“Inner harmonious peace is like a woman, it is beautiful and full of life.” Turkana saying
I’m the Snake that must recur, fondly known to many by my most recent non-de guerre Al-Kitab Rafik. But today is my birthday. That’s what they don’t understand. After waiting for 25 solid years, my first birthday anniversary finally shows up as though out of the blue. Yet I’ve actually been waiting for it all along.
You see, I’m not a timely man. But the laws of birth would have none of it. And it was only last year on November the 14th that it was decided that I should be reborn; that everything ought to start afresh. Aah, how I laugh at the holy naiveté, for I do not come with a blank slate but with a vengeance. Vengeance precisely cut!
This is my occasion for celebration. I want to burst out in the open and let out a wild shriek in the vastness out there where beauty and recognition can be found. I am known only to those who don’t know me. But my real friends, they all scatter about in terror at the slightest provocation of my approach, my presence my God! Ebola incarnate would fare better, I swear. My presence is a taboo nowadays. Yes, to acquaintances and friends alike, but foremost to myself.
Anyways, it’s the first epicurean celebration of sorts; it must not be sullied with such negative observations. I want to burst out in the open with a strong vengeance. Eeh you that once tasted my venom and survived, be prepared to die. That things exist, and that I am the THING, that itself is the greatest wonder. Oh my mother who gave birth to me not just once but twice in a row let me out to the dance. I heard they will be dancing to the eight measures of the 8 gems embedded in Immanuel Sufi Amojong Lokwei Zarathustra Dialectic Akidipi’s Wu-Wi-Dread!!!!!!!! Let me bust open in a mesmerizing rupture of sorts, only comparable to higher things in life.
I have been on the road for way too long. But would it have been different for better or for worse, had not the politically charged, gunpowder disenfranchisement affected the power dynamic in my former Lorogon village? And thus spurred us on a vagrant errand since then to places farthest from and inconceivable in our imaginations back then? I’m in America at the moment as a logical continuity of this dialectic. I weep. But my mother says I weep for lack of reason to weep.
I am indeed a stellar aloneness act in this vast universe. But deep inside, through some subtle channels of innate communication, I hear the voice of my mother. She is egging me on. She recriminates with me thus, “You cry traversing crossroads in search of what? But why you don’t understand you are the Destiny that must recur? Why trivialize yourself by losing yourself in the search while you are the searched itself?” But the mere fact that you find yourself the searched thing does not excuse you and preclude your questing intrinsic obligation to search incessantly. Socrates once said, “Know thy self.” But my mother says, “Find thyself through cultivation of Reason and Affective properties.” And again she reminds me, “Don’t alienate thyself in Reason alone but consummate thyself also in the Encompassing affectivity.” Okay, Reason is kind of as foreign but Emotion, and Léopold Senghor truly shows, is Negro. “L ‘émotion est negre, comme la raison hellene” (“Emotion is Negro, as reason is Greek”). However the synthesis of the two powers (Reason and Emotion dumbass) is in the Confucian heart-mind thesis. So furthermore, the active-irruption of the Confucian thesis is purely Turkana. Ekalesoit it is; the finding of oneself situated in the mystical whole.
Oh thinking is hard thoughts to digest. They say hope is not faith, and that faith, on the other hand, is not belief, however metaphysical it gets; and so back and forth the claims vacillate. But why need the service of such epistemic utilities when I myself am the “It.” The thing in-itself but not an end in-itself – contrary to the deluded Kant. I am the embodiment of Destiny that must eternally recur. I am Al-Kitab MusiQ, the Eternal Recurrence. And now and ad infinitum, let my rapture get a boost exponentially. If I’m not the Eternal Recurrence, then how did I end up here? You tell me. Don’t simply show me bare facts but take pains to fully explain and unravel this mystery to me till I can fully grasp the train of your thought. Otherwise shut up and join the dance to the rapture of my Eternal Recurrence.
Oh Al-Kitab exclaims, for he has trapped causality in one grasp. Our origin is a woman in her motherly sense. Al-Kitab is the founder of the new old pantheistic spirit, which had been neglected, cast aside by many. Even he, Al-Kitab, had taken part in this phenomenally ungrateful and neglectful procession for a long time until, by the divine mother grace, the Kenyan roads brought him to this epiphany. Oh my dear mother who was that close to taking her own life so her son’s then flickering life might be spared; but had Isis Goddess of Creation and Protector of the dead, had she (ISIS) not decline the motherly offer, my new metamorphosis wouldn’t have indeed come to be. Things would have truly been, no doubt, sadly different. And now around his neck are the 8 necklaces each representative of the eight motherly custodians of the Truth, of Creation, and he has vowed that these Truths shall hang nearest to his heart. Isis Goddess of Creation and Protector of the dead, Akidipi my grandmother-guardian of Ekalesoit the ancient shrewd snake, Itio oh my mother, Queen Nyambighi, Mekatilil wa Menza, Prof. Alice Hadler, Lornah Kiplagat, and Maqueda Queen of Sheba; all these are those 8 gems (each synergistically representing Al-Kitab’s pantheon) that hang blessing his heart daily and nightly.
I, Al-Kitab, am the “I” in the I-oneness; I am situated at the heart of the Encompassing Creation (“I”). The “I” that leads to Consciousness in I-ness. For the “I” willed even the imperfect forms of Consciousness as preferable to no Consciousness at all. I am Al-Kitab, the I’ness that must eternally recur. Yes, I’m Al-Kitab Rafik MusiQ the Eternal Recurrence; that is the dance and coming-of Transcendental Consciousness of Active-Creation, in its mystical Creation. Shut up then and dance to the Encompassing “grand and precise rhapsody of existence,” the dynamic Dance in totality.
“My mother was destiny. My father, grace. My name is prince of synchronicity and serendipity… For the compassionate heart within the mind, the light within the body, for the sun.” Rumi
Now dance oh you straggler of the much overdue Age ->
Even more pour yoself yet in this pouring->