Finding the feast divine. An analogy of something I found in life.

Writing is done something best in the morning to me, It comes at a moment when you have slept and dreamt a life time of dreams that are floating around somewhere in your sub conscience bursting with new knowledge about who you are and where you belong. The sun shines bright and birds are feeding away at the pile of fresh bakers bread that has been laid out like a banquet of divine levels. We collect it fresh every morning from some friendly bakers. This morning I am hoping that the way they shock and fly away to come back and feast again, Is an analogy of life itself. That when something is divinely good and the something bigger and more powerful then the sun warms your heart. That the scares along the way shall only make the banquet taste even more sweet.

Surely there is room in life for a moment of terror to be shared with the relief that it was all pretend terror, That the meal had not changed into something old, moulded and rotten to the core. That the flight away is just a strengthening of the love for that original and only feast. The one laid down before us as a promise in life. That hidden away in some corner of our existence filled with anxiety and fear, that feeling we all feel that something pure and fresh exists along side the terror. Maybe its only the lucky few who ever find it, For somewhere else surely as their are birds feeding on the mountain of brown or white, seeded or crusted brown and crisp bread. Their is another bird or birds feeding from the dump, filled with its sharp glass, discarded needles and melting plastic festering away with a stench of death and decay itself. Yet if it searches even that pile of hatred and looks keen enough he will find some morsel of sustenance that will to him keep or her alive for another day, Maybe even to find that nirvana the next day, or maybe to struggle in the decay till it itself one day joins the pile to become part of the misery.

So if there are a lucky few and an unlucky many (which in my mind or at least experience is how nature seems to work) Its quite understandable that I notice the same birds feasting on the bread everyday. Their off-spring never going further then the roof tops and bushes of this neighbourhood, safe in the knowledge that  the feast will arrive and it will always be fresh. It's not as understandable to me that the unlucky few seem to never really try to find the feast, as if the toiling and searching is a life confusing them, keeping them busy and never a thought to what is over the hill or roof tops. So when some of the unlucky ones finally find the feast, they are overwhelmed, They almost can not understand what it is they have been lucky enough or searched hard enough for to find. Mostly it is those birds, The ones who find the feast divine later in life, who have fed on the scarce and tasteless or more so the unsavoury taste of a life and love fought for. They shock the most, fly away the fastest and come back to the feast slowest, for they know what is out there lurking and waiting.

So they fly harder and faster then the lucky ones, it is only natural  it is only fair that they frighten so much. Have they not already lived the life of fear and savagery not always of nature but also of the soul. The dark nights when the morning is not promised nor implied. The times loved ones stray and fall victim to what is always out there. Always waiting, coming in all shapes and sizes, emotions and flashes of thoughts.

Yet I argue this, the so called unlucky ones who find the banquet of divine and feast each time new after each time scared away. They taste it even sweeter and more mouth watering then unluckiest of the lucky birds. That its the scare in life, that can make our life taste that much more sweet and honest. Earned and fought for. That each fall, each quickened breath or fear of hurt, pain and lost love. Makes life, and the love in it. Taste better then the ambrosia  of old. Then the freshest of fresh air and the purest drop of water when parched as a desert beaten into submission by the sun. So unlucky is for some only a matter of time, sweat energy and love lost and found. A life worth living, a meal worth devouring.

Conor Lodewijks 

Chapter 1 - Chance encounter 1

It began like any other day with a trip to the local shop, but with this day the world start spinning again and faster then it ever spun before. The sun was shining and the air seemed clean, for the love of god I could not remember what it was that I needed from the local store, but I shall never forget what I found. As I whistled my way through the day I noticed a young woman petting a dog that I had a random encounter with the day before, with a mind to warn her to mind her dog better since the day before I had pulled said dog off another just as it had broke free and before any real damage could be done. I asked "Is the dog your own?" To which I was answered with one of the warmest smiles I had ever seen before, nor in art or life. "It is not, I just know it from seeing it here a few times and always find it with a sombre look to it, he's obviously an old man and in need of attention or love." If those where her exact words I don't know but I do know it was her exact sentiment. 


