Tнε Path of Faith

LOCATION: Our Individual Heads. BRANCHES: World-wide (and probably beyond, for all we know...) Every single activity we encounter in life is stored in The Great Bank of Memory that is located in our heads. It doesn't make a difference if it is a direct or in-direct encounter. It goes right into the Great Bank of Memory. Every-thing we do in life leaves a a mental inprint that is some-times encrypted but ALWAYS stored in this bank. There are four rooms in this bank: There's the ANTE-CHAMBER, the MAIN ROOM, the INNER SANCTUM and the VAULT. The Ante-chamber is where we have our immediate occurrences also known as our immediate consciousness. Then as time moves on and fresh memories are deposited, they are moved further in-to the Main room. Some-times they come to the fore of our immediate consciousness, other times they may not. Then there is the Inner Sanctum. This is where we keep our special memories (not necessarily sad ones), that we reach in-to and pull

This is true story that happened when I visited a hospital for consolatory purposes: "D ear God, please take care of my baby, don't let my enemies to laugh at me".  These were the words she said to her fellow admitee as she lay on her back clutching her protruding belly that four days earlier had held a full term foetus.  A very dark skinned Ibo woman with closed cropped hair and impossibly high African cheek-bones, animated white eyes and large even teeth. On closer inspection, I saw a tube running from the under-side of her bottom as she lay flat on her back down to a square transparent bag that was slowly filling up with liquid the colour of muddy ginger ale. I sat still with-out moving, holding my breath, I smelt a story.... And then, she began.... She had given birth four days earlier through a gruelling and harrowing caesarian section. And, after all that pain and awful near-death experience, she had not heard the cry of her baby. She has not seen h

JAMAICA. A city of muderers in uninform. A city of so much blood-shed. A city where life is so fickle. A city of in-justice. Robert Hill - Also known as the Kentucky Kid was an entertainer who was murdered in his search for justice by the Jamaica Constabulary Force (the police force of Jamaica). Prior to this , h e had filmed policemen beating him and his wife, Kumiko, who was eight months pregnant during one beatin g.  His was a voice that was drowned amidst the hail of gun-fire. He had spoken out that he was going to killed because he dared to challenge the police. They had beaten him till he was hospitalised previously, and there was even a video of it which he had posted on you tube. This obviously enraged this merchants of death as they came and dispatched him to the great beyond in a rather bloody and messy fashion. This were this last words to the world: Kentucky Kid "Hello Jamaica. I'm Robert Hill AKA Kentucky Kid. I really don't know what

How exactly is thought defined? Do we define it as an intangible reality or do we say it's the feeding of stimuli in-to the machinery that consists our five external senses(sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing) and our one internal sense(Reasoning) which is then processed bu our brain(external) and our mind(internal). What exactly is THOUGHT? What exactly is the difference between brain-dead and one who doesn't process information properly?

Why is there the general impression that if you're an intellectual, you can-not also be materialistic to the nth degree? Just because one has a deep under-standing of knowledge based issues does not mean that one can-not appreciate the two-dimensional pleasures of every-day living. You can walk with your head in the clouds while carrying this season's Balenciaga's and wearing impractical satin Manolo Blahniks. After-all, every TRUE fashionista (not za vanna-be's, but those who have a highly developed instinct for fashion) knows that fashion is NEVER practical and it is of course NEVER comfortable. We adjust and find comfort from the dis-comfort. Why can an intellectual not look Sexy and Smoking hot? My Famous Legs at Heaven's Door It's really that simple. I rest my case.

I have found it quite baffling why anyone should be suspicious of their passions or petrified of surrendering to their humanity, that sometimes even when they do, they’re consumed with mortification. It’s all about the reconciliation of the forces within, that basically is the plague of the dualistic separation between divinity and humanity; which is the bedrock of the fears of our frail condition. There is divinity in all things, and in order to find that divinity; one should work with the material at hand- in the clay pot, which is the truth of God. Our human desires are very much a part of our spiritual journey and through them rather than in spite of them; we would find God. I am a spirit, you’re a spirit. I have a body, you have a body. Mine is slightly altered by the altering of my consciousness. It’s not such a yawning chasm between your reality and mine. We all have our physical truths, mine may not be as photogenic as yours, but it certainly exists nonetheles

The order of thought in-to the order of ideas. Is a pre-existing thought process realizable in a society where that thought process is not pre-acknowledged? How does a moralist foist his views on a society that does not see any-thing wrong with the moral aspect the moralist is dis-comforted with? How do the two worlds merge? Is this even feasible? Isn't the impossibility of a compromise thinly veiled myopia?

We are the Future We are the Past We are the First We are the Last We are the Present We are the Absent We are For-ever We are........ AFRICA!

There is no normal or abnormal. There is no sane or inSane. There is no right or wrong. There is no good or bad. There is no up or down. There is no left or right.   There is no truth or lie. There is nothing.   Only..... PERSPECTIVE.

It is truly MAGIC. This fusion between a Man and a Woman. What is this thing, this... heat that burns between a Man and a Woman? How does one even begin to explain it? What are the words? How does a WOMAN let a MAN under-stand what his touch feels like? How does she tell him what the invasion of his smell in-to her brain does to her? What his hands running all over her body does to her? How does she explain the goose-bumps his touch inspires? How does she tell him that the scratchiness of his beard when he's running his mouth all over her beautiful body is beyond description? Words are too inferior. Too banal. It is TRULY MAGIC. This fusion between a Man and a Woman. His strength.     Her softness. His Manliness.   Her smoothness. His hardness.     Her silkiness. It IS TRULY MAGIC. This fusion between a Man and Woman. His growl.     Her meows. His arms.      Her waist. His lips.        Her lips. His lips.        Her ears. His lips.