Categories
Uncategorized

The song of the unyielding

In the depths of the savannah, where the land is still unseen, quiet, touched, but only by human hands full of understanding and reverence. . . hands of those born under the tree, these are the children of the tree. Feed by the tree, sheltered by the tree. The place where life is at its most innocent. . . where creation and the Creator feel close, intertwined in the very air life breathes. . . almost tangible.

There, in the quiet, natural, savannah. Lives the tree, the tree that sings that old and timeless melody of life and age, a tree of color, a tree of wonder and life.

. . . the enduring tree

a picture downloaded from google

It stands Unyielding, un broken and productive. . .

It is the tree of my fathers. . . the tree that reminded them of their Maker. . . the tree that represented the unending cycle of life

I have met the Baobab tree. . . strong, lasting and un yielding. . .

Gives nutrition to the hungry. . .

A strong hold for the weak and desolate, and a paradise for those looking for shelter, a home. . .protection for all who seek its strength.

The baobab tree. . .

The baobab tree has sheltered the wounded soldier, the weaver bird builds its nest on it, the ground hornbill hides within its hollows and the medicine man finds cures from its bark.

Picture downloaded from google

Such is the tree, a shelter that endures over time. . . it has lived through much sorrows, births, ceremonies and miracles . . .

. . .One of the Baobab`s human children sits at its foot, leaning on its strong aged tree. . .finding protection from the savannah`s evening gusts of wind.

He is wizened and grey. . .the Baobab knows him. . . remembers the eighty seasons past, when he`s mother birthed him. . . under that very tree. . .

Paul Bruins photography downloaded from google

Today he is in contemplation. . .his silent look says nothing, yet his aged, expressive face says so much. With just a glance. . . Baobab`s son casts a spell of curiosity and wonder towards his observer.

What treasures lie hidden, what stories untold. . . his mouth remains closed . . .yet he has gone through the wringer of life and prevailed. . . the fear felt, the love experienced, the pain, the joy. . .the shame?

Who is he? observer wonders, and what treasures lie hidden. . .what stories locked. . . untold in his mind.

downloaded from google images

. . . what wisdom lies hidden beyond the frowns, the wrinkles. . .that silence. . .W hat love, vibrancy, victories, losses, disappointments. . . what lies beneath his hooded eyes. . .that now stare into the sunset. . .as he silently hums the ethereal, spiritual, tune absorbed from nature`s music. . .the song fills him with joy. . .his eyes light up in contentment. . .perhaps. . .observer thinks. . .the old man is reliving joyful memories.

downloaded from google images

Baobab`s son was named age. . . he sits silently under the tree today. . .but sometimes he is found fishing in the great lake . . .he can also be found in his human home. . . on a sofa, quietly reading his journals. . .radiating peace. . .as he nods off to sleep. . .betrayed by his golden spectacles, that drop down to the tip of his nose.

The stories, the regrets, the knowing, the love. . .The love. . .the sometimes eccentricity, all these cling to age. The cumulative of the life lived. . .his choices, their results and the consequences. . .honesty with this process has to be the most fundamental resource age has. . .this perhaps, is what wisdom truly is.

BAOBAB QUICK FACTS

{Did you know? Humans utilize baobabs for many purposes, including shelter, ceremonies, food, medicine, fiber, juices and beer. Animals like baboons and warthogs eat the seed pods; weavers build their nests in the huge branches; and barn owls, mottled spinetails and ground-hornbills roost in the many hollows.}

I was born at the coastal city of Mombasa, and I remember one of my most favorite snacks were mabuyu seeds. Sweet, bright pink, vanilla flavored mabuyu seeds, these are gotten from the seeds of the baobab tree. As I grew older my tastes shifted to the sweet, acidic, mango achari. . .but nothing beats the nostalgia from the bright pink mabuyu seeds.

Love,

Ruthie.

Categories
Uncategorized

Her Anchor

. . .She was tired of fatalistic sort of thinking in relationships, `I love, but nothing can be done about it`

It was her belief that it was cowardly, it never failed to incense her, and she marched away from it with the confidence of a thousand suns!

image downloaded from google

Where there was love she believed there could not be fear. People first tried then failed, not failed for not trying!

This was the attitude she wore, and with this same attitude she tackled those airy `We will met again` romances. Romances that refused to get their hands dirty and simply left it all to chance. She found all that chance stuff supercilious, love was incomparable. . .required investment, and anyway what good thing of value did not.

Without determination, there could be no win.

She rather preferred fighters, those who chose to hope in darkness. . . those who chose a side. . . to either love or leave.

She disliked emotional hangers on, there was no in between for her, she either threw herself fully into love or cut off completely. Zero ambiguity.

Her self assured decisiveness come from the realization that people would never make good anchors. She could not anchor anyone successfully and as such she learnt not to attach the same pressure on anyone else.

The human persons proclivity to change is inevitable. A persons promise of love eternal was akin to leaves promising to never change color, even when predominantly green, seasons are known to turn the green into a beautiful burnished red in some areas. Just like leaves seasons turn humans too. An anchor is solid, unchanging, unyielding . . .trustworthy.

Her anchor is God.

image downloaded from google

Hey! So I was having an unrelated conversation with my mum last month, I was so upset with a really close family member I was angry! 😤 my my I spent the whole time venting to her, feeling very unforgiving. After I finally finished my story, mum asked me whether I valued that relationship. . . ‘Well obviously!!’
I replied, but she has made me really really angry and she is in the wrong! I am waiting for her apology! Mummy looked at me and asked me what she always asks without fail! As irritating as it can sometimes be- ‘ what would Jesus expect you to do in this situation?’ the answer she expected was to forgive , in this particular instance though she elaborated her intent. Forgiveness was difficult, and required a measure of self control and discernment, it was choosing to pass over the responsibility of retribution and give it to a more discerning and wiser entity, who will ensure justice is done. This action is counterintuitive as our nature seeks immediate retribution when we feel wronged, whether this is real wrong or a perceived slight. Forgiveness is however not passive, in some instances forgiveness ought to go hand in hand with emotional distance and/or some self accountability.

I was so bitter. I knew I needed external help to forgive, so I prayed, and asked God for help to forgive, I passed on to Him the burden of retribution. It was not easy, but help came, in form of peace and a flood of love. For awhile now God has been who anchors my attempts at being a better human being.

love,

Ruthy.