As I stood there with the warm sun on my back and the warmer smile in front of me we conversed about what ever came freely to the mind without any tendency to hide away from what was not to be said. I remember thinking to myself how comfortable I felt in her company and how genuine her worry and care for the dog was. As time for polite conversation winded down and it was time for two strangers to leave onwards to whatever life was waiting, I tried in vain to get some way of contacting her again. All I could remember was her name and a smile. Tineke with two n's to me, one to her. It was a name suited well to the innocence and honesty of her demeanour I thought. As I sit here and try to remember what exactly happened else that day Its painfully obvious to me that literally the only thing I remember is that chance encounter with what seemed to me one of the few people I had met who was just as is. Herself without any of the lies we share to make our personalities seem more bearable to each other. I however was not as pure in honesty for when Tineke asked me my age, I lied for fear of her thinking me some child with no experience of life to offer, I was 27 that day before my time. I instantly regretted it, but it was too late. The day moved on and as many things in life the warmth of that sun and her smile became nothing more then a sweet memory that reminded me of those dreams you wake from desperately trying to remember why you woke with such a huge smile and warmed heart. Life went on.


Life went on, Well for me that meant trying to figure out exactly what it was I was doing in this city, in this country  . Too many miles to walk or swim home with an ocean and forever in between me and my home. Dublin,Ireland. I had been living in this city already close to seven years, five of which I had shared with a Dutch girl called Niki, we lived together in a small room with a shared kitchen and crazy neighbours. My days then were spent thinking about life and smoking lots of marijuana and trying to decide if my teenage years of theft and robberies were an indication of my future. I had no idea, I was honestly lost in a place of wanting to share a life with someone who would understand that life was just that, life and that the past did not have to be sign that it would always be a life of down's with the very slight upward curves of a life enjoyed. It felt like universes away from how I had spent my teenage years, yet they always felt like they were at my heels. Screaming to everyone I met in life to be careful of what I was capapable of and to watch their women and money. Niki and I were bound to fail from day one, I knew it, she knew it but we ignored the obvious to try and enjoy what time we had together, before the time grew to nothing but arguements and hatred for the things that first made it bareable to be together. I learned a lot about how to share a life and how to swallow things that made my chest tight and my heart heavy.

What sticks out more then anything was the warmth and stickiness of a room that just boiled in the summer. Fraying away at our tempers and our patience, lazy days spent silently contemplating if this was to be our existence. An overbearing mother who would never allow the youngest daughter to be with or do what she wanted. Yet it was the mother who in a weird way rescued me from that misery of sharing a life with a girl who knew nothing of honest emotion of genuine conversation. It ended with me attacking the soldier boy with no killer instinct but a grip like a vice who had fired up Niki's new lust for the police and armed forces rather then the criminal underground I had to offer. So it had started with a young girls lust for a darker existence that she threw herself into and ended with a young man's temper for distrust and lies. Its a sharp contrast to how I met this lady outside the shop. It was as warm as the summer days gone by yet fresher and more comfortable which almost seemed by design. A full stop had been reached in my existence in this country. A turning point reached, yet I had no idea of how deep a chance encounter with this soft spoken and warm smiling lady would effect who I thought or knew I was. 

Yet a turning point had been reached, Days went by after I first met her and life was as usual, I was currently trying to fight for a house in the city I was living in due to a mishap or miscommunication on my part at the initial meeting with the housing corporation. So busy with worry and tired with wondering, I had let the brief encounter with the soft spoken lady slip my mind. One day while sitting behind the computer in my fathers house I noticed a young woman taking photo's of the burnt down building across the road, Its an old building so old in fact that they are not allowed do much with it even in its derelict and distraught state. It is a building I often look at myself since it looms over the land scape like a burnt down castle. So as I looked out without really looking all of a sudden I noticed it was the same woman I had met outside the shop. So I quickly open the window and said her name as well as I could remember, "Tinnekje" I said more as a statement then a hello. She turned and smiled, I could see recognition in her eyes and the same warmth.

