax on the bed and do a mental post-tour notes.

But as soon as I got to bed, another type of noise started.

It was a very loud noise and with a very high pitch.

The highest I could imagine.

It reminded me of the time I used to do camping tours,pitching my tent on client farms.

This type of camping that is very basic.

Just a tent erected on a flat surface in the middle of nowhere.

That was when I could not sleep because of the high-pitched sounds
coming from the bush.

The sounds were the same as
what I was hearing at home, but in the bush, they were coming from several sources and the pitch was
different.

They formed a sort of a long musical chorus that made the noise bearable.

But what I was listening to, here at home, so far away from the bush, was one high pitch that was
threatening to tear off my eardrum.

I woke up and closed all the window of the bedroom.

That made the sound even louder.

Which meant the source of the
maddening song, was inside the bedroom.

I decided to find the noise maker and throw it out of my only sanctuary.

I needed a quiet night and I did not expect such noises anywhere near Nairobi, let alone my house, and
indeed, my bedroom!

But as soon as I switched the lights on, the noise suddenly stopped.

Now, that was annoying.

I did not know where to begin looking.

There were several places where the noise maker could hide.

Either it was in the closet, or in the
bathroom, or within the bedroom area.

I took a torch and searched under the bed.

There was nothing.

I could not even attempt to look at the closet.

It was so full of stuff that it would take me a day to ransack the
whole place.

So I went to the bathroom, looked under the sink and the entire bathtub.

There was nothing.

I gave up and jumped back on the bed.

I put off the lights and heaved a sigh of relief and let my mind wonder
off to the bush.

The noise maker read my mind and
came back with his monotone of a song in its loudest!

I was a tired man.

Such a man is easily provoked.

I wanted to shout as loud as the noise maker, to see whether it would feel disturbed and stop the game.

But I was in my house and etiquette demands otherwise,or my neighbours would feel obliged to haul me to the nearest asylum for my own safety.

I resolved to trail the noisemaker in the darkness by following the direction of the sound.

I started tiptoeing around the bedroom with a keen
ear.

Whichever corner of the room I went to, the noise seemed to come from the opposite side.

I was so full of anger that when I passed close to the bathroom
mirror, I thought I saw sweat and an ugly sneering look on my face.

I was cursing silently because the noise had evolved into a surround sound.

It was coming from all over the
room.

I gave up the second time, went to bed and put on the lights.

Like magic, the noise died.

I could sleep without the noise from the stranger, but I could not
sleep with the lights on.

The best option was to get back to the living room and watch a movie until late,when the noise would no longer bother me if it would
still be there.

I picked up my shoes, and, right inside one of the shoe, was my enemy noise maker!

A cricket!

How does such a small insect make so much noise?

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Life beyond hope. A charted destiny

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Few people care to study logic, because everybody conceives himself to be proficient enough in the art of reasoning already.

But I observe that this satisfaction is limited to one’s own rationalisation, and does not extend to that of other men.

We come to the full possession of our power of drawing inferences, the last of all our faculties-Logic.

Where hope is unchecked by any experience, it is likely that our optimism is extravagant.

Logicality in regard to practical matters (if this be understood,
not in the old sense, but as consisting in a wise union of security with fruitfulness of reasoning,a.k.a pragmatism) is the most useful quality an animal can possess, and
might, therefore, result from the action of natural selection; but outside of these it is probably of more advantage to the animal to have his mind filled with pleasing and encouraging visions, independently of their truth; and thus, upon unpractical subjects,
natural selection might occasion a fallacious tendency of thought.

I’m sure you remember the story of Pandora.

She was given a tightly sealed box and was told never to open it.

But, being curious, she did, and out flew plagues, sorrow, and mischief, probably not in that order.

Too late she clamped down the lid.

Only one thing remained in
the box: hope.

Hope, the story goes, was the only good the casket held among many evils, and it remains to this day mankind’s sole comfort in
misfortune.

No mention here of action being a
comfort in misfortune, or of actually doing something to alleviate or eliminate one’s misfortune.

The more I understand hope, the more I realize that all along it deserved to be in the box with the
plagues, sorrow, and mischief; that it serves the needs of those in power as surely as belief in a distant nirvana; that hope is really nothing more than a secular way of keeping us in line.

A clear idea is defined as one which is so apprehended that it will be recognized wherever it is
met with, and so that no other will be mistaken for it.

If it fails of this clearness, it is said to be obscure.

Hope is obscure.

Hope,irrational hope, is, in fact, a curse, a bane.

I say this not only because of the lovely Buddhist saying “Hope and fear chase each other’s tails,” not only because hope leads us away from the present, away from who and
where we are right now and toward some imaginary future state.

I say this because of what hope is.

More or less all of us talk on more or less endlessly about hope.

You wouldn’t believe—or maybe you would—how many magazine editors have asked me to write about the dangers of irrational hope, then
enjoined me to leave readers with at least a sense of hope.

But what, precisely, is hope?

At a talk I gave in a life-coach session, someone asked me to define it.

I turned the question back on the audience, and here’s the definition we all came up with: hope is a longing for a future condition over which you have no influence; it
means you are essentially powerless.

I’m not, for example, going to say I hope I eat something tomorrow.

I just will.

I don’t hope I take another breath right now, nor that I finish writing this
sentence.

I just do them.

On the other hand, I do hope that the next time I get on a plane, it doesn’t
crash.

To hope for some result means you have given up any influence concerning it.

Many people say they
hope the dominant culture stops destroying the world.

By saying that, they’ve assumed that the destruction will continue, at least in the short term, and they’ve stepped away from their own ability to participate in stopping it.

I do not hope that African Rhino or Elephant will survive.

I will do whatever it takes to make sure the dominant culture doesn’t
drive them extinct.

If elephants and rhinos want to leave us because they don’t like how they’re being treated—and who
could blame them?—I will say goodbye, and I will miss them, but if they do not want to leave, I will not
allow civilization to kill them off.

When we realize the degree of influence we actually do
have over most situations, we no longer have to “hope” at all.

We simply do the work.

We make sure elephants survive.

We make sure prairie dogs survive.

We make sure grizzlies survive.

We do whatever it takes.

When we stop hoping for external assistance, when we stop hoping that the awful situation we’re in will
somehow resolve itself, when we stop hoping the situation will somehow not get worse, then we are
finally free—truly free—to honestly start working to resolve it.

I would say that when hope dies, action begins.

PEOPLE SOMETIMES ASK ME, “If things are so bad, why don’t you just kill yourself?”

The answer is that life is really, really good for me.

I am a complex enough being that I can hold in my heart the understanding that we are really, really messed, and at the same
time that life is really, really good.

I am full of rage, sorrow, joy, love, hate, despair, happiness, satisfaction, dissatisfaction, and a thousand other feelings.

We are really messed up.

But Life is still really good.

Many people are afraid to feel despair.

They fear that if they allow themselves to perceive how desperate our situation really is, they must then be perpetually
miserable.

They forget that it is possible to feel many things at once.

They also forget that despair is an
entirely appropriate response to a desperate situation.

Many people probably also fear that if they allow themselves to perceive how desperate things are, they may be forced to do something about it.

Another question people sometimes ask me is, “If things are so bad, why don’t you just party?”

Well, the first answer is that I don’t really like to party.

The second is that I’m already having a great deal of fun.

I love my life.

I love life.

This is true for most minimalists
I know.

We are doing what we love, fighting for what (and whom) we love.

I have no patience for those who use our desperate situation as an excuse for inaction.

I’ve learned that if you deprive most of these people of that particular
excuse they just find another, then another, then another.

The use of this excuse to justify inaction—the use of any excuse to justify inaction—reveals
nothing more nor less than an incapacity to love.

At one of my recent talks someone stood up during the Q and A and announced that the only reason
people ever become minimalists is to feel better about themselves.

Effectiveness really doesn’t matter, he said, and it’s egotistical to think it does.

I told him I disagreed.

Doesn’t minimalism make you feel good? he asked.

Of course, I said, but that’s not why I do it.

If I only want to feel good, I can just get drunk.

But I want to accomplish something in the real world.

Why?

Because I’m in love. With nature, with trees outside
my window, with baby squirrels living in sandy tree-stump bottoms, with slender scorpions crawling
through to my shoe.

And if you love, you act to defend
your beloved.

Of course results matter to you, but
they don’t determine whether or not you make the effort.

You don’t simply hope your beloved survives and thrives.

You do what it takes.

If my love doesn’t cause me to protect those I love, it’s not love.

A WONDERFUL THING happens when you give up on irrational hope, which is that you realize you never needed it in the first place.

You realize that giving up on hope
didn’t kill you.

It didn’t even make you less effective.

In fact it made you more effective, because you ceased relying on someone or something else to
solve your problems—you ceased hoping your problems would somehow get solved through the
magical assistance of Nature, or
even the Earth itself—and you just began doing whatever it takes to solve those problems yourself.

When you give up on hope, something even better happens than it not killing you, which is that in some sense it does kill you.

You die.

And there’s a wonderful thing about being dead, which is that they
—those who torment you—cannot really touch you anymore.

Not through promises, not through threats, not through violence itself.

Once you’re dead in this way,
you can still sing, you can still dance, you can still make love, you can still fight like hell—you can still
live because you are still alive, more alive in fact than ever before.

You come to realize that when hope died, the you who died with the hope was not you, but was the you who depended on those who exploit you, the you who believed that those who exploit you will somehow stop on their own, the you who believed in
the mythologies propagated by those who exploit you in order to facilitate that exploitation.

The socially constructed you died.

The civilized you died.

The manufactured,fabricated,
stamped, molded you died.

The victim died.

And who is left when that you dies?

You are left.

Biological you.

Naked you.

Vulnerable (and invulnerable) you.

Mortal you.

Survivor you.

The you who thinks not what the culture taught you to think
but what you think.

The you who feels not what the
culture taught you to feel but what you feel.

The you who is not who the culture taught you to be but who
you are.

The you who can say yes, the you who can say no.

The you who is a part of the land where you live.

The you who will fight (or not) to defend your family.

The you who will fight (or not) to defend those you love.

The you who will fight (or not) to defend the land upon which your life and the lives of those you
love depends.

The you whose morality is not based
on what you have been taught by the culture that is killing the planet, killing you, but on your own animal
feelings of love and connection to your family, your friends, your landbase—not to your family as self-
identified civilized beings but as animals who require a landbase, animals who are being killed by
chemicals, animals who have been formed and deformed to fit the needs of the culture.

When you give up on hope—when you are dead in this way, and by so being are really alive—you make yourself no longer vulnerable to the cooption of rationality and fear that Nazis inflicted on Jews and others, that abusers like my father inflict on their
victims, that the dominant culture inflicts on all of us.

Or is it rather the case that these exploiters frame physical, social, and emotional circumstances such
that victims perceive themselves as having no choice but to inflict this cooption on themselves?

But when you give up on hope, this exploiter/victim relationship is broken.

You become like the Jews who
participated in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising.

When you give up on hope, you turn away from fear.

And when you quit relying on hope, and instead begin to protect the people, things, and places you
love, you become very dangerous indeed to those who formally held you in power.

In case you’re wondering, that’s a very good thing.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

There is NO GLORY in glorifying your problems

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Every successful person is unique.

How could it be otherwise?

But invariably, one of the things they
have in common is this: They don’t whine.

I noticed early on, that the most successful people rarely (or never) talked about the difficulties that
they have had to overcome.

For the longest time, I thought it was modesty, but eventually I realized they didn’t talk about it because
they didn’t think there was anything to talk about.

They had a problem or series of them.

They took their problems as a given thing in life and worked hard to play the best hand they could with the cards they were dealt.

If the problem was caused by something they had done, they took great pains not to do it again.

But if it was just a matter of fate, they accepted it and started working on a way to overcome it.

Digging deeper, there is a school of thought that says strong men–
and other successful people–achieve their strength and general success in life because of their problems.

They find a way to overcome the obstacles in such a way that it leads to
new opportunities, opportunities they would not have had except for the obstacles.

I think that is too confusing to average people.

Sure, it happens sometimes but I think to say the obstacle caused the success is far from always the
case.

I am not willing to go that far, although I know there are series of motivational speakers out there who would tell me I am wrong.

No matter what your position is on this, we can all agree that successful people don’t let the obstacle remain
an obstacle for long.

They face it head-on and work to
overcome it.

My take here is where I come out on this.

A friend,who is also my Buddhist meditation teacher, told me about the following is Buddhist wisdom. I don’t know if he is right, but I know the thought is:
“In life, pain is mandatory. Suffering is optional. It is a personal choice”

Or, on a lighter note, as the football coach Lou Holtz once said: “Never tell people your problems. Ninety
per cent of them don’t care, and the other ten percent are glad you have them.”

Either way, don’t whine.
Just get on with your life.
Just get the job done.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Keep peace. Avoid unnecessary drama in your life

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While it might seem logical that when you either have an argument with a friend or end a friendship all together you’d show kindness in the way you
speak about your pal, in reality it doesn’t always work that way.

One person may be angry (or just not
understand the benefits in moving on with forgiveness), and as a result will “go for the jugular” in how they talk about the other friend.

Why Do People Verbally Attack?

Part of why people behave this way is because they can’t get beyond their own anger and hurt, and do not think ahead to see that talking badly about
someone else will only make them look bad in the long run and damage their relationship permanently.

People that do this have perhaps not mastered their emotions, and this is their way of having a “temper
tantrum” as an adult.

They might not throw themselves on the ground like children do, but they
behave poorly without regard for the other person.

What’s more, they think they are justified in saying negative things (that are true, partially true and
twisted, or complete lies) because someone hurt them.

What Does Failure to Take the High Road Look Like?

The high road is the response to how someone else is treating you.

Part of the challenge in taking the high road is that you might not want to attack another person but instead defend yourself against lies or
hurtful words.

Your natural instinct if someone is
lying would be to try and correct the facts.

The trouble is, the very act of you responding can pull you into an argument where you and the other
person go back and forth.

Your friend will purposely say things they know get to the heart of your
character or what you value the most.

How Do You Take the High Road?

It’s better to ignore people who either make your argument public (a bad friend tactic if ever there was
one) or purposely say mean things about you.

Responding very often means saying the very same nasty things in an effort to correct them or get them
to leave you alone.

Sometimes, a seemingly innocent response such as,”I didn’t do that” can prompt more taunting or verbal
bullying.

People who attack in this manner rarely keep things private, either.

They need to “get people on their side” by explaining the argument to mutual friends, telling others that you’ve ignored their calls or unfriended them, or even making up events that happened between the two of you.

It’s hard not to respond in these cases.

Benefits of Taking the High Road

You might think that you should explain your side of things or even defend yourself against people who
are attacking you, but use caution.

Taking the high road often has more benefits than in getting others
to see things from your perspective.

How to Take the High Road

If someone is trying to goad you into responding to their negativity, you can respond and still take the
high road, but be very cautious about what you say and how you say it.

As an alternative, you can choose
to move on without explanation.

If someone has gone to others and talked about an argument you’ve had, this is bad form and probably the end of your friendship anyways, so why respond?

People who attack you will probably do the same thing to someone else, and eventually others will see
exactly what kind of friend they really are.

In the meantime, if you take the high road you can be certain that your reputation as a friend will fare much
better in the end than if you had responded.

The Do’s and Don’t’s

Take some time before responding to make sure you are in a calm place of mind.

Don’t use curse words or name calling.

Stick to the facts only.

Be cognizant of the things you’re saying and how it could make your friend look bad. In short, don’t
“attack back” with your words, but respond only to the things you wish to clarify. For example, “No, I
certainly did not cheat on my wife, nor would I ever do that. John is lying about that, and the way this
disagreement has been made public makes me very sad.” Then leave it at that.

Be mindful of what you want out of the relationship.

Do you still want to be friends at some point? It will be very difficult to do that if you choose to respond.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Beauty like no other!

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Without rival you are the most beautiful exotic, erotic, seductive,and captivating girl to ever grace this earth.

Your dimpled smile makes the desert sands at noon melt,the sparkle of your eyes when you look upon me,pales diamonds in the sun.

Your heart, with its love makes the very dust that you trample on into my feast,your soul to which I am bonded rivals the marvel of the stars.

The compassion you posses would give the forsaken of this world hope,
your voice, with its intricate and sexy undertones could make the dumb sing.

Your body, supple and sublime
would bring the Kings of Nations to their knees,
your face, with its features enchanting would make the princesses hide theirs in shame.

Yet despite having all these attributes to
still the entire earth from spinning,
it was my world you chose to stop, and hop into;
and for that and so much more
I will forever love you,and be yours alone!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Get out of my dreams,Jump into my car!

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******
You are all of my beautiful dreams,
put together, and rolled into one.
*****
You’re the moon and stars in my sky,
and the light of my morning sun.
*****
You’re my first thought in the morning,
and my very last thought each night.
*****
Dreams of you hold me through my day;
bring comfort to me, until morning light.
*****
You have brought me a world of love,
which fills every emotion within me.
*****
A world I always knew could exist,
but not one, I ever thought I would see.
*****
A beautiful world that can only be seen,
through the hearts of two joined as one.
@@@@

Dimpled

Dimpled

@@@@
One that paints all of the colours of love,
more deeply within, as each day is done.
*****
A portrait of love, captured by my heart,
and reflected so deeply into my soul.
*****
Embracing me within beautiful dreams,
from love so precious, it makes me whole
$$$$$

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

My Greatest Love Affair. Meditation

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I’ve had some great love affairs in my life,some even left me breathless.

But there was always that nagging sense at the back of my mind that always said;this state of bliss is dependent on one more person in your life-she can take it away whenever she likes.

And this premonition has almost always come to pass through separation,either by break-ups,divorce and worst of all,sometimes by the death of a loved one.

But not so with this love affair with oneself through meditation;

Meditation is like a love affair with your innermost self.

It is a lifelong love affair without breaks so long as you live.

We always live longest with our own selfs.

Family members die. Lovers separate . Friends leave.

But we are always there for our selfs.

That’s why our greatest love affair can only start with our selfs.

And this starts with meditating and reconciling our selfs to ourselves(notice the difference!)

At times it can be ecstatic and
entrancing, other times simple and still–and sometimes you might not even feel its profound effects until later.

It is a personal experience that helps us to embrace the fullness of our life.

Connecting to your ever-present Inner Beloved self helps let go of conditioned ideas about yourself and
make space for the True Self to come forth and create bliss and love for life.

Ripening this practice beyond technique into the “sweet mysterious expanse of spontaneous meditation” enriches and deepens the overall life experience.

Remember what you seek in meditation is your own Beloved, your own inner intelligence, your
own Awareness, and your own Truth that paves way for inner peace.

Meditation for the Love of It points us back to our own intimate heart of hearts, our own deepest
experience, and the bliss of our very own existence.

What allows us to relax into meditation, to make our effort without straining?

Essentially, it is trust.

First, we trust that the Self, the goal of meditation,is real and can be experienced.

Second, we trust that we are connected to a greater power, a power that supports our meditation and brings it to fruition.

In nearly every spiritual tradition, that power is called “grace” — the cosmic force that awakens the heart to its own vastness and love.

Grace is the energy that connects to the ultimate truth, to the source of our being, to what I like to call
“God’s field of bliss.”

Meditation sees all of life as an expression of divine energy — point out that grace is an ever-present force in the universe, more pervasive than gravity (and infinitely more subtle).

That means that we can access it anywhere and at any time —in nature, in the presence of someone we love—by tuning in to the presence that opens up in moments of stillness and in countless other ways.

Grace is inside us, after all, never distant.

Yet just as you need to tune the radio dial to catch the right station, or connect to a server to get online,
you also need to intentionally invoke the particular forms of grace that directly enliven meditation.

There are four basic forms of grace that we can tune in to in meditation:

One is the grace of Spirit itself, the formless, impersonal love – intelligence that flows as the
cosmos.

The second is the grace of our own self—our Awareness, but also our own body, mind, heart.

The third is the grace of God,the Universal Grace,the ultimate source of all grace.

The fourth — and, for me, always the most immediate and powerful — is the grace of an enlightened master,a great teacher and mentor, especially one connected to one of the great spiritual lineages,and in case as a Christian,my personal teacher is Our Lord and Saviour-Jesus Christ whom I profess as my spiritual teacher.

As you experiment with your practice, you can call in
All of these invocations of grace.

You might find yourself choosing to work with one in particular, or even
making all four of them a part of your routine.

Let me invite you briefly to this vast and blissful world of meditation;

Close your eyes, and focus for a moment on your breath.

If you like, you might remember a time when you felt truly open to a benign and loving presence, the presence of Spirit, of the power that
flows as this world.

You might have been in a
forest grove, on the ocean, looking at an open sky.

The connection might have happened during a moment of deep connected love with a partner or a friend or a
child.

Connect for a moment to the sense of that presence.

If you don’t feel it, don’t worry: the invocation will still have power.

Now speak or think these words silently in your mind, or create your own customised prayer:
I invoke the grace of the universe, the grace of God, the grace of Spirit, ever-present in this world.

With gratitude, I open myself to the benign grace that guides my meditation and fills me with peace, clarity, and love.

I always like to take a moment to ask my body, my mind, and my heart for their permission to enter meditation—and for their grace.

This only takes a moment, but can make a real difference,just like seeking consent to love someone else in an expressive and physical way,say hugging,touching or kissing.

It helps open the way for love leading to this great love affair.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Personal thoughts on peace of mind

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A soul at peace with itself is a soul that lives for a higher cause
* * *
The world can be peaceful, but a person can be torn up inside.
* * *
Everybody at some time or another has felt inner conflict.

This usually surfaces when a moral decision has to be made.

The greater the moral decision, the
greater the inner conflict.

The source of this battle is between the two opposing “human natures” of body and soul.

The body gravitates toward transitory comforts and sensual
pleasures.

It desires to quit, to dream, to drown in passions, to procrastinate.

The body says: Give me some food, warmth, a pillow.

Let me take it easy.

The soul, on the other hand, desires meaning, accomplishment, permanence, greatness, reality and
truth.

These two forces clash.

We want to be tough, but we feel like being marshmallows.

We want to be great,but we don’t feel like making the effort.

We want to be independent, but we feel like being seduced to just feed our ego.

And even when we’re not aware of it, this conflict is raging within us.

Peace only comes when we resolve
that inner strife.

Do you want greatness or do you
want to be average? Wake up!
* * *
“The righteous talk to their
bodily desires, while evil people let their desires talk to them.”

The question is: Who’s running the show?

Who will dictate what you’re going to do?

Narcsissts believe that we should surrender to the body and follow its whims.

But a lustful pleasure never lasts long, and usually leaves a bitter and shameful aftertaste.

Every time you give in to the body’s
desires—when you lose your temper, fail to stand up for your beliefs, or succumb to lust—the good feeling
lasts only a moment, and then you end up getting depressed and angry with yourself.

Self-respect—the only real peace—comes from siding with the soul.

So what is the goal?

To get to the body to desire what
the soul wants?

Because there’s no way to achieve
peace by giving in to the body.

Your soul will simply not give up.

Never.

But the body can go along with the soul.

Of course it “hurts” a little to walk away from an immediate pleasure.

But we can survive without it.
* * *
Getting your body to agree with the soul doesn’t mean you have to crush the body.

The body’s drive is a positive force to be harnessed.

The trick is to teach the body to supply the same energy and enthusiasm when pursuing meaningful cause, as it does when pursuing a candy bar.

The body is where the passion is, where the power is.

Get it to join your act.

Train your body to be in tune with your soul.

When you feel the body’s resistance, talk to it.

Cajole it.

Reassure it.

Imagine a jogger, out for the first time on a long run.

The body protests: “Don’t be a masochist… We’ll have a heart attack… We’ll never make it beyond this corner… Stop already!”

Only firm willpower can squelch the body’s resistance and get it to comply.

How?

By constantly reassuring it of the higher value of being in shape,
Slim and healthy.

“This is what you really want…
Imagine how much better you’ll feel… You’ll be
respected…You’ll live longer.”

Two months later, if you miss a day of jogging, the body says, “Hey, what’s going on? I missed the
pleasure of that workout!”

Figure out what you want and overrule the body.

Paint the prospects in glowing terms, until you reduce the body’s anxiety.

Keep drilling until the body’s resistance has worn down and becomes your soul’s willing partner.

Just like jogging, you can measure it: How much drilling will it take before the body goes along with my goal?

It may take awhile for the body to adjust—but it becomes increasingly
easier.

Use discipline. Drill, drill, drill.

Get your higher goals to “grab your guts,” and sink the body’s passion into the soul’s desire.

Be ready for that madness of the body fighting you and don’t let go.

Because if you let go, then the body
will run wild!

* * *

When you’re locked in a moral battle, and both choices seem equally tempting, how do you know which “voice” is talking?

If the result of a decision will be comfort and ease,then it’s probably your body talking.

Whereas if the result will be more kindness and patience, then that’s your soul.

The key is to focus your goals.

If you don’t understand what your soul really wants, then you’ll
be locked in a constant battle.

The soul wants to be good and to help people.

Beware of people who are into illusions of peace.

They may say, “I want to do the right thing,” but they may be too hysterical to sit down and discuss the
issues.

The body is afraid of losing it’s control.

People who are into the real stuff say, “Come, let us reason together.”

The soul is not afraid.

* * *

One of the best ways to get the body into spiritual meaning is to have a cause.

