Ever felt like the world is out to douse your flame? Well it is.

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Bonfire photo by Anna Popović

The birth of my little girl, a few days ago, had me wondering what my first piece of fatherly advice to her should be.

Well I’ve since said many things to her but today looking at her, I was reminded that we’re all born with a raging fire within. We open our eyes to a world of possibilities only for others to douse it, plunging our hearts into cesspools of doubt and fear. …


Can my marriage survive a bruised ego?

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Photo by Adam Birkett on Unsplash

I’m just like my father. Nobody dared to challenge him, except mom.

She lost most of the battles, but enjoyed a good fight. They would often make my sisters and I watch or invite us to join in. I was always up for the war of words.

It only took 26 letters, 100 tiles and 15 X 15 squares to make my parents happy. This is Scrabble, a highly competitive but fun word building game, where the player with the highest score wins. It’s simple and easy with few limits on word complexity.


I do a martial art named Aikido translated as “the way of unifying life energy” or as “the way of harmonious spirit”. I love it, but this article is not about Aikido. It’s about life’s tests.

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Photo by Adrien Ledoux on Unsplash

A recent Aikido grading sent me into a tailspin.

Now don’t get me wrong, grading is not some ancient fight to the death tournament.

Nope, it’s just a periodic test of skill, held to see if you’ve learnt anything since the last time you got tested.

I started dreading an upcoming grading, focussing on what I needed to do to impress the judging panel…


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Fingers rapping over strings,

making love to echoes of beating hearts.

A rhythmic chasm so deep, so wide, so real,

its flow ruptures over me,

threatening to drown out all doubt,

all fear,

all in the name of absolution.

A ravenous truth articulated over the storm, into the torment,

found in a sliver of tune,

truncated into the light that dances beyond the edge,

emerging in that space where darkness dissipates,

where every strum conflicts with chords of honied torment.

Pause, play, rewind, again and again and again.


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Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash

Stand by, the revolution will be now improvised

Like the four horsemen of the apocalypse,

she will strike nations, improvised by the minds of her young.

Her seedlings sitting across the lap of her four corners, junkies spreading social dopamine.

Od-ing on the scent of bile charging the air, shrapnel cutting through fear.

It will take time, but the revolution will surely be improvised.

The revolution will be improvised by daughters, sons, brothers, fathers and mothers.

The old, the young and the infirm will no longer be silenced.

They will shed shackles of bondage, shred the power from words like…

Stanford Gibson

Lover, father, believer, man-child, entrepreneur, author, filmmaker & Aikidoka

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