not yet punditik

I have not loved myself as I should, because I have loved others more than I love myself. I have not valued my feelings, but have dismissed them. I have not paid attention to my needs, and have put others needs before mine. I have not trusted my opinions, and been sceptical of my decisions, listening to the voices of others. I have been too hard on myself, and too easy for others. I have minimised myself and accommodated others. Have given up my hopes and dreams. And settled. I have been misunderstood. I have been blamed. I have been shamed. And I have been abused. I have been abused, used, lied to and manipulated. I have lost more than I care to count. But I have deposited a bank of experience and knowledge. And through it all, gained intangibly more. For many years I confusedly did the same thing over and over again, with no stoppage of abuse, sinking deeper into uncertainty, despair, disorder, anger and near depression. For many years I focused on u

image from  https://kingdom777.wordpress.com/ The realm of the devil, the contender, the accuser has established itself on this nation. But he and his minions will not prevail. Because you and I have access to the key. Prophesied by Isaiah [22:22, NIV] – I will place on his shoulder the key to the house of David; what he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open. Fulfilled in Matthew [16:18-19] – And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Though hades – hell – toil and wage an onslaught on you and I, try and hold us hostage within its gates [place of transaction, decision making, announcements and judgement], we hold the key, because we belong to Christ. And hell knows this. Hell is on the back foot, on the defence, be

image from shutterstock Covid-19 came. And with it the decision to curtail movement as much as possible. Work from home, physical distancing, and then – a curfew. With the curfew – came brutality on the Kenyan civilian by the police. Not all police. Some. Yes – the Kenyan was outside the curfew time. Like the woman in the background of a news clip, walking in town at dusk, with one child on her back, the other’s hand tightly clutched, and her bag in the other hand. Past seven pm. I hope she and her children got home safely without receiving a bludgeoning from the police. I have watched one news briefing and a few videos. I am trying not to watch any more. My heart is hurt. What has rend my heart is not the beating of the Kenyan by the police. It was the glee, the sniggering, the snickering, the unseemly comments they made as they beat me and you. The savage emotional violence against a fellow Kenyan. Repeated by an alleged policeman on a video clip. I have spoken

I watched the clip of the man being whipped in a restaurant and I wept. I wept - not for the whipping, not for the pain, not for the indignity of that moment. I wept for something larger than that moment, or those moments. Yes the whipping was a violation. The whipper abused. The whippee was diminished and violated. For the whipper – I asked myself – why did he do it? –why did I do it? What must be my mental thought process to think that this will teach a whole grown person, make them pay for the mistake they have done, make reparation, or make them not do it again? What kind of pavlovian experience have I been through, experiment am I conducting – because this is not first time I am doing this. For the whippee – I asked myself – why did he allow it? – why did I allow it? What state am I as person in – spiritually, soulicaly, physically to allow such a violation? What has come before in my life, conditioned me before in my life, to be able to accept my current debase

image from putacupinit I have just gone through one period without using a disposable menstrual product, and I am excited and I have to tell it all. I had two oopsies, but that was because attention to detail was not paid – I ignored the bubble once, and was too lazy to check if the cup was open the second instance –yes, I’ve let it slip, I am now using a menstrual cup. Both instances had me hotfooting myself to the bathroom to clear up mabloods on maclothes. I’ve not used any backup, I was at home and safe enough Anywhooo, here is the story from the lips or rather the mouth of my vagina herself...... “ She has done things to me, that I really have not liked. She put in me a tampon in my youth. I was in my teens. I heard the conversation. Yes I have ears as well as lips. You won’t see them – they are invisible. But I hear things. There was a swimming gala, and the houses were very competitive. All good swimmers had to swim, said head of house. P’s or no P’s. There was

image from phallu.me I know there is my dress my choice, and it is for both males and females. Anyone can wear whatever they want, wherever they want, whenever they want. And who am I to tell you otherwise. But when butt cracks in low riding pants plus underwear bend over in front of my face, I think I need to speak – and your choice ends. In fact I have spoken up before and often . The latest time being yesterday. In a banking hall. I’m sitting down next to your pal. He is doing things on his phone, that you need to see. So first you wedge yourself in between your pal and my bag, since there is no empty seat next to your pal. I get hit with the rough hot edge of eau de sweat layered with strong undertones of suffocating hip, representing the pinnacle of un-hygiene-ness. I’m patient – no comment. You are uncomfortable, of course you are – you are perched on practically nothing. And you stand. In front of me. Leaning your torso sideways to your friend, the bac

But God.  Yes – but for God, it would all be different. And but for Him, I thought I’d come to the end of this series. Apparently I hadn’t! Something told me – the back end, the backend of me.   Not my neither regions, thank you – but my internal operations. The inner workings, internal operations, the core, the backend – things happened there too. Think about it.   You changed.   Changed over the Hurting, had to change really to get through the Hurting like you did.   Think about it. Raging I remember it. High level anger. Item destroying, clothes rending rage. Yes I did – ripped up my Victoria Secrets [what we girls call the evening wear boubou or dirax], and was left starkers, in the middle of my living room. Thankfully I was alone – or not – I was preggers. What a sight. What a fury. I was madzers [read that word recently, had to use it] with more than fury – I do not know if there is a word to describe that level of ferocious I would get to. But that is gone now. It