A person needs to focus their life around a cause that’s bigger than they are.

This way, the body will pull itself together on the side of the soul.

When we’re fighting for something we believe in, the “body-soul conflict” almost automatically comes to a halt.

We are willing to go to any lengths because the body’s voice is submerged in an overwhelming
cause.

That’s why, all over the world and throughout history, people have sacrificed their lives for higher causes.

Patriotism is one example of how this plays out.

War, as destructive as it is, creates a cause bigger than the individuals fighting.

It was reported following a recent war on terror in my country that boy children in their teens were asking their parents, “When are we going to have another war?”

The parents said, “What do you mean?

War is terrible!” The children said,

“When we went to war, our nation was united, there was no quarreling,
everyone was kind to one another. War was so nice!”{Kenya is fighting its first war since independence,fifty years ago,in Somalia against Al Shaabab terrorists}

That’s the irony.

When a nation is fighting for its
survival, there’s a sense of inner peace.

People don’t worry about pettiness like the neighbor’s new car, or
the cleaner who over-starched the shirts. Or tribal pettiness.

There is something more important.

We’ll listen carefully to any workable idea.

We’ll let anyone lead as long as
he’s capable.

We lift ourselves into the greatness of the cause.

Of course, there are far more constructive ways of achieving this same effect.

Like fixing the injustices in this world, for example.

Isn’t that the greatest “cause” of all?
Well, almost…

* * *

When people fight for a cause, what are they really looking for?

What is the ultimate desire of the soul?

Greatness… eternity… oneness with God.

God is One.

That’s the real cause everyone is aiming for.

Saving humanity is small compared to doing the will of the Eternal.

That’s the ultimate.

Jews have a way of getting in contact with this morning and night, by
reciting the Shema prayer:

“Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.”

They are focused on what the soul ultimately wants.

Saying the Shema is an effective tool they become focused, integrated and complete.

* * *

Once you’ve achieved some degree of inner peace,help others do the same.

The same way you went through the steps to recognize the inner conflict,
take others down the same road.

Look at your friend’s potential and arouse him to greatness.

Be ambitious for him.

Aim at making him big.

Imagine: “If I can get him in touch with his soul,how would that unleash his powers?

If he could be an integrated being, how high could he fly?

If he could be happier, how would that transform his relationships?

If he could be more disciplined, what
great things could he achieve?”

Of course, the next question is: How do you get someone else to be great?

Many people are so used to inner conflict that they’ve accepted it as status quo.

They accept mediocrity as a way of life, as if greatness is only for “great
people.

”People often don’t know what they really want from life. And if they don’t know what’s worth pursuing, they lose the motivation to try.

Teach people to have goals, and teach them to figure out what goals are worthwhile. Keep asking: “What
do you want?” Focus them: “Can you be truly happy if you’re striving to be mediocre? Can you be at peace if you’re not feeling fulfilled?”

If you inspire others, that will give you a more powerful dimension of wisdom and a higher cause in life.

Because by working objectively to help make others powerful, we master it for ourselves, too.

Besides, if you succeed in unleashing another’s potential, then you yourself have achieved greatness.

Because the best gift one person can give another is peace of mind. And you now share in every one of
their accomplishments.

* * *
Concisely,

-If someone doesn’t know what he’s living for, then he’s at war with himself.

- You cannot have peace while being mediocre.

- When we think big, we become big.

Look around the world and see how much you can accomplish.

- Greatness is achieved by leading with the soul, and harnessing the passionate power of the body.

- Real peace comes only when your body desires your soul’s success.

- If we succeed in making others great, we become great ourselves.

- The ultimate cause that the soul
yearns for is oneness with God.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

The Sexy Woman

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Every guy wants to be with a beautiful woman.

It’s a supreme quest.

These are the women who stride into
a room and everyone stares- including other women.

Especially other women.

These are women whose counter has a queue that winds around the block.

But then there is the sexy woman.

Only a man who has lived long enough to tell the difference between the two can pick out a sexy woman in a room.

The one who makes men run from the beautiful to her,leaving people who are not apt in this quality asking;what does he see in her after his beautiful woman?

She isn’t strikingly beautiful, but there is something unworldly about
her, something that makes the energy in a room gravitate towards her.

She isn’t the hottest thing in
the room, but she has something that a hot woman can’t buy, something that cosmetic surgery can’t fix; she is sexy.

The best part of being with this woman is meeting the woman, or when boy meets girl, if you are from that school of thought.

When you looks at her and feel your
stomach tighten.

When she is exquisite and staggeringly gorgeous in a non-beautiful way.

When she smells like sunset and her eyes tell a story.

When you never want to stop hearing her giggle.

When she floats your boat and mystery drapes itself all around her.

And mystery is good.

Mystery is very good.

This is the woman who walks into a room and you feel a sharp change in the room’s chemistry.

A woman who alters the composition of the room by a simple action like pouring a drink.

She is sexy in the way she sips her drink or rummage in her purse.

She is sexy in the way she throws back her head when she laughs.

She will stare into your eyes when you talk about stuff that she doesn’t care about, but she will also look away when you look too hard in her eyes.

If you try to see through her soul, She will exude the right vulnerability, but just enough not to make her weak.

She won’t necessarily know who
Tom Hanks is, but she won’t shy at asking,in fact she will ask in a way that will make you enjoy
explaining to her (She: “Tom Hanks? And I want to desperately to explain to her that he is the guy who runs past towns,past children,past farms and runs and runs in Forrest Gump.”).

She won’t need to flash her cleavage in your face or show her whole
thigh to make you like her.

But the fleeting patch of skin that will show when she casually crosses her
legs will make you gasp.

And it’s something you will not forget about in a hurry.

And this kind of woman never looks at the floor when she walks.

Never.

And the clincher is that she is totally oblivious of her sexiness but the moment she starts thinking of
herself as sexy she stops being sexy.
Nature’s sense of humour runs deep.

Unfortunately there aren’t many sexy women around as we could let’s say,beautiful.

You are more likely to meet more beautiful women on any road than meet a sexy woman.

You will meet plenty of gorgeous women though, but what good is that?

What good is another perfect chin?

But this being a world of vanity you will encounter many women who
think they are sexy; you will know they aren’t sexy because you will see them trying to be sexy.

And you will feel a tinge of sadness for them.

Here is another thing that is tragic in this world; the fact that women no longer make you want to touch
them.

They no longer heighten your expectations to the touch.

And make no mistakes about that ladies,that’s a huge part of seduction for men; to meet a woman and want to touch her.

That is one of the precious part in being with a woman, wanting
desperately to touch her and knowing full well that she isn’t ready to be touched…at least not yet.

And not touch her in a sexual way, but to feel her skin and satisfy your temporary insanity.

To free yourself from the bondage of your own vanity.

To make sure she is not invincible.

These parts of seduction sublime into the tedium that plague urban dating; women making it easy.

Women not waiting to be “touched.”

I used to think beautiful women are the same as sexy women;time has proved me wrong!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

The beauty of seeing from two mountain tops is always worth your effort and resolve to climb both!

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When you are up on the top of a mountain, you only can see the other beautiful mountains,and not the one you are on top of.

You may think; I’d really like to be on that mountain,the view must be awesome.

So you pray God; let me see the view from that other mountain.

Well as everyone knows, if you are going to go up another mountain, you must come down and off the one you are on.

You must cross a valley to go between the two mountains. You can’t skip and hop from one mountaintop to another.

So down off the mountain you
come.

You start through the valley and for awhile, you are doing ok.

Then you start getting tired.

You start wondering; is there any end to this valley?

Is this valley really so wide and
long?

And so you trudge onward.

After awhile you, forget about the
mountain you were on.

You forget about the awesome view you were going to see from the neighbouring mountain.

All you can think about, is how long and dark this valley is,thatyou’re going through.

After a while,you fail to notice the lilies that are growing along the way you are walking.

You fail to notice the beauty in the valley because you are so caught up in getting out of the valley.

You want to hurry and get back on the mountaintop where you feel
invincible.

So finally, you reach the foot of
the mountain and you look up to
see the mountain towering over
you.

You begin to think, it didn’t
look that big from over there.

You think; there is no way that I can get up this mountain.

Many people never do get up that mountain. They stay in the valley where the walk is easier.

They don’t want to put forth the extra effort to go the extra mile
for the greater rewards and exhilating views.

They want to stay down the valley where it is safe.

Just as you’ve beaten the discouragement and getting to the end of the valley,more discouragement comes in the
face of that towering mountain.

So which do you choose? Stay in the valley where its safe or press on?

If you decide to press on,
there are more obstacles in your
way.

They may be jagged rocks or a
crumbling path or no path at all; just gut instinct to guide you to the top.

You stop and set small goals for
yourself.

“I will make it to the top of this cliff before night or to the shelter of those pines before the rain”.

Either way you have quit
looking at the whole mountain as being intimidating. You are now taking one step at a time.

You know what the goal is (to get to the top), but you have broken it into simple individual goals that you can easily achieve.

You allow yourself to be encouraged by what you are accomplishing.

So you make it to the top, and the view is as spectacular as you thought.

You rest and look around, and enjoy the fruit of your labour, then before long you start looking and saying;
I wonder how it would look from that other third mountain?

You start thinking; well I made it through the last valley and this one doesn’t look like its so long, I think I’ll just run over and check out the view from that other mountain.

And so the conquests continue.

And though you are tired,you are now wearing the crown of a victor.

Have you ever felt that you have stayed down in that valley
for so long?

Have you ever felt that a situation was hopeless?

That you couldn’t win for losing?

I believe we all have.

We have all reached a place of being so low in our life that we felt unworthy and unable to do anything
to help our self.

We feel that no matter which way we turn,we are lost and abandoned, and unworthy of being loved even by God.

We feel that the Lord doesn’t hear our cries when we are down in this
valley.

We feel so alone.

This is when devil likes to work his
hardest.

If he can get our focus on being turned away from what God wants us to do, (going toward the mountain to climb it) and focused on the mistakes we made (the valley we are in ), then he has
gained an advantage.

He has gained a foothold in keeping us from being a victor, because we are so concerned with our own well
being.

He has led us into the old ‘poor me’ routine.

But God doesn’t leave us, He is
with us always.

He is our ever present help in a time of need.

It is His promise.

He promises us that he will strengthen us when we are weak.

He promises us that he would never leave us or forsake us.

He will bring us safe and strong through these valleys.

We must learn to be content, whatever state we are in,
whether in the valley or up on the
mountain.

There is so much beauty in the valley, there are many things to
learn while there, that will help us
on our climb back up the
mountains.

When up on the mountaintop after awhile, we forget the beauty of the valleys.

We start taking it for granted.

So we set off in search of more beauty.

You have to remember though,that, if you become content to stay where it is safe, you will miss out on an awful lot of beauty,both down the valley,and up on the top of the mountain .

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

My resolution to live uncluttered life

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http://profarmsconsultants.kbo.co.ke

http://profarmsconsultants.kbo.co.ke

My Birthday falls within this lovely month of September,just a week from now. It is normally a very quiet day for me,a time of reflection and taking stock of my life so far.

I’ve got very many things to celebrate about my life-in the privacy of my heart-but i always choose to avoid overt and pretentious ceremonies.

Ever since i was 24 years old (immediately after graduating from College), i decided that i will be making my “New” year resolutions during my birthday anniversary each year instead of the conventional New year day.

The following is what i wrote in my personal journal during my birthday that year;

»I should wake up every morning, give thanks for another beautiful day, renew my faith in spirit and in myself, and try my best to make things happen.

Maybe instead of resolving to change myself I should make peace with the fact that I am still growing gradually into becoming my ultimate self.

Maybe instead of setting up rigid expectations I should break free from the limits of my mind and invite limitless love and positive change into my heart and soul.

I should set the direction of my life with my every intention, thought, action, interaction, movement, feeling, and expression.

I want to learn something new every
day that makes me a better person.

I want to continue to grow personally, professionally, and spiritually with every mistake, every success, every heartache, and every relationship I experience.

My resolutions will serve as a guide to my goals and dreams for the coming year and my footprints will make the path.«

Reflecting on what I wrote so long ago as a young man of 24, I am mystified by the continued overwhelming sense that my life is not enough — that I am not actually there yet (who actually really knows when he has got “there”?)

Something is amiss.

This year, I have decided to adopt a new way of thinking, being, and doing that which continually radiates my inner core, casting a magnificent light through every moment of my life.

My resolution, for now and for always, is to live an uncluttered life full of light.

Light is what has been missing from my life.

Well, light isn’t really missing; a magnificent, powerful light shines within each of us whether we allow it to emerge or we subconsciously submerge it through our careless thoughts and actions.

My light is being somewhat concealed by ever increasing clutter and has been for a long time now.

This clutter represents the many poor substitutes for light that fill into my life: emotional baggage, ingrained habits and unintentional decisions, and stuff that doesn’t reflect my highest values.

And I have finally figured out why I cram my life with all of this crap- I am afraid of emptiness.

I dread the possibility of living in a meaningless, lonely vacuum.

At times, this junk has piled up so high that I have lost sight of the bright, shining light that exists deep within me and is yearning to be set free.

I long to see, feel, and be the light; yet ironically, I have crowded it out.

So from now on, I will not only appreciate who I am and what surrounds me as I chose to do those many years ago.

I will also intentionally create more space for light to emerge.

This process consists of four interrelated components- awareness, intentionality, appreciation, and liberation.

To remind myself to live an uncluttered life full of light, I have written a series of affirmations in each of these areas to return my restless heart back to its true peaceful nature.

It goes like this:

»I am aware of my thoughts, feelings, and actions.

I am mindful of the impact that my every thought, feeling, and action has on me and my world.

I live in the moment. I intentionally choose to create a life that reflects my true and highest purpose.

I carefully respond to my environment based on peaceful, loving intentions.

I deeply value all of the love, beauty, and mystery in my life.

I am grateful for each moment, for every breath, and for all that surrounds me.

I joyfully let go of all ideas, feelings, and things that do not create a strong sense of love, peace, and beauty.

I am not afraid of emptiness, and I welcome spaciousness in my life.

Through my choices, I create openings for love, peace, and beauty to emerge.

I am living an uncluttered life full of light.

I must prune the excess foliage that obscures light from shining through my life.«

Armed with these few mantras,i can’t help looking forward to celebrating my birthday meaningfully in a week’s time.

Happy Birthday to ME!

To All The Girls I Have Loved Before

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This is to you, all the girls I have loved before,

who are someone else’s wives today,

I want to let you to know that you still have a place in my heart.

Though you are now married to someone else,

I still remember you all.

You will always be a part of me no matter where you are.

There is a lot that we shared,

there is still alot that I treasure in the memories that i have of you.

Time moves along and I keep on keeping on,

still single and strong.

There is alot that should be left unsaid for now,

so that we dont hurt those who are close to us.

Do you ever miss those magic moments that we shared between us?

Do you ever miss the wild fresh flowers that we picked right from the fields and gave each other as our seal of love?

Do you ever wake up lonely in the middle of the night because you miss me?

Do you ever miss the loving and feeling that we shared when you were with me?

Do you darlings?

Do you ever?

What goes through your minds during those lonely moments when you need a shoulder to lean on?

Wherever you are, know that there is still a place in my heart for you though you will never be mine.

I am always tempted to steal you away and make you my own again.

So help me my darlings not to cross that cheating line.

You all know that I love you but I am not the cheating kind…..

Help me my darlings-stay out of my way!

Girls, Girls, Girls!

It was good when it lasted.

As I gladly walk towards the sunset of my life,

I must let you know that you made an everlasting impression on me.

In my very lonely moments,I think of you.

You still are the light that guides my life!

Fate should should have made you all wives of good gentlemen.

I guess you can still remember me;

forever in faded blue jeans!

I got my first jean when when I was eighteen, now I am clocking several decades and still wearing jeans!

I will be eighteen till I die!

I miss you all,but in another way,

I am glad that you are all now happily married.

A throw back in time;I miss my old village setting without walls

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It used to be said that the Great Wall of China is the only human artefact seen from the moon.

Even if this legend has been debunked by astronauts, the wall is indeed great.

It stretches an extensive 7,200 kilometres.

The Chinese have something to be proud of, marking how developed they were even in the pre-Christian era.

In my private thoughts,walls desecrate the environment.

They destroy wonderful panoramic views.

These days, I sometimes take an academic writing break in Kiambu,my hometown to my former village,my birthplace, a cosy little town at the
heart of central Kenya.

Twenty years ago when I left my birthplace to settle in my new home,it was indeed a village.

Don’t you misunderstand me: I am not really a crazy, romantic “ruralist” living up in the clouds,nor am I hypocritical GreenPeace member, not even an animal rights activist who concerns more about orphaned cats and dogs than the man dying on the
roadside;I’m just a moderate environmental conservationist.

I occasionally visit my birthplace village,but I miss its old rural setting.

I’m currently contracted to write an Agribusiness Best Practices manual by a client.

I normally take time off to go and do the writing from a friends home back in my birthplace village,if only to get inspiration from my past during the writers ‘block’.

Now I might begin to sound like Vasco da Gama!

Or I might sound very nostalgic showing wrinkles of ageing.

But what does a village mean to me, anyway: African mud huts, homes amidst farm lands, no cars or pikipiki’s (motorcyles), and most of all, no walls and gates.

NO WALLS, IMAGINE!

Those old days, when I was younger in the green Village – green it still is, most houses were just mud put around dry sticks, and you saw those
huts, there was nothing even to hide them from miles and miles of open view from all sides.

No walls, I mean.

Yes, there would be some stray marks of boundaries of farms with some thornyless plants of the euphorbia family, including
the “Gitooka”,a special succulent plant used to mark the four corners of farm boundaries.

I must hurry to add that the Kikuyu people have a sentimental attachment to the “Gitooka”,it not only marked boundaries but also lineage.

I was born long after my paternal grandfather,whom I’m named after, had already died in the Mau Mau insurgency in Kenya during the struggle for independence.

I had no idea about who he was or even a spiritual connection with his life.

As a curious young boy,I one day asked and old man who was my grand dad’s agemate to tell me about my grand dad who I never met.

I saw him almost coming to tears as he stood up silently,held my hand and led me to a far flung farm that used to belong to grand dad,but was lost during the long armed struggle for our country’s independence.

When we got to the corner of the farm boundary,he told me to pluck a succulent leave from the “gitooka” plant and wring it with my feasts;it produced some sap that he told me to rub on my face.

I was just amused,following his ritualistic instructions.

Then he solemnly said,”your grand father planted this particular “Gitooka” with his own hands. You almost resemble him. The sap you pasted on your face now spiritually connects you to his departed soul. Now you know him!”

I was moved by that experience,its spiritual connection with the past,and a plant that could connect three different generations,some who were already dead.

These days I take some long walks along the dusty village pathways of my former village, between my tight writing schedule: just to exercise my otherwise numbed hands at the laptop, to stretch my swollen feet, to feed my eyes with some green, and to get some fresh air – I am allergic to open windows while within my room!

What wounds my eyes when I am out of the hurting screen of the laptop are WALLS.

Yes, traditional boundary markers are replaced by walls, these days.

There are walls and walls.

Some,tall live hedges, are still growing up.

Others are a mix of bricks and grills, you could still have a peek through to admire the new mansions.

Most of them have a gate, some of which have large arches over them – Greek, Romanesque,Baroque, Neo-gothic, Persian, you name it.

Still other walls are high and tight – they can almost compete with the Great Modern Wall of Israel put
up by the wounded Israelis (I am afraid to use the ‘J’ word, lest I be blamed for anti-Semitism) on the
property of their helpless neighbours.

All in the name of sovereignty and security!

They have forgotten the story of the Berlin Wall,and why it had to come down.

I keep praying every day that this wall of Israeli insecurity too, should come down and like in my birthplace, should come down and free long range views of my old village!

It makes me angry.

I only pray that it will happen in my life-time.

All that it will take to bring that heartless wall will be one new Joshua – by the way, that is Hebrew for
Jesus.

That aside, coming back to the bourgeoning walls of my former village, they say, this is maendeleo
(Swahili for progress or development)!

After all, I work for holistic development, I am not against maendeleo: education, access to health-care, water, electricity, means of communication and transport.

NOLLYWOOD’S WALLS AND NAIJA MOVIES

I do care about quality of life!

My agonising question is: do we need walls and gates to celebrate maendeleo – advancement, that is a
better translation?

Now I understand why the Nollywood (Nigerian)movies are full of high walls and tall dark gates!

In the Nigerian productions, there would be that large lipped lady with a flashy red lipstick or the XXXL sized gentleman, steering their Mercedes
Benz with one hand and pretend to be attending to an important call holding the mobile phone with
the other hand, would hoot at a tall black gate that breaks the monotony of an equally soaring high wall, and there would be that house-boy who would leave his snaky watering hose aside and run to drag that heavy gate open.

Someone once said if you cut the walls and the gates out of the Nollywood movies, their humdrum
plots wouldn’t fill the time for a feature film.

Besides, how else will the Nigerians show off their affluence and extravagance?

To me the decision is simple, if walls mean advancement, I then prefer an underdeveloped world with no walls at all.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Live your tiny dream the best way you can!

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You may think that, your dream in life is only a tiny dream.

In that seemingly tiny dream that you hold dear in your heart, that doesn’t match the big dreams that others have, feel or look like much, joyfully go ahead and call the shots!

Own it and possess it.

Remember you are the boss to that tiny dream. You,and only you,can call the shots to your dream!

It’s your day, it’s your moment and it’s your time. You are not NEXT in line for success,it’s NOW your turn for success!

One of the most crucial lessons you can learn from life, that we are emphasising today is how to have fun and enjoy realising your dream.

The most joyful and energising decision of your dream life is to commit 100 percent to your vision and choose to immerse yourself in fun while at it.

It is good to know you’re on the right path, fulfilling the right dream, and that you’re not only giving the day
your all, but cannot wait to do it all over again tomorrow!

It is possible to go to sleep each night grateful for the day with victory becoming part of your lifestyle.

That is possible and is our lesson this
week.

First of all, be satisfied with your dream.

It is not the type or size of dream that measures success, but the successful completion of the dream
assigned to you.

Never allow low self-esteem or
perceived lowliness of the assignment life gave you to overshadow the dream and weigh you down.

What you do is your divine path in this life.

We all have different instructions from nature to fulfil in this life and success comes by fully honouring these instructions.

You too can enjoy this success by focusing on your instruction and not what others are doing.

The grass may seem greener on the other side, but who knows, maybe it’s growing in sewage!

You need to concentrate on your patch and water your grass the
best way you know, making it the envy of your neighbours.

Do look for your joy on the journey to greatness, because if you are living the dream, the two are not independent, but co-joined.

Having fun while at it is the fuel that fans the passion for it, and often times, is the driving force that renews you.

Your happiness resides within the dream itself.

It is acquired while fulfilling the dream and is steered by the motions of that dream.

Nothing gives me pure joy than to see a life transformed, a family changed, a community developed, a decision made for the better or an
addiction broken by one whose life is on the edge of peril or in the jaws of obliteration.

That is priceless, worth more than any amount of money or a holiday
in an exotic island.

It is uplifting to see such transformation and this motivates me to continually strive to touch people’s lives through inspiration.

The power in a dream to spawn joy for the dream bearer is probably the most compelling force for one
to pursue that dream.

Make your dream the source of your ‘fix’, the ‘dope’ for your crave and the origin of the ‘high’ that you need to keep pushing.

When you are down and discouraged, if you want to see weakness metamorphose into strength, go back into the ring of your dreams and fight some more!

Dreamers are too busy to fuss over their ‘good’ looks or ‘sterling’ performances.

They are too committed to get carried away with showbiz.

Their mantra is that, ‘when you are good, you tell people about it,
but when you are great, people tell you about it’.

To them, time is a precious and irredeemable resource.

They don’t waste it on their struggles,disadvantages and worries.
Your dream is not a punishment.

Don’t face it with grumbling, weariness and irritation.

It is a blessing.

Your life’s work is not a ‘job’, it’s a way of living.

Face it daily with a spring in your step and a smile on your face.

You may have started by expecting your dream to be simple,obvious and predictable, only for it to become
complex and challenging.

Just because you are in unfamiliar territory does not mean you stop the
journey.

You are still the boss of that dream!

Finally, reward yourself.

Work hard, but play hard too.

After work, go out and enjoy the fruits of your labour, the benefits and perks that come with genuine hard work.

Own what you do and don’t be
apologetic about it.

People don’t become great
because they did great things, they do because they did small things in a great way, until the small things became great.

Therefore, in that seemingly tiny dream, joyfully go ahead and call the shots!

Own it and possess it.

It’s your day, it’s your moment and
it’s your time.

You are not next in line for success,

it’s your turn for success!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Women sleauths and domestic house arrest

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Our Women love to see us at home.

Even if you leave dirty dishes in the sink, rummage through the clothes cabinet and leave clothes strewn all over, leave the toilet seat up … no matter how destructive you are, women are happier if you stay indoors where they can see
you.

They want you there even when you are hogging the TV with your sports channel and making them miss their favourite La Mujer de Alehandro,that Mexican Soap Opera.

They want you there even if they aren’t talking to you,for some reason or the other.

They would rather you sit through their lengthy brooding sessions, so that they can occasionally shoot you looks that can turn the blood in your veins into powder and offer you dry
monosyllable answers: Fine. OK.

Not funny.

