I call you Seven
it sounds nice, in an abstract sort of manner
seven for the floor you're on
seven coz that's one of my fav numbers
hear that number's associated with God
years of famine in Egypt, seven
seven days God made for the week
years in each cycle of life, seven
you do know about the cycles, right?
how we get new body cells every seven years
becoming totally new people
three cycles of seven make twenty one years
so we become adults after three cycles
and if we're lucky live for another seven
gosh I hope to make it past seventy
spending all those cycles with you, Seven
sorry, I digressed
went off on a divergent thought train
but now I'm back to what this is all about
you, the one I call Seven, are truly on my brain
infatuation sucks!
what makes me think you'll be good for me?
or I for you? how do I know we'll even make a decent match?
there's much more to love than what the I sees
would you appreciate hot baths listening to Jaguar?
would you feel Maxwell's "Lifetime" on a rainy night?
do you like kids? Would you be a good mum?
would you be my inspiration, or as Common said, my light?
guess there's only one way to find out
get to know you
by spending time with you
getting to really know you
I picture myself starting with that smile
I tell you, the sun would be jealous
coz try as hard as it might
it can't warm my heart the way your smile does
then I'd delve into your mind
what makes you tick, what upsets you
what makes you cry, what would you die for
what's your passion, the one thing for free you'll do
exploring your mind will take a lifetime
so I'm sure you won't mind, if I take some breaks in between
to explore that beautiful body, wanna see all those places
I pray no other man has touched, hope no other man has seen
ha, I'm getting carried away
but I can coz it's safe here
I say things in my poems and other writings
that my mouth will not release due to fear
so I'll stay put, till I summon up the courage to step to you
I know there are no guarantees
perhaps I'll succeed, perhaps I'll fail
we'll know which, if and when you ever get to read this
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
What's your name?
I see you
every now and again
I see you
what’s your name?
remember the first time
you came to my floor
I stared for some time
couldn’t help myself
there was a time you called my number
but to speak to someone else
didn’t know you were the caller
till he told me it was you
who was that, I asked
it’s the girl from floor seven
he smiled, as he answered
didn’t ask for your name
how could I?
the twinkle in his eye gave him away
the truth they say, lies in the eyes
he feels the same way
then we met in the elevator
doors were about closed
but a hand tripped the motion sensor
that hand belonged to you
Hello, you said to everyone
we all heard you
but it was like you spoke to only one
me, and me alone
I tried to talk back
but that smile of yours deaded all that
I was like a broken eight-track
sounded lame, rusty and wack
the elevator ride was short
thank God for that
coz I might have said all sorts
speaking coherently with my heart but not my mouth
I sighed as we parted ways
I’ll get another chance, I told myself
who knows, maybe even today
but damn girl, forgot to ask you for your name!
every now and again
I see you
what’s your name?
remember the first time
you came to my floor
I stared for some time
couldn’t help myself
there was a time you called my number
but to speak to someone else
didn’t know you were the caller
till he told me it was you
who was that, I asked
it’s the girl from floor seven
he smiled, as he answered
didn’t ask for your name
how could I?
the twinkle in his eye gave him away
the truth they say, lies in the eyes
he feels the same way
then we met in the elevator
doors were about closed
but a hand tripped the motion sensor
that hand belonged to you
Hello, you said to everyone
we all heard you
but it was like you spoke to only one
me, and me alone
I tried to talk back
but that smile of yours deaded all that
I was like a broken eight-track
sounded lame, rusty and wack
the elevator ride was short
thank God for that
coz I might have said all sorts
speaking coherently with my heart but not my mouth
I sighed as we parted ways
I’ll get another chance, I told myself
who knows, maybe even today
but damn girl, forgot to ask you for your name!
Brush and paste
His bags were set to go. He wasn’t taking much. Just two bags. Enough to get him through the first month.
Besides he didn’t want to log heavy bags around. He had three stopovers and lots of flying time ahead of him. He planned to do some heavy shopping after settling down. Winter gear would be his first priority.
