They call us Iwelunmor.

The ones for whom anger does not reach our soul. Even if they stir up trouble.

The ones for whom anger does not invade our being. Even if they hinder our dreaming.

The ones for whom anger does not dwell in our mind. Even if it lasts for a moment.

So we will live season after season, not with their trouble or their anger near our soul.

We will dream, night after night, not with their anger invading our being.

We will love, time after time, not with their anger dwelling in our mind.

But as Iwelunmor. The ones who lived despite their trouble. The ones who dreamed. The ones who loved. Knowing that they could never reach us.

The Iwelunmor’s back in the 70’s

I have been reflecting on my maiden name lately. Mainly because someone asked me what it meant and I told them. They said wow, I should write about that someday. I guess here is the day. I get a kick out of explaining it to. It’s from Delta State region of Nigeria by way of a village where my ancestors hailed called Onicha Ugbo. By the way, I come from a great line of farmers as that’s what my village is know for mostly. But the name, Iwelunmor, which you can pronounce as Eway-lun-morhor, means ‘anger does not reach my soul.’ Imagine that. Just thought to keep this here as I continue to shape this season I find myself in, remembering the lessons too of falling leaves, such letting go (of things like anger), is love. And this love is God.