In class yesterday I think I stunned a few when I attempted to argue that living is not that special–I pointed out that life has no sanctity. In the medical ethics class (on the topic on Euthanasia and Physician-Assisted Suicide), we where discussing the case of a man who killed his 12 years old daughter cerebral palsy who has developed extreme severity; ultimately ‘Latimer has consistently claimed that he killed his daughter, by placing her in his farm truck and connecting the exhaust pipe to the cabin, in order to relieve her suffering.’(please read the full story here) And the Professor asked we discuss the rightness or wrong of this; most in the class concluded life is too precious to be taken away.

I disagreed, with passion. There is nothing, I pointed that makes our life extremely different from those animals, bacteria or cancer cells we kill daily. You can expect that I will get more hate than I can imagine (some even thought I was going insane).

Since I couldn’t discuss the depth of the argument in this 50 minutes class, where I wish I recite this to them:

on the Sanctity of Life,
A bunch of Shit Talk.
Life is Sacred…says who?
God?
If you read history this God
is the leading cause of death
and has been for thousands of years–
Hindus, Muslims, Jews, Christians
all killing each other
‘the sword of God’, ‘the blood of the lamb’, ‘vengeance is mine’–
Millions dead.
The wrong answer to the God question:
‘You believe in God?’ ‘No’–dead!
‘You believe in God?’ ‘Yes’
‘You believe in my God?’ ‘No’–dead!
…for thousands of years
…all the best wars,
the brutal wars, the craziest wars all fueled on religious hatred.
Forget sanctity of life!
And if there is, not from God.
We, humans, made it up!
Why?
‘Cause we’re alive–self-interest
We, promoting the idea that somehow
our life is sacred.
Dead people don’t talk about this…
Why?
They don’t care, they are dead!
It all grows from our biased point of view
It is a self-serving man-made-crap
One of the things we tell ourselves
…to feel good
Life is sacred–making us feel noble.
Think of it:
if everything that ever lived is dead,
And everything that is alive will die,
Where is there sanctity?
We are hypocritical.
Think of it:
We kill mosquitoes, flies–’cause they are pest
Lions and tigers–’cause it’s fun
Chickens and pigs–’cause we’re hungry
Pheasants and Quails–’cause it’s fun and we’re hungry
People–’cause they’re pest and it’s fun
Cancer cells–where is their sanctity
Save the tumor!
Save the Viruses, Mildew, Bacteria, Crabs…
Aren’t they sacred?
Sanctity of Life is very selective,
We choose those forms of life we deem sacred
And…
We kill the rest
Why?
We made it all up.

There was Haiti and now Chile, guess whose fault it is…I’m guessing global warming, theologians, and academicians, I’m kidding about the academician part and the rest remains valid, global warming and theologians, faux alike.

Maybe I’ve lost my sympathy–but people are dying by the thousands everyday and the economist in me is saying: “maybe it’s a good thing.” Remember, we’re all going to die and actually that’s what makes us the lucky ones. Before I heard the news of the Chile Mag. 8.8 earthquake, I wanted to talk about the “littleness” of life, a lot like George Carlin would do. We humans are taking ourselves too seriously.

It perhaps comes to mind that I might be reacting differently if me or my acquaintance is involved in this disaster; I might, I might not. My heart goes out to those who might have been affected and for those who are not affected, I wrote this a long while ago and I’d repeat:

We are going to Die!
And that makes us,
the lucky ones.
Most people are never going to die,
because they are never going to be born.

The potential people who could have been here in my place
that would in fact not see light of day,
out number the sand grain of the Sahara.

Certainly,
those unborn greats exists.

Greater Poets than Keith,
greater scientist than Newton.
greater minds than Einstein.

We know this because the set of possible people
allowed by our DNA outnumbers the set of actual people.

In the teeth of this stupefied odds,

it is You and I in our ordinariness,
that are here.

We privileged few who won the lottery of birth against all odds

How dare we whine!
About our inevitable return
to that state which the vast majority never saw.

Language, n.: a body of words and the systems for their use common to a people who are of the same community or nation, the same geographical area, or the same cultural tradition.

Apart from this definition, I think language as culture, an identity. And, it’s interesting how many are forgetting their culture (language) as soon as they move to a ‘better’ country (US?). It’s easy for me to say, maybe because I don’t live in one of these countries…Wait… I do.

I’m Yoruba. And until recently, I’ve been alienating myself from the rich culture, making foreigners tell me my own history–not anymore.

Most of my character has been formed by the many proverb in the Yoruba language; like this (Toju Iwa Re; Watch Your Acts) poem tells. And to get the depth of which the culture puts on morality, the line starts as such:

“Watch you acts my friend

Honor leaves at any time

Beauty could fade off

But, only your Act stays forever…”

I will be translating many of the poems that I grew up basing my morality on, in the original language first, then a translation.

