1

THE
SPECT
ACLE
OF
LIFE
By Oliver N Mutemahuku

“God creates nature out of nothing, nature in turn brings

potential being to actuality, the artificer simply modifies what
nature has made actual”

With the realization of actuality, we drop abandon our

ambition, forget our dreams, aspirations and, wishes and steer
into the skid and deep creeps of life

“…When I grow up I want to be a journalist, when I grow up I want to be a pilot, when I grow up
I want to be florist” we all aspire to become what we truly desire, we all aspire to become the
best versions of ourselves but in the end we turn out to be what the world wants us to be. Like
the sorting hat, the universe determines who you are going to be, it may go along with your
aspirations or it will drive you the other way. Growing up we see things we desire and with each
day passing by, we see something better than what we saw yesterday. The human mind is
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never satisfied and the desire to be great is unquenchable. We constantly seek improvement
and upgrades in our lives but we do not hold the power to change our fate. Ambition is branded
by your heart but life is captained by your situation. Situations push you into what you never
imagined to be, you become someone you never saw yourself being. The young guy who
aspired to be florist became a security guard, the aspiring journalist became a construction
worker. The world is full of obvious things which nobody by chance ever observes. Life is not
guaranteed, success is not guaranteed, coming back is not guaranteed but passing on is dead
certain. When ploughing, the farmer envisions himself feasting from his harvest, he envisions
the seed sprouting, growing and reproducing but it’s not his visons and will that determine the
outcome. The sun is there to scotch the germinating seed, the heavy storm is there to wash
away the top soil and the seed lays bare on the ground to be devoured by the crows and
ravens. All the farmer has to do is hope for the best and be ready for the worst because there is
no guarantee of a bumper harvest. With all seasons things change and with it changes one’s
fortunes. I look in the mirror, today I am smiling but tomorrow it’s a stream of tears, I see in
myself a clown. Give a man a mask and he will show you his real face. The life I wished for
myself stands no chance to the clown costume I am wearing now. I have now become the social
pariah that I was always warned sternly about. The quiddity of reality is undisputable, our
aspirations and dreams all bow down to reality. Our efforts yield nothing in the face of reality.
With the realization of actuality, we abandon our ambition, forget our dreams, aspirations and,
wishes and steer into the skid and deep creeps of life. Sun sets, sun rises, living the dream
watching the leaves changing the seasons; we grow up to become what we never thought we
would be, we become what we never wanted to be and that is the spectacle of life.

“here is to the ones that we got, here is to the wish that you were here but you are not because
the drinks bring back all the memories of everything we have been through. Toast to the ones
here today,, toast to the ones we lost in the way because the memories bring back all the
memories and the memories bring back you,…there is a time that I remember when I did not
know pain, when I thought everything would stay the same…”-Adam Levine. I remember seating
with you in the kitchen laughing like maniacs, if only I knew that was the last laugh we would
have together. I remember the cold day, the misty day, the smell of burning wattle firewood; I
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remember the steel garden chair you used to love seating on. I still hear your voice with an
undying echo in my head, I still hear the sarcasm and acerbity. I never thought one day
everything will be nothing but a memory that lingers on to haunt only me. I never thought that
one day everything will be a thing to remember and never to experience. I look at your picture,
I remember the love, the strictness, the resilience, the patience, the courage and strength. I
remember the days we worked till late, going back home with wet clothes dripping rain water,
with a stench of a day’s work in the sun, with the skin sticky and red from the pigment of the
wet soil. I remember the long nights we sat planning, strategizing. The pictures we carry along
everyday reflect the lives we once lived. I look at my old pictures, I see the smiles, the
happiness, the joy the peace, the innocence. I take a picture today, I see a new person, a new
life; I see a depressed kid, I see pain in the eyes, I see a scrambled mind from the vagrant
expression on the face. Comparing the pictures, I am reminded of the days I laughed without
resentment, the days I did not know pain, I remember the genuine smile before the bitterness
and the remorse. I see a small boy with and adorable grin, a loud giggly laugh and a peaceful
mind. The worst of our curses as humans is the ability to remember, the ability to envision the
past and compare it with the present, the ability to imagine reincarnation and this has also
been the fuel to the change in personality, character and will. We try to bury the memories, we
pretend to forget, we fight to ignore but our very existence and day to day lives is shaped by
the memories we repel every day. What is past is prologue and we are reminded everyday of
our past by our present and the possible future. We remember and value occasions not for the
fun but the reflection of who was present. The shifts in time, events, the change of seasons, and
longevity of memory is the spectacle of life.

Tic toc, tic toc, tic toc. The silence between every passing of a second is an enigma, no one can
ever fully comprehend how long does it take from one second to another. Think about how
long you have to wait for one to get to two?, it’s too short to be noticeable and too short to
even think about it but the little baby steps of the second hand moves the minute and hour
hand and days, and years also move. What are you afraid of the most?; loneliness?, pain?,
loss?, death?, failure?. Of all the nightmares and monsters that haunt us, time has been the
ultimate undisputed king. There is nothing permanent in life except for impermanence, there is
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no forever, with time nothing is permanent except for the inherent nature of inevitable ending.
The wheel of time spins and rotates through everyone and everything, it does not discriminate
neither does it skip certain individuals. Under the wheel of time everyone gets justice.
Devouring memories, birds, beasts, trees and even gnarling iron to dust, time is unstoppable. A
legacy becomes a memory, memory becomes history, history becomes myth and the myth gets
distorted. A seed is planted, it sprouts, grows, bears fruit and eventually dies, the secrets, the
oaths taken, the promises made, the covenants made have all been victims of the ravaging
force of time. I watched people come and go, marriages and alliances formed and dissolved and
secrets revealed. As war was always here before men was, the ultimate trade awaiting the
ultimate practitioner so was time. The inevitable movement of time, the unstoppable march;
driving all of us towards unavoidable death. The wind is not the beginning neither is it the end,
there are no beginnings nor endings but it is always the beginning of something new. We only
survive to fulfil a fixture; we only live as the thread of the pattern as the wheel weaves and
spins. It is your principle, wishes and plans that get crashed when the wheel spins. Ages come
and pass, what was will be and what is, is yet to be have it in for by the threading wheel and
that is the spectacle of life.