I know many claustrophobic guys with very small concentration spans who would rather be anywhere but at home; guys who can’t stay in the house for two days running.

Long holidays running past the fourth day scare them.

Too long in the house and they feel the walls closing in,almost like they’d cave in on poor fellows; they just want to be on the move.

But sometimes as a man you have to learn to be still and do nothing.

Stay at home, because when
you start moving you become a moving target.

If you leave for a beer with a friend, or just to visit that pal in the next apartment block, your woman
will not take it kindly: “Why can’t you just stay in the house for once?”

Have you ever sat in the house on a weekend and wondered how you will leave the house without your woman getting all-emotional about it?

Or do these crazy things only happen to me?

It’s a public holiday, or a random uneventful weekend.

You are all lazing about and haven’t shown any indication that you might leave, which means you are in those
dreadful shorts or tracksuits, reading some old magazines or watching football highlights.

Then your friend sends you that tempting SMS saying that he is having a beer and offers to buy.

Or just to catch up.

So you sit there and struggle with one important question: how do I leave without upsetting the apple cart?

I mean, you could be a mandingo about it and leave without caring about consequences, but the problem with leaving like that is that you will come back and when you come back the house will feel so cold and unwelcome you will need to wear socks to navigate it in total silence of a trembling fearful mice.

And that’s too much work trying to keep things from blowing up on the slightest agitation.

But here is this other weird thing: The moment you start thinking of leaving,she will have gotten wind of it.

These people are instinctive animals: they can smell our intentions even before we act.

A Lady friend of mine told me: “You know, men think we are stupid. When my husband wears a particular cologne, I know he won’t be back before midnight.”

I was like, “The hell? You can tell this by the scent he wears on his craggy beard?”

“Yup,” she replied, “Not only scents but also clothes. I particularly hate some of his jeans because every time he wears them he comes home in the small hours of the morning drunk, and we always fight about it.”

I shuddered at the sophisticated level of sleuthing women can do.

There are guys who are known to
leave the house in bathroom sandals, because sandals are non-threatening and they say you are only next-
door.

Then they come back six hours later, bearing an olive branch –some meat.

You have to celebrate the Kenyan guy for bringing home nyama choma as an olive branch.

But sometimes our women will see through all this and attach a GPS on us: the child.

“Junior, go with dad to the shop.”

And in one swift swoop, your hopes of nipping into the bar for a cold one on a Sunday flies out the window, unless Junior doesn’t mind a drink too when he is still underage.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Life is Short. Travel light

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I do a bit of heavy travel in my field work.

This has made me learn how to travel light.

No unnecessary baggage!

I guess the same thing happens in life.

What’s happened in your past is not
nearly as important as what is in your future.

Where you’re going is much more significant than where you’ve
been.

But if you stay focused on the
past, you’ll get stuck where you are.

This is the reason a lot of people don’t have joy or enthusiasm for life.

They’re dragging around all of this
negative baggage from the past.

Somebody offended them last week,
and they’ve got that stuffed in their
resentment bag.

Last month, they lost their temper and said some things they shouldn’t have.

They’ve got that in their guilt and
condemnation bag.

Ten years ago,they lost a loved one.

They still don’t understand it.

They’ve got that hurt and pain in their disappointment bag.

They carry around their bag of
regrets, all the things they wished
they would have done differently.

Life is too short to live that way.

Learn to travel light.

Every morning when you first get up, forgive the people that did you wrong the day before.

Forgive your partner for what they
said.

At the start of the day, let go of
the disappointments, the setbacks
from yesterday.

Start every morning fresh and new.

Nature did not create you to carry around all that baggage,otherwise,it would have placed you on standard gauge railroad for your own safety.

Let it go and move forward in the life of blessing Life has in store for you!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

How “not” to eat Fish

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I like food.

I love fish.

I can describe with relish how you go about it,no chopstics,no knives,forks and spoons.

You just need the dextrity of your cute fingers.

A friend told me that he has stopped drinking river or lake water,because of the disgusting things that the fish do in there.

But I love my fish!

Truth is, you haven’t finished eating your fish until you have eaten the head.

But you can’t enjoy eating the head if you treat it like a hoof;inedible and disposable.

I treat my fish like you would treat your first date; respectfully, appreciatively and curiously –which, ideally, is how you should treat every
date.

I squeeze lemon all over it then I start with the midsection.

I divorce the meat from the flesh,
and I put it away.

I eat the tail because it’s crunchy when deep-fried.

When I’m done with one side, I slowly and delicately turn it over,careful not to break its spine in the process.

Then I do the same to the new side until all the meat is scrapped clean off the bones.

Until the fish looks like it has been sorely surviving on a diet of water
and hence has lost all its weight and looks like an anorexic fish on some fish fashion magazine.

A fish ready to step on the catwalk (pun?); gaunt and pale.

And the head is the best part.

The head is delicate.

The head is the zenith,saved for last.
You got to treat the head with respect.

I should have mentioned that before you eat your fish you have to look at its mouth.

If your fish has its mouth closed,send it back.

If they say they only have fish with its mouth closed, ask for tea and bread.

Or leave.

A fish that is brought to your plate with its mouth clammed together, like it died humming a tune, is fishy.

I can explain why but I’m already in 370 words deep in this rambling and need to get to the heart (or head) of this post already.

Infact,this story is about how not to eat a fish.

Reason?

After all that bragging about how I’m an expert on eating fish,I got chocked by a fishbone.

If I was a white man, my
face would have gone pink from just writing down those words.

It’s an oxymoron, that statement, an
abhorrence even because a fishbone sending a Luo-trained Kikuyu fish eater to a hospital is akin to a Luhya pushing away his tea saying, “ Hapana, hii chai ni moto sana.”

I’m mortified. By this sheer accumullation of bad luck to the point of a mere small fishbone trying to extinguish my dear life!

So Tuesday, 6pm, I’m working deliciously on this fried fish when I feel a sharp pain as a bone grazes my throat.

I do what I have done for tens of years; take a bigger chunk of ugali(unlivened maize meal cake) and chase the bone with it, only
this time the ugali pushes the bastard bone right into my throat.

The pain!

Ooh my! Are grown up men supposed to wail loudly when they become so desperate during their final moments?

I send in another contingent of ugali.

Nothing doing.

Swallowing becomes a problem.

So I promptly stop being a
an expert fish eater about it and be a human being about it by driving myself to my Nearest Hospital’s Emergency department.

There – after skipping the queue –
I’m seen by, yes, you guessed it, a male Luo nurse called Abondo.

Cool chap.

Very calm.

His all-white uniform makes him look like a younger version of Morgan Freeman in Bruce Almighty, which makes Abondo almighty.

“What’s wrong?” He asks as he checks my blood pressure.

“Got choked by a bone.” I say, afraid to mention the word “fish”.

“What kind?” He asks while scribbling things on a pad.

“Uhm, a shishsd bone,” I mumble.

“Come again?”

“Fish bone,” I look away.

There is a pregnant silence in the room as he continues writing something.

I’m sure he wants to laugh out loud.

I’m sure he wants to make fun of me.
I’m sure he wants to look at me and say,“Fish bone? Wouldn’t it have been easier to down it in a glass of water?”

But he is a professional first then a Luo second.

“Don’t worry, we get that a lot here,” he says instead.

“Yes, but not from Luos! You get it from Merus,Tesos, Masais, Kikuyu’s and Luhyas!”

“Ahem, not Luhyas,” He mumbles. OK, he doesn’t say that.

I’m sent inside to see a doctor – a guy with a huge scraggly beard that covers his whole face.

A beard,so long and alive, that I could hear it breath.

He’s Muslim,which means I can’t poke fun at him even though
I’m dying to.

Muslims don’t take jokes that easily,

But I can’t get over that beard,his beard, man.

It’s indomitable, it’s unapologetic, and it says
“This is me, live with it.”

It reminds me of a Bushbaby’s tail.

Dr Bushbaby sends me to the X-Ray department where a picture of my
throat is taken in all angles.

Here is a. truth: the
Xray is the only machine that equalizes everyone.

We – or our insides- all look ugly in
black and white.

All of us.

It doesn’t matter if you smell good or are just from the salon.

All our insides look the same.

The Polaroid shots of my throat look like a cave in Hells Gate.

Twenty minutes later, I shamefully carry these pictures back to the doctor who sticks them up in
that thingamajig with background light and observes them.

I meekly peer from over his
shoulder and past his forest of a beard.

We see the bastard in my throat; it’s gnarled and ugly.

“You have two options,” says Dr. Bushbaby turning to face me. “I could send you back home, but you have to come back here at 5am to be
admitted for an endoscopy at 8am.

Or, I could admit you now and you wait for your procedure in the morning.”

I stare at his beard as I, well, chew on this.

“What would you do, Doc?” I ask.
“I would spend the night here.”

“Mmm…and what would your beard do?” I want to ask him.

I opt to book myself in.

A chirpy nurse called Songole comes and draws blood from my arms.

Then she takes asks me the normal questions; Any medication you are on
currently? (Apart from weed, you mean?);

Allergies? (Yes, fools, sycophants and Tequila).

Then she takes an inventory of what I have;wallet, money, cards, jewellery, clothing (she found it odd that I didn’t have underwear on, I
found it odd that she thought I had time to wear one when I was choking), shoes, phone, ring

(“Any navel rings?” she jokes at some point)

She later brings a wheelchair and says, OK lets go and I say, no, I will walk, I don’t want to meet
someone I know because people have a way of spreading rumours in this town about seeing you on your deathbed in a “wheel chair”..

My residence for the night is St George’s Ward, bed number 22.

We are two in the room,separated by a small wardrobe and curtains.

I have a small bed, blue sheets and a chair.

There is a matchbox size screen hanging from a wall which Songole calls a Television set.

I didn’t argue.

This feels all too familiar.

Last year I was admitted in Aga Khan
for three days; oesophageal corrosion, caused by
tequila.

Nowadays I see a bottle of Tequila,and out of respect, I
leave the room.

The very cheerful Songole hands me over to a male nurse –Ndegwa – and I feel a bit heartbroken because she has been a hoot.

Ndegwa is young, maybe 26.

Since he’s balding he shaves close to the skull.

“Look, Songole treated me real good, the bar is high for you, mate,” I joke and that breaks the ice because he
chuckles and brings out a cold beer.

OK, he didn’t bring out a beer, but he’s cool; laid back just like all balding folk should be.

He hands me my hospital regalia;
that gown that is closed in the front and open in the back, the one the leaves your butt out in the
cold?

He also hands me a gown, a TV remote control, some towels and a pair of blue shorts so big two people can fit in them.

These shorts had the words “South Wing” emblazoned across
them, which I guess is to deter folk like Mtu Fulani from carrying them home ’’accidentally.’’

Yes, I see someone stealing those blue shorts to hang out in them at the beach in coasto, or at
Blankets and Wine.

Ndegwa hangs this board written “Nil By Mouth” over my bed. As our house doctor (or is it Resident
Doctor?) Dr. Karimi will tell you, it means that nobody should dare bring food to the patient; the patient should be left to starve to death.

Thankfully, I didn’t want food because nothing was passing down my throat.

We chew some fat with Ndegwa then he leaves to deliver more shorts to other unsuspecting patients.

I change in my hip new Boyz to Men shorts written South Wing (that’s a label) and slip into bed.

I want to switch on the TV and watch
something but I’m afraid it will wake up the guy in the next room.

It’s 10p.m.

It gets still.

By midnight I’m still awake.

My roomie is silent for the most part, but once in a while he will moan
softly, or cough (a grotesque cough that seems to scratch his chest with large claws).

I wonder who he is, how old he is, what’s wrong with him…
I wonder what his name is.

When I was admitted in Aga Khan last year with Tequiloisis, I made
friends with the chap in the next bed; a boisterous professor who was a complete clown, made hospitalization bearable.

Which makes you think about private rooms in hospitals where you
pay more to be alone.

I wouldn’t want to be alone
when I’m sick, I’d feel like a leper, banished from the general population, cast away to die alone.

Sharing a room is warm, you always feel like your suffering isn’t isolated.

Hell, sometimes, when you see other patients, you feel lucky that you
only have a fish bone in your throat because some people have more than bones in their throats; some have cancer in their throats.

Some don’t even have throats.

At 1am – after Twitter starts feeling like walking through a graveyard at midnight – I climb out of bed and go to the nurse’s station where I find a
nurse writing something on a pad.

Nurses are always writing something on a pad.

She is pleasant.

All the nurses who attended to me
during my stay were all pleasant -and it wasn’t because I was looking funky in my South Wing shorts.

Talking of nurses.

Television propagates this image that nurses are sexy and naughty.

And almost every second guy who called me when I was in hospital last year (with exception of my
brother-in-law) asked me; “So, is some sexy nurse with a stethoscope listening to your heart beat?”

And it pained me because I realised I was in the wrong ward, or maybe the wrong hospital.

Thing is, you will see beautiful nurses, pretty nurses, lovely nurses, gorgeous nurses, but you
will never see a sexy nurse.

Those ones were last spotted in ER many years ago.

Anyway, I tell the nurse manning the night desk that I’m bored and ask her if there is a private nurses and doctors party going on in Wing B I
can crush.

She chuckles politely because she is
busy and knows I have potential to waste her time.

So I ask for reading material and guess what she asks me. And bang, this is one of the the reasons This Hospital impressed me.

She asks me if I would like a copy of GQ!

Would I like a copy of GQ!?

I mean, which hospital keeps a
copy of GQ?!

I say, hell yeah, if you have it!

She hands me a May 2011 Issue of GQ, the one with Prince Harry on the cover; Walking with the
Wounded.

This nurse saw my hip South Wing
shorts and thought immediately, GQ!

Now that is service!

The magazine is a 280page beauty
which I engaged me until the small hours of the morning before I conk out.

I dreamt.

I dreamt of my high school because,
perhaps, my hospital room reminded me of my fourth form room in high school; the small bed,the wardrobe.

I was in a dorm called Bowers 2,great dorm.

In high school there was always a
bell that went off at around 5am I think.

It spelled morning preps.

It was a loud, ugly gong that
went on and on, relentlessly yanking us from our dreams.

It pierced the cold night dawn like a
scalpel.

And you had to be up and out of the
dorm in 15mins of a prefect (we called the cops)came in yanking your blankets off and taking you
name down for punishment later.

I hated that bell.

In my sleep, I hear that gong; spookily clear and unmistakable even after 20yrs since I last heard
it.

I wake up with a start expecting to hear metallic boxes slamming shut as boys got ready to rush to preps but what I see, instead, is a
trolley screeching on the floor.

It’s the catering staff, delivering breakfast.

Have you noticed that all hospital catering staff wears uniforms that look like Kayamba Africa’s
uniform?

No, seriously, those corny shirts with
patterns and all that seem to say you are proud to be an African.

If you have to prove your
Africanese by wearing a shirt then you aren’t African enough because being African is bigger than fabric and if it has to be in fabric then it’s
woven in your DNA strand.

I wonder who copied who, me think it’s Kayamba Africa because most
guys who sing well always have a lousy taste in shirts…I mean, look at Kidum, easily one of the best artists we have seen in Kenya in a long time;a voice of a god and yet he wears these hideously tight designer tshirts that asphyxiate his beer
belly.

“Can I have bacon, buttered toast and some Spanish omelette please? No chilli.” I joke with Kayamba who smile and say that, I I’m not meant
to be fed.

“Hey, come on, I’m sure one crisp
strand of bacon won’t kill me,” I joke but he think I’m serious and so says,

“No, really, I can’t doctor’s orders.”

Who listens to doctors anymore
when there is Google?

The ENT consulting doctor is a no show at 8am.

At 10am he isn’t showed up either.

I’m getting real hot under the collar now.

At 10:30am I ask for a nurse and this guy nurse comes and – with
a small bow – tells me that there was a miscommunication and that the doctor is on his way.

At 11.30am he hasn’t showed up, so I call back the nurse and use words like “unacceptable”, “laxity”, “highly
unprofessional”, “explanation” and “my mommy.”

He promises that I will be in theatre in an hour.

Do you swear, man? I ask him and he smiles and says he promises.

I’m hungry and pissed by this
time and I plan to tell the doctor what I think of him.

I really do.

At 12.15pm an orderly comes to
pick me up in a wheelchair, I could have walked if I didn’t have on those South Wing shorts that were tripping my feet.

So, he pushes me out and this cat almost takes off my toe in a ramp because, as we go down a ramp, he
decides to push me in reverse to avoid the wheelchair pulling him down the ramp.

And this genius strategy goes all wrong when the damn thing starts veering out of control, spinning and
tumbling down haphazardly.

I was going to die hutling down on a flowerbed, not in theatre!

Luckily some passerby helped him control it and we had a good laugh about that when I asked the orderly,
“Chief, Kwani you’re also on Nil By Mouth?”

When the doctor walks in my anger evaporates because he is too charming; he’s apologizing
profusely, he’s playfully punching me on the shoulder, he’s cracking fish jokes, he’s dramatically explaining how he’s going to go in down my throat with modern technology and get the sucker out.

He’s a sport.

Plus he’s aged and I don’t know how to give him a dressing down.

So I suck it in and wince as he punches me on the shoulder.

I feel like a tosser succumbing to his
charms like that.

I’m getting soft.

By the way, I’m on the 2,728th word so I’m going to rush through this last part because this post has ran on for too long and I’m sure the Luhya
readers have to go take tea,and Kikuyus their Githeri,wish I had stuck to Githeri last night!.

Wasonga, hang in there old boy.

We are nearly there.

Endoscopy is when they shaft your throat using this long tube that looks like something off a sci-fi movie.

But first, they knock you out cold by
hitting you over the head with a club.
Yes,technology rocks.

The doctor then asked me to
count from 10 and I remember telling him, “Doc, I’ve done this before, I’m an Elephant, it’s hard to
put me down. How about I start counting from 20 so that I don’t emba…embarras…embaaa….”

And I was out like a candle in the rain.

Bang, long story short, he pulled it out and gave me the bone in a jar as a memento.

I had the sense to take a picture of it and upload it here but I didn’t because – to quote The Shy Narcissist in her latest post – “it’s not because I have sensibilities but because you probably do too,that we can understand each other.”

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

The hooker who seduced me into writing

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I’m going away on a tour of duty to a very remote part of DRC Congo.

I will miss many things in that outfif,but I guess reliable internet is certainily going to be a headache.

I’m just addicted to putting something for posterity,everyday.

But today,I want to share how I got addicted to writing,and incidentally,my biggest encouragement and commitment came from the least expected of all my acquaintances,a hooker.

I must hasten to add that we had no monkey business going on between us,me and that hooker that is.

But then here is the bit of that story for you!

Back in my College days,using black ink I wrote short stories on a hard-covered book, stories about escape from the mundane things of this life, something I was gathering
courage to do for later in life.

Of course I showed nobody these
literature, essentially because I didn’t think much of them.

They were a vaulted narrative of my
misery, of my rut but I always felt they drew me closer to a personal redemption.

Below the bedsit where I hanged my worn Jacket, lived a hooker, or rather a pretty chic I suspected was a hooker.

I say suspected because she always left at 10pm when I was coming in from work, dressed in short shiny clothes, and pitched back at 6am dressed in short shiny clothes and tired make-up.

Well,that’s a hooker,isn’t it?

We had water problems in that block and once in a while she would come up and ask me if I would kindly go down and close her tap if water came in the middle of the night.

One day she saw the notebook in my hand when I opened the door to
take another please-close-my-tap instruction and asked if I was writing a diary.

Standing to my full length, chin thrust defiantly in the air, I muttered
that diary was for girls.

She asked to see.

I remember her standing there for longer than I had thought she would, raptly reading that hard covered notebook, very slowly flipping the pages like they were brittle and they would shatter.

The word, engross, comes to mind.

She stood patiently at my doorway, a hooker reading a random story from a notepad.

Of course I was ill at ease, because I was afraid of judgment, even from a hooker.

But I waited patiently leaning on my doorwayand to kill time I stared at her cleavage that stared back indignantly.

When eventually she looked up – slowly – she was wearing a different
look; a questioning look.

“ Maybe you should just
write,” is all she said before bundling down the staircase, her burgeoning and overheavy cleavage struggling to catch up with her.

“Maybe you should just write.” Those words stayed with me for a very long time.

I’m certain men have been told more interesting words by hookers: “Woi, mimi siendi Mushadha,” “Ngai
Mwangi! Si hiyo underwear ni mzee sana?”

But all she said was, “Maybe you should just write.”

And those words, even spoken by a hooker, is sometimes all that can stir motion.

And when you start hearing them from different sources, it
gets into your head the word ‘maybe’ is introduced into the equation.

And when that gets in your head, it doesn’t leave; it squats there
reading a newspaper until you do something about it.

And I did.

I look at those days with envy,because I was deranged with proving something.

Now, I don’t.

I don’t need to.

My ego is grown up.

Let me break this down to gang, very slowly.

You sit in your office, crunching figures, fixing systems, balancing books, setting up communication strategies, troubleshooting IT,
selling products, recording in studios or writing course works…whatever your hustle is.

I don’t just write poetry to feed the arty ogre in me.

I don’t write part-time to balance out my life, to purposefy* it.

I write for a living, I write to live. Writing is my safe-boat in these seas of life I ride.

It’s all I have.

Since not many people want to pay top- dollar for some tight copy, since many people imagine words come out of the holes in your ears, they won’t pay you your worth because they won’t appreciate your art (that almost rhymed, “worth and “art”…
eh?).

So you resort to peddling your word art to the people who can pay you the most.

You write your fingers out until they bleed.

That’s what I have been doing the whole year; peddling words.

Are we together, so far?

Because I can stop here
briefly and let Hardened Mama MIA there go use the bathroom, she seems squeamish in her seat.

As I was saying, this simply means you write as much as you can, you work as twice as hard to
make half what those white-shirted chubby yuppies that work for blue chip companies make.

Those chaps that throw more office parties than they change the printer’s toner.

You write to pay bills yes, but you also write because it’s who you
are.

Folk say, you shouldn’t be defined by your job, that such bollocks, those are guys who are motivated by living through to end month for their jobs to seem relevant.

Take away my pen,and watch me drift off to an abyss of confusion
like a hollow trunk.

When you churn out over to 10,000 words a week for a year, you will burn out.

And that’s something you can put in your pipe and smoke.

I knew I was burning out, hitting a plateau.

That straight line.

I could feel it; I took longer to write
intros; I lost creative consciousness in the middle of sentences; I struggled with thought and
construction, I stared at a blank word document longer.

And that blank stare scares you.

I’m at a point where I’m having a conflict with my art, I’m insecure of it and I’m questioning it.

For months now I acted like I was okay and like the proverbial ostrich I buried my head in my Sandals.

Sorry, sand.

But when one or two of my regular readers – Fra
and Mufasa – raised a flag I had to be honest with myself.

I had spread myself out too thin and it was showing in everything I wrote.

When you write for a living, you don’t have the luxury of burning out.

You keep writing.

You change the times you write, you change the desks you write from, but you don’t stop writing because stopping is a learned habit that
eventually works against you.

Here is my confession.

There is something I do; I never say bye to people I’m drinking with. It’s
called an Irish Exit. You slip your portion of the bill under your half finished glass and you step off your stool to go to the loo.

And you don’t come back.

You can’t adequately say bye to folk
on alcohol, they will whine and ask you to sit down for just one more.

They will make fun of you, and offer to make a call home to extend your
curfew.

So you save yourself that drunken
gibberish and you slip out unnoticed, like a dark knight.

Last week the blog wasn’t under construction.

The jury was out on it.

I had the half mind to shut it down.

I really did.

To walk away without a word and concentrate on gigs that actually pay me because the blog takes the best of me and someone who takes the best are usually the ones to destroy you.

But first I bounced this idea to my
Mentor, because he walked away
from writing at some point but got seduced back by the evil temptress that is words.

“You’d be foolish to walk away!” he said.

It’s hard to walk out and bang a door when you are not sure you won’t want to knock on it again.

It’s even harder to walk away from who you are.

So what I’m going to do here is, I will put my feet off the pedal of this blog and post only twice a month.

First and last week.

And during this time off, I will head to the Congo forest, where I will
live with the pygmies and do nothing but hunt,fry and eat monkey meat, grow armpit hair and swim buck-naked in meandering forest rivers of DRC.

And I will not read any form of literature save for primitive inscriptions in caves and on the backs of their women who are slightly taller than coffee
tables.

And if I’m lucky, I might just be made
King of the Pigmies.

I’m going native and primitive.

Fans, it’s not you. It’s me.

The death of a friendship

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You were never meant to understand me,
I guess no one should ever,
‘Cause friendship is all about taking for who I am.

There’s not much going on now,
And I can sit still and look back,
To the days we had together,
Not without some good memories,
But these good memories came at a price,
That was always too high to pay.

You say you are sorry for all the time we wasted,
Always wondering who was going to be the brave one,
And say that all this farce gonna stop,
You always wanted to fix things,
That were already too broken to be fixed.

I wish things weren’t the way they were,
The way it used to be,
You know what I’m talking about,
It was just you and me,
But deep in our hearts,
we knew it was never meant to last.

I know you still don’t understand me,
And I know you never will,
I guess what I’m trying to say is,
There was no need to understand me in the first place,
It was never worth my time,
Neither yours.

