Looking back in the way I know how.
I pay homage to the meetings.
In shared silence sitting in a circle, under the moonlight.
I
looked up in one moment and realized we all live under the same sky.
Waking up
in the dark to sit in silence and observe, ourselves, myself I am nothing
without the breath, hands of others.
The moments were transformed to treasure associated
with fresh fruits, late night swimming under the skylight and the rumblings of
a world that might end, enjoy now as life is too short and art is cultural.
Looking for energies, searching to uplift the artistic soul, the
road leads to a place similar to an artistic Mecca.
This place that I have called my home for the past two and half years.
These walls when days were dark they became darker whispering anxiety, self
doubt and spitting at my insecurities.
These walls that hold untold secretes
whispered in the frustration of creativity and intense observation of learning
by looking, doing and teaching.
In the halls I discovered my voice.
In the
windows I avoided my true reflection, I abandoned the old in search of the new.
In the door frames and wooden doors I knocked, scratched and banged my head at
the same time enjoying the pain and the wood splinters in my fore head.
Searching for an identity is nothing to be made fun of.
I remember
wailing, I remember crying so much that it turned into laughter.
I remember
talking, talking, talking.
I remember the warmth laughter and I escaping to the
arms of advisers and staff. Smoke breaks, walks in the park, crazy ideas and crying out.
Once I wrote:
Dear Reader
I don’t even know where to begin.
I’m sitting here and actually hand writing to you, it feels so old
school. but it is the way it has to be. So let’s call this…A Journey towards Home.
It is difficult to pinpoint
one person and a certain event that has transformed, informed, morphed,
performed in my search for home.
I know that it is from a lot of patience,
administration, admiration and warm-natured belief of others in my work that I
have ended up here.
So I say ngiyabonga, ngiyabonga, ngiyabonga not only to you but also to myself.
No it doesn't work…
It’s the rhythm and the
pose, then catch, drop fall.
No, No try again the same way.
It’s the rhythm in the pose the catch drop fall.
Dum da dudum duda.
Ok, jiggle, wiggle move your package, don’t sit on a chair.
Dum da dudum duda.
Keep it simple, keep it clean…
My pen rages and barks caught like cables run wild,
As usual I see red, red everywhere. Wanting to appear full circle
at 360 degrees.
I’m looking at the world from all angles carrying suitcases of
possibilities, formalities… Oops… accidents do happen so draw the curtains,
sms a friend the worlds gone blind
“I’m doing research in Zimbabwe, the children are always so happy
there “
Ok, ok, I’ll keep it down.
Sooo what do you do?
I have demons, visions of a new world order, where food,resources are shared, spared all around the universe.
Ok, ok I’ll keep it light. Why am I surprised it’s the way of the world.
Push your own agenda, light a cigarette, the train is 5 minutes
late hyperventilate …and the beat goes on… dum da dumdum duda…
I guess ngifuna ukuba
umuntu ongcono,
obona izinto nagamehlo
engqondo.
Ngifuna ukukhuluma ngento
ekhona;
bekhona abanye bethi bayakhululuma kodwa bayadavuza nje.
Jump, jump before u think.
The hip-hops heavy so follow your own rhythm.
Keep it light keep it simple, move with ease.
Sun rays light up my eyes as the dew drops squeeze their way pas
the grass.
The air damp with a new day sings a fresh song making the leaves
slow dance to the morning fog.
The birds sing in tune with
the new morning, blocking out sounds of construction work and numbness of
everyday.
The sun hums in out of the clouds like a coy mistress she’s in and
out of focus, yet her song is heard all through out the land.
Even the busy bumble bee knows today will be a good day the sun
cant hide it in her eyes.