He couldn’t wait to see her again. Couldn’t wait to run his fingers through her long blond hair. He loved the way his fingers ran through the length of her hair. The way it felt against his skin. Like silk. Warm silk.
He also couldn’t wait for the silent times. When he would just look into her eyes and she would also just look back. So much was said in those times.
He looked forward to holding her. To making love to her. To sharing ice cream. To being together.
He'd left her side barely 4 weeks ago, but it seemed like an eternity. He yearned to be back by her side, to the place he belonged.
It would take him three stopovers, two days and close to fifteen hours of air-time before he could touch her again. It was a lot, but for him nothing else mattered. Not the fact that he was back in his home country. Not the fact that he was back in familiar surroundings, with family and friends. Not the fact that he'd just moved into his own apartment.
He checked to see if he'd forgotten anything. He had a habit of leaving his toothbrush behind when traveling, so he checked to be double sure. Yep, there it was, all packed snuggly next to other toiletries, in the orange case that came with it. He'd bought the brush because he'd the liked the gorgeous girl in the TV ad. And he'd bought the same brush again each time one wore out. It was like a constant in his life. "You're such a sucker for pretty girls", he murmured to himself as he zipped up his bags.
He looked to his left and saw that his PC was still on. The monitor was off, but the CPU was still on. "Good thing I noticed that. Don't want any hacker breaking into my computer while I'm away".
He walked towards the computer to put it off but then decided to check his mail one more time. "I can spare five minutes", he thought, "let's see if I have any new mail".
He did. It was from her. One line. "We have to talk". That was it.
He opened up MSN Messenger to see if she was online. She was. It made sense. It was just about 10 am his time. About 4 pm her time. His flight was for 12.
She'd changed her screen name. She did that a lot. but it made no difference because she was the only member of the group called "My sunshine". Every body else was in the default group "Friends".
He clicked on her icon. A chat window popped up. Talk about what, he typed.
Talk about what, he asked again. The reply came 4 minutes later. "Sorry, I was away from my desk. How are you"
Him: I'm fine. What do we have to talk about?
Her: Oh that. Well, I was just thinking. When is your flight?
Him: It's at 12. I'm actually just about to leave for the airport. Gonna take a cab from downstairs. You haven't answered my question
Her: Well, there's something I have to tell you
Him: About what?
Her: Me. You. Us
Him: Que?
Her: It's not good
Him: Well, don't you think you should tell me now before I board a plane to fly to the other side of the world? You do know its mainly because of you that I'm taking this flight?
Her: I do. And that's what got me thinking...
Him: ???
Her: Well, if you're coming all the way here just for me, it really doesn't make sense
Him: Thought we'd been thru this
Her: I know
Him: So what's the problem now?
Her: I fell for someone else. Sorry...
The rattle on the keyboard stopped. Silence.
Her: You there?
He felt a pain shoot through his head. Or was it his chest? He couldn't be sure.
Her: Hello?
Thoughts flashed through his mind. The airport. Boarding passes. Screaming kids boarding the plane with pensive parents. The snow he wouldn't be seeing. The lips he wouldn't be kissing.
Her: Say something
Her blond hair. The steely look in her eyes when she wanted to make love. The sky blue turtleneck she loved to wear at home.
Her: Look, I've wanted to say this for some time now but just didn't know how
How could she have fallen for someone else so quickly? A mere 10 weeks ago she'd been reluctant to get into a commitment with him. And now this?
Her: Perhaps I should have said sooner. Sorry
He looked at his bags. All packed. The dark green leather bag had his toothbrush and toothpaste. The gorgeous girl in the ad came to mind.
Her: Please say something
He remembered what a psychologist has said on TV some years back. Something about how to handle anxiety. Something about doing something mundane, trivial and ordinary when emotionally distraught. Something about how doing something ordinary when emotions are running high helps one keep balance, and helps one to ride out the raging tidal waves of painful emotions.
Him: I'm going to brush my teeth. Goodbye
He logged off and shut down his PC. He then took a long hard at his bags. A tear meandered down his left cheek. He got his brush and paste and made his way to the bathroom.
--------------------------------------------------------
*Dedicated to you Xto. Keep your head up. Alma fuerte!