And as a side note, those who have requested I read my poems, these seem like one’s I will be reading and including on the site soonest.

Tôjú ìwà rê örê mi

Olá a máa ní læ nílé eni

Ewà, a sì máa tan lára ènìyàn

Shùgbôn ìwà ní í bá ‘ni dé sàárè

Èéfín nìwà, rírú ní í rú

Ènìyàn gb’ókèèrè níyì

Shùgbôn súnmô ni, l’a fi ñ mö’ae eni

Ìwà kò ní í foníwà sílë

Ìwà omo l’ó ñ somo lórúko

Omo dára ó ku ìwà

Ara dára ó ku aso

Esë dára ó ku bàtà

B’énìyàn dára tí kò níwà

Ó padanù ohun ribiribi

Ìwà rere l’ësô ènìyàn

Sùúrù baba ìwà, ìwà baba àwúre

|===================================================================================|

Watch your Acts my friend

Honor leaves at any time

Beauty lasts for just briefly

But, your Acts lasts forever

Character is like smoke, eventually it will rise (to the surface)

A person lives off in the distance in honor

But with closeness we learn of a person’s actions

But with closeness we learn of a person’s actions

Character will not leave its owner alone

It is a child’s character that gives the child a name

Even if the child seems fine, there is still a need for character

Even if the body looks fine, there is still a need for clothing

Even if the feet work fine, there is still a need for shoes

If a person seems fine but doesn’t have character

He/She is missing something very valuable indeed

Good character is a person’s bodyguard

Patience leads good Character, Good character brings blessings.

Today is Valentine’s and everyone’s possibly doing something or planning to. Few posts ago, I thought of the idea of love; whatever it means to you–this is how I see it, here, here and here.

All those said, this is the last of the series and I figured a better to end it is this poem inspired and dedicated to my late friend (Uduak Umo, 1985-2008). It’s funny how life works; I can write about love all day long and it dawned on me, loving is a luxury and we are lucky to be one of those who enjoys that luxury.

For times we sought to spend together
In pain and in Joy
For times we sought to understand
In low and in Highs
For times we sought to carry it on
rough tide and smooth Rides
For time we sought to think
through and through
maybe it fail and work
or fail to work
For times I’ve come to see
through it all and it’s you
For times I’ve come to know
through it all and you’re you
For times I’ve come to try
through it all and let be you
For times words can’t say
though I try
For times acts can’t tell
though I try
For times even I fail me
though I try
For times I write and words fail
though I try

I’ve come to know
it’s all about trying
or if it’s falling
there will always be
Love, from your Valentine

From a song that got stuck on my mind and even more so how I feel of late:

If I could run away
I’d run away with you
Far Away
To a place, where there’ll be angels
Who would describe to you
The Way I feel
Feel for You!
Feel About You
You’re my heart and Soul’s Desire.

I’ve thought (written?) several about my thoughts on life and for the various facet life gives us, sometimes it feels like we are being tricked by life; sometimes it feels like we’re getting a treat. Maybe that’s what the “life’s not rosy” phrase means, I’m still not sure. This is poem written by four of my friends (Fola Kol, Tosin Gbogi, Saba Raja and Femi Osewa); as you read the poem, you’d probably notice how everyone’s take on life  feels as the poem “talks”.

trick or treating
a trick on living or dying this is life
hold on me
the trick itself is the treat we seek,
solving the puzzle of divided unity.
a trick or treat, can’t say or see
or know or care or discover
or hide or find
the trick in living is not dying

The trick in living is not dying
In itself, death is not satisfying
Being thankful: the trick to living
An illusion of wholeness it gives
Though this cup is yet to brim.

Brim brim the cup of death
Boom boom the tropes of health
Hopes, I died yet I live.
In itself, death exists,
Life exists, as it is,
Neither is complete, neither satisfying,
Dying live, as living are dying.
Even in my death, my spirit longed for here,
my body yearned to do things like i yet lived.

Behold i must keep the fight never to invoke the dead me.

Some of my recent Haiku on Haiti (except the last)…

O heart groan/
 like an axed tree
cut short in time

I sit
 I watch
I moan

heart throbing
 body hit
mind ever strong

let’s be honest
 and be a mind
high on Haiti

tick tick
 time passing
help, give, donate

Ineffable woe
 Infallible spirits rise
From rubble & loss  -@tWordBird

And there have been the Haiti crisis to which I reminded us, we are nothing but humans irrespective of how high we think of ourselves and more especially, we are monkeys.

