Saturday, 4 November 2017

To Samsonites

Depiction of Samson standing by the head pillars

I am not one to whine about anything and everything. I consider myself thick skinned, able to withstand much of that which is thrown at me that I know many others cannot.

I am also quite a survivor. I can make do on very little, much less than most people can and the wondrous thing is this, that I always manage to have just about enough of the little that keeps me forging ahead.

That ... baffles even me.

That little can be anything from enough toothpaste or soap and relish to last till I have made the next amount to afford the next little that gets me to the next day.

Nothing to be proud about this, especially not when the foul play that makes this state permanent is recognised.

This kind of life is what you would normally consider life on the verge or living from hand to mouth and the fact I manage to maintain has all to do with an inner, inherited strength, a remarkable regenerative capacity and an indomitable intellect without which I would have perished a long time ago.

Call it the prolongation of suffering if you may, and in the end the machine that allows me to do this becomes a wonder to, if not an envy of those looking in on the action, envy especially to those making things harder for me.

They know, they have witnessed a supreme machine in action, a machine that far surpasses in advancement the beemer or Mercedes they ride in, that, because of knowledge supreme biological machines exist, they are ashamed of walking out of ... lest they expose that other less capable, primitive machine they inhabit that leaves so much to be desired when compared to my super duper machine.

I am now certain that I am a Samsonite. It must be this inheritance I have to thank for my strength, cunning and resilience.

I know I am a Samsonite because, apart from the strengths, for instance the capacity to defeat entire armies with a donkey jaw bone (Lol ... Gift of wit?), I also harbour the very same weaknesses that Samson had and if you had to look into the future, if I do not find rescue by some people paying attention and am left to fight it alone, you probably will find me felled the same way he was, by a similar character and trick.

But maybe getting helped out of the "King of the Road" situation is foiling the only plot that stops the crack pots who often take over the reigns of control and mislead people. In this I know ... I have deep hard wired knowledge that my very well-being is intricately tied to that of others who are supposedly high and mighty, that my tears are their joy and vice versa, a stultification because we both can go our own ways and still prosper.

I know that this same link extends to the very reign of the bogus, foul, rogue elite for, when I do find that little boy to guide me to the pillars of that society, the pillars representing the very elite, and I always will detect the boy and have him obey my command, because I always discover what they are not paying attention to, I will put an end to their little game as quickly as a master pugilist would floor an awning opponent.

My story may by design be a sad, tragic journey for a purpose ... The journey ends with a victory so massive non could ever have imagined, a victory I pay for with my life.

The ultimate price but at least those that come afterwards can breath the fresh air freed humankind finds abundant in a domain it controls.

Will not as such be appropriate for you to shed tears at the idea of as tragic a life as mine because it manages to attain a feat many tried but failed. Best, as such, to celebrate at my passing ... to toss, to Samsonites ...

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