Besides he didn’t want to log heavy bags around. He had three stopovers and lots of flying time ahead of him. He planned to do some heavy shopping after settling down. Winter gear would be his first priority.
He couldn’t wait to see her again. Couldn’t wait to run his fingers through her long blond hair. He loved the way his fingers ran through the length of her hair. The way it felt against his skin. Like silk. Warm silk.
He also couldn’t wait for the silent times. When he would just look into her eyes and she would also just look back. So much was said in those times.
He looked forward to holding her. To making love to her. To sharing ice cream. To being together.
He'd left her side barely 4 weeks ago, but it seemed like an eternity. He yearned to be back by her side, to the place he belonged.
It would take him three stopovers, two days and close to fifteen hours of air-time before he could touch her again. It was a lot, but for him nothing else mattered. Not the fact that he was back in his home country. Not the fact that he was back in familiar surroundings, with family and friends. Not the fact that he'd just moved into his own apartment.
He checked to see if he'd forgotten anything. He had a habit of leaving his toothbrush behind when traveling, so he checked to be double sure. Yep, there it was, all packed snuggly next to other toiletries, in the orange case that came with it. He'd bought the brush because he'd the liked the gorgeous girl in the TV ad. And he'd bought the same brush again each time one wore out. It was like a constant in his life. "You're such a sucker for pretty girls", he murmured to himself as he zipped up his bags.
He looked to his left and saw that his PC was still on. The monitor was off, but the CPU was still on. "Good thing I noticed that. Don't want any hacker breaking into my computer while I'm away".
He walked towards the computer to put it off but then decided to check his mail one more time. "I can spare five minutes", he thought, "let's see if I have any new mail".
He did. It was from her. One line. "We have to talk". That was it.
He opened up MSN Messenger to see if she was online. She was. It made sense. It was just about 10 am his time. About 4 pm her time. His flight was for 12.
She'd changed her screen name. She did that a lot. but it made no difference because she was the only member of the group called "My sunshine". Every body else was in the default group "Friends".
He clicked on her icon. A chat window popped up. Talk about what, he typed.
Talk about what, he asked again. The reply came 4 minutes later. "Sorry, I was away from my desk. How are you"
Him: I'm fine. What do we have to talk about?
Her: Oh that. Well, I was just thinking. When is your flight?
Him: It's at 12. I'm actually just about to leave for the airport. Gonna take a cab from downstairs. You haven't answered my question
Her: Well, there's something I have to tell you
Him: About what?
Her: Me. You. Us
Him: Que?
Her: It's not good
Him: Well, don't you think you should tell me now before I board a plane to fly to the other side of the world? You do know its mainly because of you that I'm taking this flight?
Her: I do. And that's what got me thinking...
Him: ???
Her: Well, if you're coming all the way here just for me, it really doesn't make sense
Him: Thought we'd been thru this
Her: I know
Him: So what's the problem now?
Her: I fell for someone else. Sorry...
The rattle on the keyboard stopped. Silence.
Her: You there?
He felt a pain shoot through his head. Or was it his chest? He couldn't be sure.
Her: Hello?
Thoughts flashed through his mind. The airport. Boarding passes. Screaming kids boarding the plane with pensive parents. The snow he wouldn't be seeing. The lips he wouldn't be kissing.
Her: Say something
Her blond hair. The steely look in her eyes when she wanted to make love. The sky blue turtleneck she loved to wear at home.
Her: Look, I've wanted to say this for some time now but just didn't know how
How could she have fallen for someone else so quickly? A mere 10 weeks ago she'd been reluctant to get into a commitment with him. And now this?
Her: Perhaps I should have said sooner. Sorry
He looked at his bags. All packed. The dark green leather bag had his toothbrush and toothpaste. The gorgeous girl in the ad came to mind.
Her: Please say something
He remembered what a psychologist has said on TV some years back. Something about how to handle anxiety. Something about doing something mundane, trivial and ordinary when emotionally distraught. Something about how doing something ordinary when emotions are running high helps one keep balance, and helps one to ride out the raging tidal waves of painful emotions.
