THE WALL SPEAKS The wall speaks blog

Mar 21

Existing in
cold harsh
reality.
When we we are born and if we are fortunate; we will have a mother who protects us
from harm. She will burp us when gassy, change our diaper and reassure us we’re
not dying when we fall down. Our world transitioned from closed womb to the open
womb of motherly protection. When we grow enough to use our tongue for speech,
we may ask about the suffering man who lay on the street. We may ask our mother
about the dead bird in the yard. We may ask about the woman counting coupons and
pennies in front of us in line at the grocery store. We may blink at the pain before us
and look for reassurance of our mother to explain the pain of reality. Most time the
response is based on how strong she thinks we are for understanding reality. A
mother may lie to protect us from bad dream and bad emotion. Why? Because she
wants us to not shrink in fear at life and to find joy before we are robbed of it. She
may lie because to lie is easier than speaking truth to universal pain. She may kiss
our head and tell us to look away from what hurts our eyes.
There is nothing more familiar than a mother’s womb. We each spent our formative
gestation period surrounded by the protective wall of motherly flesh. When we
spilled out, we breathed our first polluted air in the overwhelming light of strangers
before being wrapped in the warm blanket of illusion.

Life an escape from one womb to another. We get birthed into reality only to shrink
to fantasy. We cry for mother for months after birth, seeking reassurance of the
confusion of being alive.

A mother coddles from life anxiety. She comforts her baby’s new spirt to old pain.
Pain that has been traveling along the nerves of humanity from the beginning.

When the warm embrace of our mother is left behind we may stumble forward with
high anxiety at the state of reality, at the expectation of being alive, at the
responsibility that will be expected of us. We venture past the childish lies we were
sold and speak to the man laying on the street only for him to spit in our face. What
meaning can be had at blinking at another’s pain? We deserve the spit but we don’t
know it. We deserve the to be told to mind our business when we ask about the
stinging pain of poison that floats in another’s veins.

The first light that hit our eyes from the womb only revealed the bodily mess we
were pulled from.

“But JERR” a voice calls out from the page “What meaning can be had in suffering?”

The mother protects by lie, the father protects by truth.

He explains to us about the man laying on the and either speaks of mental illness,
drug addiction or a myriad of bad choices that culminated into the man’s present
state.

He points to the dead bird and speaks of how it’s flesh will feed the soil underneath
and how it will fill the bellies of crawling scavengers looking for a meal.

He explains to us the poor woman and how not everyone has equal share of money.

Our father points to the pain and gives us a reason.

That is the key to our madness of existence. We make sense of trauma. We must
make sense of our pain to endure living a life that will lead to more pain. We reject
lies just as we escape wombs.

We look down at the suffering inside us and we do not look away. We stare straight
into the void of uncertainty and we make sense of our chaos.

When we stumble and fall into a challenging circumstance. We look bravely at the
gashed knee of our spirit. We do not lose our minds because we suffer. We do not run
away from problems but face them head on. We dust ourselves off and pick ourselves
up.

Why?

Because death is chasing us to our grave. And to shrink back is to give ourselves to
the Reaper’s hand.

TO BE ALIVE TO TRANSCEND FEAR OF EXISTENCE.

Why do you think I write this blog? Why do you think I wrote The wall speaks?

Because motherly illusion is overtaking men across the world. They shrink in fear
and hide from reality only to be swept away by what they chose to ignore.

We break away from previous wombs to new worlds. We push the hand of comfort
away not from arrogance but because we know we must survive without it.

When my heart broke, my illusions were swept away from me like waters pulling a
house away in a flood. My vision of home was gone. My womb had been torn open,
revealing only blackness. The void stared back at me and said nothing.

My spirit sunk down into the abyss of uncertainty. From the dark, the inner voice
inside my head told me to pick myself up.

Why?

Because to be alive is a miracle and every problem we encounter doesn’t change that
fact. We look at problems and then use our energy for solutions. We do not hide from
what is expected from us. And there is a life inside that deserves a faithful guardian.
Each man was given his life and it is up to him to make it shine bright before the
end.

Look in the mirror and marvel at something more wonderful than anything man
built with his hands, then look down at your hands and marvel at the possibilities
that can pour forth from them.

When you see suffering, do not just wonder why it exists but rather think how you
can solve it.

When a man is cheated on and his spoiled kids disrespect him it is because he
ignores their suffering. They all need strong masculine frame and he shrugged his
responsibility.

To be a man is to bear the responsibility of all things.

There is no going back to the womb. We do not curse the light for revealing suffering
but rather we are gracious to see what must be solved.

Instead of accepting a lie, think why the lie is needed and why weakness craves
falsehood.

Because lies are a womb that keeps our spirt safe from change. To reject a lie is to
accept the pain of knowing.

And there is pain in knowing.

That is why we stay in the knowing until our consciousness becomes acclimated to
cold waters of how things really are.

Then after the shock wears off, we swim forward to unknown shore because to stop
is to sink.

Pick up, carry and pass frame.

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Comments (1)
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Mzimkhulu Nyaba 2 years ago · 0 Likes

This hits home 😢

A woman Fucking calms

wants proud her.
children.

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