Some friendships are never meant to be,
And we should never mourn them,
When they die their natural death,
‘Cause they free us to seek more meaningful ones,
With those who are predestined to add value to our life.

Our friendship was a draining one,
One that always took more from us,
Than it was ready to give back,
Though my eyes tear at this eventful end,
My tears are only for the years I wasted with you!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Power of Life over Death

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Even though we never seem prepared for it,
I know that death is one of the main guarantees of life,
and one has to experience it to truly,
through death of our closest friends and family,
to understand what it is all about.

Sometimes,we face our own death in reality,by suffering a terminal illness.

It forces us to reconcile ourselves to our certain and imminent demise.

Life,incidentally,becomes sweeter as we face our own death through old age,or terminal illness;we value each day more and take out the best out of it.

I know that death can bring one down,
but I also know that eventually,
no matter after how long,
one moves on from fear of death,or its grief,
and that is when they discover just how strong they really are.

I know that death somehow inspires one to find their passion and live it, because they make out that life
is short.

You realise that if you are to leave a legacy,
you will have to start doing something to better
your life now, today.

I realise the irony of life.

Your world could be at a standstill but the sun will still rise and the stars will
shine.

Heck, others will be heard laughing their loudest.

I know that death jars one to reality because what has been happening to other people has happened to you — right here, right now.

Suddenly, all the fun, jobs, money and the status they all bring don’t matter that much.

Love, life, honesty, peace and togetherness are what matter more.

This realisation is what gives life power over death.

Death cannot destroy the life we are living at the present moment.

It can only steal away our future,not our present moment!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Cultivating gratitude in every day life

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How often do you pause to appreciate what you have in life?

When I was a young boy, I took very many things for granted.

I believe many other kids did so, as well.

After all, we were young and we didn’t know what life could be like on the other side.

One thing we took for granted was education.

In my country, it’s compulsory for all kids to go to school, so it was a given.

But how was I to know that even in my country,some kids never had a chance to go to school?

I never thought about how lucky I was to be educated.

I also took my teachers for granted.

I never thought about how lucky we were to have teachers who cared for our growth so much, and poured
their heart and soul into their lessons.

Then slowly as I grew up, I began to appreciate things around me more.

As I saw more and more of the world out there, I realized all the things I’d been given are not rights, but privileges.

I realized that being literate is a not a right, but a gift.

I realized there is a lot of war,hunger,poverty and violence in the world, and I’m lucky to live in a country where it’s relatively safe and peaceful.

I realized there are people out there who don’t have their five senses, and to have mine is a gift.

I realized the world is so beautiful, and we’re lucky to live in such an amazing world.

Sometimes it’s easy to feel bad because you’re going through a tough time in life.

However, remember that no matter how bad your situation may seem, there are tens of thousands of things to be grateful for in life.

Below is a simple list of things that I’m grateful for in my life.

Most of the items, if not all, will apply to you too.

They are things that we just consider as ordinary,so we are oblivious to them as things we should be grateful for.

I’m sure as you read this list, you’ll think of many more things to be grateful for,that are not included in my list.
So here we go on things to be grateful for in our lives:

» Sense of sight – for letting you see the colors of life.

» Sense of hearing – for letting you hear trickle of rain, the voices of your loved ones, and the harmonious chords of music.

» Sense of touch – for letting you feel the texture of your clothes, the breeze of the wind, the hands of your loved ones.

» Sense of smell – for letting you smell scented candles, perfumes, and beautiful flowers in your garden.

»Sense of taste – for letting you savor the sweetness of fruits, the saltiness of seawater, the sourness of pickles, the bitterness of bitter gourd, and the spiciness of chili.

» Your speech – for giving you the outlet to express yourself.

» Your heart – for pumping blood to all the parts of your body every second since you were born; for giving you the ability to feel all kinds of emotions.

» Your lungs – for letting you breathe so you can live.

» Your immune system – for fighting viruses that enter your body. For keeping you in the pink of your health so you can do the things you love.

» Your hands – so you can type on your computer, flip the pages of books, and hold the hands of your loved ones.

» Your legs – for letting you walk, run, swim, play the sports you love, and curl up in the comfort of your seat.

» Your mind – for the ability to think, to store memories, and to create new solutions.

» Your good health – for enabling you to do what you want to do and for what you’re about to do in the future.

» Your school – for providing a environment conducive to learning and growing.

» Your teachers – for their dedication and for passing down knowledge to you.

» Tears – for helping you express your deepest emotions.

» Disappointment – so you know the things that matter to you most by losing them.

» Fears – so you know your opportunities for growth by overcoming them.

»Pain – for you to become a stronger person by standing up to both physical and emotional pain.

» Sadness – for you to appreciate the wide spectrum range of human emotions.

» Happiness – for you to soak in the beauty of life.

» The Sun – for bringing in light and beauty to this world.

» Sunset – for a beautiful sight to mark the end day.

» Moon and Stars – for brightening up our night sky even when the bright sun has taken a rest.

» Sunrise – for a beautiful sight to start the morning and the promises it has for the day.

» Rain – for cooling you when it gets too warm and for making it comfy to sleep in on through weekends without guilt of having to look for an excuse to just rest.

» Rainbows – for a beautiful sight to look forward to after rain.

» Oxygen – for making life possible.

» The earth – for creating the environment for every form of life to begin.

» Mother nature – for covering our world in beauty.

» Animals – for adding to the diversity of our human life and empathy for living things.

» Internet – for connecting you and others despite the physical space between you.

»Transport – for making it easier to commute from one place to another,no matter the distance.

» Mobile phones – for making it easy to stay in touch with others,whenever you feel like.

» Computers – for making our lives more effective and efficient.

» Technology – for making impossible things possible.

» Movies – for providing a source of
entertainment that feed the vanity of our minds.

» Books – for adding wisdom into your life and sharing experiences that one never have in a single lifetime.

»Blogs – for connecting you with other like- minded people.

» Shoes – for protecting your feet when you are out exploring your environment.
»Time – for a system to organize yourself and keep track of activities and enrich your lifetime experience.

» Your job or business – for giving you a source of living and for being a medium where you can add value to the world.

» Music – for lifting your spirits when you’re down and for filling your life with more love.

» Your bed – for you to sleep comfortably in every night.

» Your home – for a place you can call home,a sanctuary away from the hustle and bustle of our daily life.

» Your soul mate – for being the one who understands everything you’re going through.

» Your best friends – for being there for you whenever you need them.

» Your enemies – for helping you uncover and see your blind spots so you can become a better person.

» Kind strangers – for brightening up your days when you least expect it.

» Your mistakes – for helping you to improve and become better.

» Heartbreaks – for helping you mature and become a better person who can handle all kinds of people without resentment of having got nothing in return for your kindness.

» Laughter – for serenading your life with joy and hilarity.

»Love – for letting you feel what it means to truly be alive.

» Life’s challenges – for helping you grow and become who you are.

» Life – for giving you the chance to experience all that you’re experiencing, and will be
experiencing in time to come.

And last but not least… :
YOU…
For being who you are and touching the world with your presence.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Happy Fathers day-Sunday,15th June,2014

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To all those fathers in our nation, I say to you, Happy Father’s Day!

In today’s world, men are often seen as the villain–and it is certainly the case,that men are often the
cause of great pain in the lives of their children.

When I visit my jailed friends in our various prisons(most people find it awkward to admit that some of our closest friends have ended up in prison for one reason or the other;it would be very immature of me to disown them just because they are in prison!), I find that most inmates had a poor, or no relationship with a father figure.

Abusive, passive or absent fathers are the cause of much societal destruction in our nation.

Which is all the more reason we must celebrate those men who are doing their best to be good fathers!

It’s much more effective to applaud good deeds and examples than to bile about or simply ignore the bad ones.

Because it’s true that you get what you celebrate.

When we celebrate the good fathers in our Nation,we inspire the ones who are finding it hard to own up to the responsibility of being good fathers to follow the good examples of the good ones.

Even those fathers who haven’t done as well ought to be celebrated for whatever little they do right.

It’s not easy to be a father in today’s world.

Men feel alienated from their families by the stress of having to face a very competitive world,where their value in the society seems to be diminishing in the modern world.

The rise of single mother families by choice,or by default denies the growing boys in our Nation a father figure from whom they can be exposed to the attributes of being a Man.

Most men have grown up having had few examples of what good fatherhood should look like.

They had no fathers in their families to emulate.

And if they were there at all,they never took up the responsibility of being good examples to their sons.

We,men,must take it upon ourselves to tutor our boys into becoming good men and fathers to our Nation.

Men cannot learn to be men from anyone else in the society,other than from a fellow man.

I dread the day that our boys will start seeking affirmative action,or relevance in the society,having had lost the footing of what it is to be a man!

I’m always amazed at how valuable the fatherhood experience is, to the many who take and brave it,through its many challenges,some of which are not of men’s own making,but they must face them all the same.

And so here’s to all those fathers out there who are working hard to provide for their children,both emotinally and materially.

Here’s to all the daddies who,though separated from their families for one reason or the other, at least make an effort to visit their children regularly.

Here’s to the single fathers who have chosen to faithfully bring up their
children (I know quite a few remarkable ones!)

Here’s to those men who are seeking to develop a relationship with their kids, even though they didn’t have one with their own fathers.

Here’s to those men who take their kids to Church or Mosque, because they want them to grow up with good morals.

Here’s to those fathers who are passionate to see their kids have what they themselves missed,when they were growing up.

Happy fathers day,the fathers of our Nation!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

I’m right at your door,anticipating on your love

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There’s a spell cast between us,
left unspoken, left unsaid;
like a dog outside barking in the rain
to be let in.

I’ve been knocking at the door of your heart,
have you heard me?

I haven’t heard you answer yet,
but in due time you should let me in.

We both are tied in moments,
That we’ve shared with others,
scared to slip away to another place.

We fear to be locked out yet again,
and crawl back to the lonely aching mind.

Our lips are shut, temptation to kiss,
but we don’t dare to share the bliss.

Hands so close, but do not touch.

They’re wrapped in someone else’s clutch.
Fingers held and intertwined,
like the words laying low inside of your mind.

You can’t speak clearly,and I will not hear you if all you do is mumble.

My heart is already taken by someone dear.

But in my chest, ready to escape,
are feelings for you trying to wait.

Patiently they lay, forcing me to hold my breath,
they’re slamming against my heart, deep into my chest.

I knock on your heart again.

Are you ready to open up?

Are you ready to peel the bandage
off of your healing cut;
the cut that was sliced by your lover’s grasp,
the choking hand around your heart.

It’s time to break out of the leash,
it’s time for the dog to come out of the rain.

It’s time to take a stroll down lover’s lane.

I hear the keys jingle, I hear the knob of your door shake.

Out through the door, you try to escape.

Breaking through love you once had before, trying to peacefully end this battle at war.

Then through the chaos you open the door.

Here I am standing, waiting for you
to make the next move.

My body is still, my soul is lifted,
up through the gates of love my heart has drifted.

Our lips are waiting to take a chance,
our tongues are craving to take a dance.

We will be together again someday.

We will splatter colour on our darkest grey.

The stars that seep through the sky’s black,
will seal the love of your heart’s past.

And soon you’ll forget the pain you that began,
and soon your lover will love again.

I’m knocking on the door to your heart,
can you hear me?

I’m feeling my way inside,
can you feel me?

Our hearts are racing a mile a minute,
our minds are shut off for the night.

Nothing in the world can break us now,
We’re fearless lovers knocked all the way down.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Inscructability. The beauty of listening. The power of silence

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Isn’t it a nice idea to be open with
everyone we meet, to give people
the benefit of the doubt and always
assume they have only good
intentions?

Nice indeed—except I don’t believe it for a second.

Men are always accused of holding all their thoughts to themselves.

Our partners are always asking-”what are you thinking about?”-during our silent muses.

Personally, I’m always evaluating
why people say what they say.

Nobody does anything without a
reason, so when I’m faced with a
question about something that
matters, I ask myself: “Why does
that person want to know? Is he
trying to manipulate me? Is he just
being friendly? What’s his true
motivation?”

Maybe it sounds paranoid, but I think it’s just a smart, thoughtful way of engaging with the world.

Before you talk about your feelings, plans, priorities, values—anything at all of substance—ask yourself: “Whom am I sharing this information with, and do they deserve it? Why are we having this conversation?”

Search your mind before you put your
thoughts into words.

And never miss a good chance to shut up!

I think you have no business taking
others into your confidence until
you really know what they’re all
about.

How do you get that critical
information?

By listening, not by talking.

You can always learn something when you’re listening.

But as soon as your lips start
moving, you’re disclosing, and
whenever someone knows what
you’re thinking or doing, there’s
risk involved.

Now, that may sound cynical or overly cautious—but I believe you need to approach life with a strategy in mind.

Consider this wisdom attributed to Cardinal Richelieu, a 17th-century French statesman (who knew a thing or two about strategy): “If you give
me six lines written by the hand of
the most honest of men, I will find
something in them which will hang
him.”

That guy was onto something.

So was my Granddad, who said it a bit differently: “Never miss
a good chance to shut up!”

Words are powerful, and so is
knowledge.

When you tell people what you’re thinking or doing, you are making a decision to empower them with information—and you may be unintentionally giving them ammunition they can use to
exploit you, compete with you or
somehow get in your way.

I once knew a guy who casually
mentioned to a coworker—who he
thought was also a friend—that he
was applying for a job that was an
incredible opportunity.

Next thing he knew, that coworker had been offered the position instead.

True story.

Do I think everyone is out to take
advantage of you?

Absolutely not.

But I do believe that people need to
earn your trust from the get-go.

Don’t just give it away freely until
someone abuses it.

You need to operate with a level of awareness about what you’re disclosing every time you open your mouth and make sure you’re not giving away information indiscriminately to people who aren’t worthy of it.

I’m not saying you have to give up
friendly chitchat or meaningful
talks with people you know well.

There are healthy reasons to
converse, and there are unhealthy
ones.

It’s your job to recognize the difference.

Think about this: How often do you hear yourself talking just to fill silences?

Do you ever discover that you’re revealing something you never intended to share just because you’re
uncomfortable with a lull in the
conversation?

I want you to know that it’s perfectly okay to be quiet.

Maybe you’ve heard the saying, “You
can’t take back stupid words already said.”

Once those words come out, you can’t retrieve them—so when in doubt, keep your cards close to your chest.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Benefits of Buddhist Meditation

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A lot of the time our minds are
busy, caught up in an endless
stream of thoughts that leave us
agitated and tired.

Every day we experience worry, anxiety,irritation and many other un-
peaceful minds.

However, the true nature of the mind is clear, peaceful and expansive.

Unfortunately, the busy
thoughts racing incessantly and repeatedly though our heads are like storm clouds that obscure that true peace we could experience in our hearts.

Occasionally there is a natural break in the clouds and we get to enjoy a comfortable and peaceful mind
but these experiences are often fleeting.

Through meditation we can undo our busy thought habits,and gradually make the gap in the clouds grow
bigger and last longer, until in time the clouds disappear completely.

The main benefit is that when our mind is peaceful happiness naturally develops in our hearts.

However,there are many other benefits to be experienced along the way.

Studies have shown meditation to
reduce stress, normalize blood pressure and help people to feel more relaxed.

With our mind at peace we are more understanding of others and our
relationships improve.

Immediately, meditation can help us to improve the quality of our mind and help our physical health.

However, the benefits of meditation go far beyond developing short term rewards.

By using meditation to understand the true nature of reality we can
develop an experience of inner peace and happiness that is always with us regardless of our external
circumstances.

It is this permanent freedom from
difficulties and problems that meditation offers.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

My thoughts on tranquility of heart and mind

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We may read very many books in our lives but the only one book worth reading is the
heart.

The Buddha taught us that what
ever makes the mind distressed in our practice hits home.

It’s not that the mind is
distressed!

The problem is that we don’t know what distresses our mind and what those distresses are.

Whatever we are, we aren’t satisfied with it.

Our way of life is not difficult.

What’s difficult is not being satisfied , not agreeing with it.

Our distresses are the main problem that robs us of the tranquility of mind.

The world is always in a very feverish state.

The mind changes from like to dislike
with the feverishness of the world.

If we can learn to make the mind still, it will be the greatest help to the world in achieving its own tranquillity from the tranquility of our minds.

If your mind is happy, then you are
happy anywhere you go.

When wisdom awakens within you, you will see Truth wherever you look.
Truth is all there is to set your mind free from the feverishness of this world.

It’s like when you’ve learned how to
read, you can then read anywhere you go.

But If you’re allergic to one place , you ‘ll be allergic to every other place.

But it’s not the place outside you that’s causing you
trouble .

It’s the “place” inside you.

Look at your own mind.

The one who carries all his things along with him, thinks he’s got things and takes false pride and gloats over them, but the one who looks on, only sees the heaviness of all the things you drag along with you. Think of tramps!

Throw away things that burden your heart, lose them, and let the mind read the lightness that is now in your heart,and you will find peace and tranquility in your mind.

Our mind is intrinsically tranquil.
Out of this tranquility, anxiety and confusion are born,because with think that peace and tranquil are things we can’t find without a certain amount of turmoil and struggle in our lives.

In other words,we have sketched our life in such a way that,we must first lose peace and tranquility,so that we can struggle to find them again in our lives.

This detour is quite unnecessary;maintain your tranquil and peace,and you will never have to search them out of yourself.

If one sees and knows about this unnecessary confusion, then the mind is tranquil once more.
Buddhist meditation is a religion of the heart.

It is like this;the one who practices to develop the heart is one who practices Buddhism. Buddhist meditation does not draw you away from your theological faith. It only seeks to compliment it with personal development that settles your Christian faith,as in my case,into a peaceful coexistence with one self!

When the light is dim, it isn’t easy
to see the old spider webs in the
corners of a room. But when the light is bright , you can see them clearly and then be able to take them down .
When your mind is bright, you be able to see your distresses more clearly too, and clean
them away.

Strengthening the mind is not done
by making it move around as is done to strengthen the body, but by bringing the mind to a halt, bringing it to rest.

Because people don’t see themselves, they can commit all sorts of bad deeds against themselves without being aware of it..

They don’t look at their own minds.

When people are going to do something bad, they have to look
around first to see if anyone is looking :” Will my mother see me? “Will my husband see me? ” “Will my children see me?” “Will my wife see me?

If there’s no one watching , then they go right ahead and do it. This is
insulting themselves. They say no one is watching , so they quickly finish their bad deed before anyone will see.

And what about themselves? Aren’t they a “somebody” watching ?

That’s why learning to read your heart is the most enlightening experiences of all;it teaches you to clearly look at yourself and keep all harm out of your heart and mind-this is what we call meditation-the one I’ve said is the religion of the heart.

Theology as opposed to meditation,is a religion of the soul,it helps us connect with God. Meditation helps us connect with our heart and mind,so that we can find peace and tranquility for both.

Use your heart to listen to the these
Teachings, not your ears,and then you will be home and safe with buddhist meditation.

There are those to do battle with
their distresses and conquer
them .This is called fighting inwardly.

Those who fight outwardly take hold of bombs and guns to throw and to shoot.

They conquer and are conquered.

Conquering others is the way of the
world .

In the practice of Dhamma we
don’t have to fight others, but instead conquer our own minds, patiently resisting all our moods,to maintain peace and tranquil within ourselves. When we conquer our own agitation,there is no need for an ‘outside war’ to try and conquer others,so that we can validate our own peace!

I ask you,where does rain come from? It comes from all the dirty water that evaporates from the earth, like urine and the water you throw out after washing your feet.

Isn’t it wonderful how the sky can take that dirty water and change it into pure, clean water?

Your mind can do the same with your
distresses if you let it to,through meditation.

The Buddha said to judge only yourself, and not to judge others, no
matter how good or evil they may be.

The Buddha merely points out the way, saying, ” The truth is like this. ”

Now is our mind like that or not?

Have you found a way to look at yourself,judge yourself through meditation,and not judge others?

When you do that,you will maintain your own peace and tranquil,and the world in which you live,will also know peace and tranquility!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Courtship and Marriage

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It is very interesting to see the changes in promises that a boy makes to a girl,before,and after marriage;

BOY: I have been waiting for this
day.

GIRL: What, do you now want me to leave?

BOY: NO!!

GIRL: Do you love me?

BOY: Of course!

GIRL: Will you ever cheat on me?

BOY: Never in my life.

GIRL: Will you ever kiss me?

BOY: Every chance I get.

GIRL: Will you ever beat me?

BOY: Are you crazy??

GIRL: Can I trust you?

BOY: Yes.

GIRL: My Sweetheart….

AFTER MARRIAGE

Now, just read from bottom to top to see the radical change in the very same promises that the boy made!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

The bachelor and the toddler

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The bachelor lived in isolation at his pad.

He saw them every day,his colleagues at work,all married men.

And he hated them. The married men. The soiled men.

He never made any conversation with them.

For this occasion,when one of them invited him to his birthday party,
he made polite conversation,as if that’s what he always did at work.

Perhaps the husbands talked to their wives about him,how reserved and eccentric he was. How he sneaked into the shower every time he attended to one of his female patients.

Those who had previous encounters with him always sought to avoid his consulting room.

His colleagues were always very understanding when patients begged to be struck off his cases.

There were wild rumours especially from female nurses about his peculiar behaviour.

But none could be confirmed.

He never talked about his life.

He never talked about himself.

He never talked about anything.

Anything he wanted done by colleagues,he scribbled in the yellow legal paper.

He laughed. He always laughed when reading his morning newspaper.

He never laughed at anything else.

He talked. He always talked to his caged parrot.

To anyone else,he sneered,and said only the necessary few words.

He was genius at his work.

He was a bore with anyone else.

At the party,he merely smiled and the others discussed airy nothings;wives talked to him, perhaps as a butcher’s wife will talk with another butcher,just because her husband is a butcher.

And the children,when they were brought to the party,in their best clothes and with their hair tidy,were cooed over and complimented.

The five year old and the three year old boobed and curtsied at him as they were told not to try to shake his hand,but Hilda was only one-and-half year old,and when she was put down on the floor,she escaped from her mother with a gurgle of glee and ran with unsteady steps and outspread arms into the crowded room.

The bachelor drew hastily back to avoid her clutch round his legs-he did not want his legs to be touched with dirt-and she fell with a bump on her nose at his feet and wailed in consequence.

The women looked in disapprobation at him for allowing it to happen,but he was only a bachelor,old,after all,and had nothing to do with children,so they decided he was to be pitied rather than be condemned.

He was obsessive about cleanliness.

He could not lose that memory,however he tried of the toddler’s cold and wet nose bumping over the boots on his feet.

As a medical doctor,he had a professional familiarity with insanity,naturally,and he knew about the growth of delusions;he had seen the delusions of touch before.

But much later in the shower,it was hard not to stoop down and with a scrubbing brush, scrub and scrub at his feet in hope of abolishing the feeling of cold saliva,cold poison to his sick mind,upon his skin.

Did a snake have saliva?

The cold salive of a snake was the idea in his mind at the moment.

Absurd,of course,that had no relation at all to-to what had happened.

He swore violently.

He remembered now in detail about that minor incident with the toddler.

It was even worse ten minutes later,just when he was talking again to the host’s wife and priding himself of behaving naturally.

Something bumped against his feet,a table leg?,and he jerked and snarled.

The wife saw the expression on his face change,saw the horror in it.

The wine glass that he held jerked out in a golden arc as he kicked out wildly.

There was a sharp yelp and everyone looked down and round to see the host’s little puppy,which had managed to make its way into the room when the children were taken out,proclaiming the sorrow of an affectionate advance being received by a kick on the ribs.

There was more reproach in the eyes of the women as they looked at him,but he was hardly aware of it,with the sweat standing out in his forehead and his hands shaking.

A strange suggestion was making itself felt in his mind.

These soiled feet,these horrible feet,might be got rid of.

He pictured himself lying on his back with a revolver in hand,taking aim at those feet and shooting them off,bit by bit.

There was something strangely tempting in the idea;it would mean the end of his troubles.

But what was left of his sanity asserted itself again and argued with his insanity.

It would be painful(but was that not really an argument in its favour?),and it would be impractical(but perhaps not to a man as filled with an inward spirit as he was) and it was the insane who practicsed horrible mutillations upon themselves(but the insane did not have the justifications he had-they had not had his experience of hating dirt,especially of coming into any sort of contact with women and children) and he would feel better in the morning(but before morning he had still to go through the night with his soiled feet)

Insane,isn’t it,this hatred of women and children? He thought to himself.

Why do other men go crazy about such dirty beings?

He stood up.

He stamped with his disgusting feet in rage as he opened the drawer that held his gun.

A cold barrel of his revolver kissed his temple as he held it close to his head,the only kiss he has ever had,and the last one.

Then he pulled the trigger.

And the room was filled with the sound of his freedom from his misery.

By inviting him to this birthday party,his medical colleagues had hoped to cure him of his irrational hatred of women and children.

Instead,they helped him only to end his misery for good,

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Just friends

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We find excuses not to see one another,
or even to talk to each other.

I believe we both know,
there is no more to it than that,
but to say so would just ruin it all.

It seems such a shame,
that the world is so full of hurt and pain,
that we tend to avoid commitment altogether.

We only dream of what could be,
if we were to find that “right”
person.

The fear of broken hearts and pain,
is the enemy that keeps us apart.

We may in fact meet this “right” person,
but let them slip out of our lives,
without ever knowing,
what a good thing it could have been.