I always pray for sinners

This time of year is a very special time of year to me and mine. Not only is it in these days that my auntie and my own mother celebrate the day of their birth but on a more sombre note it is also the time of year that they lost a mother and I a grandmother, and never did anyone ever have such a grand mother. Kindness that was first nature and patience of a heaven full of saints. I always wondered if her patience was a born gift or something grown and honed with love and care of her seven daughters and two sons over the years. Or did it come with the countless grand children that were born of those daughters and sons, worrying about us being raised in a city so different from the one she knew as a child, family owned corner shops and friendly conversation with the customers, ball room dances and gossip in the hair dressers, carriages carried by horses bringing the milk and the future right along with it. I used to sit and talk for hours with her, Listening to her stories and quick wit, our smile's and laughter a fourth companion right. The third being Tammy, Her dog always tucked in as close as she good get against her feet.

Her early morning companion, My grandmother or as I called her, my Nan was one for the early mornings and Tammy always right along with her. Nan would make a cup of tea and a slice of toast and a half, half always going to Tammy if and only if it was covered with real Irish butter, it was of course and always that bit thicker for the dog.

At night time as I would tip toe up the stairs and into the front room of our family home to jump into a bed that had hot water bottles already warming the bed at my feet and back, making it a dream long before there is any sleep to be had. Sometimes as I would pass my grandmothers room at night I would ask her to say a prayer for me, which the very first time I ever asked came the reply "I always do Conor, sure don't I always pray for sinners" even know years later in a different country and miles away from my true home it warms my very being to hear her say those words to me in memory. It became the standard reply to my question every time, and every time it was fantastic to hear. The very first time though it hit me dead centre, because I knew she meant it, no judgement in her voice only love and worry. Her way of letting me know she knew me, the spoken things and unspoken. I drifted off into the most sound and comfortably safe slumber of my life, safe in the knowledge that her prayers kept me safe, from demons both real and imagined.

As morning light would break and a new day arrived, I would often awake to the aroma of a real Irish breakfast cooked by a genuine Irish woman wafting up the stairs beckoning me to rise and follow the sweat smell to a morning meal fit for a king. As I would stumble down the stairs often in my boxer shorts and tee-shirt the sounds of the little radio in the kitchen would reach my ears. With her humming away as she went around the kitchen with the skill and confidence of someone who had cooked and served many a weary soul a fine meal. "Coffee or Tea Conor?" "Coffee, Please and good morning Nan" Her good morning was better then any words I could mutter, beans in red sauce; three sausages and a two rashers sided with fried tomato's and a fried egg or omelette to be followed seconds later by a big cup of Nan's coffee. Could a boy ever dream of anything more. All the energy one could ever need to lug over to H&B Ice cream factory and work a day and over time. Just in case though I would always with my uncle at lunch time to her home to arrive to any number of dishes prepared with love and skill. I left those particular months I lived there with the well rounded face and arse of a boy looked after too well by his grandmother, and no lie it was it either.

Not that that treatment was reserved for family and loved ones. The front door was never crossed by anyone welcome who did not get treated well and warmed by the fire place in the winter months or cooled by a cold drink during the summer, her kindness did not stop there, for she cared genuine for all the souls of the world. I could often see the pain in her face when the news would speak of unimaginable tragedies from around the world. She could offer them no help, no support, but only her prayers and you can be sure they were said and with a heavy heart filled with compassion for the family and friends of loved ones lost. As a child it struck me to see her like that, confused because I did not feel the same feeling no matter how hard I would try I just did not understand, they were strangers in strange places with strange names. How could I feel for someone I did not know, did not love a mystery that has gotten clearer over the years but still baffles me at times.