Him: I'm going to brush my teeth. Goodbye
He logged off and shut down his PC. He then took a long hard at his bags. A tear meandered down his left cheek. He got his brush and paste and made his way to the bathroom.
--------------------------------------------------------
*Dedicated to you Xto. Keep your head up. Alma fuerte!
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Take my hand
Take my hand
she said with a smile
I resisted
not wanting to be led
down a one-way path
of falling for her
and losing myself
only to end up with a broken heart
she repeated the statement
or was it a command
couldn’t be sure
wasn’t sure what she meant
was she offering herself to me
genuinely, with no hidden agenda
or was she luring me, like a spider does a fly
setting me up just to diss me
the way I’m sure she’d done to others
I’d seen her taking to other guys
was sure I‘d seen her lead them on
holding out a promise of the bond of lovers
the intimate, passionate experience
that two people share when they explore each other
totally, without barriers, naked
so sweet, so intense
I drowned out her voice
as I looked at her mouth
full lips, brown, natural
they could be mine, it was my choice
time stood still when our eyes met
it was the first time I’d looked deep in her eyes
I was hers, it was all over
game, match, set
I took her hand
she said with a smile
I resisted
not wanting to be led
down a one-way path
of falling for her
and losing myself
only to end up with a broken heart
she repeated the statement
or was it a command
couldn’t be sure
wasn’t sure what she meant
was she offering herself to me
genuinely, with no hidden agenda
or was she luring me, like a spider does a fly
setting me up just to diss me
the way I’m sure she’d done to others
I’d seen her taking to other guys
was sure I‘d seen her lead them on
holding out a promise of the bond of lovers
the intimate, passionate experience
that two people share when they explore each other
totally, without barriers, naked
so sweet, so intense
I drowned out her voice
as I looked at her mouth
full lips, brown, natural
they could be mine, it was my choice
time stood still when our eyes met
it was the first time I’d looked deep in her eyes
I was hers, it was all over
game, match, set
I took her hand
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Love & success
Love is important in this earthly life. It is the spark that leads to the fire. The desire that leads to the achievement. We can't get very far if we don't have love in our lives. And I'm not talking about that mushy mushy, "boy meets girl" type of love. No. I'm talking about love for life, love for what we do, love for ourselves.
Jay-Z comes to mind. He loves to rap, loves to entertain and loves to succeed. He also loves the limelight, loves to "live it up" and loves to make hit records. Jigga - one of the many names he's gone by in the last few years - makes sure he works with the best producers he can get. Getting that hit means that much to him (this is in stark contrast to his arch-rival Nas, but that's a story for another day).
Jayhova (yet another name of his. You can tell I'm a fan right?) is successful in all these things because he loves these things. But I'm sure he'll be the first to tell you that love by itself is no guarantee of success. One needs more than love, but without it, getting ahead is just so much more difficult.
Now, I haven't attached value judgements to the things Jay-Z loves. Is it "right" for Jigga to do the things he does? Is it right for him to talk about the subject matters he does? Perhaps not. And perhaps yes. Who's to tell. It seems right for him, so he does it. He loves it, does it and succeeds at it. And he's having a ball.
Now let's bring this closer to home. Let's talk about us, you the reader, and I the author of this piece. What do you love? What is it that I would gladly do for free? I've discovered that I would gladly teach/lecture/consult for free. That's what does it for me. I love the whole process of getting knowledge, finding out stuff, and then sharing it all with other people.
But like I said earlier, loving to do all this is not enough. It is essential, but it in no way guarantees that I'll be as sought after and respected like Steven Covey or Mahan Khalsa.
Love is like the spark from a spark plug. In a car engine it leads to motion. In the open air it brings about nothing, except for a bright light and perhaps some amusement for children (kids in Nigeria love to play with sparkplugs). As powerful and essential as love is, it still requires the right structure, utilization and processes for it to be effective i.e. to make a difference.
Hence the onus is on us, you and I, to learn how to succeed in the areas we love. Each of us has to be very clear about what success means to him/her. Each of us also needs to be in love with his or her own definition of success. Totally in love with it. Totally.
