“Nobody ever grows up who did not first scrape his or her knees” The Igbo ancestors knew that the spirit can be healed through the nourishment of its layers of hurt. Just like the butterfly can learn to fly in-spite of the rips cascading through its delicate wings, so can our broken spirit be nurtured until it can flutter high over the hunched trees, ready to snap back into its proper position within the sacred sacs of our beating hearts. Who knows what a one legged child can become if given crutches to ambulate toward a goal? Who can argue with an artist about the colors on his canvas, his window into a colorful world?
Each of us represents a simple atom in motion, propelled toward our destinies through blind molecular force. Yet in spite of the infinite wisdom of Chineke to give, take and reassess, there is always a wayward soul deprived of compassion and who falls prey to misbehaving siblings and enemies.
Who is to say that the birth of our individuality is not born out of Chineke’s desire to paint a meadow of delicate human tapestry and splash color on the portrait of human magnificence?
Who is to say that philosophical thought is not borne of the willingness to challenge the miracle of living in what ever form our eyes perceives? Life is an unfolding mystery, full of quiet indignation and robust oppositions. However, underneath these trappings is the undisputed miracle of love that Chineke gives back to us with abandon. Our only mandate is to extend our open minds to the logistics of achieving the ultimate human yearning…Chineke’s grace…to inhale and exhale and empty out!
Otito Nile Diri Chineke!