As she got older and less able bodied due to the fact her legs had been getting slowly worse over the years that never slowed her spirit, nor dampened her good humour. Nan would be able to make it to Sunday mass less and less, so it became replaced with mass on the TV or Radio, One day before it was really bad I offered to go with her and two of my cousins who were still small children at the time to her local mass, As we walked and talked I remember a excited mood and fondness that followed me when ever I was in her company. I'll never forgot how the moment I walked through the door of the church a muscle slid or pulled, dropping one shoulder down and making one arm agony to move, I bit my lip to stop from breaking the silence of the church with my screams of agony. To this day I still do not know what it was or why it happened, as the saying goes, Only god knows.

This I do know however, I stayed each minute and each prayer, seeing my Nan's worried smile and happy to be there with her family. Even if one of us looked like he had been born a cripple with a bad temper. For no one would I of stayed, but for her. For her alone, for the memory, for the conversation, for the laugh and most of all for her company.

As the morning broke soft new light and the birds sang gentle and quiet, I lay there wondering about much and nothing at all. I tried to figure out how late or more so how early it was by the light illuminating the blinds and the crisp fresh taste of the morning air. This was something I was good at, something I had practised many times and became a second nature to me. It was five in the morning. A summers 5am, Brighter then it should be and too welcoming for someone who enjoyed knowing he survived another day. So I rose. I quickly put on my jeans and shoes that are always right beside my bed, always in the same place, with my keys, my wealth in the pockets ready to go. I could be dressed and gone in less then thirty seconds, Something I learned through the years, Always ready for what was bound to  happen sooner or later. Not this morning though, No boots running up the stairs, No flash lights in my face or disrespectful tone telling me to get dressed and but my hands behind my back. Which I always hated yet came with a certain sense of relief that promised another day, A day locked away and accused of many things I would never admit too nor pretend that I did not do, For the boots and lights were the arrested team of the local police force, Where as the silent approach were normally rival gangs or thugs who come to usher you into a slumber that you never awake from. The long sleep, I've always wondered if there is rest to be had in that sleep, Do you know you are gone? Do you know who you were and will never be again? Who knows the unknowing sleep. All I know is that I wanted to find out on my own terms, My own demise, nothing mad for me and delievered with hate or the cold feeling of a man whose there pure for his monetary reward

Can wonder

Here a question tell me why, Good people go to heaven and bad people lie? Can you tell me why the grass grows green, Or why the sky is blue and everything inbetween? Can you wonder why, Tears do flow That some children have homes and other's no place to go? Why mothers love their children no matter what they do, Only once my mother remebers That I love her too, Can you answer me this? Is it all worth while, We live a life, and hopefully die instyle, But I wish and I wonder what could of been, Why is the Grass Green , Why too everything inbetween.

Growing up

Sitting on the corner watching time float by, Nothing to do lets get high. Head to school,. Wait on the bus, Waitin for an hour, Is this a most? Sitting down the back rolling a joint, Heading to school whats the point?
Stay three classes and hit the door, See ya's later I wont be back no more, Jump back on the bus already quite high starting to think my life is one big lie.

Meet with with friends and brothers alike, Running low on money off to rob him,you or a bike. Thinking back I was only a kid when I done all those nasty evil things that I did, But I sleep easy at night cause Im to stupid for regret, Im heading to the bookies Ma wants me to place a bet, Lets hope the horse comes in, Its crazy when they do, I dont go out robbing I eat fancy just like you

No luck on the horse me ma's hit the drink, Now its not just boredom, My anger begins to think,. Wants to come out and lash out at all, I can feel the good in my soul, It starts to crawl.

By now its getting dark and the charm is gone, Im with cut throats and robbers for way to long, Meet up with the boys and run around town, See all those faces looking at us with a huge frown, But this is the street, Here we wear the crown. Sins and love come each day to those who wait, My life it aint bad it aint great, For my soul it might just be too late.

Wake the next morning and think of what I done, Roll a joint laugh and fake like it was fun, thats a tiny part of a long story.. This is the start. Bet you my end could be quite gorey. That takes me to another day, Once again just trying to enjoy my lost highway.