The wounds and hurts of the past run deep,
And the slightest embers of love,
Just seem to awaken a fear,
That keeps us away from the bliss.

We enjoy each others company
but for the most part, we avoid it.

We pretend there is nothing there,
We’re just friends.

Every time we meet,
it’s awkward at first.

We check our guard,
and put up the walls.

We’re just friends that’s all.

We call each other on the phone,
and always have a good excuse,
for doing so even when there’s none.

Do true friends need an excuse?

You remind me that “We must be careful”,
“We can’t go there”, you say,
The rules have been set,
and we live by them.

We sit and talk for hours,
two sets of cold eyes interlocked,
and neither turns away,
For fear of showing our true emotions.

I hang on your every word dutifully,
Your simple presence in a room,
gives my life a different purpose,
From the one that should be common,
to us both.

Add your voice and a smile,
and I melt away,
to a of a completely different person,
That’s not you.

The thought of you touching me,
makes my body scream out with yearning,
For a touch from a different person.

But we’re just friends, right?

Why do I feel it’s more?

Are we in self-inflicted denial?

Our past hurts have made us so afraid,
We’d rather be lonely than to take that chance again.

I wish I could tell you how I really feel inside.
That I’d be willing to take that chance,
But with a different person.

I don’t want to be more than just your friend,
I know you sense this,
as I do,
but it’s easier to pretend.

Saying it would make it real,
and you’d run away and hide from me,
To my shame of being truthful to you.

So I’ll try and keep the flood gates closed,
and be content that you let me be,
Just your friend.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Strong men need not fear feminists

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I’m a strong believer that men gain a huge amount from feminism.

A man gotta be a man in all circumstances that face him,be it wild animals,”wild” women feminists,war,starvation,disease-name it.

You are not a man when you avoid a the distasteful experiences,but more of a man when you thrive in spite of them!

But, let’s face it, you don’t make omelettes without cracking a few eggs.

In this case, the eggs are the
forms of power and privilege that we, men have traditionally
enjoyed:

In the past, we men only had to compete with half of humanity for most jobs.

Now, we have to compete with all of humanity.

At night, men got to relax, go out with friends, or pursue our careers, sports or hobbies while our partners
(even if they worked outside the home) did most childcare and domestic work.

Now, we’re expected to do our fair share.

Some workplaces were straight out of locker rooms.

Now, with sexist behaviour challenged, for some men,work just isn’t as much fun.

No matter our personal abilities, society automatically valued us.

Some religions said we were closer to God.

We were automatically seen as
stronger, more rational, and leaders.

In relationships we got cooked for, shopped for, cleaned up after, and emotionally stroked.

We could (if we so chose) have power in getting sex.

Now, we can get put in jail for things that not long ago were seen as men’s rights (think of marital rape and wife battering).

In some families and relationships, we were the ultimate decision-makers.

Now, we have to share power and decision-making.

In other words, some men are afraid of feminism because it challenges forms of men’s power and privilege that one-half of our species foisted on the other about 8,000 years ago.

Giving up is hard to do.

Being a Man is Hard to Do for weak men in our midst who are always whining about women gaining more ground.

Here’s the strange thing: many men also fear feminism because they fear they’re not “real men.”

I’ve meditated a lot on this, what I call “men’s contradictory experiences of power.”
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What this means is that the ways we set up our male- dominated societies not only bring men power and
privilege but, paradoxically, is the source of pain for men.

One source of this pain is that we set up impossible ideals of manhood:
You know: always strong, fearless, in control, etc. etc.

Of course no man can live up to these ideals.

The best way to go about it is to acknowledge our own limitations as ordinary and mortal human beings,just like women are.

But so long as we had uncontested male-dominated societies, we could
pretend to ourselves and each other that we did.

Why?

Because we could contrast ourselves to the other half that clearly did not.

Now that women are asserting their strength, power, smarts, and sexuality, now that women are saying that anything a man can do, they can do as well, it takes the air out of the sails of many men.

If deep down they didn’t feel like real men before, now those feelings are unconsciously multiplied.

Changing Ideas is of course hard to do.

In spite of amazing changes that are benefitting most women and most men, the ideas associated with male domination still cling hard:

Religions and traditional beliefs have a life of their own and a deep staying power.

Especially in a time of economic, political and social upheavals when the future seems tenuous, some men (and women) cling to old ideas.

Old ideas continue to morph and adapt.

You might think that right-wingers are against women’s equality.

But actually, many of their current ideas would have been seen as crazy feminist ideas forty years ago:

A woman can be president or prime
minister? Women are as smart and capable as men?

Women have as much right as men to pursue careers and education? …

In other words, feminism has actually had a big impact even when it seems there is still huge opposition by some men and women to it.

Parts of the media have continued to do a remarkable hatchet job on feminism.

Ask people in many countries about the specific issues associated with
gender equality or violence against women.

Man (and in some countries, most) will take a feminist stance.

But ask if they agree with feminism and they’ll bring out their stereotype of who or what a feminist is and say “No!”

Finally, feminist women and pro-feminist men haven’t done a good enough job of transforming the
mainstream.

If we truly believe our ideas are just and are right, then everyone should subscribe to them!

We should not be afraid of working in the mainstream.

We should not be afraid of differences among us, but rather we should find ways to work with those who we don’t see as natural allies, and agree to disagree on specific issues.

We should not be afraid to make mistakes or to not be perfect.

Note; The writer is a senior self-styled bachelor by choice.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

We can be as strong as we choose to be

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Like the most of you, I was raised among people who knew – who were certain.

They did not reason or investigate.

They had no doubts.

They knew that they had the truth.
In their creed there was no guess — no perhaps.

They knew the beginning of things.

They knew the origin, the cause of evil, of all crime, of all disease and death.

But one thing I do know now; and that is, that
neither hope, nor fear, belief, nor denial, can change the fact that we are as strong as we choose to be.

It is as it is, and it will be as it must be.

We can be as honest as we are ignorant.

If we are, when asked what is beyond the horizon of the known, we must say that we do not know.

But be ready to be strong for whatever lies beyond there.

We can tell the truth, and we
can enjoy the blessed freedom that comes with this simple decision.

We can destroy the monsters of superstition, the bliss that surrounds
ignorance, and chills of fear.

We can drive from our minds the frightful things that tear and
wound our hearts.

We can civilize our fellow-men.

We can fill our lives with generous deeds, with loving words, with art
and song, and all the ecstasy of love.

We can flood our years with sunshine — with the divine climate of kindness, and we can drain to the last drop the golden cup of joy,
That comes from bracing ourselves,
To triumph over whatever comes to us,
In this enjoyable journey that we call life!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

There is still hope for a lost soul

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To my friend,SE,
who is living through this dark hour of his life;

You are my friend,
I’ve known you since our childhood days,
Happily dreaming of good life,
But life has now dealt you a bad card,
And my words alone,
Cannot wipe away your tears,
After all that you’ve gone through.

But there is hope in our Lord,Jesus Christ,
the best friend in these trying times.

Search for Him in your heart dear friend,
like we always did when life was hard on us.

We are grown men now,
And the tears in your eyes depress me,
Like they always did in our younger days.

I’m here for you brother,
But my presence alone is not enough,
To dry the tears that I see in you everyday.

When you are lost and can’t find any new road to take,
Don’t lead yourself alone,
it’s a big mistake.

If your heart is too broken up,
from scars and cuts,
and bruises of a hard life,
hold on to Him,
and He’ll keep you safe,
He won’t let you mess up.

You may want to run far away,
’cause you think you don’t matter,
But tell yourself you do,
and forget all the sorrow and despair,
In your present life.

Your eyes might be closed shut, ’cause you are scared,
to see the world that has hurt you,
open them cause your almost there.

Almost there to the place you belong, the place you loved all along.

Your life might not be,
the best one out there,
but it sure is popular here,
In the eyes of the Lord.

There are who people care about you,
day by day,
Even when you feel lost,
just pray so that your soul is not lost,
In this deep bottomless hole,
That is depression.

I promise you are not alone,
You have and always will have this one friend
That is the Lord and your saviour.

He can lead you to the promised land,
and make you his loved child,
take all your sorrow and shame,
and put it all under his name,
Cause your burden is His burden too.

He has loved you,
even when you are all messed up,
so don’t ever give up your soul,
To the desperation that beckons,
In the darkest hour of your life.

He will hold your sin for you,
and carry your cross,
because for you,
no burden is too heavy for Him to carry.
“You are a child of mine,
and I’ll always love and forgive you,
so don’t be scared”,so says the Lord.

He will always lead you,
so your soul won’t be lost,
That soul that anyone else might not value,
Is so important and treasured,
In the eyes of the Lord.

So wake up and start living again,
The life that you have always wanted to live,
And when you falter,
Just call His name,
And he will take your hand,
And make you stand strong on your two feet,
Because you are his loved soul,
A child of his Kingdom,
No matter what you feel,
No matter what others might think about you,
You are a loved soul.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Of Glory,Love,and Power

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I have dreamed as young men often dream
Of glory, love and power;
I have hoped as youth will always hope
Of life’s sun-minted glory.

I have seen as other children saw
My soap bubbles burst in air,
And I have learned to live it down
As though I did not care about love.

But,

I want to die while you still love me,
While yet you hold me in your eyes, Still fair and handsome,
While laughter still lies upon my lips
And your soft fingers in my hair.

I want to die while you still love me,
Lay still in this bed that we share,
Your kisses fervent and passionate
To warm me when I’m dead.

I want to die while you still love me
Oh, who would care to live another day
Till love has nothing more to offer
And nothing more to give?

I want to die while you still love me
And never, never see
The glory of this perfect day
Grow dim or our love cease to be!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Watching the grass grow

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This is my garden,
I’ll plant it with care,
Here are the seeds
I’ll plant in there,

The sun will shine,
The rain will fall,
The seeds will sprout
and grow up tall.

In the heart of a seed,
Buried deep so deep,
A tiny plant Lay fast asleep.
“Wake,” said the sunshine,
“And creep to the light.”

“Wake,” said the voice
Of the raindrops bright.

The little plant heard
And it rose to see,
What the wonderful,
Outside world might be.

Little Brown Seeds
Little brown seeds so small and round,
Are sleeping quietly under ground.

Down come the raindrops
sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle.

Out comes the rainbow,
twinkle, twinkle, twinkle.

Little brown seeds way down below,
Up through the earth they grow, grow, grow.

Little green leaves come one by one.
They hold up their heads and look at the sun.

A Daffodil
A little yellow cup,
A little yellow frill,
A little yellow star,
And that’s a daffodil.

I have five little peas,
Five little peas in a pea-pod pressed,
One grew , two grew, and so did all the rest;
They grew…and grew…and did not stop,
Until one day the pod went…POP!

I dig a hole and plant a seed,
Cover it with dirt, and pull a weed.

Down comes the rain, and out comes the sun,
Up grows my plant,
Oh! What fun!

But I’m not happy,
There is still a seed,
Locked deep in my heart,
A seed that they call love.

Rains come,
seasons come,
But I’ve not had time,
To plant this seed,
And watch it grow.
Like all the rest.

I’ve just wasted all my life,
Watching the grass grow!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Quote

I love rainy Saturday nights

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I like waking up to sunny Sunday mornings,
But-
Well, I love a rainy Saturday night,
I love to hear the thunder that, shakes my body,my bed too!
Readthe
restofthisentry»

Watch the lightning as it blazes,
the deepest recesses of my mind,
When it lights up the sky of my mind
You know it makes me feel good,
it rocks my life…

It’s such a beautiful sight,
in the eye of my mind
I love to feel the rain,
of the tears of her joy on my face
Taste the rain of love on my lips
In the moonlight shadows,
of warm sighing bodies…

Saturday rain showers,
washes all my cares away,
Then I wake up to a sunny day,
‘Cause I love a rainy night,
Ooh ooh-the sound,
of the thunder in my heart!
I love a rainy night…

I love to hear the thunder,
that creaks my bed,
in the rhythm of love,
You know it makes me feel good,
to feel like a man after a whole week of labouring under the African sun…

It’s such a beautiful sight
I love to feel the rain of love,
on my face flushed with rigours of love,
To taste the rain of love on my lips,
In the moonlight shadows of rocking bodies,
It puts a song in this heart of mine…

Puts a smile on my face every time
‘Cause I love a rainy nightt
Ooh ooh-the thunder of two hearts beating as one…
I love the rainy nights,
And I love you too!

Love and thunder,
rocks my Saturday nights,
Makes me high,makes me sigh,
Till I wake up to a sunny day,
and the beauty of my sleeping angel

That’s why I love the rainy nights!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

I love my Africa!

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I’m not just saying I love Africa
because it is not politically correct for an African to say, ‘I don’t love Africa.

Do I really love Africa?

Well, many Africans say they love Africa because it is not politically correct to say, “I don’t love Africa”.

If I love Africa, it’s not because of the political competence of our leaders or their honesty.
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Not because of their insatiable hunger for power or their brutal
treatment of their citizens.

Not because they are more accountable to their Western donors
than they are to their fellow citizens or that their ears are more tuned to rebukes from richer countries than the plight of their people.

It is also not because they snatch money from the mouths of hungry children and destitute women to stash it away in foreign banks.

Forget problems.

I just love my Africa!

Nevertheless, I love Africa for its long-suffering people.

If they had reacted to every injustice as quickly as Americans or Europeans do, we may not have been left with a continent worth living in.

I love Africa because its people never lose hope that things will get better someday.

I love Africa because Africans forget their problems very quickly, without which they would have turned the continent into one large institution for the mentally ill.

I also love Africa because people gather in large numbers to mourn with those who mourn and to rejoice with those who rejoice.
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It’s a continent where guiding,correcting and rebuking children is everybody’s’ task; a
continent with green forests, clean rivers and air and undiscovered natural resources.
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I love Africa because it has great things which take me closer to nature and ensure my physical and social wellbeing… and one example that
comes to mind is Busaa beer.

Busaa is a local African beer brewed wholly from guinea corn (sorghum).

This drink is pure and natural.

That is why after taking even a whole pot of it, one never suffers from
any hangover the next morning; rather, one is stronger and more
active.

I will never stop taking
Busaa because it is a drink and also food at the same time.

Regular Busaa drinkers never feel hungry after a drinking bout, indeed they even put on weight.

I have also put on more weight from it.
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I love this African beer because the spirit of African communion comes alive wherever it is present.

We normally sit in a circle sharing from a common pot from which imaginative discourse is fired.

Yes, round the Busaa pot, we find solutions to problems like unemployment and sickness.

This is why I love Africa and everything therein!

I love Africa because of the colour in every aspect of life.
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From the body-ochre paintings in initiation festivals, to the brightly
dressed women on their way to the weekly market.
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From the people of all shades – black, brown and white – to the rich black soils and the barrenness of the brown Sahara.

From the golden yellow sunrise to the amazing sunsets.
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The unending green covering the land, the music, the dance, life itself is colour.

Africa, the land of colour, rise, shine and light the world, I love you!

“Skyscrapers? Cars? Where are the naked humans? New visitors to Africa will always ask.
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No, this must be the wrong place…”

Those would probably be the thoughts of a first- time Western visitor to any of the major
metropolitan areas in Africa, with further expressions of astonishment as they drive from the airport to the city centre.

To an ordinary person in Europe or North America, Africa is the
dark continent where nothing good comes.

A place full of monkeys, jungles and naked Stone Age humans.
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Most Westerners only hear about the
continent’s doom and gloom and tend to believe that Africa is the
same all over, oblivious of its rich and diverse cultures, languages, ethnicity and religions – to mention just a few.

Yet, we supposedly all live in an age of advanced information technology.

Africa is besieged by disasters, disease, starvation, poverty and wars; however, these are
not only unique to Africa, which also possesses good and desirable qualities, just like other continents.
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Many urban areas in Africa can be compared to those in the developed world despite what detractors may believe.

Come and see for yourself.

Experience, they say, is the best teacher.

Coming to Africa?

You don’t have to carry your sunshine;the sun is always shining in Africa.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

The mystery that is a woman…

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Women are mysterious beings-i mean,some of the women are,that is.

What this means is not that I understand women more than the next guy, but that I have honed the skill of my observations about women.

I think I can be quite objective about women,’cause,well,I’m not very much attached to women by disposition,except when I’m observing them from a safe distance.

And I also know that writing about women is not quite like writing about men.

Women are indeed more ardent
readers, and perhaps more faithful readers, but also women read with more diligence, they read with
more purpose and thirst for intricate interpretation of the subject under discussion.

Women pick nuances and they have the most uncanny recall power.

They tend to read with a fine tooth comb.

They are into minutiae.

And they read between the lines.

Women are excellent with feedback; they write back to say they loved or hated a story.

Men? Too proud, but if they meet you in a bar they will say they liked/hated
something you wrote.

Then they will buy you a beer.

You would imagine that after all this time writing about women, I would understand women,but I don’t.

Women, to me, still remain a mystery,like a baffling and ominous
blot in an X-ray chart to a layman.

Isn’t that exasperating?

Not to me. There is beauty in writing about something you don’t quite understand. it’s about chutzpah.

I live with two women, (well, one is a mini-woman,an adored daughter from a different relationship from a long time ago!)and being the only man in my house doesn’t make my life any easier, and it certainly doesn’t make me more adept to understanding women.

But I’m better than the next guy because I can always see an
impending storm, and avert it…by fleeing from the charged and potentially explosive scene for a boys’ day out.

I can also deal with my women’s moods slightly better- but only because I have to.

And I can deal with coded talk ; long before men figured that when a woman says “it’s okay, don’t buy me anything for my birthday, I don’t find
birthdays a big deal,” was a trap, I was already ahead.

But to write for women, and to write about women, you got to love women.

Yes.

You got to be very curious about women; emotionally, physically and
even spiritually.

To be attuned to women, you’ve got to listen to them, even if half of what they might be banging on about doesn’t make sense, or is a repetition from the previous week,or even the previous year. To them,everything is currently relevant,from things that they did as toddlers,to the wrongs you did yesterday. Just about everything is relevant,especially the wrongs.

I, unfortunately,don’t have that skill to listen raptly for more than a few seconds; my main handicap is
my threshold for attention; I get bored very easily.

I drift.

But from the few things I pick, I try to construct rationale around it.

It’s in my best interest to look like I’m really listening and understanding every nuance,innuedo and such like things that women use as a form of communication to their men.

And so, when one of my women readers here suggested that I write about women, like I did about men here sometime back(see ‘The art of being a man’), I thought “why the hell not?

Sticking my foot in my mouth about issues that I don’t quite understand is my favourite pastime after all.

So here we go, to the eternal question…who is a woman?

A woman knows her man.

Most women don’t know their men.

Sure they know what dish they like,
or what colour of shirt they prefer, or what gets them really worked up, but they really don’t know who their men are.

A woman can date a man for three years, maybe even live with him under the same roof, and yet one day
the man does something so “out of character”,something that elicits a typical female response,“that was so unlike Ben to do that!”

It’s laughable because actually that was Ben. The real Ben that women would rather not see,because they have the ideal of who he should be imprinted deeply in their minds.

The greatest tragedy is that women see their men in their own image.

So yes, a woman should know her man and if she doesn’t she tries to know him…without following him
everywhere.

A woman doesn’t lick a can of Redds sherry, or her liquor bottle.

It’s tacky.

A woman knows how to keep down her alcohol.

A woman doesn’t think drinking like a fish makes her cool, that partying constantly makes her urbane and suave.

And that’s why the world is full of
chicks, and not women.

A woman is inherently moody.

It’s her hallmark.

Her moods changes without warning.

A woman also knows that she isn’t defined by her career, that not any amount of academic degrees will validate her.

A true woman gets her degrees to serve her intellectual curiosity and nothing else.

It’s okay if a woman didn’t know how to cook,but she has to want
to learn.

A woman doesn’t let her girlfriends run her relationship.

A woman knows that cleanliness is next to godliness and so a woman who looks like a mechanic in downtown Grogon open car-garage in Nairobi is half a woman;inexcusable.

A woman cries, mostly without solid
reason, but sometimes with reason.

But a woman who cries soon after love making is a keeper.

I repeat, a woman who…OK, you get the idea.

A female who sees a suffering child and feels pain in her chest is a woman.

A woman who has been failed by her womb is also a woman, perhaps even more of a woman than the one with children, because she carries an ugly pain, the need and guilt unbearable to man.

A woman doesn’t poke strangers on Facebook.

A woman doesn’t steal; an idea, a concept or money.

But she can steal another woman’s man.

And why the hell not?

A woman who has her man stolen from her had no business being with that man in the first place.

She didn’t own him.

You gotta own your men ladies! (This last part is best delivered while
thumping a holy grail book on relationships!)

A woman is jealous.

A woman is kind and tender.

A woman is vindictive and calculating.

A woman is craftier than a man, sneakier than a man even.

In every woman lies astounding but well intended evil.

A woman doesn’t dance to the song ‘bend over’, that’s for girls.

A woman sometimes buys a man a drink.

Oh hell, who am I kidding, not in this city!

A woman knows at least
five love songs; if she knows less, then she is a pretender to the throne.

A woman doesn’t talk with food in her mouth like most men do.

And she doesn’t pick her teeth in public.

A woman doesn’t belch. Okay, not loudly.

Sometimes a woman has to ‘fake it’
because men live on a staple diet of vanity about “some skills”,and she has to bolster their vain ego.

A woman respects herself, and if she dare ask how, then an explanation on how she should go about it wouldn’t do her any good.

A woman sits with her legs crossed.

A true woman doesn’t need to “be a man,” unless her womanhood is
waning.

A woman doesn’t wear Safari boots shoes, unless she’s a painter or she is an apprentice deejay at some
Madhouse.

A woman is not defined by the size of her boobs or the size of her butt.

But! It would be nice if
she had butt on her because, come on, to a man,butt is king…I’m just saying.

A woman preserves her dignity by not sleeping around.

A woman prays because a prayer from a woman is a powerful prayer.

Plus, I secretly suspect God favours women.

A woman is a lousy driver, even
the once who think they are great drivers.

A woman shops and spends money she doesn’t have.

Sometimes a woman- especially the hot ones like Eva Longoria,or Elin Nordegren of Tiger woods – is cheated on .

It’s never a reflection on the kind of girlfriend/wife/mother/fiancé
you are; it’s an inexplicable reflection of manhood flaws.

A pompous woman who is obsessed with her beauty is never worth any man’s time.

A woman takes pride in how she looks, which is to say a woman with a forest in her armpit and dirt under her nails is a woman who can’t take care of her man because she obviously can’t take care of herself.

A woman who dates for money is a soft gold digger, but then
again a gold digger is a gold digger. Period!

A woman tells her man to straighten up his act if he slips.

That’s a woman to respect.

A woman isn’t scared to be judged, not if she knows who she is.

A woman has to have a plan. Any plan.

A woman knows when to walk out.

A woman has a bar which she has to be treated, if she compromises this bar once by lowering it, then she changes the composition of her relationship.

A woman never stays with a man who beats her up.

Or a man she beats up.

A woman doesn’t sleep in a tired baggy tee-shirt for chrissake!

A woman, even a broke one, takes
pride in her dignity, because that shines brighter than a 45carat diamond.

A woman holds her man’s hand
because men – even though they may deny it – need a lot of active guidance.

A woman observes oral hygiene.

A woman cares for her mother.

She holds the family together.

A woman doesn’t compete with her man, because she will surely lose, because men were cut for
brinkmanship, it arouses them.

A woman who says,“I don’t know what happened, I swear I normally
don’t do this,” is a liar.

A woman watches her decibels when laughing, unless the joke is really
funny.

A woman doesn’t pick her nose,like most men do.

A woman says “fine” when it’s not.

A woman waits a whole week to watch the wedding show on TV,even when she is already happily married.

A woman doesn’t eat like a man.

A woman doesn’t constantly get on Facebook and profess undying love on her boyfriend’s wall; it’s insecure, exhibitionist and childish.

Let girls do that.

A woman will read this, and see the ugly head of chauvinism bobbing just beneath the surface, and she will smile wearily at all the mess I’m making about this mysterious subject.

A true woman loves to get ‘hot’…with a man.

But if she prefers it with other women, then she’s not a woman, but our boy.

A woman loves sand between her toes and the sun in her face.

A woman should never be embarrassed by her sexuality.

A woman doesn’t need to know how to milk a cow,or change a flat tyre,and even if she knows,she pretends not to,in presence of a man.

A woman doesn’t whistle.

A woman never tells the exact number of men she has slept with, but if she is crazy enough as to do so, we will add twenty five more guys on top to get the exact number.

A woman loves herself first, before she can let a man love her.

Never the other way round, because
the hardest woman to love, is one who doesn’t love herself.

A woman gossips. It is her staple food. A woman who doesn’t gossip is a psycho!

A woman, just like a man,is imperfect, and isn’t all together shocked or derailed by it.

A woman doesn’t seek a perfect man, but if she really has to, then she buys a Daniel Steele romantic paper backs where such perfect men can be found,and spends the rest of her life fantasising about them.

A woman shouldn’t judge all that is me, just from skimming through this article (hehehe).

A woman who likes making love in pitch darkness has deeper running issues than she knows.

A woman learns to appreciate her body (even if it looks like a stuffed doll) but if she can’t, then she joins a gym, damn it!, and she works hard on it!

A woman listens.

