The triads of reality.

Where two truths can co-exist,

Three truths hold the threads of reality together… 

Woven into one another to create balance.

The Father, 

The Son,

The Holy Spirit 

Alpha,

Paròn,

Omega

The meditator;

Artist and

Warrior trying to find his way 

Birth, elusive and ineffable;

Life, perceived as perpetuity and

Death the epitome of conviction - seemingly rash and final

Past,

Present and

Future

Mind,

Body and

Soul

The meditator,

Artist and

Warrior trying to find his way 

One God;

Two joining to form a union.

Everything is three

Don’t forget about me

A week out from my scheduled healing,
kneeling by the edge of the ocean.
Did somebody really say it saves lives?
The secret is I actually feel misaligned…

Not to my purpose, but to my essence.
“Missing somebody, dancing daylight”,
basking in the light, hoping my ugly would pass away.
This is the eulogy.

“All I am is everything and nothing at all.
All I am is a shoulder for your heart to lean on.
All I am is love.”

Energy cannot be destroyed nor created.
The goal is to find free flow—
for it to move efficiently from one form to another.
Whatever that means…

“I know everyone goes someday.
I know my body's fragile,
know it's made from clay.
But if I have to go,
I pray my soul is still eternal—
and my mama don't forget about me.”

Going nowhere fast.

Slow dancing in a burning house 

We don’t want to go anywhere.
I’ll wear the burns as badges,
Level up my rank to five-star general.

The hottest love is usually doomed for the coldest end —
Hasty on a hairpin bend road,
Doomed to be reduced to ashes,
Convincing ourselves, in union, we’re a phoenix.

I’m going to need you to wake up, love.
We’re way past the breaking point.
Fun could only overcompensate for intention and direction for so long…

Attached to compulsion,
We led each other nowhere fast.
Overstayed my welcome, but still renewed the lease.

Misaligning yearning

I’ve spent the past few days lost in thought, searching for the right way to pen this apology. Pardon me—deeply and sincerely… This has consumed me more than the idea of writing my own eulogy. That’s how much it’s consumed me. The weight of it is unshakable, lingering like a shadow I can’t escape.

It is unjustifiable—to involve others in the fallout of my misaligned heart. More often than not, my intentions are noble. But lately, I’ve found myself estranged from them. I’ve found myself in instances where I unconsciously trust the process less and given in more—to my flesh, to my fears, to the comfort of temporary relief.

I have solicited substitutes, knowing deep down they were never the missing piece. And still, I lingered in those spaces, not out of love, but out of longing. Longing for what I truly believe is meant for me, but growing impatient with the pace at which that alignment manifests. 

I know what completes my puzzle. But because that piece hasn’t fallen into place soon enough, I grow restless—frustrated. And in that unrest, I’ve disturbed not just my own peace, but the peace of others. 

There are no intentions I can claim here—because they didn’t exist. Just quick fixes, empty placeholders, and a sobering clarity that is often delayed. I am deeply disheartened by the number of casualties because of my uncentered ways. To those I misled, even unintentionally—I see it now. And I carry the weight of that with me.

Mufunwa

I cannot be comprehended without my permission, her aura whispers—
To which my yearning soul murmurs, “...Something lost behind the ranges. Lost and waiting for you.”

As we exchange soft gazes mid-conversation,
A rally that rivals that of Simone Frediani and Daniele Pecci—
Smiles, chuckles, and everything in between.

My mind wishes to be pardoned for its presumed eagerness in each exchange;
Her empathetic nature allows it in amusement,
To which my soul once more references a relatable line from one of my favorite poems:
“I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.”

Though I may no longer hold my breath for follow-up encounters,
Still, they remain dear to me.

Oh, how feels feel…

Oh, how feels feel—
I could melt to touch.
Cold turkey for a feeling unfamiliar,
A radical switch from straight edge to fiend.
I hope you look both ways
When you cross my mind.

Oh, how feels fill the room—
I could melt to touch.
Finally acquainted…
If these walls could talk,
Familiar and intertwined—
I hope you never vacate your residence.

I offer you title deeds:
Real estate in my heart and mind.
Attached is a vocation—
Oh, to be elated by more than just the thought

Of you being mine.

The council of being.

The mind drifts—
a raft on a restless tide.
Constantly pensive, yearning wonder.
Bombard me not; I’ve grown tired
of your siege. You duel with the heart
as though it’s a traitor to the council.

The heart snaps back:
You crown yourself a tyrant of logic,
yet build your kingdom on quicksand—
why chain me for trembling at the storm?
I am no traitor. I am the anchor
you keep dragging through the shallows.

The soul, slow as sediment:
You call me obsolete
when I name the undertow—
this council of breath and bone
was never yours to throne.
What is a tide without the moon’s pull?
A king without his chorus?

Absolute power, it murmurs,
corrodes like salt—
you etch your decrees in protocol,
yet we are currents
meant to merge, not conquer.

The mind unravels:
I did not choose this helm—
this map of a deepening void.
Each choice cracks like thin ice
beneath our feet.
Forgive the fractures.
I too drown in the wake
of what I’m tasked to navigate.

Hedonism’s tide drowns me, he claims—
stranded in the spin of pleasure, pain, panic.
I seek transcendence…
I seek the marrow of rest.
I seek transcendence…
unshackle me from this wave’s crest.

The heart hums:
Then sink into me.
Beneath your riptide of thought,
I am the kelp—
not drowning, but swaying,
not fleeing, but rooting.

The soul sighs:
Root here.
Even monarchs kneel
to the earth they stand on.

The mind, softer now:
I commend your light—
heart, your compass; soul, your tide.
Let the council’s chorus
chart this abyss.
Alone, I am only
a star
begging the night
not to swallow its spark.