Everybody can Go to Heaven

Perversely every human being, culture or race LOVE. In all cultures; modern or primitive we find love in His various levels. From efforts and attitudes which define human feelings of kindness, or gratitude to expressions or receptions of acts of kindness and devotion to the common Good.

Everybody can Love. However the irritation and persistence of daily anxieties leave our cultures and humanity to the services and altars of lesser god’s of thunder, anger, greed, human sacrifice, fear, hatred, racism and intolerance. The separation of state and faith has over time tamed crusades, jihads, and religion as a fuel for wars, which had effectively narrowed our outlook and wrongly defined our collective spirituality. We needn’t kill for God.

In olden times, hallowed places and altars have been dedicated to “The Unknown God”, and before our knowledge of the Christian Bible or Koran, names have been formed in descriptive sentences and reserved to “Chineke” or “Obangiji”. Cultural ethos have always been expressed in terms of what is humanly or spiritually impossible, but hoped; a prayer the gospel was to be good-news and not a judge.

Before religious arrogance and later intolerance, people have always found a heart to Love unconditionally. Often, traditional titles have revealed expressions of this lofty ambition and some have lived with this grace and gifting. It was and is no weakness to act and to see all things through the eyes of LOVE. It is a response to the call of God.

We can Love everybody. What people do or who they are, should not make them unlovable, but should make our loving larger. LOVE is accessible, affordable and inclusive. HE believes all things and Forgiveness is something to do with His nature.

Love is the Door to Heaven. Jesus said “No man can come to the Father except through ME”; not Christianity, not religion but LOVE. John 14:6. This way people from all religions and backgrounds will find a persuasion and claim to the way to heaven. LOVE.

Leonard Chintua-Chigbu

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The Evening Standard

It was the rush hour homeward. He has managed to occupy two seats at the muted chagrin of other exhausted commuters. At the train station, he was insisting on getting a discount. The station assist…

Source: The Evening Standard

The Evening Standard

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It was the rush hour homeward. He has managed to occupy two seats at the muted chagrin of other exhausted commuters.

At the train station, he was insisting on getting a discount. The station assistant had repeated for the umpteen time that there were no ‘promos’ going on at the moment.

The air of self importance was palpable and you could imagine that he had traveled ‘business class’ at the tax payers expense until now.

I was crushed like the most passengers who stood through their journey, lucky to make the train and eager to make the jump off.

He sat cross legged. Tilted his head, accustom, reading The free Evening Standard Newspaper, through his bifocal.

Listening and Creative Communication
Leonard Chintua-Chigbu

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The Waters of Our Rivers

Maroko is completely parceled from Heaven; a gift against the unlubricated heart of the iron city, Lagos. The waters flow just good enough; to deny the mosquitoes, a replacement egg. And not good enough to pull Chimnanu’s refuge apart.

She wakes again to the mosquito sound of speed boats, that steal from the demurrage vessels, but soon drifts away again in thought.

These acts are still wrong. It is wrong to take another person’s thing. 

But someone has asked, “What if these people took it, just as Sandfill; The Monarch with Babangida is taking Maroko away from us?” 

Others say, they took our dignity and made us thieves when they took the money that would have created us jobs. 

But these things are still wrong, though the merchants have taken insurance and get what is taken taken from us”

Chimnanu turns and stretches but pushes had on the stick that poles her polystyrene house.

Many things fell apart. Now floating on the water with other shacks, further away from coming together. In it ripples of muted light also glimmered. 

On her raft she stretched again and somehow she finds a stray will to live yet another day.

Leonard Chintua-Chigbu

Listening and Creative Communications

2015 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,000 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 17 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

DADDY I don’t believe in God

“It’s still beautiful though.” finally agreeing with my son. Many years have now passed, when as a young catholic boy, I had shocked my mother with the news of being born-again. I was persecuted to say the least. But that’s not the point. Here was what I have come to understand. My boy is being honest, and that is beautiful. His views and feelings are authentic, plausible and sincere. I saw beyond that sharp pain in my heart, and the mockery that I had lost to the devil, only as true as my limited self was capable of understanding at the time. Then, latter, I was happy and I became more confident of his future… If God is not True, why shouldn’t my boy come to know?