A woman can sooth, to silence, a wailing baby.

A woman is a decision maker, because women’s intuition is supreme.

A woman fears rats and bats and insects and caterpillars.

A woman takes not less than three days to reverse a car correctly into a
parking lot.

A woman never, and I mean never, pays rent for a man, and if she does then she’d rather call him Jackline, not Jack.

A woman hides her man’s “nakedness” in public, she protects him.

A woman should smell good…not necessarily expensive, but
good, because there are women who wear expensive perfume but still smell cheap.

A woman can smoke if she wants to, it’s her lungs after all, and hell,let’s admit it, some women make smoking so damned sexy, like Christina Hendricks in the television series, ‘MadMen’.

Talking of which, a woman loves Brad Pritt, because he is what most of us men aren’t.

A woman has to read secrets,including going through your wallet,phone messages,and when she fails on all this,she tries to pry them right out of your mind when you are drunk.

A woman prays, eats, and loves.

“You are the best I ever had,” only a woman will tell you that, but that’s not even the sad part.

The sad part is that you will believe it.

And lastly, a woman isn’t afraid of hitting her thirties, because it’s
in her thirties that she really begins to understand and enjoy her womanhood.

That’s my twisted take on women.

What’s yours?

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Cultivate your calm around difficult people

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It’s morning; you’re in a great mood.

You’re relaxed and have plenty of time to practice your morning
routine.

After an energising breakfast you head out to start your day.

Then it happens: you encounter a
difficult person and your calm turns to calamity.

We all have encounters with people who prefer to stay miserable, making everything difficult.

They exist, and perhaps there was a time in your past when you once were one of those negative people.

Perhaps you still can be at times.
As a former miserable person{ before my advent into buddhist meditation and Minimalism}I know it was my inability to handle my mental and emotional states that kept me oozing all over others.

I felt so disconnected from life, living
obsessively in my mind, that I truly felt helpless.

Most often that helplessness manifested into continuous critiquing, judging, anger, and
sometimes even pure rage.

I was unwilling to take full responsibility for my relationship to life.

I wanted peace, joy, and harmony, yet I was unwilling to do the necessary work to experience
them.

Difficult people are demanding.

They demand something from the external world in hope of
filling their own disconnection and restlessness they feel within.

Whether they are demanding our attention, a certain action or reaction, or a particular outcome,
the root of their behaviour is a demand for something other than what is.

Difficult people haven’t yet learned to take responsibility for their whole selves—mind,body, and spirit.

Feeling disconnected and restless gives rise to their need to argue,judge, critique, and tweak everyone around them.

Their inability to handle themselves adds fuel to the fire, which perpetuates their harshness.

Underneath their personality is a feeling of being separate and a desperate plea for help.

We can’t change another and we can’t also easily make someone want
to change.

The only way we can help is by being
true to our self, finding our power within, and being an example of calm.

Here are a few practices I’ve found useful, loving, and extremely effective about how to conduct yourself around difficult people and maintain your calm and peace.

» Be still and ground yourself.

Naturally, when we are confronted with a rude,irritable, or irate person, we tend to avoid them.

We think that if we avoid them they will go away, or at least we hope they will.

The truth is that, although this may happen, it is much more likely that they won’t until we learn an alternate way of dealing with them.

Negative energy has a force and it can knock us on our butt, usually in the form of us engaging in toxic
behaviour.

If we are not grounded and well centered in our reaction, we may find
ourselves arguing, judging, or stomping out of the room.

Making sure we are firmly planted in our body enables us to look the person in the eye and be completely present.

It gives us the opportunity to remain calm and pause rather than engage in behavior we may later regret.

» Look them directly in the eyes.

Darkness—negativity—can’t stand light and more, so it can’t remain in the light.

Looking someone directly in his or her eyes dispels darkness.

Your Light pierces through the superficial persona to their being.

When I practice this tool one of two things always happens:

The person walks away or stops talking.

The conversation takes a more positive direction.

We all want to be seen, from the cashier at self-service store to our spouse or partner.

Taking the time to look at someone
offers them the greatest gift we have to offer:connection.

Try it as an experiment and see what happens.

» Listen to understand.

I find that whenever a difficult person confronts me, I automatically tense up and mentally consider my defense.

When I am calm and open-minded, I
know that I never have to defend myself, ever.

The most effective way to diffuse a difficult person is to truly listen to what they are trying to say,which means keeping my mouth closed and
hearing them all the way through.

Whether or not I agree with them is irrelevant, and I certainly don’t need to let them know what I think.

I can listen and get back to them if necessary such as with a partner, co-worker or friend.

I find the following responses to be most effective:
“Let me get back to you on that.”
“You could be right.”

When a person is being difficult, it is because they are responding to their perceived reality rather than what is going on in the moment.

Often times their frustration has very little to do with us.

I find when someone’s reaction seems over the top for the situation that repeating the same response
diffuses the situation.

» Learn when to be silent.

Some people are extremely closed-minded and impossible to talk to, but we need to speak to them.

When I find myself in a situation with
someone who just can’t hear me in the moment, I don’t force the issue.

Trying to get my point across to someone that can’t hear me only escalates the situation.

Sometimes the clearest form of
communication is silence.

At a later time I can revisit the conversation with the person and communicate what needs to be said.

Regardless of the person’s response, I can share my feelings and thoughts and let go of the outcome.

Focusing on them responding a certain way only results in two difficult people unable to accept what is.

» Be honest with yourself.

If we are repeatedly in a situation with someone who is abusive verbally, physically, and/or
emotionally, we must stop trying to change him or her.

If we find we are practising a spiritual way of Life and someone close to us isn’t changing, it may be time to get honest with our self and find out
what is really going on.

The question of whether or not to end a relationship with a difficult person, whether a friendship, work or romantic relationship, can only come from within you.

If you can honestly say you have done what you know to do, have asked for help from a friend or
professionally and nothing is changing, then its time to go within for the answer and trust what you
find.

On the other side of a difficult person is an opportunity to grow.

No matter what we are presented with in life, we have an opportunity to choose more or less responsibility.
Remembering that true responsibility is our ability to respond in the
moment.

Of course, this takes practice and is not easy.

However, as we take more and more responsibility for our life, circumstances and people lose their
power over us.

We learn to choose our responses
moment by moment, no longer being dragged around by emotions, thoughts, or circumstances
created by another or our self.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

A rare gesture of gratitude

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Seven years ago, a former female student in one of my college teaching years sent me an SOS.

She was in dire need of any sort of job to help her keep above the water.

Apparently I had the capacity to intervene, so I did so, and the young woman got a job and I forgot all about it.

It was around the same time,that I left the teaching career and forgot
about the whole episode.

She didn’t.

Last week, she managed to trace me, but careless me, I could not
even recognise her name — you know how teaching so many students can be,and the young students are still growing,so their faces are bound to change after some time.

Moreover, being a former female student,her name did not immediately ring a bell.

Keeping close to female students is a sure way of killing a male tutor’s teaching career!

Anyway, I connected the face to the name and my ageing memory finally placed her.

After I had got over my surprise, she updated me about her current position – a mid-level IT specialist
in some government office.

She declared her modest salary and asked what she could do for me!

I realised she was serious and was absolutely stunned by her forthright gesture.

She insisted she owed her current station in life to me.

I could not remember when a young man or woman last expressed gratitude at being given a helping
hand.

Rather than telling her what I wanted her to do for me, I wished I had more opportunities to offer her instead.

Anyway, I did give her some advice about saving and investment.

Later in the day, I shared the story about what had happened with friends on my social circle.

I was in for round two of being surprised.

Apparently, there is a multitude of people out there living in silent disappointment with ungrateful young relatives and beneficiaries of actively solicited help.

From the comments that poured out,
most people have come to accept that ingratitude is part of our new culture.

Some said that relatives and friends tend to treat whatever help, donation or sponsorship they get from you as a right, and even feel cheated over what you fail to give them.

Others declared me very lucky to have such a gracious young woman as a beneficiary of my modest help.

Several actually shocked me by saying that beneficiaries of your help and generosity tend to become your
bitter enemies for what you fail to give them!

The contributions to the discussion came rapidly as people I had not heard from for a long time joined in
In form of emails having heard the story from my close friends and gave their opinion.

They all described me as a very lucky person to have such a rare and gracious young woman as a beneficiary of my help.

From their emails and Twitter Direct Messages, most have never received a word of appreciation from the people they have helped.

But as the middle aged express chagrin at what they consider lack of manners and decency, it is beginning
to look like decency is no longer a necessary character trait in developing countries, otherwise
social evolution wouldn’t have allowed it to die out.

Apparently, being modern means demanding everything as if it were a right.

Maybe treating privileges like rights is the surest way to get ahead in life these days.

If some elderly fellows expect you to thank them for extending a privilege to you, tell them they can thank themselves if they want!

You are too important to say “thank you.”

Unless of course, you are my wonderful former student.!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

A friendly bird outside my window

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A bird came down the walkway outside my window:
He did not know I saw him;
He bit a hapless worm into two halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew drop,
From a convenient grass blade,
And then hopped sideways to the wall
To let my cat pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes all around him,
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
Then hurried all aflight to a fence pole,–

He stirred his velvet head,
Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unruffled his feathers
And rowed himself afloat to his softer home,
Atop my favourite shade tree.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

I’ve just been wondering…

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If I looked through your eyes,
would you see me as I see you,
perfectly imperfect in
all your idiosyncrasies, breathtaking?

If I saw into your mind,
would you think of me as I think of you, hilarious, or
the serious mindblowing that you are?

How do you manage to be on my mind all day long?

If I held your hand,
would you hold it back
with the same grasp as mine,
the same grasp I have on your heart?

Does your heart race as fast as mine
when I see your shining smile,
piercing eyes, your presence, all intoxicating to me?

Would you say I complete you,
filling your every empty thought,
every lonely moment,
every sad day,
giving you a reason to smile,
and push through the day?

My heart has been wondering so…

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Torn between my Heart and Mind

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Sometimes, my heart tells me to
help someone find their way, but my
mind tells me that someone needs to find their path on their own to grow.

Sometimes, my heart tells me to love someone who is not on the same page as me,but my mind tells me our differences will end up pulling us both a part.

Sometimes,my heart tells me to endure the cheating
and abuse with the hope of change, but my
mind says I know I deserve better.

My heart and mind sometimes disagree; my peace in all this struggle will surely depend on whose advice I follow.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Dont magnify your enemies

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There is one story from the Bible that won my heart,may be because I’ve always been a tiny wiry man.

It is about David and Goliath.

Did you know that when David faced
Goliath, he never called him a giant?

Other people did, but not David.

He didn’t brag on the enemy’s power.
He didn’t magnify the obstacle.

He did just the opposite.

He called him an “uncircumcised Philistine”.

Not only did he not acknowledge who Goliath was, or his strength, his power, his experience, he took it one step further and diminished him.

When he said, “He’s an uncircumcised Philistine,” he was saying, “This man
is not in covenant with my God.

He’s not in covenant with Jehovah.”

In other words, “He doesn’t have the favor on his life that’s on my life. I
know the favor of my God keeps my
enemies from being able to defeat
me.”

So when he went to face Goliath he
said, “This day, I will defeat you and
feed your head to the birds of the
air.”

How could David, a teenager practically half his size with no
military experience, go out with such
confidence and face Goliath, a skilled
warrior wearing a full set of armour?

It’s because he understood this
principle.

David is the one that said,“The favor of God keeps my enemies
from defeating me.”

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

Dara. My greatest success

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Dara was a girl who caught my fancy during my boyhood years.

We used to do laundry jobs for Joseph,the ‘Blackie’ together,her and two other girls.

Unlike me,Dara didn’t go to school. I thank my guardian priest for ensuring that I did.

The four of us,all orphans and somewhat rejected in the society,were bosom friends.

As we approached puberty,it was Dara who took my fancy as a potential girlfriend. She was very beautiful and confident,sometimes arrogantly so.

But we were so used to each other that there was no way I could break this old mould and bring her around to my new way of thinking.

Then came the school debate.

Dara and her friends could not help sneaking in into the Church hall with other Families that came to see their children at it. They too wanted to see me in action.

I was flattered. I had no family to share this important occasion with. But if Dara and her girls came,then I was home. My stage fright not withstanding.

It is now difficult for me to remember the topic under discussion for that debate after all these years, but I will never forget the girls reaction to me after that debate. Dara was sixteen. I was Fourteen at that time. I didn’t see them at the hall during the debate session that evening.

I felt abandoned, and lonely.

As I walked back to my room from the Church hall,which was quite some distance away,I saw three white figures ahead of me pacing up and down, under the big mango trees in the compound bathed in April moonlight.

They hurried towards me. They were waiting for me.

“Oh Ben,it was splendid”,Dara was breathing hard as she always did when her feelings outran her lingual abilities. “There isn’t a man who could make a speech like that in this neighbourhood!” I just stopped your grumpy guardian and said so to him”. “He won’t tell you,but he told us he was awfully surprised himself,didn’t he girls?”

Dara never liked my Guardian priest. He was an impediment to our comradeship. Dara never saw it any other way. The morals of girls and boys company had not yet fully captured our young minds,the way the priest would have liked to see it.

Chelsie sidled up to me so teasingly,”what made you so solemn. We thought you were scared that we won’t show up”.

Dara became more possessive, and wistfully said,”it must make you very happy,Ben,to have thoughts like that in your mind all the time,and to have words to put them in. I always wanted to go to school myself,you know,Ben,so that we can talk out things at the same level”.

She said it in a way that made me feel sad about her. But Dara was so headstrong to draw any pity to herself.

She continued breathlessly,”Oh,I just sat there and wished that I had a papa who could hear you talk like that,Ben,and he would know that I have the right kind of a friend”.

It tore my heart to hear her talk like that.

“I thought about your papa,Dara,when I made that speech,and I dedicated it to him”.

She threw her arms around me,and her beautiful face was all wet with tears.

Then she stared at me full in the eyes and said, “Thank you”.

Without another word,the three girls in their white dresses glimmering in the moonlight walked down the sidewalk to their dungeon room.

I have had no other success that pulled at my heart-strings like that one in all my years.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®

It is a man thing

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“Surely, you can’t convert my towel into a rug.
That’s absurd!” I exclaimed to my horrified partner as I stared at my
old green towel on the floor.

Old is a polite word for a threadbare, faded thing that is 15 years old or more.

In fact, the honoured “thing” has a partner that preceded it that I use to clean the bathroom;it is about 25years old,a cherished memento forcefully gifted by another girlfriend I had many years ago.

Everyone who stays the night in my bachelor pad can access a couple of decent towels that I keep in there, but im not interested in any towel
other than this ancient once-green one.

My partner points out that it is too old, likely even to harbour something dangerous.

After tolerating that towel for this long,She just had to make an executive decision to dispose
of it.

But she’s not through with me yet.

She only gave me enough time to mourn my old friend before she finally carried out a spring cleaning of my closet, since I never come round to doing it myself.

If our partners do not make such decisions, some of us would walk around looking as if we just escaped from a cat-training camp with torn,but cherished garments.

Hoarding is a term nobody mentions to new brides until they wed
that man and start sharing a bed, bathroom, and home.

Suddenly, they notice the handsome pair of shoes he has got on the shoe rack, but never touches.

Instead, he wears a tired pair that would qualify for a place in the national museum.

And that tattered vest, clinging to his chest by the sheer might of three determined threads.

Or that belt that looks as if it came off a dinosaur’s hide.

A friend told me about this jungle jacket that her father wears for every occasion.

During a trip abroad, she got him a trench coat, a woollen jersey,
a winter coat for the bitterly cold months, and a couple of decent suits.
He has never worn them — they
hang neatly in his closet.

Her frustrated mother left it to the children to convince their father that the jungle look was long out of vogue, but like me, their father has
no intention of letting go of his old friend.

Back in high school, we thought our physics teacher had only one orange shirt.

Then one day at the teachers’ quarters, we counted over 15 replica orange shirts hang out to dry.

I wonder, is it a man thing?

Men can wear the same hair style for life, but who said they have to do the
same with clothes?

I almost always look
traumatised when i open my drawer to find new underwear in place of my old pairs.

Which I would say is so thoughtful of my partner to gift me with new ones,but where the hell has she taken the old ones? I feel naked wearing a crisp fresh and new pair of undies!

At a bridal shower, one single girl described her potential husband: “He should be financially stable,
have a nice house, and dress well and stylishly…”

“You are describing an already married man, honey,who has a strong willed wife to throw away his old tatters that he loves so much!” said
the moderator.

Maybe there should be another saying that behind every neat man is a ‘headstrong woman’.

Some things I can change, but there is no way I intend to be seen in public with new clothes as if I’ve just been released from a long jail term.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts©

A Child Of the Slums

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My bedroom was an outcrop structure in the kitchen store at a Catholic Parish that was my home for very many years during my memorable and deprived childhood.

I can cut through all the years that have now passed and still see those days like it was only yesterday.

I used to retire into my room early on Saturday nights and pretend to sleep in early after the days hardwork,doing Laundry Work for Joseph,the ‘Blackie’.

I waited until it was all quiet and the old priests were sleeping,then raised my window softly,climb out my room and walk very softly on back lawns of the parish and into the narrow streets of Kawangware slums in the West of Nairobi.

I never used to have much fun in life,but I had several distractions that I could choose from to alleviate my loneliness and boredom.

There were no lights burning in the narrow streets after 9 o’clock during the night except security lights near the Native hooch dens.

On starlight nights,I used to pace up and down those long and haphazard laid cold streets,scowling at the little sleeping cardboard houses on either side of the street.

They were flimsy shelters,some of them made of green raw poles and mud.

Yet for all their frailness,how much envy,and jealousy and unhappiness some of them managed to contain!

The life that went on in them seemed to me made up of evasions and negations,total loss of human dignity and privacy in face of abject poverty.

This guarded mode of existence was like living under some invisible tyranny.

People’s speech,their voices,their side glances were furtive and repressed.

Every individual taste,appetite,ambition was bridled by caution.

The people inside those houses,I thought,tried to live like the mice in their kitchens;to make no noise,to leave no trace,to just slip over the surface of the earth in the dark.

The growing piles of stinking garbage,ash and cinder in open-kitchen backyards were the only evidence that some trace of life could be found inside the dark slums at night.

The Laundry Man,the ‘Blackie’, was a kind and wide old fellow who paid us well for helping him out in the Laundry.

He had no children of his own.

His only daughter died aged seventeen of late-life measles.

He told me once during an unguarded moment,which were not many in his life,that his own daughter doed just as she was getting old enough to help him out in his Laundry business.

On summer afternoons,he used to sit for hours on the sidewalk in front of his laundry,his old newspaper lying on his knee,watching boys and girls through the big open window as we. Ironed and tried to serenade girls with hummed tunes from lovesongs that usually played on the radio.

The clouds of white and red dust,the gusts of hot tropical wind that withered his vegetable garden in his backyard,never seemed to disturb his calm.

His very facial expression and countenance amidst all these chaos,seemed to say that he had found the secret to contentment.

Morning and evening,he rode out in his bicycle,distributing the clean and ironed clothes,and collecting baskets of linen that cried out for washing and drying in his sun-drying lines at his backyard.

The girls from that laundry were hot during dances;the smelled of lavender ironed clothes and soap fragrances rare in our part of slums.

It is them,Dara,Christine and dimpled Chelsie that I usually visited on my Saturday night strolls in their rented one room dungeon.

Wherever you are,you three girls of my youth,remember that I still hold you so dearly in my heart.

So many years of fighting the weather,and not being together have not weathered the cherished memories I still have for you!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts©

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts©

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts©

Bob Marley-A personal tribute to my HERO

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Sunday,May 11th,2014 will be my hero’s day.

The true essence of my life has always revolved around music and its beauty.

We don’t always know why destiny brings us to the paths we take, or the people it propels into our lives.

I never formally met Bob Marley.

But from the fateful moment of my first musical encounter,I knew Bob was, and is, an integral part of my life and my identity as an African.

Yes, that’s right. Bob spoke to me…literally through his music.

For that, I consider myself one of the privileged few to have lived during his time on earth.

I loved his music.

I still do.

I loved his image.

I loved what he stood for.

As a child growing up in the 70s Africa(and Kenya borders Ethiopia,considered to the cradle of Rastafari Movement), Bob was, and still is, a legend.

He is, and will forever be, the king.

Aside from his music, it was his love for football that always kept bringing me into proximity of his presence as I played a ball made from rags with my fellow boys.

My pre-match nerves and butterflies
approached heart attack proportion after listening to his music in my transistor radio.

All the boys in my village tried to emulate him both in his musical prowess and his love for football.

Well, at least I tried.

But you have to understand.

This was Bob,a living legend.

And in our very own minds, we were in the presence of a living legend.

Who could perform under such immense pressure?!

In those days, my young life seemed to revolve around his next concert or the release of his next album or “Forty-five” (yes, I bought vinyl records in those days, not CDs or mp3 downloads).

And I bought them all; Burning, Catch a Fire, Natty Dread, Rastaman Vibration, among other iconic works of the lyrical genius, often sacrificing lunch money to obtain them.

His words and music were life and
sustenance.

My gurdian-priest- father could not understand why I was always so hungry after school in spite of giving me lunch money.

I remember that staggering moment on TV when Bob
called Jamaican political leaders, Michael Manley and Eddie Seaga on stage and issued the proclamation
of what has become Jamaican anthem of unity…One love, one heart, let’s get together and
feel alright…I remember the atmosphere, the vibes and this magical moment that I shared with my friends and twenty thousand Jamaicans far away from my continent in the stadium that unforgettable evening.

Surely now
Jamaica,the home of my musical icon, would rise above its pain and shortcomings and fulfil its potential after such an amazing display.

He did the same thing in Zimbabwe during its independence inauguration in 1980.

Yes, Bob was king.

And as king he was commanding his subjects, Michael and Eddie
counted among them, to unite for a cause.

As an enthusiastic 15-year-old, I didn’t quite fully appreciate the real significance of this great moments,but they inspired magic.

I was truly inspired.

And I mentally followed him everywhere I could to soak up the music and musings of this great man; his mystical performance at the first ever Sunsplash in Montego Bay; his release of the Survival album at the
National Arena in honour of the International Year of the Rasta Child (Peter Tosh unveiled his famous
‘M16′ guitar there too); and an awesome time at the National Stadium with Stevie Wonder.

But I especially remember Bob’s highly charged and miraculous performance at National Heroes Park just a few nights after the assassination attempt on his
life.

How dare these people try to take our Reggea king from us?

Despite the obvious dangers and extremely
hostile political environment, Bob
could never be stopped by a mere bullet.

I remember when he sang, arm bandaged from the gunshot wound… “Woman hold her head and cry as
her son had been shot down in the street and
died…” and the special meaning so soon after his brush with death.

Here was an exceptional man who
despite it all and the natural fear for his own life, would not be denied the place in history he was destined for.

Here indeed was a hero.

Not that my guardian approved of me going crazy about Bob and his Music.

My guardian-father once gave me his clearest thoughts on the topic when he unceremoniously ripped a poster of Bob (which had come pre-
packaged in the Kaya album) from my bedroom wall and ordered that never again should a picture of this
‘dutty’ Rastaman appear in his house.

You see, parents in those days feared one thing, that their sons would ‘tun Rasta’, smoke ganja and become ‘wuthless’.

Bob’s immense influence and
popularity was terrifying to them.

I would spend hours at his Catholic Parish house copying Bob’s music to cassettes (thankfully technology
had moved on from just vinyl records).

I even remember getting some original Bob recordings,some that I don’t think have ever been published –or at least I’ve never seen them on any album.

How I wish I could find those tapes now!

Looking back and remembering how influential Bob was, I totally understand many parents’ fear of him.

But like the world over, they would eventually come around, and I even heard my Guardian-dad arguing with one of his friends a few years before he passed away, about how much of a prophet Bob was and how he
should be made a national hero.

My Guardian had by then become a Bob aficionado; My! How the world
turns!

But that was due in large part to Bob’s immense popularity globally.

He made us all proud to be
African everywhere in the world we went.

It didn’t matter whether you were in Sydney, Mumbai or Timbuktu.

Mention that you were Rastafaran and the only point of reference for further conversation…was
Bob.

I see the same craze when every other foreigner thinks every Kenyan is a track athlete!

In fact, at any T-shirt stand in any city in the world, there are only two images that you are guaranteed to find — Bob and Che (Guevara) — the
unmistakable global images of revolution and change.

Believe me, I’ve checked.

His popularity over 30 years after his death speaks volumes.

Drop a ‘Bob’ during a party and
even today’s youngsters who were born years well after his death break out singing word for word, ‘Get
up Stand Up’, or ‘Buffalo Soldier” as if they were the latest release from Lady gaga or Kanye west.

Internationally, Bob still
outsells any other Jamaican artiste and is loved globally even in death.

To westerners, he is Bob Marley — international reggae icon.

To us, he was, and is, simply…Bob.

I remember that devastating announcement and the hollow feeling it left in me.

It was May 11, 1981 and I was right back to school after Easter Holidays.

The radio announcer interrupted the music to tell me that the
King was dead. That was over the famous lunchtime music in KBC radio that I really loved listening to.

Knowing what he had meant to me,
my friends huddled together and offered condolences as if he was my relative. I couldn’t face to watch his funeral at the National Arena on TV.