Thinking about this it, it dawns on me that specialization is built into human society. If each of us does what he loves to do then the natural outcome would be job specialization. We cannot all love to do the same thing!
It's self evident, but we take it for granted that society needs different types of people to make it work. We need the Jay-Zs that can spit 18 bars off the tops of their domes. We need the Kanye Wests that can provide the beats for Jay to spit on. And of course we need the Damion Dashes that make sure those Rocafella CDs get to us.
But when you trace it all back to the source, it all starts with love. Love - love for money, love for success, love for making hit music, etc - brought Jay, Kanye and Dame together to push out hits. Love for listening to the hit music they created made us by their CDs.
People always go on and on about how commerce and business are all about being cold and heartless. I disagree. Yes you have to know how the world works and how to steer clear of sharks. But at the end of the day it's starts with love for something or somethings. Just ask Jay-Z.
From The Black Album, his seminal classic, which is also meant to be the last album of his rap career:
"It's my life - it's my pain and my struggle
The song that I sing to you it's my ev-ery-thing
Treat my first like my last, and my last like my first
And my thirst is the same as - when I came
It's my joy and my tears and the laughter it brings to me
It's my ev-ery-thing"
Song's titled "My 1st Song". It's the last song on his last album. A befitting end.
Jay-Z comes to mind. He loves to rap, loves to entertain and loves to succeed. He also loves the limelight, loves to "live it up" and loves to make hit records. Jigga - one of the many names he's gone by in the last few years - makes sure he works with the best producers he can get. Getting that hit means that much to him (this is in stark contrast to his arch-rival Nas, but that's a story for another day).
Jayhova (yet another name of his. You can tell I'm a fan right?) is successful in all these things because he loves these things. But I'm sure he'll be the first to tell you that love by itself is no guarantee of success. One needs more than love, but without it, getting ahead is just so much more difficult.
Now, I haven't attached value judgements to the things Jay-Z loves. Is it "right" for Jigga to do the things he does? Is it right for him to talk about the subject matters he does? Perhaps not. And perhaps yes. Who's to tell. It seems right for him, so he does it. He loves it, does it and succeeds at it. And he's having a ball.
Now let's bring this closer to home. Let's talk about us, you the reader, and I the author of this piece. What do you love? What is it that I would gladly do for free? I've discovered that I would gladly teach/lecture/consult for free. That's what does it for me. I love the whole process of getting knowledge, finding out stuff, and then sharing it all with other people.
But like I said earlier, loving to do all this is not enough. It is essential, but it in no way guarantees that I'll be as sought after and respected like Steven Covey or Mahan Khalsa.
Love is like the spark from a spark plug. In a car engine it leads to motion. In the open air it brings about nothing, except for a bright light and perhaps some amusement for children (kids in Nigeria love to play with sparkplugs). As powerful and essential as love is, it still requires the right structure, utilization and processes for it to be effective i.e. to make a difference.
Hence the onus is on us, you and I, to learn how to succeed in the areas we love. Each of us has to be very clear about what success means to him/her. Each of us also needs to be in love with his or her own definition of success. Totally in love with it. Totally.
Thinking about this it, it dawns on me that specialization is built into human society. If each of us does what he loves to do then the natural outcome would be job specialization. We cannot all love to do the same thing!
It's self evident, but we take it for granted that society needs different types of people to make it work. We need the Jay-Zs that can spit 18 bars off the tops of their domes. We need the Kanye Wests that can provide the beats for Jay to spit on. And of course we need the Damion Dashes that make sure those Rocafella CDs get to us.
But when you trace it all back to the source, it all starts with love. Love - love for money, love for success, love for making hit music, etc - brought Jay, Kanye and Dame together to push out hits. Love for listening to the hit music they created made us by their CDs.
People always go on and on about how commerce and business are all about being cold and heartless. I disagree. Yes you have to know how the world works and how to steer clear of sharks. But at the end of the day it's starts with love for something or somethings. Just ask Jay-Z.
