"The sum of all sums is eternity."
------Lucretius.

With the tacit approval of mortals for whom this year represents disaster and vast tears, against the whishy preferences of destroyables whose fortune arrived in the cloning cyclone of this moment's best, the year two thousand and five seems to have sealed its resolve to die; and like other years before it, it shall connect the Olympian coil of careful calendering eternity taints with triviality.

Whose vision, regulation and version of time really count in this counting world? The numeramaticians and scientists whose common value valves the tiniest pace of our space with decided speculations? The beings who measure time by the bliss and bane of socio-economic and political dynamics? The efficiently uncounting Creature who counts with the most accurate but hidden indices?

Time's esoteric valour confers on it some serious sense of invincibility. In the tumescent war of existence, time is the losing victor, man the winning vanquish. The placebo effect of wishing to live long is suddenly ruined by the drastic, irrevocable decrease of every increase. In the end, time survives the antics of man and dictates the conceits of life. Time is the summary of man; the real man of man is time.

Born on the fourteenth of February, 1976, I noticed as I appreciated in all departments of basic appreciations that the seconds and minutes and hours I had seen, the months and years I had hired, all are fragments of time my fallibly undiscerning mind thought my entire being had defeated. In actual sense, time was my spender and my survivor; and I, the spent and the survived, boasted no escemplifiable claim of being either the predecessor or the successor.

Man could gather bards and decide his place in the context of time, but time it is, which reason gives the beginning and the end; of good and evil, of joy and pain, and of all you may think. Whether man makes a twin twist of tales that turn tremendous existential topics into turpitude and tears, or he converts these into substances mystery shall admit being inferior to when compared to the novel enigma they could constitute, time is the riddle sages sell-out with honour; time is the danger arguers announce with precincts; time is the evil prophets fight tooth and nail.

Antithetically too, time is the sage, a sell-out to riddles; time is the augurer, announcer of dangers; time is the prophet, the freedom fighter of ages. Time is the best host, the worst visitor. Time is no vacuum in eternity, not because the unknown parameters that fixed its composition disfavours our dreams, but because the squared matrix of diagonally vivid secret is a propeller to holy desire as well as humane existence. Beings who recognize the presence of time assist its significance and plough back the benefits in its store, onto themselves.

I am time, and time is me! Therefore Before The Year Ends is a double-edged philosophical discuss that marks for the season, the end-muses of a determinedly dying year, and plays for reason, the sweet music of all travails and timely aids encountered in my noble aspiration for personal fulfillment that my goal of a happy humanity has come to represent from birth. It is the acknowledging file for worthy profiles, of human factors, which had fanned, us cool. Before this year ends, I pour out my heart to you all, doling out my all to enthrone the fattest gratitude, which I feel obliged to give, as a samaformist and humanist.

To be sober and remember that mortality ties the fullness of human emptiness, and shun all that beastliness portends in sweetest shells, in bitterest cells, while still in limited chances, is to strive for the best social order for man; to concentrate and make straight blunders judgmental paranoia begrudge into gross hegira, while one's best is set and rejected by reigning mortals and still resolve to continue with one's trade in human progress is to rank oneself above the repudiation of insincere minds and prove one's spirits above the Greek gift of the unsacrificial; to be sad, and still be charged into righteous riots, like the Shakespearean Mark Antony-Pleabiean experience while one's villains hide safely in the ceaseless succour of pretence and heroes in the arsenal of self-sustenance that confuse our noble cause and shaken our human strength and threaten our hope of one humanity which Nations' obsession with patriotism and extreme cultural identity had seen to the grave, is to radically plan and achieve for ideal collectivism, all that individualism can never accomplish in a million years!

As SAMAFORM steps ahead of today, we who pilot its dream, as its drive, though it inherits some traits from Sisyphus' endeavor, resolve in our calcium-courage to storm roaring oceans and challenge every challengeable challenge to aid the race of man beyond the fear of now. As the Founder and President of the Sacrosanct Mankind Forward Movement {SAMAFORM}, whatever my group attains shall go down to form the foundation of the tomorrow humanity global activists and humanists had always talked about.

It will be unsure for the future if gone eras are permanently hired by oblivion, and there is no greatness in the remembrance of past pains except it be for the retention of the lessons they teach. My twenty-nine years on earth was inspired by the agenda of mortals who offered their entire existence to the general good of the world. Even when I am misconceived and wrongly interpreted, good remains the only calling for which my little life shall live and eventually die; justice the only ideology my legs shall run; human welfare the only lecture my gluteus shall sit to plan; and collectivism-destroying tenets the only evil my mouth shall lambaste.

The inspiration peeps from my passion for global liberty, I will purpose nothing less than general joy. Because I am madly in love with unifying good, nothing derailing, and I hope my God will sustain this, which evil can sponsor, murders the samaformism in me. Forever, a samaformist and humanist I shall be. Along the line, I may, as I might have done in the past, make some mistakes, which, reconciled to my fine intentions, is still not beyond redemption. In my mind, I plan to improve on my conducts that my goal of a greater humanity would see the penetrating light of moral civilization. This I noticed I must note, before the year ends.

The impulse of natural and social perils strike mortals at equal rate, but the perception of facts is a function of personal restrictions dictated by varied rates of morality and mind-fertility. I had seen and heard of situations, which exponentially wedged the world into great pains. Deep down in me, I had wished that I was around when they happened so I could either prevent or proffer solutions to the destruction erudite ignorance had caused the human family. Immediately, I would be sorry for my seemingly supercilious thought {and my great wish for sanity on earth always fosters this!}, having read about the impacts of those before me who had courageously fought to outlaw the passion of the evil, above the limits my nothingness could probably accomplish.