I wanted to remember him as I knew
him…smiling, playing ball, smoking a ‘spliff’ and sitting on the grass after a game of football; chanting down Babylon one more time on a stage.

I was going off for my A-Level the following year and I took with
me his music and his message.

And of course, since
I was moving out of my guardian’s house and could do what I wanted in my own dorm room, I also took his
poster.

Yes, Bob and I have come a long way together… I’m almost 50 years now.

I never formally met him.

But he spoke to me.

And his voice still reverberates through my being, my life, my identity…as an African.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Demystifying Meditation

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I am far from an all organic-cotton-wearing, vegan zen master.

My days,just like yours, are filled with stress (work-imposed and self-imposed) and a general feeling that I haven’t stopped running—in pursuit of things I hold dear in my life—from
one thing to the next.

And, like most, I am in a
serious monogamous relationship with my BlackBerry Smartphone.

If you met me just now, you probably wouldn’t guess that about Six years ago I started practising mindful
Buddhist meditation.

Since that time, I’ve meditated almost every single day without fail—and have noticed a huge difference in my general well-being.

My practice has completely changed my relationship with…myself, my friends and family, and my
Home,which is my sanctuary of peace from chaos that beset the outside world.

I knew that meditation was doing good things for stress levels, my overall mood, and efforts
to quieten that voice that runs incessant negative
commentary of what people (including myself) are
Doing with their lives.

But it wasn’t until more than one person said I was “glowing” that I realised meditation also
had some pretty amazing physical benefits.

My furrowed brow has relaxed, and the anxiety that once kept me up late and gave me dark circles under my eyes has
diminished.

I’m here to tell you that ‘The. Mental Glow’ is also possible—without retinol or a raw-food diet.

Allow me to clear up some of the misconceptions I’m constantly hearing about meditation…
»You need tons of extra time. Not so, it only takes 20 minutes or less a day. That’s shorter than an episode
of your favourite TV show.

There are people who say even just a few minutes will do,but when you have lived as long as I have,20 minutes suffice to audit the important things in your life on daily basis.

»No, seriously, I don’t have 20 minutes. You can meditate during your commute. If you take the train,
bus, or car pool, just pop your earbuds in, cue some mediation music (search it on iTunes and choose your favorite), and close your eyes.

»You have to give up all of your favourite vices. You don’t have to give up any part of your life once you
start mediating. You can still come home and have your glass of wine or beer before settling into lotus pose.
Might make it easier at first,but don’t make it a habit. The rewards of meditation are far more superior to any vintage wine or world class beer!

»It’ll turn me into a grumpy recluse. You don’t have to start wearing hemp fibres or going to yoga if you
don’t want to.

»I can never clear my mind enough to meditate. It’s totally normal—and expected—to have thoughts
come up. This is actually good! It means you’re working through something that’s on your mind.

»Still, “I meditate” sounds really…try hard. If you think it makes you sound kinky to say that you meditate, you simply don’t have to tell anyone.

»I tried it a couple of times and didn’t feel anything. Every meditation is a good meditation, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You probably won’t see or feel instant results—this isn’t a haircut.
You’re getting your mind in shape, so the first few times, it might
feel like a struggle. Slowly but surely it will become easier to focus and relax. You are essentially rewiring
and rebooting your brain, so it will take a little time and
patience.

One of the fundamental points of the
spiritual journey is to persevere along the path.

»I don’t know any Tibetan monks. You don’t have to: there’s
an app for that. I use the app ‘Meditator’ to announce, via a pretty realistic gong sound, when
time is up. Guided meditations are a great way to start—this is basically when an instructor tells you
what to think about during your practice, either in person or via recording. They generally involve an
introduction and centering thought. Then your guide will help you visualize a beautiful place and will talk you through, with nice spa-like music playing in the
background. Guided sessions are also a good way to mix up your meditation practice from time to time.

I’m partial to Deepak Chopra and Dalai Lama’s themed, month-long guided meditations that they do every season—you can download them on Youtube.

Personally I use a mantra, a repeated phrase that helps you focus on your breath. (“Ohm” is considered
the universal mantra.) But if you don’t have a mantra, just concentrate on breathing. This is a very simple process: when you are breathing out, know that you are breathing out; when you breath in, know that you are breathing in. Be aware of this without supplying any extra commentary or internalized
mental gossip; just identify with the breath.

You don’t have to be an anxious person, a spiritual
person, a religious person, an addict, or a hippie, to meditate. I think of it like working out—it’s just
something you do to make yourself healthier,both in body and in mind.

If you give it a go and like it,let me know. If you get stuck,let me know how I can help!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

A blog post a day. The daily Rituals of a Minimalist

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When I became a minimalist,I had to do away with most things that were distractions in my life.

The first to go was the TV set. The news made me sick. I knew it . But I was doing nothing about it,until I changed into a minimalist.

The second was social media. I unfollowed all my twitter followers. There is no news feed timeline on my Twitter account. I only use it to share my private business news or my blog posts.

I converted my Facebook profile into a business page. I unfriended all my friends in Facebook. It too,has no newsfeeds.

Then came the shock of emptiness!

What do I do now that I’m no longer checking on facebook updates or twitter?

It has been an interesting personal journey.

Friends rarely call me nowadays-they still can’t get over the fact that I unfriended them on Facebook or Twitter.

Ok. They do call sometimes,but their calls have a definite pattern. Whenever I receive a call nowadays,it is usually about asking me for some monetary help,probably after calling all their other buddies in vain.

As a minimalist,I’m not willing to fund their consumptive orgy that I took measures to ran away from. So,often,unless for very needy cases,they get nought! Which infuriates them into not calling again for a long time!

Any way,back to my daily rituals.

I run my private business from my home office. Sometimes I travel to do field work on site. But mostly,it’s just me and my laptop in this wide world.

The work keeps me going most of the time,but as with any other routine work, it becomes monotonous.

This is where I use my daily rituals to break the monotony.

I have developed the following rituals unwittingly through my buddhist meditation;

1. Being grateful.

I start my day by giving thanks to where I am now,for all the wonderful things that have happened that transported me to this beautiful time and place called the present. I start my day by having quality time with my maker every morning with thankfulness,not whining.

2. Marking time.
Before I fully connect with my starting day,I let my mind idle a bit to prime it for the day ahead.

I make myself a big pot of herbal tea(Lemon grass and chamomille are my favourite), sit down in my
favourite spot, and snuggle up with my thieving cat,Jaffa(he stole two of my sausages last evening!) at the bottom end of my legs. I just
give myself time to greet the day, to breathe in the crisp fresh air, and to feel.

$.I draft one inspiring blogpost for my Random thoughts journal. I don’t publish it immediately but schedule it for publishing during the course of the day. This is my most important ritual for every morning in my days. It helps me reboot my mind for fresh things over the rest of the day!

3. I Connect with my vision.

Before changing into a minimalist, thinking about the future meant thinking about all the things I do not yet have or do.

Connecting with my vision is different.

It means envisioning a world much bigger than myself. My vision guides what I do today. If today is
a step, my vision is the direction in which I take that step,a part of a whole that is now embedded in my soul.

4.I Choose a theme for the day.

The kind of music I play and listen to in my morning hours brings into light the theme I choose for the day.

Each day, I choose a theme that feels right.

It reflects how I want to feel and what I want to accomplish.

It can be anything, long or short,
specific or general. “Today is all about…cheerfulness,gratitude,love,contemplation”..anything.

5. I set my three priorities.

Focussed Meditation Research shows that you can only do three to five meaningful things per day.

I feel comfortable picking three and leaving enough space for the day’s magic to happen.

6. Assign celebrations.

Since I tend to gloss over my accomplishments after five happy minutes and move on to the next
thing to do, I now assign a celebration to each of my three priorities.

A celebration can be anything
I love, big or small. It can be a walk in nature, a drink with a friend, a physical workout, or reading a
chapter in an inspiring book.

I hope this ritual inspires my fellow minimalists. If you try it out and
like it, I’d love to hear how it goes!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Let peace be your referee

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A referee calls the players to safety in any game.

It is obligatory for referee to ensure that all games under his watch are played safe!

As humans, we have an
internal referee, so to speak, calling
the plays and giving us direction.

Before you ever make a hard decision on life, you should stop for a minute and see if you have peace inside your soul.

If there’s unrest or an uneasy
feeling inside, then don’t move
forward. The game is not safe!

Let peace be your referee.

How many people get into a
relationship that they didn’t have
peace about and end up miserable?

They buy things they didn’t have
peace about buying.

They end up in debt.

They take a job they didn’t have
peace about.

They end up frustrated.

Here’s the key: If you don’t have that inner peace before you make the decision,you’re not going to have peace after you make the decision.

If you don’t have peace about that person who is your current romantic interest now,you’re not going to have peace if you get into relationship.

If you don’t have peace about buying that new car,you’re not going to have peace when the payments come each month.

Remember, Nature gave us that internal peace for our protection. It is a beacon that calls us to safety.

No matter what circumstances look like, always trust that inner peace.

Let peace in your heart be your referee and settle any
questions you have in your mind.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

The Klaxon in my bedroom

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East, west, home is best.

That is always what we say
when we miss home.

In my profession that entails a lot of field trips, it has become more of a habit to miss home. It works like the clock.

On a seven day tour of duty, the fifth day is when the longing begins.

On a 15-day tour, the tenth day is
when the tiredness kicks in and I begin dreaming of home, a strong cup of coffee and some home noise,like playing my best of Country Music collection.

Talking about home noise, I once finished my tour and headed straight home for the usual cold welcome from my furniture.

I did expect the home noise but that is not what I got.

I got more than that.

Once I had settled down to dinner, the home noise subsided and the
place was quiet save for the murmuring of the refrigerator motor.
That was what I was waiting for so
that I could relax on the bed and do a mental post-tour notes.

But as soon as I got to bed, another type of noise started.

It was a very loud noise and with a very high pitch.

The highest I could imagine.

It reminded me of the time I used to do camping tours,pitching my tent on client farms.

This type of camping that is very basic.

Just a tent erected on a flat surface in the middle of nowhere.

That was when I could not sleep because of the high-pitched sounds
coming from the bush.

The sounds were the same as
what I was hearing at home, but in the bush, they were coming from several sources and the pitch was
different.

They formed a sort of a long musical chorus that made the noise bearable.

But what I was listening to, here at home, so far away from the bush, was one high pitch that was
threatening to tear off my eardrum.

I woke up and closed all the window of the bedroom.

That made the sound even louder.

Which meant the source of the
maddening song, was inside the bedroom.

I decided to find the noise maker and throw it out of my only sanctuary.

I needed a quiet night and I did not expect such noises anywhere near Nairobi, let alone my house, and
indeed, my bedroom!

But as soon as I switched the lights on, the noise suddenly stopped.

Now, that was annoying.

I did not know where to begin looking.

There were several places where the noise maker could hide.

Either it was in the closet, or in the
bathroom, or within the bedroom area.

I took a torch and searched under the bed.

There was nothing.

I could not even attempt to look at the closet.

It was so full of stuff that it would take me a day to ransack the
whole place.

So I went to the bathroom, looked under the sink and the entire bathtub.

There was nothing.

I gave up and jumped back on the bed.

I put off the lights and heaved a sigh of relief and let my mind wonder
off to the bush.

The noise maker read my mind and
came back with his monotone of a song in its loudest!

I was a tired man.

Such a man is easily provoked.

I wanted to shout as loud as the noise maker, to see whether it would feel disturbed and stop the game.

But I was in my house and etiquette demands otherwise,or my neighbours would feel obliged to haul me to the nearest asylum for my own safety.

I resolved to trail the noisemaker in the darkness by following the direction of the sound.

I started tiptoeing around the bedroom with a keen
ear.

Whichever corner of the room I went to, the noise seemed to come from the opposite side.

I was so full of anger that when I passed close to the bathroom
mirror, I thought I saw sweat and an ugly sneering look on my face.

I was cursing silently because the noise had evolved into a surround sound.

It was coming from all over the
room.

I gave up the second time, went to bed and put on the lights.

Like magic, the noise died.

I could sleep without the noise from the stranger, but I could not
sleep with the lights on.

The best option was to get back to the living room and watch a movie until late,when the noise would no longer bother me if it would
still be there.

I picked up my shoes, and, right inside one of the shoe, was my enemy noise maker!

A cricket!

How does such a small insect make so much noise?

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Life beyond hope. A charted destiny

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Few people care to study logic, because everybody conceives himself to be proficient enough in the art of reasoning already.

But I observe that this satisfaction is limited to one’s own rationalisation, and does not extend to that of other men.

We come to the full possession of our power of drawing inferences, the last of all our faculties-Logic.

Where hope is unchecked by any experience, it is likely that our optimism is extravagant.

Logicality in regard to practical matters (if this be understood,
not in the old sense, but as consisting in a wise union of security with fruitfulness of reasoning,a.k.a pragmatism) is the most useful quality an animal can possess, and
might, therefore, result from the action of natural selection; but outside of these it is probably of more advantage to the animal to have his mind filled with pleasing and encouraging visions, independently of their truth; and thus, upon unpractical subjects,
natural selection might occasion a fallacious tendency of thought.

I’m sure you remember the story of Pandora.

She was given a tightly sealed box and was told never to open it.

But, being curious, she did, and out flew plagues, sorrow, and mischief, probably not in that order.

Too late she clamped down the lid.

Only one thing remained in
the box: hope.

Hope, the story goes, was the only good the casket held among many evils, and it remains to this day mankind’s sole comfort in
misfortune.

No mention here of action being a
comfort in misfortune, or of actually doing something to alleviate or eliminate one’s misfortune.

The more I understand hope, the more I realize that all along it deserved to be in the box with the
plagues, sorrow, and mischief; that it serves the needs of those in power as surely as belief in a distant nirvana; that hope is really nothing more than a secular way of keeping us in line.

A clear idea is defined as one which is so apprehended that it will be recognized wherever it is
met with, and so that no other will be mistaken for it.

If it fails of this clearness, it is said to be obscure.

Hope is obscure.

Hope,irrational hope, is, in fact, a curse, a bane.

I say this not only because of the lovely Buddhist saying “Hope and fear chase each other’s tails,” not only because hope leads us away from the present, away from who and
where we are right now and toward some imaginary future state.

I say this because of what hope is.

More or less all of us talk on more or less endlessly about hope.

You wouldn’t believe—or maybe you would—how many magazine editors have asked me to write about the dangers of irrational hope, then
enjoined me to leave readers with at least a sense of hope.

But what, precisely, is hope?

At a talk I gave in a life-coach session, someone asked me to define it.

I turned the question back on the audience, and here’s the definition we all came up with: hope is a longing for a future condition over which you have no influence; it
means you are essentially powerless.

I’m not, for example, going to say I hope I eat something tomorrow.

I just will.

I don’t hope I take another breath right now, nor that I finish writing this
sentence.

I just do them.

On the other hand, I do hope that the next time I get on a plane, it doesn’t
crash.

To hope for some result means you have given up any influence concerning it.

Many people say they
hope the dominant culture stops destroying the world.

By saying that, they’ve assumed that the destruction will continue, at least in the short term, and they’ve stepped away from their own ability to participate in stopping it.

I do not hope that African Rhino or Elephant will survive.

I will do whatever it takes to make sure the dominant culture doesn’t
drive them extinct.

If elephants and rhinos want to leave us because they don’t like how they’re being treated—and who
could blame them?—I will say goodbye, and I will miss them, but if they do not want to leave, I will not
allow civilization to kill them off.

When we realize the degree of influence we actually do
have over most situations, we no longer have to “hope” at all.

We simply do the work.

We make sure elephants survive.

We make sure prairie dogs survive.

We make sure grizzlies survive.

We do whatever it takes.

When we stop hoping for external assistance, when we stop hoping that the awful situation we’re in will
somehow resolve itself, when we stop hoping the situation will somehow not get worse, then we are
finally free—truly free—to honestly start working to resolve it.

I would say that when hope dies, action begins.

PEOPLE SOMETIMES ASK ME, “If things are so bad, why don’t you just kill yourself?”

The answer is that life is really, really good for me.

I am a complex enough being that I can hold in my heart the understanding that we are really, really messed, and at the same
time that life is really, really good.

I am full of rage, sorrow, joy, love, hate, despair, happiness, satisfaction, dissatisfaction, and a thousand other feelings.

We are really messed up.

But Life is still really good.

Many people are afraid to feel despair.

They fear that if they allow themselves to perceive how desperate our situation really is, they must then be perpetually
miserable.

They forget that it is possible to feel many things at once.

They also forget that despair is an
entirely appropriate response to a desperate situation.

Many people probably also fear that if they allow themselves to perceive how desperate things are, they may be forced to do something about it.

Another question people sometimes ask me is, “If things are so bad, why don’t you just party?”

Well, the first answer is that I don’t really like to party.

The second is that I’m already having a great deal of fun.

I love my life.

I love life.

This is true for most minimalists
I know.

We are doing what we love, fighting for what (and whom) we love.

I have no patience for those who use our desperate situation as an excuse for inaction.

I’ve learned that if you deprive most of these people of that particular
excuse they just find another, then another, then another.

The use of this excuse to justify inaction—the use of any excuse to justify inaction—reveals
nothing more nor less than an incapacity to love.

At one of my recent talks someone stood up during the Q and A and announced that the only reason
people ever become minimalists is to feel better about themselves.

Effectiveness really doesn’t matter, he said, and it’s egotistical to think it does.

I told him I disagreed.

Doesn’t minimalism make you feel good? he asked.

Of course, I said, but that’s not why I do it.

If I only want to feel good, I can just get drunk.

But I want to accomplish something in the real world.

Why?

Because I’m in love. With nature, with trees outside
my window, with baby squirrels living in sandy tree-stump bottoms, with slender scorpions crawling
through to my shoe.

And if you love, you act to defend
your beloved.

Of course results matter to you, but
they don’t determine whether or not you make the effort.

You don’t simply hope your beloved survives and thrives.

You do what it takes.

If my love doesn’t cause me to protect those I love, it’s not love.

A WONDERFUL THING happens when you give up on irrational hope, which is that you realize you never needed it in the first place.

You realize that giving up on hope
didn’t kill you.

It didn’t even make you less effective.

In fact it made you more effective, because you ceased relying on someone or something else to
solve your problems—you ceased hoping your problems would somehow get solved through the
magical assistance of Nature, or
even the Earth itself—and you just began doing whatever it takes to solve those problems yourself.

When you give up on hope, something even better happens than it not killing you, which is that in some sense it does kill you.

You die.

And there’s a wonderful thing about being dead, which is that they
—those who torment you—cannot really touch you anymore.

Not through promises, not through threats, not through violence itself.

Once you’re dead in this way,
you can still sing, you can still dance, you can still make love, you can still fight like hell—you can still
live because you are still alive, more alive in fact than ever before.

You come to realize that when hope died, the you who died with the hope was not you, but was the you who depended on those who exploit you, the you who believed that those who exploit you will somehow stop on their own, the you who believed in
the mythologies propagated by those who exploit you in order to facilitate that exploitation.

The socially constructed you died.

The civilized you died.

The manufactured,fabricated,
stamped, molded you died.

The victim died.

And who is left when that you dies?

You are left.

Biological you.

Naked you.

Vulnerable (and invulnerable) you.

Mortal you.

Survivor you.

The you who thinks not what the culture taught you to think
but what you think.

The you who feels not what the
culture taught you to feel but what you feel.

The you who is not who the culture taught you to be but who
you are.

The you who can say yes, the you who can say no.

The you who is a part of the land where you live.

The you who will fight (or not) to defend your family.

The you who will fight (or not) to defend those you love.

The you who will fight (or not) to defend the land upon which your life and the lives of those you
love depends.

The you whose morality is not based
on what you have been taught by the culture that is killing the planet, killing you, but on your own animal
feelings of love and connection to your family, your friends, your landbase—not to your family as self-
identified civilized beings but as animals who require a landbase, animals who are being killed by
chemicals, animals who have been formed and deformed to fit the needs of the culture.

When you give up on hope—when you are dead in this way, and by so being are really alive—you make yourself no longer vulnerable to the cooption of rationality and fear that Nazis inflicted on Jews and others, that abusers like my father inflict on their
victims, that the dominant culture inflicts on all of us.

Or is it rather the case that these exploiters frame physical, social, and emotional circumstances such
that victims perceive themselves as having no choice but to inflict this cooption on themselves?

But when you give up on hope, this exploiter/victim relationship is broken.

You become like the Jews who
participated in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising.

When you give up on hope, you turn away from fear.

And when you quit relying on hope, and instead begin to protect the people, things, and places you
love, you become very dangerous indeed to those who formally held you in power.

In case you’re wondering, that’s a very good thing.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

There is NO GLORY in glorifying your problems

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Every successful person is unique.

How could it be otherwise?

But invariably, one of the things they
have in common is this: They don’t whine.

I noticed early on, that the most successful people rarely (or never) talked about the difficulties that
they have had to overcome.

For the longest time, I thought it was modesty, but eventually I realized they didn’t talk about it because
they didn’t think there was anything to talk about.

They had a problem or series of them.

They took their problems as a given thing in life and worked hard to play the best hand they could with the cards they were dealt.

If the problem was caused by something they had done, they took great pains not to do it again.

But if it was just a matter of fate, they accepted it and started working on a way to overcome it.

Digging deeper, there is a school of thought that says strong men–
and other successful people–achieve their strength and general success in life because of their problems.

They find a way to overcome the obstacles in such a way that it leads to
new opportunities, opportunities they would not have had except for the obstacles.

I think that is too confusing to average people.

Sure, it happens sometimes but I think to say the obstacle caused the success is far from always the
case.

I am not willing to go that far, although I know there are series of motivational speakers out there who would tell me I am wrong.

No matter what your position is on this, we can all agree that successful people don’t let the obstacle remain
an obstacle for long.

They face it head-on and work to
overcome it.

My take here is where I come out on this.

A friend,who is also my Buddhist meditation teacher, told me about the following is Buddhist wisdom. I don’t know if he is right, but I know the thought is:
“In life, pain is mandatory. Suffering is optional. It is a personal choice”

Or, on a lighter note, as the football coach Lou Holtz once said: “Never tell people your problems. Ninety
per cent of them don’t care, and the other ten percent are glad you have them.”

Either way, don’t whine.
Just get on with your life.
Just get the job done.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Keep peace. Avoid unnecessary drama in your life

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While it might seem logical that when you either have an argument with a friend or end a friendship all together you’d show kindness in the way you
speak about your pal, in reality it doesn’t always work that way.

One person may be angry (or just not
understand the benefits in moving on with forgiveness), and as a result will “go for the jugular” in how they talk about the other friend.

Why Do People Verbally Attack?

Part of why people behave this way is because they can’t get beyond their own anger and hurt, and do not think ahead to see that talking badly about
someone else will only make them look bad in the long run and damage their relationship permanently.

People that do this have perhaps not mastered their emotions, and this is their way of having a “temper
tantrum” as an adult.

They might not throw themselves on the ground like children do, but they
behave poorly without regard for the other person.

What’s more, they think they are justified in saying negative things (that are true, partially true and
twisted, or complete lies) because someone hurt them.

What Does Failure to Take the High Road Look Like?

The high road is the response to how someone else is treating you.

Part of the challenge in taking the high road is that you might not want to attack another person but instead defend yourself against lies or
hurtful words.

Your natural instinct if someone is
lying would be to try and correct the facts.

The trouble is, the very act of you responding can pull you into an argument where you and the other
person go back and forth.

Your friend will purposely say things they know get to the heart of your
character or what you value the most.

How Do You Take the High Road?

It’s better to ignore people who either make your argument public (a bad friend tactic if ever there was
one) or purposely say mean things about you.

Responding very often means saying the very same nasty things in an effort to correct them or get them
to leave you alone.

Sometimes, a seemingly innocent response such as,”I didn’t do that” can prompt more taunting or verbal
bullying.

People who attack in this manner rarely keep things private, either.

They need to “get people on their side” by explaining the argument to mutual friends, telling others that you’ve ignored their calls or unfriended them, or even making up events that happened between the two of you.

It’s hard not to respond in these cases.

Benefits of Taking the High Road

You might think that you should explain your side of things or even defend yourself against people who
are attacking you, but use caution.

Taking the high road often has more benefits than in getting others
to see things from your perspective.

How to Take the High Road

If someone is trying to goad you into responding to their negativity, you can respond and still take the
high road, but be very cautious about what you say and how you say it.

As an alternative, you can choose
to move on without explanation.

If someone has gone to others and talked about an argument you’ve had, this is bad form and probably the end of your friendship anyways, so why respond?

People who attack you will probably do the same thing to someone else, and eventually others will see
exactly what kind of friend they really are.

In the meantime, if you take the high road you can be certain that your reputation as a friend will fare much
better in the end than if you had responded.

The Do’s and Don’t’s

Take some time before responding to make sure you are in a calm place of mind.

Don’t use curse words or name calling.

Stick to the facts only.

Be cognizant of the things you’re saying and how it could make your friend look bad. In short, don’t
“attack back” with your words, but respond only to the things you wish to clarify. For example, “No, I
certainly did not cheat on my wife, nor would I ever do that. John is lying about that, and the way this
disagreement has been made public makes me very sad.” Then leave it at that.

Be mindful of what you want out of the relationship.

Do you still want to be friends at some point? It will be very difficult to do that if you choose to respond.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Beauty like no other!

