My Soul

Speechless African Soul

                         African Soul


My Soul will probably fly even further and faster when I am physically gone and free from my timeline. For now it is content to nestle in the heart of the temporal me: to whisper in my ear every now and then; possibly having quiet chats with my observer at the edge of my inner clearing beyond.

The events of my life do not delineate who I am. They are mere chaff in the wind compared to this inner presence that continually redefines the physical thinking me.

Allan Taylor, author Luanshya musings

Inner space

Jacon Oster Mursi girl Ethiopia

                      Jacob Oster Mursi girl Ethiopia

Just as I can describe the relativity of my time as a hollow rubber ball, so can I describe my Soul as being the sole owner of my gawky mind and body.

Inside my time ball there is an apparent nothingness which defines the outside circumference of my outer oneness. My life, like a rubbery skin, passionately wraps itself around this mysterious rounding force of nothingness; which in turn defines my physical wholeness, my rounded permanence, which in turn is my creative potential for being. I call this inner space of ‘nothingness’ my Soul.

Allan Taylor, author, Luanshya musings


This week seems like its been a long road… but I have a feeling that I have got somewhere.

My Soul is not an insular bundle of energy,

It is one of countless oscillating waves that make up the aethereal sea of humanity.

It is my spiritual destiny to unconditionally resonate within these spiritual waters.

When I hear them wash up against the shoreline of my being,

The familiar lapping sound that I can hear, is my homecoming.

Allan Taylor, author of Luanshya musings

justin Foulkes

                         Justin Foulkes

Moon flowers

In December, tea-scented drifts of hot air would hint of new moon flowers unfolding, the thought of which would carry me into the comforting arms of deep sleep; then as midnight approached, and when the large petaled corollas of these haunting flowers were fully extended, I would be further drawn by their soporific scent into my curiously familiar dreams. The Luanshya night pollinated these plate-sized trumpet flowers with moths and bats. By morning these fragile beauties were limp afterthoughts of her post-midnight magic. Whereupon she would gently press the residues of their lily and orange perfume into her pre-dawn wrists in a mood of quiet acquiescence and spent nights. Her night reveries were forced to bow down before the heated arrogance of yet another day to come.

Thinking Minds Moon flowersAllan Taylor, author Luanshya musings


My Soul is not mine

The boldest step I had to take in putting this book together was to totally accept my inkling that my Soul was not a possession of mine.

It is difficult to place a finger on my Soul; and it would seem that I have no jurisdiction over it to do so. My Soul has to be the better part of me; it is far more than I will ever be, either cognitively or physically. If ownership had to be attributed to either one of us, I would say the rest of me belongs to my Soul. If I were to describe this lofty proprietor of my being, I would say that it is the permanence and consistency that gives my day-to-day existence its relevance; but that the force it exerts, is difficult to describe; its actions equally challenging to define.

Allan Taylor author of Luanshya musings

African Soul

                         African Soul

Luanshya musings

Luanshya musings

A timeless story that hovers between how it should have, would have, and could have been. An imponderable story:

How it ended, if it at all did, is of no importance in how everyone saw it in the ‘Now’ moment of their timeless sight. It was a Soul in full flight, for everyone to observe as the all-encompassing testimony of their own Soul purpose.

Allan Taylor. author Luanshya musings



The leopard

The leopard was like one of those elusive forms – those strange footprints that propelled me to follow my affinities and desires. He evoked an intangible force that weighed upon the behaviour of all creatures. His arrival sliced through the trivial monkey goings-on in the African bush. The leopard’s presence created an impala ear-twitching silence that punctuated the African day with its taloned intent – a final warning against any further frivolity. Slow-flow turned instantly into short-lived pain, a quick death and spilt blood when an unfortunate animal submitted its fear of self-preservation to the Soul of the leopard. There is not an animal on the veld that is unaware of the leopard’s ability to alter the psyche of the common herd.

Allan Taylor, author of Luanshya musings


Shenton Safaris Mfuwe