This is a transcription from an old video which makes the thinking clearer, we as monkeys. Be prepared for a long session to laugh, think and cry:

There are billions of galaxies in the observable universe
And each of them contain hundreds of billions of stars.
In one of the galaxies.
Orbiting one of these stars.
Lies a little blue planet.
And this planet is run by a bunch of monkeys…

Now these monkeys don’t think of themselves as monkeys.
They don’t even think of themselves as animals.
In fact, they love to list all the things that
they think separate them from the animals…

Opposable thumbs, self awareness,
they use words like homo erectus and ostralopithicus.
You say tomato, i say tomatoe.
They’re animals alright; they’re monkeys.
Monkeys with high speed digital fiberoptic technology,
but monkeys never-the-less.

They’re clever. you’ve got to give them that.
The pyramids, skyscrapers, phantom jets,
the great wall of China. that’s all pretty impressive,
for a bunch of monkeys.
Monkeys whose brains have evolved to
such an unmanageable size that it’s pretty
much impossible for them to stay happy for any length of time.
In fact, they’re the only animals who think
they’re supposed to be happy.

All the other animals can just BE.

But it’s not that simple for the monkeys…

The monkeys are cursed with consciousness.
And so the monkeys are afraid.
So the monkeys worry.
the monkeys worry about everything,
but mostly about what all the other monkeys think.
Because the monkeys desperately want to fit in with the other monkeys.
Which is pretty hard to do, because a lot of the monkeys hate each other.
This is really what separates them from the other animals.

These monkeys hate.
They hate monkeys that are different.
Monkeys from different places.
Monkeys who are different color.
You see, the monkeys feel alone:

ALL 6 BILLION of them.

Some of the monkeys pay another monkey to listen to their problems.
The monkeys want answers.
And the monkeys know they are going to die.
So the monkeys make up gods.
And then they worship them.
Then the monkeys start to argue over whose made-up god is better.
And then the monkeys get really pissed off
and this is usually when the monkeys decide that
it’s a good time to start killing each other.
So the monkeys wage war.
The monkeys make hydrogen bombs.
The monkeys have got their entire planet
wired up to explode.
The monkeys just can’t help it.

Some of the monkeys play
to a sold out crowd of other monkeys.
The monkeys make trophies,
and then they give them to each other…
like it means something.

Some of the monkeys think they’ve
got it all figured out.
Some of the monkeys read Nietzsche or Bible.
The monkeys argue about them.
Without ever giving any consideration
to the fact that they where just from another monkey.

The monkeys make plans.
The monkeys fall in love.
The monkeys have sex.
And then they make more monkeys.

The Monkees make music.
And then the monkeys dance.

The monkeys make a hell of a lot of noise.
The monkeys have so much potential
if they would only apply themselves.
The monkeys shave the hair off their bodies
in blatant denial of their true monkey nature.
The monkeys build giant monkey hives, that they call cities.

The monkeys draw a lot of imaginary lines in the dirt.
The monkeys are running out of oil.
Which is what fuel their precarious civilization.
The monkeys are polluting and raping their planet
like there’s no tomorrow.
The monkeys like to pretend that everything is just fine.
Some of the monkeys actually believe that the entire universe
was created for their benefit.

As you can see these are some messed up monkeys.
These monkeys are at once the ugliest
and the most beautiful creatures on the planet.
And the monkeys don’t want to be monkeys,
they want to be something else…

but they’re not.

While I can’t make the perfect world happen, I at least can imagine it; or I can at least imagine what I can do to make the world, in my imagination, perfect, or better put:

If we were a Painter,
We’d paint a picture of a perfect world.
Some sort of – no evil, better world and a brightened horizon.

If we are Sailors,
We’d go into the oceans, seek the calmest peace.

If we were Pirates,
We’d discover the treasure lying in our dreams.

If only we are Dreams,
This happens – We’d Allow every good dream come true.

If We were a Promise,
We keep every of our heart-sought promises

If we are Magicians,
We’d just snap our fingers and make all our trouble vanish —-

If we are Preachers,
We say of peace, follow peace and live in peace.

If we are Doctors,
We’d heal this world, prevent it from getting harm.

If we are Psychics,
We’d just erase the past, go into the future and set everything right.

If we are Soldiers,
We’d defend our souls, mind and body from getting any hurt.

If we are Feeling down,
For this – we have the power to never be let down.

If only ….
If we can be these things,
If to make us Happy,
If to make us Peaceful,
If to make our World a better,
If only we can be these things.

I’ve been thinking of a new medium of expression outside poetry or song writing, actually, not really outside those, more of a fusion of both and truly express how we, I, you, they, all feel — those feelings we cannot physically express, those feelings we wish people can just look at us and see through…
Tiny little bits
Life in its little bits
Parts to tell, part not to tell
Outside World, Inside World.
The Inside world of you and knowing
The Outside world of them
The Outside world of hurt
The Outside world of cheats
The Outside world of they wanting all of the Inside world of you
Little bits in varying pieces
Outside, the crazy side
Only Inside do I find me.