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Without rival you are the most beautiful exotic, erotic, seductive,and captivating girl to ever grace this earth.

Your dimpled smile makes the desert sands at noon melt,the sparkle of your eyes when you look upon me,pales diamonds in the sun.

Your heart, with its love makes the very dust that you trample on into my feast,your soul to which I am bonded rivals the marvel of the stars.

The compassion you posses would give the forsaken of this world hope,
your voice, with its intricate and sexy undertones could make the dumb sing.

Your body, supple and sublime
would bring the Kings of Nations to their knees,
your face, with its features enchanting would make the princesses hide theirs in shame.

Yet despite having all these attributes to
still the entire earth from spinning,
it was my world you chose to stop, and hop into;
and for that and so much more
I will forever love you,and be yours alone!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Get out of my dreams,Jump into my car!

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******
You are all of my beautiful dreams,
put together, and rolled into one.
*****
You’re the moon and stars in my sky,
and the light of my morning sun.
*****
You’re my first thought in the morning,
and my very last thought each night.
*****
Dreams of you hold me through my day;
bring comfort to me, until morning light.
*****
You have brought me a world of love,
which fills every emotion within me.
*****
A world I always knew could exist,
but not one, I ever thought I would see.
*****
A beautiful world that can only be seen,
through the hearts of two joined as one.
@@@@

Dimpled

Dimpled

@@@@
One that paints all of the colours of love,
more deeply within, as each day is done.
*****
A portrait of love, captured by my heart,
and reflected so deeply into my soul.
*****
Embracing me within beautiful dreams,
from love so precious, it makes me whole
$$$$$

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

My Greatest Love Affair. Meditation

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I’ve had some great love affairs in my life,some even left me breathless.

But there was always that nagging sense at the back of my mind that always said;this state of bliss is dependent on one more person in your life-she can take it away whenever she likes.

And this premonition has almost always come to pass through separation,either by break-ups,divorce and worst of all,sometimes by the death of a loved one.

But not so with this love affair with oneself through meditation;

Meditation is like a love affair with your innermost self.

It is a lifelong love affair without breaks so long as you live.

We always live longest with our own selfs.

Family members die. Lovers separate . Friends leave.

But we are always there for our selfs.

That’s why our greatest love affair can only start with our selfs.

And this starts with meditating and reconciling our selfs to ourselves(notice the difference!)

At times it can be ecstatic and
entrancing, other times simple and still–and sometimes you might not even feel its profound effects until later.

It is a personal experience that helps us to embrace the fullness of our life.

Connecting to your ever-present Inner Beloved self helps let go of conditioned ideas about yourself and
make space for the True Self to come forth and create bliss and love for life.

Ripening this practice beyond technique into the “sweet mysterious expanse of spontaneous meditation” enriches and deepens the overall life experience.

Remember what you seek in meditation is your own Beloved, your own inner intelligence, your
own Awareness, and your own Truth that paves way for inner peace.

Meditation for the Love of It points us back to our own intimate heart of hearts, our own deepest
experience, and the bliss of our very own existence.

What allows us to relax into meditation, to make our effort without straining?

Essentially, it is trust.

First, we trust that the Self, the goal of meditation,is real and can be experienced.

Second, we trust that we are connected to a greater power, a power that supports our meditation and brings it to fruition.

In nearly every spiritual tradition, that power is called “grace” — the cosmic force that awakens the heart to its own vastness and love.

Grace is the energy that connects to the ultimate truth, to the source of our being, to what I like to call
“God’s field of bliss.”

Meditation sees all of life as an expression of divine energy — point out that grace is an ever-present force in the universe, more pervasive than gravity (and infinitely more subtle).

That means that we can access it anywhere and at any time —in nature, in the presence of someone we love—by tuning in to the presence that opens up in moments of stillness and in countless other ways.

Grace is inside us, after all, never distant.

Yet just as you need to tune the radio dial to catch the right station, or connect to a server to get online,
you also need to intentionally invoke the particular forms of grace that directly enliven meditation.

There are four basic forms of grace that we can tune in to in meditation:

One is the grace of Spirit itself, the formless, impersonal love – intelligence that flows as the
cosmos.

The second is the grace of our own self—our Awareness, but also our own body, mind, heart.

The third is the grace of God,the Universal Grace,the ultimate source of all grace.

The fourth — and, for me, always the most immediate and powerful — is the grace of an enlightened master,a great teacher and mentor, especially one connected to one of the great spiritual lineages,and in case as a Christian,my personal teacher is Our Lord and Saviour-Jesus Christ whom I profess as my spiritual teacher.

As you experiment with your practice, you can call in
All of these invocations of grace.

You might find yourself choosing to work with one in particular, or even
making all four of them a part of your routine.

Let me invite you briefly to this vast and blissful world of meditation;

Close your eyes, and focus for a moment on your breath.

If you like, you might remember a time when you felt truly open to a benign and loving presence, the presence of Spirit, of the power that
flows as this world.

You might have been in a
forest grove, on the ocean, looking at an open sky.

The connection might have happened during a moment of deep connected love with a partner or a friend or a
child.

Connect for a moment to the sense of that presence.

If you don’t feel it, don’t worry: the invocation will still have power.

Now speak or think these words silently in your mind, or create your own customised prayer:
I invoke the grace of the universe, the grace of God, the grace of Spirit, ever-present in this world.

With gratitude, I open myself to the benign grace that guides my meditation and fills me with peace, clarity, and love.

I always like to take a moment to ask my body, my mind, and my heart for their permission to enter meditation—and for their grace.

This only takes a moment, but can make a real difference,just like seeking consent to love someone else in an expressive and physical way,say hugging,touching or kissing.

It helps open the way for love leading to this great love affair.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Personal thoughts on peace of mind

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A soul at peace with itself is a soul that lives for a higher cause
* * *
The world can be peaceful, but a person can be torn up inside.
* * *
Everybody at some time or another has felt inner conflict.

This usually surfaces when a moral decision has to be made.

The greater the moral decision, the
greater the inner conflict.

The source of this battle is between the two opposing “human natures” of body and soul.

The body gravitates toward transitory comforts and sensual
pleasures.

It desires to quit, to dream, to drown in passions, to procrastinate.

The body says: Give me some food, warmth, a pillow.

Let me take it easy.

The soul, on the other hand, desires meaning, accomplishment, permanence, greatness, reality and
truth.

These two forces clash.

We want to be tough, but we feel like being marshmallows.

We want to be great,but we don’t feel like making the effort.

We want to be independent, but we feel like being seduced to just feed our ego.

And even when we’re not aware of it, this conflict is raging within us.

Peace only comes when we resolve
that inner strife.

Do you want greatness or do you
want to be average? Wake up!
* * *
“The righteous talk to their
bodily desires, while evil people let their desires talk to them.”

The question is: Who’s running the show?

Who will dictate what you’re going to do?

Narcsissts believe that we should surrender to the body and follow its whims.

But a lustful pleasure never lasts long, and usually leaves a bitter and shameful aftertaste.

Every time you give in to the body’s
desires—when you lose your temper, fail to stand up for your beliefs, or succumb to lust—the good feeling
lasts only a moment, and then you end up getting depressed and angry with yourself.

Self-respect—the only real peace—comes from siding with the soul.

So what is the goal?

To get to the body to desire what
the soul wants?

Because there’s no way to achieve
peace by giving in to the body.

Your soul will simply not give up.

Never.

But the body can go along with the soul.

Of course it “hurts” a little to walk away from an immediate pleasure.

But we can survive without it.
* * *
Getting your body to agree with the soul doesn’t mean you have to crush the body.

The body’s drive is a positive force to be harnessed.

The trick is to teach the body to supply the same energy and enthusiasm when pursuing meaningful cause, as it does when pursuing a candy bar.

The body is where the passion is, where the power is.

Get it to join your act.

Train your body to be in tune with your soul.

When you feel the body’s resistance, talk to it.

Cajole it.

Reassure it.

Imagine a jogger, out for the first time on a long run.

The body protests: “Don’t be a masochist… We’ll have a heart attack… We’ll never make it beyond this corner… Stop already!”

Only firm willpower can squelch the body’s resistance and get it to comply.

How?

By constantly reassuring it of the higher value of being in shape,
Slim and healthy.

“This is what you really want…
Imagine how much better you’ll feel… You’ll be
respected…You’ll live longer.”

Two months later, if you miss a day of jogging, the body says, “Hey, what’s going on? I missed the
pleasure of that workout!”

Figure out what you want and overrule the body.

Paint the prospects in glowing terms, until you reduce the body’s anxiety.

Keep drilling until the body’s resistance has worn down and becomes your soul’s willing partner.

Just like jogging, you can measure it: How much drilling will it take before the body goes along with my goal?

It may take awhile for the body to adjust—but it becomes increasingly
easier.

Use discipline. Drill, drill, drill.

Get your higher goals to “grab your guts,” and sink the body’s passion into the soul’s desire.

Be ready for that madness of the body fighting you and don’t let go.

Because if you let go, then the body
will run wild!

* * *

When you’re locked in a moral battle, and both choices seem equally tempting, how do you know which “voice” is talking?

If the result of a decision will be comfort and ease,then it’s probably your body talking.

Whereas if the result will be more kindness and patience, then that’s your soul.

The key is to focus your goals.

If you don’t understand what your soul really wants, then you’ll
be locked in a constant battle.

The soul wants to be good and to help people.

Beware of people who are into illusions of peace.

They may say, “I want to do the right thing,” but they may be too hysterical to sit down and discuss the
issues.

The body is afraid of losing it’s control.

People who are into the real stuff say, “Come, let us reason together.”

The soul is not afraid.

* * *

One of the best ways to get the body into spiritual meaning is to have a cause.

A person needs to focus their life around a cause that’s bigger than they are.

This way, the body will pull itself together on the side of the soul.

When we’re fighting for something we believe in, the “body-soul conflict” almost automatically comes to a halt.

We are willing to go to any lengths because the body’s voice is submerged in an overwhelming
cause.

That’s why, all over the world and throughout history, people have sacrificed their lives for higher causes.

Patriotism is one example of how this plays out.

War, as destructive as it is, creates a cause bigger than the individuals fighting.

It was reported following a recent war on terror in my country that boy children in their teens were asking their parents, “When are we going to have another war?”

The parents said, “What do you mean?

War is terrible!” The children said,

“When we went to war, our nation was united, there was no quarreling,
everyone was kind to one another. War was so nice!”{Kenya is fighting its first war since independence,fifty years ago,in Somalia against Al Shaabab terrorists}

That’s the irony.

When a nation is fighting for its
survival, there’s a sense of inner peace.

People don’t worry about pettiness like the neighbor’s new car, or
the cleaner who over-starched the shirts. Or tribal pettiness.

There is something more important.

We’ll listen carefully to any workable idea.

We’ll let anyone lead as long as
he’s capable.

We lift ourselves into the greatness of the cause.

Of course, there are far more constructive ways of achieving this same effect.

Like fixing the injustices in this world, for example.

Isn’t that the greatest “cause” of all?
Well, almost…

* * *

When people fight for a cause, what are they really looking for?

What is the ultimate desire of the soul?

Greatness… eternity… oneness with God.

God is One.

That’s the real cause everyone is aiming for.

Saving humanity is small compared to doing the will of the Eternal.

That’s the ultimate.

Jews have a way of getting in contact with this morning and night, by
reciting the Shema prayer:

“Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.”

They are focused on what the soul ultimately wants.

Saying the Shema is an effective tool they become focused, integrated and complete.

* * *

Once you’ve achieved some degree of inner peace,help others do the same.

The same way you went through the steps to recognize the inner conflict,
take others down the same road.

Look at your friend’s potential and arouse him to greatness.

Be ambitious for him.

Aim at making him big.

Imagine: “If I can get him in touch with his soul,how would that unleash his powers?

If he could be an integrated being, how high could he fly?

If he could be happier, how would that transform his relationships?

If he could be more disciplined, what
great things could he achieve?”

Of course, the next question is: How do you get someone else to be great?

Many people are so used to inner conflict that they’ve accepted it as status quo.

They accept mediocrity as a way of life, as if greatness is only for “great
people.

”People often don’t know what they really want from life. And if they don’t know what’s worth pursuing, they lose the motivation to try.

Teach people to have goals, and teach them to figure out what goals are worthwhile. Keep asking: “What
do you want?” Focus them: “Can you be truly happy if you’re striving to be mediocre? Can you be at peace if you’re not feeling fulfilled?”

If you inspire others, that will give you a more powerful dimension of wisdom and a higher cause in life.

Because by working objectively to help make others powerful, we master it for ourselves, too.

Besides, if you succeed in unleashing another’s potential, then you yourself have achieved greatness.

Because the best gift one person can give another is peace of mind. And you now share in every one of
their accomplishments.

* * *
Concisely,

-If someone doesn’t know what he’s living for, then he’s at war with himself.

- You cannot have peace while being mediocre.

- When we think big, we become big.

Look around the world and see how much you can accomplish.

- Greatness is achieved by leading with the soul, and harnessing the passionate power of the body.

- Real peace comes only when your body desires your soul’s success.

- If we succeed in making others great, we become great ourselves.

- The ultimate cause that the soul
yearns for is oneness with God.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

The Sexy Woman

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Every guy wants to be with a beautiful woman.

It’s a supreme quest.

These are the women who stride into
a room and everyone stares- including other women.

Especially other women.

These are women whose counter has a queue that winds around the block.

But then there is the sexy woman.

Only a man who has lived long enough to tell the difference between the two can pick out a sexy woman in a room.

The one who makes men run from the beautiful to her,leaving people who are not apt in this quality asking;what does he see in her after his beautiful woman?

She isn’t strikingly beautiful, but there is something unworldly about
her, something that makes the energy in a room gravitate towards her.

She isn’t the hottest thing in
the room, but she has something that a hot woman can’t buy, something that cosmetic surgery can’t fix; she is sexy.

The best part of being with this woman is meeting the woman, or when boy meets girl, if you are from that school of thought.

When you looks at her and feel your
stomach tighten.

When she is exquisite and staggeringly gorgeous in a non-beautiful way.

When she smells like sunset and her eyes tell a story.

When you never want to stop hearing her giggle.

When she floats your boat and mystery drapes itself all around her.

And mystery is good.

Mystery is very good.

This is the woman who walks into a room and you feel a sharp change in the room’s chemistry.

A woman who alters the composition of the room by a simple action like pouring a drink.

She is sexy in the way she sips her drink or rummage in her purse.

She is sexy in the way she throws back her head when she laughs.

She will stare into your eyes when you talk about stuff that she doesn’t care about, but she will also look away when you look too hard in her eyes.

If you try to see through her soul, She will exude the right vulnerability, but just enough not to make her weak.

She won’t necessarily know who
Tom Hanks is, but she won’t shy at asking,in fact she will ask in a way that will make you enjoy
explaining to her (She: “Tom Hanks? And I want to desperately to explain to her that he is the guy who runs past towns,past children,past farms and runs and runs in Forrest Gump.”).

She won’t need to flash her cleavage in your face or show her whole
thigh to make you like her.

But the fleeting patch of skin that will show when she casually crosses her
legs will make you gasp.

And it’s something you will not forget about in a hurry.

And this kind of woman never looks at the floor when she walks.

Never.

And the clincher is that she is totally oblivious of her sexiness but the moment she starts thinking of
herself as sexy she stops being sexy.
Nature’s sense of humour runs deep.

Unfortunately there aren’t many sexy women around as we could let’s say,beautiful.

You are more likely to meet more beautiful women on any road than meet a sexy woman.

You will meet plenty of gorgeous women though, but what good is that?

What good is another perfect chin?

But this being a world of vanity you will encounter many women who
think they are sexy; you will know they aren’t sexy because you will see them trying to be sexy.

And you will feel a tinge of sadness for them.

Here is another thing that is tragic in this world; the fact that women no longer make you want to touch
them.

They no longer heighten your expectations to the touch.

And make no mistakes about that ladies,that’s a huge part of seduction for men; to meet a woman and want to touch her.

That is one of the precious part in being with a woman, wanting
desperately to touch her and knowing full well that she isn’t ready to be touched…at least not yet.

And not touch her in a sexual way, but to feel her skin and satisfy your temporary insanity.

To free yourself from the bondage of your own vanity.

To make sure she is not invincible.

These parts of seduction sublime into the tedium that plague urban dating; women making it easy.

Women not waiting to be “touched.”

I used to think beautiful women are the same as sexy women;time has proved me wrong!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

The beauty of seeing from two mountain tops is always worth your effort and resolve to climb both!

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When you are up on the top of a mountain, you only can see the other beautiful mountains,and not the one you are on top of.

You may think; I’d really like to be on that mountain,the view must be awesome.

So you pray God; let me see the view from that other mountain.

Well as everyone knows, if you are going to go up another mountain, you must come down and off the one you are on.

You must cross a valley to go between the two mountains. You can’t skip and hop from one mountaintop to another.

So down off the mountain you
come.

You start through the valley and for awhile, you are doing ok.

Then you start getting tired.

You start wondering; is there any end to this valley?

Is this valley really so wide and
long?

And so you trudge onward.

After awhile you, forget about the
mountain you were on.

You forget about the awesome view you were going to see from the neighbouring mountain.

All you can think about, is how long and dark this valley is,thatyou’re going through.

After a while,you fail to notice the lilies that are growing along the way you are walking.

You fail to notice the beauty in the valley because you are so caught up in getting out of the valley.

You want to hurry and get back on the mountaintop where you feel
invincible.

So finally, you reach the foot of
the mountain and you look up to
see the mountain towering over
you.

You begin to think, it didn’t
look that big from over there.

You think; there is no way that I can get up this mountain.

Many people never do get up that mountain. They stay in the valley where the walk is easier.

They don’t want to put forth the extra effort to go the extra mile
for the greater rewards and exhilating views.

They want to stay down the valley where it is safe.

Just as you’ve beaten the discouragement and getting to the end of the valley,more discouragement comes in the
face of that towering mountain.

So which do you choose? Stay in the valley where its safe or press on?

If you decide to press on,
there are more obstacles in your
way.

They may be jagged rocks or a
crumbling path or no path at all; just gut instinct to guide you to the top.

You stop and set small goals for
yourself.

“I will make it to the top of this cliff before night or to the shelter of those pines before the rain”.

Either way you have quit
looking at the whole mountain as being intimidating. You are now taking one step at a time.

You know what the goal is (to get to the top), but you have broken it into simple individual goals that you can easily achieve.

You allow yourself to be encouraged by what you are accomplishing.

So you make it to the top, and the view is as spectacular as you thought.

You rest and look around, and enjoy the fruit of your labour, then before long you start looking and saying;
I wonder how it would look from that other third mountain?

You start thinking; well I made it through the last valley and this one doesn’t look like its so long, I think I’ll just run over and check out the view from that other mountain.

And so the conquests continue.

And though you are tired,you are now wearing the crown of a victor.

Have you ever felt that you have stayed down in that valley
for so long?

Have you ever felt that a situation was hopeless?

That you couldn’t win for losing?

I believe we all have.

We have all reached a place of being so low in our life that we felt unworthy and unable to do anything
to help our self.

We feel that no matter which way we turn,we are lost and abandoned, and unworthy of being loved even by God.

We feel that the Lord doesn’t hear our cries when we are down in this
valley.

We feel so alone.

This is when devil likes to work his
hardest.

If he can get our focus on being turned away from what God wants us to do, (going toward the mountain to climb it) and focused on the mistakes we made (the valley we are in ), then he has
gained an advantage.

He has gained a foothold in keeping us from being a victor, because we are so concerned with our own well
being.

He has led us into the old ‘poor me’ routine.

But God doesn’t leave us, He is
with us always.

He is our ever present help in a time of need.

It is His promise.

He promises us that he will strengthen us when we are weak.

He promises us that he would never leave us or forsake us.

He will bring us safe and strong through these valleys.

We must learn to be content, whatever state we are in,
whether in the valley or up on the
mountain.

There is so much beauty in the valley, there are many things to
learn while there, that will help us
on our climb back up the
mountains.

When up on the mountaintop after awhile, we forget the beauty of the valleys.

We start taking it for granted.

So we set off in search of more beauty.

You have to remember though,that, if you become content to stay where it is safe, you will miss out on an awful lot of beauty,both down the valley,and up on the top of the mountain .

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

My resolution to live uncluttered life

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My Birthday falls within this lovely month of September,just a week from now. It is normally a very quiet day for me,a time of reflection and taking stock of my life so far.

I’ve got very many things to celebrate about my life-in the privacy of my heart-but i always choose to avoid overt and pretentious ceremonies.

Ever since i was 24 years old (immediately after graduating from College), i decided that i will be making my “New” year resolutions during my birthday anniversary each year instead of the conventional New year day.

The following is what i wrote in my personal journal during my birthday that year;

»I should wake up every morning, give thanks for another beautiful day, renew my faith in spirit and in myself, and try my best to make things happen.

Maybe instead of resolving to change myself I should make peace with the fact that I am still growing gradually into becoming my ultimate self.

Maybe instead of setting up rigid expectations I should break free from the limits of my mind and invite limitless love and positive change into my heart and soul.

I should set the direction of my life with my every intention, thought, action, interaction, movement, feeling, and expression.

I want to learn something new every
day that makes me a better person.

I want to continue to grow personally, professionally, and spiritually with every mistake, every success, every heartache, and every relationship I experience.

My resolutions will serve as a guide to my goals and dreams for the coming year and my footprints will make the path.«

Reflecting on what I wrote so long ago as a young man of 24, I am mystified by the continued overwhelming sense that my life is not enough — that I am not actually there yet (who actually really knows when he has got “there”?)

Something is amiss.

This year, I have decided to adopt a new way of thinking, being, and doing that which continually radiates my inner core, casting a magnificent light through every moment of my life.

My resolution, for now and for always, is to live an uncluttered life full of light.

Light is what has been missing from my life.

Well, light isn’t really missing; a magnificent, powerful light shines within each of us whether we allow it to emerge or we subconsciously submerge it through our careless thoughts and actions.

My light is being somewhat concealed by ever increasing clutter and has been for a long time now.

This clutter represents the many poor substitutes for light that fill into my life: emotional baggage, ingrained habits and unintentional decisions, and stuff that doesn’t reflect my highest values.

And I have finally figured out why I cram my life with all of this crap- I am afraid of emptiness.

I dread the possibility of living in a meaningless, lonely vacuum.

At times, this junk has piled up so high that I have lost sight of the bright, shining light that exists deep within me and is yearning to be set free.

I long to see, feel, and be the light; yet ironically, I have crowded it out.

So from now on, I will not only appreciate who I am and what surrounds me as I chose to do those many years ago.

I will also intentionally create more space for light to emerge.

This process consists of four interrelated components- awareness, intentionality, appreciation, and liberation.

To remind myself to live an uncluttered life full of light, I have written a series of affirmations in each of these areas to return my restless heart back to its true peaceful nature.

It goes like this:

»I am aware of my thoughts, feelings, and actions.

I am mindful of the impact that my every thought, feeling, and action has on me and my world.

I live in the moment. I intentionally choose to create a life that reflects my true and highest purpose.

I carefully respond to my environment based on peaceful, loving intentions.

I deeply value all of the love, beauty, and mystery in my life.

I am grateful for each moment, for every breath, and for all that surrounds me.

I joyfully let go of all ideas, feelings, and things that do not create a strong sense of love, peace, and beauty.

I am not afraid of emptiness, and I welcome spaciousness in my life.

Through my choices, I create openings for love, peace, and beauty to emerge.

I am living an uncluttered life full of light.

I must prune the excess foliage that obscures light from shining through my life.«

Armed with these few mantras,i can’t help looking forward to celebrating my birthday meaningfully in a week’s time.

Happy Birthday to ME!

To All The Girls I Have Loved Before

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This is to you, all the girls I have loved before,

who are someone else’s wives today,

I want to let you to know that you still have a place in my heart.

Though you are now married to someone else,

I still remember you all.

You will always be a part of me no matter where you are.

There is a lot that we shared,

there is still alot that I treasure in the memories that i have of you.

Time moves along and I keep on keeping on,

still single and strong.

There is alot that should be left unsaid for now,

so that we dont hurt those who are close to us.

Do you ever miss those magic moments that we shared between us?

Do you ever miss the wild fresh flowers that we picked right from the fields and gave each other as our seal of love?

Do you ever wake up lonely in the middle of the night because you miss me?

Do you ever miss the loving and feeling that we shared when you were with me?

Do you darlings?

Do you ever?

What goes through your minds during those lonely moments when you need a shoulder to lean on?

Wherever you are, know that there is still a place in my heart for you though you will never be mine.

I am always tempted to steal you away and make you my own again.

So help me my darlings not to cross that cheating line.

You all know that I love you but I am not the cheating kind…..

Help me my darlings-stay out of my way!

Girls, Girls, Girls!

It was good when it lasted.

As I gladly walk towards the sunset of my life,

I must let you know that you made an everlasting impression on me.

In my very lonely moments,I think of you.

You still are the light that guides my life!

Fate should should have made you all wives of good gentlemen.

I guess you can still remember me;

forever in faded blue jeans!

I got my first jean when when I was eighteen, now I am clocking several decades and still wearing jeans!

I will be eighteen till I die!

I miss you all,but in another way,

I am glad that you are all now happily married.

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