I CALL IT REDEMPTION: the sketches cry out pt2.

To enjoy this read more,check the first post I did called FROM ONE SCARRED HAND TO THE OTHER IN the sketches cry out pt1 HERE

Cold sheets grab my feet and thighs in an attempt of caress but no,all that feels like an intense struggle as I toss and turn for comfort onto my chest,side and back.Feet curl back and stretch forth in a wriggly attempt at sleep.Sleep that I have looked for all night with no avail to same.

It is five in the morning on a rush towards six as dawn races to get rid of the immense dusk and dark that prevailed against it the previous evening.An exchange that always seemed seamless prior to my current consternation.Lately however,it all seems like an endless tag of war,no,not a tag of war but basically a battle of the titans with all harm befalling the innocent civilians.

Innocent civilian in this case I should have been but in retrospect was I really innocent as befits the eye or guilty before charge?Maybe I will live to answer that question another day but till then allow me to make my pillow my point of solace if not utmost refuge.

Refuge from what though you may inquire but truth be told,in this lost and broken structure that I am in at this point of space I am no good respondent to any questions.Let alone questions that put me in disarray or make me feel worse than I could possibly be feeling.

Yes feelings,aren’t they the core essence of existence?of decisions and judgements?Of nations and rulers,of uprisings and battles?Of marriages and conflicts?Oh,I hear someone tell me that I am wrong,that all I have mentioned is controlled and determined by cognitive judgement….Okay,I once heard someone mention something like,”Let us agree to disagree”…never really known what that meant but right now,in this high mile or deep pit that I am in,I feel like using that phrase,”So please let us agree to disagree.”

My sheets grow colder against my feet at all night has been a sweaty affair of writhing in pain across my bed.If you are wondering if I am sick or something,no Pepa reader I am not but I am aching within as pieces after pieces of me rip away.As my Kenyan brothers would have it,”Sijui nasikia aje lakini siko poa!” whose direct translation would mean,”I don’t no how am feeling but am not okay”.

The very essence of my joy seems so far drawn from me and even the shell that held all integrity in place is all but disposed.Here lies an empty space in time for lack of reason or shell of existence.Here lies a man lifted high in the promise of a bungee jump and in place of a life saving anchor,the very rope that held his promise of hope got ripped from its hold to rid him of any life left to hold.

So the very rope of hope that held him hence becomes the core castigator of his imminent destruction,in his high jump that life-saving rope drags him down to the very base of the river….woe unto him if it is a water fall rapid for even the last breath can be drawn away by the happy waves…in this case with no promise of happiness.

Time rushes by as I linger into the depths of pain wondering and asking thousands upon piles of questions of hows and what ifs plus a myriad of whys.Questions that a specialist,bystander,onlooker or even you Pepa reader could have answers to but in my state I need non of.

The pain builds as dusk gives way to dawn and that beautiful ray of sunshine that sure brings hope takes over.Takes over my surroundings as my heart remains adamantly cold to any promise of hope.I am supposed to get up and be ready for work but even as I slip out of my sheets,knees,oooh my knees,what did I do to hurt your feelings also?My knees give way and I slump to the floor due to lack of strength.

Tears well up the edges of my swollen yet so tiny eyes.They are at this point quite totally drowned in my sorrows and pain.

In days past,it was an almost scriptless routine from bed and down onto my knees then prostrate for devotion but today,this day,…like in the impulse my cognitive perception had lost all its nerves..I couldn’t curl up my lips in prayer,rather they so easily creased up in formation of tears dripping from my broken soul.

All that counted were my basest of feelings and raw desires.No,not any lusts or gross intents but all am thinking is how this cold icebox where my heart used to be would just pull off.I know just the right medicine and drug for this kind of feeling.At least for that moment I thought I knew it.I mean,I had watched many enough heartbreak movies to know that a cold pour of shower water would always wash away all hurt and pains however deep it bore.What I din’t know however or remember for that matter was that all movies were scripted and directed but my heart’s hurt was real.

And again,why do we feel pain in the heart area while the mind wonders in thoughts yet it is the mind that decided to get us to this point?

I remember before dragging my heavy now body to the bathroom,I had made this earnest prayer that if it was okay then God would just take away my life if not my pain.I never knew or even thought that at this point I would be worth any value,I just din’t want to be,I din’t want to endure the pain and depression now caressing my every edge and portion.I could see her literally grip me by the throat and tell me how worthless I was.

Depression,she had no mercy and grace was never her portion and I felt her hurl my body to the wall,pick me up again and stamp me under her feet.She din’t feel anything feminine,she felt like Goliath himself going up against that little Jewish lad clad in a brass helmet and netted vest,holding a spear that was shaped like a weaver’s beam.He on the other hand just like me had no weapon to match this prowess but faith in heart and a sling on the other hand.Only advantage he had over me is that he could see his adversary while here I lay in mine’s grip without even knowing I was in the grip of utter destruction.

So painstakingly I dragged my heavy, wary, almost crushing being into the shower and opened the cold water.I wished it could wash my hurts and sorrows down the drain buy woe unto me.The cold of the water bit harder into my skin.Almost like it was dicing up my flesh to add pepper to hurt literally.It felt worse as that promised relaxation found no home within my soul.In its place however more tears boiled from deep within as memories of her caresses and kisses came flooding my yearning heart.

How could she,why did she?Was I that unimportant?Was a goodbye too hard to curl up?Was she such a coward to face and tell me the truth or was I that vile to not deserve even a little honesty?These questions became the doom of me as the wounds of my now brooding infirmity lay open for the vultures and flies of doom to scavenge upon.

As the water that promised solace failed to drain away my sorrow I contemplated connecting the live electric wire to the draining water but this scared me more than the ailing heart.I turned off the tap and taking a towel to dry off I look into the mirror.I wanted to see the bewildered look of a broken man,one who mattered not to the world.Yes,I wanted to see how ugly he looked before I could help end his misery.

In the mirror however what I came face to face with I will never erase off my mind.In the mirror I found the bloodshot eyes of a once handsome and impeccable young man.One whose smile always left most in mellow.I stared deeper into those eyes and there these beautiful words formed,”Son,you are beautifully and wonderfully made,before you were in your mother’s womb I knew you,I formed you in the secret parts of the earth …..”The same voice went on to comfort me in ways I knew I din’t deserve.

At that particular point I saw no horror of a broken man but found grace through the mirror,in the comfort of a real father….He went on and called me son.He told me a tale of love and hurt and at that point I knew I was loved and felt no hurt like His.

I found redemption when all I wanted was a freeing and release from all this pain and depression.

Wanna read what dad told me?Find the sketches cry out in FROM ONE SCARRED HAND TO THE OTHER HERE



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