From The Black Album, his seminal classic, which is also meant to be the last album of his rap career:
"It's my life - it's my pain and my struggle
The song that I sing to you it's my ev-ery-thing
Treat my first like my last, and my last like my first
And my thirst is the same as - when I came
It's my joy and my tears and the laughter it brings to me
It's my ev-ery-thing"
Song's titled "My 1st Song". It's the last song on his last album. A befitting end.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Lessons about love from a candle
The flame was brighter than normal. Kunle looked to see why and saw that the candlewick was not burning up. There was a flame all along the length of the wick, which had now bent over because there was no solid candle wax to prop it up.
It made an interesting spectacle and Kunle thought no more about it as he looked away. NEPA had just struck and the heat was unbearable. He wasn't exactly in the mood to appreciate odd-looking candle flames.
But something brought him back to the candle. When he looked at it again he noticed the burning wick had now gotten longer and now protruded to the side of the candle. As a result the candle now had two flames - one in the centre and one to the side, to the left, where the wick was hanging over the candle's edge.
The flame at the edge was causing the wax at the edge to melt faster than the wax at the centre. This formed a slope, and molten wax flowed down the slope, down the side of the candle, all the way to the base of the candle. This flowing was forming another structure, which now stood next to the candle.
As he looked at the straight candle and the forming structure of wax growing from it - and standing by it and in fact leaning on it - he couldn't help but recollect the bible verse "So God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man's ribs and closed up the place with flesh".
The flowing, hard to describe figure had come from the straight, hard candle. It now stood side by side with the candle. It complemented it. It leaned on it. It drew life from it. They fit, as if that's what the manufacturer intended.
As Kunle looked at the "candle couple" he realized that he'd been unwilling to be leaned on in prior relationships. He'd insisted that women he'd dated "do their own thing". He didn't like them dependent in any way.
But as he watched the spectacle before his eyes he realized that the fragility and beauty of the stalagmite depended on the strength and sturdiness of the candle. No strong and sturdy candle, no flowing, expressive, stunning stalagmite. One acted as a foundation for the other. One added beauty and expression to the other's existence. They were better together.
He also realized that it was the candle's responsibility to "hold the flame", the flame which gave the stalagmite life, the flame which is the candle’s reason for being.
Kunle sighed as he blew out the candle flame.
It made an interesting spectacle and Kunle thought no more about it as he looked away. NEPA had just struck and the heat was unbearable. He wasn't exactly in the mood to appreciate odd-looking candle flames.
But something brought him back to the candle. When he looked at it again he noticed the burning wick had now gotten longer and now protruded to the side of the candle. As a result the candle now had two flames - one in the centre and one to the side, to the left, where the wick was hanging over the candle's edge.
The flame at the edge was causing the wax at the edge to melt faster than the wax at the centre. This formed a slope, and molten wax flowed down the slope, down the side of the candle, all the way to the base of the candle. This flowing was forming another structure, which now stood next to the candle.
As he looked at the straight candle and the forming structure of wax growing from it - and standing by it and in fact leaning on it - he couldn't help but recollect the bible verse "So God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man's ribs and closed up the place with flesh".
The flowing, hard to describe figure had come from the straight, hard candle. It now stood side by side with the candle. It complemented it. It leaned on it. It drew life from it. They fit, as if that's what the manufacturer intended.
As Kunle looked at the "candle couple" he realized that he'd been unwilling to be leaned on in prior relationships. He'd insisted that women he'd dated "do their own thing". He didn't like them dependent in any way.
But as he watched the spectacle before his eyes he realized that the fragility and beauty of the stalagmite depended on the strength and sturdiness of the candle. No strong and sturdy candle, no flowing, expressive, stunning stalagmite. One acted as a foundation for the other. One added beauty and expression to the other's existence. They were better together.
He also realized that it was the candle's responsibility to "hold the flame", the flame which gave the stalagmite life, the flame which is the candle’s reason for being.
Kunle sighed as he blew out the candle flame.
Film review - Passion of the Christ
Note to reader: This article was submitted to farafina-online.com for publication on May 31, 2004. Putting it here for my own records.
Enjoy.
