Monday, October 4, 2010


Many of us, myself included, sit around waiting for life to come and 'get' us. We think that if we wish hard enough, without  doing anything constructive, life will reward us with our desires. Then we get all bent out of shape when things fall apart. 

That's why I love creative people. We know early o'clock that we have to make our miracles happen. Nothing is handed to you in a lottery ticket! And if the truth be told many people with under valued or under appreciated wealth are really very unhappy and would give it all away for a simpler happier time in their life. I should know!

When I first left school, I wanted so badly to be a Sport reporter that I followed my dream and found my way into working for both daily newspapers in Trinidad and later for the Caribbean News Agency.

I was young and unqualified and while management took advantage of  my youth, I gained valuable lessons, the most important of which is "Create  YOUR OWN Miracle!"

I did assignments  that none of the senior reporters wanted, took the insults of coaches, listened to the jeers of fans and groundsmen, but I  smiled through all of that until I  could do better.
While other people were sitting around moping about situations not going their way, I got out there and began making the transition  to force the universe to go MY WAY and I was doing good until I fell into the trap into which we all fall; thinking that life will even out circumstance and that I could stop trying and start living. Somehow I too lost my way. 

I began waiting for the universe to hand me it's left overs. Praying and waiting for something right to go my way. Yet when I thought my prayers were answered, it turned out to  be a nightmare from hell.
I am  at another juncture now.  I still pray, but I am done waiting. I am claiming back the me I used to be, confident that I am prepared for this challenge and knowing that  I will accomplish the goal I have set out to achieve for this month of October but only if all of me is in this battle.
I've been through my Joseph days. I've been thrown in the pit by my brothers, lied about, lied on, disbelieved, lied too, treated unfairly, forgotten by those I have tried to help, isolated and despised for being me. I have cried and prayed, asked God why and cried some more. I've made bricks without straw and felt the tasks master's whip on my back and there is no deliverer in sight.
 Don't know if I have lived through my seven plagues yet but I am sure there will be a Red Sea Moment somewhere in my future; the escape before the great escape! But come Red Sea or not at the end of October I will  be standing on new ground, looking on from the banks of my  Red Sea as its waters crash over every Egyptian that has pursued me. 

Can I hear an Amen!

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LE NOIREAU- Prologue

There was chaos in Scotland Bay Village. Everywhere, everyone was busy; packing, unpacking, leaving burnt bare lands for the Americans.

Away from the noises and confusion the aquamarine Caribbean waves played a soft calypso rhythm, strumming, rippling, kissing bare toes, feet and ankles dug deep into the cold, clammy sand.

The air was laden, ready, thick with the rancid scent of seaweed, salt and smoke carried in the spray; pushed by angry, crashing, foaming waves against a stony coastline up and around the Bay’s end.

She was misted; creating an eerie appearance as she sat back hunched on a fallen tree trunk embedded in the sand; knees tucked under the wide folds of her skirt. Damp grainy sand and the sea waters rushed up; bubbling in between her fingers and feet. Gently she rested her chin on her knees and looked out at the fading horizon, watching the day in its brilliance and splendor of death at sunset. The fiery gold of the sun’s rays; fingering, shimmering on the aquamarine canopy of the sea, dazzling blinding and ever so slowly, churning to taunting, tangerine orange and saffron reds; cascading into purple, violets and royal blue of evening time with ballet like precision. And later as stars peeping first play hide and seek with the naked eye, streaks of charcoal gray strut into midnight black, shadowing the earth into illusions of peace-fullness, as twinkling jewels finally sparkle in the phosphorescent gleam of a splendid Caribbean moonlight.

The gulf steamer disregarding war time surveillance orders; tugged by, alerting Astral Le Noireau to the lateness of the hour. She sighed lifted tiny hands from the sand and stared as the grains quietly trickled back into their places on the seemingly un-rumpled shore. The signal light of the streamer as it passed by and answering flashed from the lighthouse, momentarily blinded her as she turned huge tear filled almond shaped golden eyes up and then out, taking in the silver-ness of the long familiar Scotland Bay coastline, now bathed in the beauty of a full Caribbean moonlight. The gentle breeze blew her blue black hair into her eyes and face, as one hand rose gracefully to whip the unruly strands back into place. Silently a figure standing in the shadows of a coconut palm tree observed her.

Astral stood crying silently, watching the village she so love fade into the night shadows as the steamer padded laboriously out into the first Boca. Every inch further way from Scotland Bay felt like a fist clenching around her lung, stifling her, killing her. She stood rooted until Chateau le Noireau was no longer visible as they rounded the bend at Delgada Point. Until tears of frustration overwhelmed her and she crumbled to the seat on the almost empty steamer. Astral Le Noireau and her precious possession were some of the last things to evacuate from her village.

The Marines had put her on the ferry.

(c) 2006 Cecly Ann Mitchell

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