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Everything we can see is a lie. We, as mortals, do not know the true scales of measurement. We have descended. We don’t know the weight balances that rounded off Belshazzar’s kingdom. We don’t know what gives the immortals joy. We don’t know what makes the inhabitants of the courts of Zion clap.

So much is locked up. So much is withheld. So much is not known because we haven’t sought.
There’s wisdom beyond books. There’s knowledge not found in libraries.

I’m sorry, but right now I have nothing to give you that you can’t get elsewhere. Nothing I have now is truly mine. Everything I have to offer is unreliably commonplace and time-bound.

So I’ll go on a journey. I’ll tarry. Then, by mercy, I’ll apprehend that for which I am. I’ll be back. I may not meet you here; it’s fine if you couldn’t wait because you didn’t understand.

under the sheets

There is a drink that is a drink indeed. I go to take gulps from the river, which makes glad the City of God. I go to an ancient spot, an exchange point where feeble people are made valiant and weaknesses are traded for immense might.

It was Adullam for David; the land of Tob for Jepthah; the wilderness for John the Baptist; the isle of Patmos for John the beloved; Peniel for Jacob; and the list goes on. I do not yet know what mine is called, but I’ll soon find out.

I write this so that you may join me. We will go along different paths, but the destination is one, because we will have the same Guide. This is yet another summon. Please don’t just applaud this write-up and do nothing.

This is farewell. Stay well.
Don’t miss me because I am not lost; I’m being found. I go as a man; I won’t come back as one.


Your brother,
Chidi Emmanuel Chinonso.

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I am a firm believer in the salvaging, boundless authority of words. I reckon that when words are given flow, they can gift a banishing blow to everything that's not letting all of our joy show.

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