Assisted by the grace of the Creator, who, by accident or design, also causes the Hobbesian imbroglios on earth by reproachably creating and questionably sustaining the devil and his evil, futuristic men and women had practically given their all to redeem the plight of man; and while I thank them so much---the Jesus, the Mohammed's, the Platos, the Aristotles, the Pericles, the Buddhas, the Lincolns, the Awos, the Ziks, the Nkrumahs, the Nyereres, the Mandelas, the Ghandis, the Darwins, the Newtons, the Eisteins, the Dubois, the Shakespeareans, the Ceasers, the Swifts, the Miltons, the Emersons, the Dantes, the Jeffersons, and numerous millions, brave soldiers, progressive students, politicians and activists who offered more than they had to rectify the social madness of their days.

Today, thousands of foundations, organizations, media outfits, and governments do convincingly distinguish themselves as good fosterers. They are established and run by men and women of sacrificial spirits for our world's well being. From Africa to Europe, Australia, Asia and America, fierce feats are recorded in improving the deplorable human situations by public and private powers. Online and offline pressure groups contributed to the little joy the world can boast today. So before the year ends, I doff my honorable cap for you all.

As an avid, though self-appointed reader at AFROMERICA, an online American socio-cultural and political magazine {www.afromerica.com} formed and fueled by moral and humane Blacks in the US, under the visionary supervision of C.H. Hamilton, Thomas Duffy's Open Mind always open my mind; Mikii "Gran-Gran" Hooper's Segmented Realities assist my thinking; Deborah Shariff's Images of Colour colours my perception with reason; Dan Hardman's The Burning Bush burns the bush in my mental Cropping;

Deborah Maisonet's Biz Bytes bites my ignorance hard; Junious Ricardo Stanton's Positively Black lifts my historically punctured psychology as a black person; E. Lee Sullivan's A Whole Nother Zone seals my bias by all means; Osiris-Chief Elder's Reservations, the world's custodians of progressive spiritualism, teaches my spirit some invaluable lessons; Kevin Ervin's Inner Self increases my knowledge of self; Herbert Harris' Thoughts for Success stirs my consciousness away from failure; Steve Malik Shelton's Vantage Point reveals the leading truth of our days; M. Quinn's Political And Historical Perspectives is a tonic onto my social cycloramas.

Like The Guardian, Punch, This day, Vanguard, Newswatch, Tell Magazine, etc, in Nigeria, Daily Graphic and others in Ghana, Washinton Post and New York Times in North America, AFROMERICA is a fine magazine with rich columnists and numerous and intellectually discerning readers you know. Sumumba Sobukwe's Dating Games… remains a priceless connubial reservoir for me; Joseph Carswel's Free Your Mind is absolutely freeing to say the least; Anjela Mckenzie's It Takes a Village travels me far into redeeming thoughts; Jerry Smith's It is Time to Stop Blaming the white Man does not only dispel prejudice in our judgment of a past erring race but also a reasonable response to the challenge of human re-integration; etc., all these people do a great job to help the masses overcome distresses and reshape the people who reshape the world! Before the year ends, I commend your contributions and pray for your happiness.

All news-papers, including my own WisdomAbode Magazine {www.afromerica.com/wisdomabode}, Radio and Television Stations on our habitable planet, which advocate one world and assist groups and Nations in true recovery and rediscovery deserve our gratitude all, just before the year ends.

It saddens me deeper than agony as a Samaformist and humanist, finding no apposite words to appreciate your kind contributions. If I say I acknowledge you all, I lie; and that I love you all, worse lies. In me, I feel inadequate, appreciating you, who unceasingly go out of your ways to increase our hope by educating the world, defending the truth and demonstrating what you preach towards your neighbors ad expectant protégés whose unannounced gratitude forms the dependable resources of man's commendation and God's judgment.

As I pray for the pullulation of your passion and an enduring might for your inspiration, I say that your ways had made us to subscribe to J.F Kennedy's wise words that "…as we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them" and by this inspiration we shall all relate with our cause till the end of time.

As anthrpos of social justice, build on the pillars of collective happiness even as kantanthropos continue to advance in the destruction of human values. In the end, the voice, even silence; the action, as well as inaction, which favour universal liberty, shall win. If not in our time, but certainly in coming eras. With respect and love from me and SAMAFORM and all that I hold dear, I conclude my muse-missive with Charles Dickens' words, a sort of oration I shall eventually read at its obsequies, when this year dies:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of time, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief; it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us we were all going direct to heaven; we were all going direct to the other way.

I wish you a successful year-transition.

greatmankind@hotmail.com
samaformistmankind@afromerica.com

Visit WisdomAbode Magazine
Mankind Olawale Oyewale - Editor in Chief

© December 2005 By Olawale Oyewumi
Afromerica staff writer

Brother Olawale Oyewumi will be keeping the Black community updated on Education And General World Development. Visit regularly for new information that could help you overcome and make the best of your everyday experiences.

To subscribe to Oyewumi's column join the Afromerica email list to receive new information as it is updated. Or E-mail Oyewumi at: greatmankind@hotmail.com

Submit an article
Join the Mailing List
Join a Discussion

Afromerica: Where its all Black & white and some gray areas.

[TOP]     [BACK TO COLUMN]