Thin lines

The thin line between life and death is both the pulse and the ability to percieve impulses. Once those two criticeria has been reached (breached), you are safely dead. Dead, men. Gone. Gone too soon, at least that’s what your obituary would read if your family is decent enough to get you one. But that point has been reached more than once by most, if not all, of us. That critical point where a little more effort would shortput you into the oblivion. Trust me, I know.
I have been there too. More than once. Even recently. Precisely a week ago, I was driving on Campus. I had just completed my exams. And I had passed. But the backlog of sleep and sleep deprivation made my eyes heavy, or what it the undue stress and excessive joggling my system had suffered in the recent past? I don’t know. But I was driving, and then a blackout. OR is it sleep? Whatever, I just slipped.
In that second my car rammed into a traffic light and an electric light pole, which I eventually lifted. I touched the line. But I was restrained. By prayers of my mum and my loved ones. The prayers that had made me use my seat belt, a rare occurrence at 6 am, a time I thought I was far from danger’s gaze. The seatbelt saved my life. Like it did save kayne west’s life and for that aint I grateful? I am. I thank God and my loved ones who for the past days have placed restraining order on my movement. No doubt there are lessons learnt—don’t push yourself too hard—and prices to be paid like I have been reduced from four legs to two, but am grateful, grateful for the experience, grateful for the divine intervention which makes it possible for me to not to have crossed that thin line.

Grav Superlatives

This week holds quite some significance to me. Yes it does, cos by tomorrow I would add me another year on the surface of this earth ( don’t ask me my age) and the next day I would sit(more appropriately stand) for a clinical exam that would lead me to my penultimate, making my days as a student about 22 months. 22 months away from a family’s dream, 22 months away from the Doctorate, the Hippocratic Oath, mainstream business of helping and saving lives. I can’t but say, I can’t wait!
Yet again, as I pride myself and turn out my appreciation to the Most High for making it possible for me to be quite older, i think again I near my grave. Yes am still very far away from it; I mean I have not written 14 books, married, birth children, witnessed naming ceremonies of grandchildren, handed out my daughter(s) to men in exquisite suits, buried my parents, etc.
Still quite a lot to get done o! And I don’t see death in the next 50 years (God’s willing) but the cruel fact is am much closer to my grave than I was before my last birthday.
Grave.
Gravid.
Gravity.
These three words draw out a meaning that interconnects in my mind. Apart from sharing the first four letters, they seem to remind me of something.
Grave is something we dread (myself inclusive). Frankly am not a fan. Gravidity is more like it. I once was put my mama in the place, then she gave birth to me and if not for the doctor’s intervention as I popped ( or pooped) out her birth canal (after belabouring the poor girl at that time for about 17 hours) I would fall to ground, gravity intervening( John Mayer).
So, I feel smug with my brilliant rendition( thank you, thank you) with these three words but not quite as I was when the missing link between them stumbled on my subconscious; I thought I had the imprint of a good poem!
Let me conclude by saying, I hope my pasteurized thoughts came out like it was preserved in terms of authenticity, synchronicity and relevance. Cuz really, I just dey blab. Many happy returns to me! DA