In my art class, I learned how the blue box wasn’t blue, yet it was blue. It had six sides. The side that faced the light was a lighter blue than the two sides I could see. The lighter side had fleeting properties of green, resulting from the ‘yellowy’ sun ray and the ‘bluey’ hue on the box. When I moved my drawing board to another position, I was able to see only one side, and this was easier to draw and paint. This side had almost one colour of blue, but at the end, it was more of a rectangle, a flat shape than a box. I painted in the shadows and the surrounding background, and was happy with my artwork. So was my teacher. We all saw the box with six sides in my ‘artwork’ with only one side.

Our imagination is an important gift and a space of ‘zero’ gravity. It is akin to that grocery supermarket, that is totally different from the kitchen where the food is eventually cooked.

In my art class, I saw how true it is that ‘we’ see in partial dimensions; in familiar shapes and colours, mostly flat. The closer the object, the more our dimensions of thought and perception improve, and our understanding is sorted in perspectives; with either a dominant vanishing point or multiple ones, within a common and shared space. The free ‘will’ or the audacity to imagine is not a rebellion from the absolute Truth, but a bidden of it, occasioned by His dignified non intrusiveness.

But in His ferocious strength Truth snatched the Harlot, the thief, the corrupt public servant, the numbed rich and the poor fishers.

Absolute Truth stands dignified at an inspiring space, in a reassured confidence that through our subjective perception of what is Truth, through sincere and honest curiosities, seasoned by our tempting interactions with the corruptions around our evolving selves, we will become. Truth by imagination frees our heart to question and own our answer.

My son’s dissent, could point to my language, and yet every day, he embodies and preaches the story of God; a language my generation has lost to speak.

Let’s cheer up.

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Leonard Chintua-Chigbu
Listening and Creative Communication Artist
BA Fine Art (Painting) University of Benin 1986

Ending

TRUTH is that it’s not True

Cheer up!

The illusion is that Evil is dominant and does not live in constant fear. It indeed does but only projects a perversion of its core identities and strength. It also continues to send messages of its presumed dominance to a less perceptive world, that it is the marauder and conqueror of all Good. Yet in its nerves, it shakes and lives in the frail subjectivity of its constituents and the inevitable notice of their existence, through the undeniable christening of Light. Deep in its innermost consciousness, it lives with the evident Truth that there is therefore no such place as a place of darkness. It continues to cave in on its futile attempts to shot out light from spaces where it operates and yet, surrenders to its own sincere and entire sense of lack of dominance.

If there is no such thing as a place or space of entire darkness, a place shot out for the eye to see or make out an object, that there is no such deeds that in its evil nature could triumph without the existential threats which are only real sure and time sure, then we begin to share in the empathy of a desperate invader and a frustrated eventual loser.

Light comes and caress all things, places and spaces. It quietly reveals situations and enriches it with its own understanding of its self. It makes no trumps or unveiling of its lordship over those situations. The situation is shredded and understood, often making it look worse and out of its monstrosity; the earth of its death, the promise of its solution hovers in the light particles of its shared understanding.

I went to the pit of hell. In my darkness I lost orientation because I did not know where I was backing or facing. I was blind, but it was worse because I even felt no grounds on which I was standing; all seemed to float. In my blindness, I was dazed and pressed by torrents of darkness beating every coast of my lost orientation and balance.

In that darkness, its persistent rage and unending perturbs became a predictable normalcy. In my inexplicable buoyancy and pitch darkness, I could start to see. In the greatest pitch of darkness, my pupils could grow larger and darkness yielded itself to the definitions of its masses and content and I could in my retina see the silver lining cresting every mass. In every object there was an inherent light because all things consist of light and defined by it.

I walked in my darkness; through the compressed spectrum of its irrepressible rainbow, sorting out the constituents of my depressed self, my depraved mind, the knowledge that rain terror in my helpless parts; the hapless poor in Arabia, Africa, Asia, Europe, the Indies and the Americas. It was as though it was day. In fact, all were day. And the truth remained; that it was not true that evil is the ultimate conqueror but Truth the Light. Keep walking!

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Leonard Chintua-Chigbu
Listening and Creative Communication Artist
BA Fine Art (Painting) University of Benin 1986

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