Joybringer.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
It's been said that there are as many of them as there are the number of seconds that have passed since the beginning of time. Now imagine two tears for each of them, a tear for each eye. That’s a lot of tears.
This word picture doesn’t even begin to do justice to the way the angels must have felt 2000 years ago, when Jesus was crucified. I can just see them now, looking down at the spectacle, wings folded, tears welling up in their eyes.
I’m no angel but I can definitely relate after seeing The Passion of The Christ (“TPOTC”). I cried, and I know I wasn’t the only one that shed a tear or two. But then again, I’ve always been a bit of a softy, and am prone to a teary eye when watching movies that fall within the “mushy” category. “The English Patient”, for example, had me wailing better than Bob and the Wailers combined ever did on their most spiritual piece. I exaggerate, but you get the point.
Now, having confirmed that I’m predisposed to getting emotionally attached to emotionally charged movies, let me then state the obvious – I will not be writing an impartial, objective review. Nope. This review is biased, and I feel no shame in admitting that. Nous allons!
TPOTC clocked in at 2 hours 6 minutes in all. It felt like 30 minutes. Mel Gibson has definitely grown as a director. He shows sides of the last days Jesus (pronounced “Ye-sua”) spent on Earth – prior to his resurrection, that is – in ways that’ll show you just how the way we’ve been brought up to see Jesus is totally lacking in reality!
There’s lots of blood in the movie, so I don’t advice taking the younger ones along (unless they’re the sort that grew up on “Doom”, “Zombie Flesheaters” and the like – yuck!). Some critics have criticised the movie for this very fact, claiming it’s too bloody, too violent, and too grotesque to be deep and meaningful.
Case in point: "...Gibson's film is more of a study in brutality than an exploration of Christ's message"...E! Online
They miss the point.
We’ve painted the pain Jesus went through with rosy colours, perhaps in a bid to make smaller what we say we believe he went through for us. Wake up call!
See this movie, and then imagine each seizure, each searing pain, can be traced to a sin you’ve committed. Then go out there and intentionally sin right after seeing this movie. You’ll be a hard one, I tell you!
From the opening shot (in which we see Jesus praying in the garden) to the closing shot (can’t spoil it totally for you now can I?), Mel Gibson and his cast weave a tale we know so well, yet know so little. It got to a point where I had to remind myself to set aside my expectations and be re-introduced to the story afresh.
All this is not to say that TPOTC is perfect though. It is good – quite excellent, actually – but it still left me wanting.
I’ll explain. I appreciate movies that have an easily identifiable, central theme/philosophy. “American Beauty” for example – which by the way is one of those movies the pro critics and I agree on – left me with a desire to appreciate life more. “The English Patient” left me with an idea of the power of love. “Matrix”, oh my goodness, don’t get me started…let’s just say that flick took it to the next level in terms of how conditioned we human beings really are.
While I was really drawn into TPOTC, it left me with no “thump on the table”, no clear message, no clear idea/philosophy to take away from the movie. It was not a religious experience. Not that I expected this movie to give me all the answers – life’s not that simple – but I did it expect it to get me asking the right questions, to get me started thinking along a deeper part.
Perhaps I’m just being too philosophical. Perhaps TPOTC could never have done more than it did (especially as it does what it does so well).
This movie tells a story known to half the earth’s population (A conservative estimate of the number of Christians on the planet puts the figure at 2 billion out of 6. I think it’s safe to say another billion have heard the story, if only for Christmas day).
It tells an all too familiar tale in a way that shows how we’ve conveniently distanced ourselves from the reality of Jesus’ death. We claim he died for us, yet complain when we’re brought face to face with what he had to go through to secure our salvation.
We’re a pain denying culture. I take that back – no, I add to it – we’re also a reality denying culture. We’re like the proverbial ostrich that sticks its head in the sand, wishing its problems would go away. And then we romanticize our common delusion with shared fallacies and deceptions – we have to ride the best cars, regardless of the fact that our roads are more potholes than tarmac. I digress.
Enough of my tirade and ramblings. Go see the movie. Fold your wings (for the angels among us). Cry (for all the others).
Enjoy.
Joybringer.
