“Abundance,
a scented field, with no end in sight”.

What is abundance?
Is it the antithesis of lack?

Is it a craving? A grasping? A state to attain?

Why has the word become so synchronous with scarcity?

Why is it a source of anxiety?

Let’s start with breath — this primordial rhythm.
No one can say they know its origin no matter how much they attempt to measure it.

It is evidence of a portal bridging formlessness and form — like everything breaking out of nothing.

At what point in time did abundance take on its counterpart — lack — with whom it would play sword games over the condition of humankind?

Abundance absents nothing.
From breath to air, there is only unconfined movement.
When this movement is contained, hoarded, and packaged as a commodity, scarcity is made conscious.

Abundance is Grace: the sun that never ceases to shine.
The openness so steadfast, so vulnerable, so threatening to enclosure.

Yet, so alluring
Like the ever-receding light at the end of the tunnel.
A mirage whose purpose is to gift the lesson that there is more than meets the eye.
Enticingly, it dances at the far end of the road, goading the pilgrim into the enlightening journey of chasing one’s tail.

Abundance is myth. The epic tales culled from time. Amplified and then weaponized.

Oh, how glorious the illusion of glory!
Yes, a wilful tautology.

There is an Igbo saying:
“Do not look for something in the pocket of someone looking for something”.

Abundance illumines the limits and contours of the wretched mind gripped in the constrictions of fear and self-preservation.

Let it be what it is.

Yet, ask and it shall be given,
for where there is abundance, light abounds
Boundlessly.

The heart sings, dances, floats — in myriad spectrum of colours — endlessly.