Potential & Possibility


Your dreams are your own. It doesn’t always matter if others don’t share your enthusiasm. What matters is your perception of yourself, your trust in the vision you have & the distance you’re willing to take.

Journeys start small, they don’t end at any particular milestone, they give you the stamina to continue.

I many a time think of burying the past. I’ve made mistakes, faced disappointment, got discouraged. All my own making, OK not all but mostly. I remember when Anton was facing death, it was hard to face. I was working my butt off at a large lounge suite manufacturer at the time. I still love those days. I used to work late, and sitting in the taxi I used to ask God to make sure I was there when he died. I didn’t want a phone call…. I was lucky of cors that I got to be there when the the time came. He got alota visitors that day, my mom was feeling good, my Da’, oh my Da’ was a pillar of strength, still is.

You can’t always bury the past tho,  it haunts when you least expect it. Mine crawls into my dreams every now & then. I wasn’t a very patient person. Actually I’m still not, I get jumpy….

I like everything & everyone to fall into place with ease. I don’t want to explain how I want things, I want you to remember!

I want to forget sorrow, loneliness, despair & then I remember its those very things that enable positive turnarounds. You know ” the sunshine after the rain”.

Well a lot of rain falls here lately. Drenching us in cold, miserable cloaks, that drip, drip & keep us cold in our want for warmth, strong resolve, pleasure, happiness…

 But as long as we keep feelings buried beneath guilt, we can either drink or inject our pain away.

That seems to be the norm in our community anyway. You’re not good enough so you drink. You don’t fit in so you drink. You have hangups so you drink. I have to be honest. I feel if you pen your thoughts they might as well be honest? Unless you indulge in fantasy, whereby you have Cart Blanche to creatively embroider around the truth.

I live in a fantasy world, one where if I fight long enough people around me will change, improve, apologize, make amends. No here we don’t do that, we bury the truth & angrily defend our own right to mislead others. 
The next time I attend a funeral may I be so soberly drunk that I defy all decorum and spit out my truth, gently, softly without offence, if only to wake the next morning completely free, unburdened of guilt, happy, powerful, yes liberated & unafraid of confronting the corner I have yet to turn.

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