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It's been said that there are as many of them as there are the number of seconds that have passed since the beginning of time. Now imagine two tears for each of them, a tear for each eye. That’s a lot of tears.
This word picture doesn’t even begin to do justice to the way the angels must have felt 2000 years ago, when Jesus was crucified. I can just see them now, looking down at the spectacle, wings folded, tears welling up in their eyes.
I’m no angel but I can definitely relate after seeing The Passion of The Christ (“TPOTC”). I cried, and I know I wasn’t the only one that shed a tear or two. But then again, I’ve always been a bit of a softy, and am prone to a teary eye when watching movies that fall within the “mushy” category. “The English Patient”, for example, had me wailing better than Bob and the Wailers combined ever did on their most spiritual piece. I exaggerate, but you get the point.
Now, having confirmed that I’m predisposed to getting emotionally attached to emotionally charged movies, let me then state the obvious – I will not be writing an impartial, objective review. Nope. This review is biased, and I feel no shame in admitting that. Nous allons!
TPOTC clocked in at 2 hours 6 minutes in all. It felt like 30 minutes. Mel Gibson has definitely grown as a director. He shows sides of the last days Jesus (pronounced “Ye-sua”) spent on Earth – prior to his resurrection, that is – in ways that’ll show you just how the way we’ve been brought up to see Jesus is totally lacking in reality!
There’s lots of blood in the movie, so I don’t advice taking the younger ones along (unless they’re the sort that grew up on “Doom”, “Zombie Flesheaters” and the like – yuck!). Some critics have criticised the movie for this very fact, claiming it’s too bloody, too violent, and too grotesque to be deep and meaningful.
Case in point: "...Gibson's film is more of a study in brutality than an exploration of Christ's message"...E! Online
They miss the point.
We’ve painted the pain Jesus went through with rosy colours, perhaps in a bid to make smaller what we say we believe he went through for us. Wake up call!
See this movie, and then imagine each seizure, each searing pain, can be traced to a sin you’ve committed. Then go out there and intentionally sin right after seeing this movie. You’ll be a hard one, I tell you!
From the opening shot (in which we see Jesus praying in the garden) to the closing shot (can’t spoil it totally for you now can I?), Mel Gibson and his cast weave a tale we know so well, yet know so little. It got to a point where I had to remind myself to set aside my expectations and be re-introduced to the story afresh.
All this is not to say that TPOTC is perfect though. It is good – quite excellent, actually – but it still left me wanting.
I’ll explain. I appreciate movies that have an easily identifiable, central theme/philosophy. “American Beauty” for example – which by the way is one of those movies the pro critics and I agree on – left me with a desire to appreciate life more. “The English Patient” left me with an idea of the power of love. “Matrix”, oh my goodness, don’t get me started…let’s just say that flick took it to the next level in terms of how conditioned we human beings really are.
While I was really drawn into TPOTC, it left me with no “thump on the table”, no clear message, no clear idea/philosophy to take away from the movie. It was not a religious experience. Not that I expected this movie to give me all the answers – life’s not that simple – but I did it expect it to get me asking the right questions, to get me started thinking along a deeper part.
Perhaps I’m just being too philosophical. Perhaps TPOTC could never have done more than it did (especially as it does what it does so well).
This movie tells a story known to half the earth’s population (A conservative estimate of the number of Christians on the planet puts the figure at 2 billion out of 6. I think it’s safe to say another billion have heard the story, if only for Christmas day).
It tells an all too familiar tale in a way that shows how we’ve conveniently distanced ourselves from the reality of Jesus’ death. We claim he died for us, yet complain when we’re brought face to face with what he had to go through to secure our salvation.
We’re a pain denying culture. I take that back – no, I add to it – we’re also a reality denying culture. We’re like the proverbial ostrich that sticks its head in the sand, wishing its problems would go away. And then we romanticize our common delusion with shared fallacies and deceptions – we have to ride the best cars, regardless of the fact that our roads are more potholes than tarmac. I digress.
Enough of my tirade and ramblings. Go see the movie. Fold your wings (for the angels among us). Cry (for all the others).
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