Bronkhorstspruit, Gauteng: Sunday winter's afternoon and I've hit some serious personal turbulence. With two days to go to the longest night, everything is khaki and bleached of colour. I went from blissful natural isolation on a farm to the intense weekend bustle of what was once the largest shopping centres in the southern hemisphere. A modern day flesh pot I suppose, built on turbulence and a shrine to middle class suburbia. On the long stretch of road back home, we took a quick left, then right, to another shrine, this one significantly quieter but just as other worldly. An oasis in the dry veld, the vast Buddhist Temple complex
outside Bronkhorstspruit further exacerbated my emotions as I took off my shoes before the inner sanctum (lorded over by a sandaled Buddhist dragging his feet and gawking through coca cola glass lenses) before - heeled again - I walked the complex perimeter wall in silent meditation.
I'm restless, un-centred and able to tell the wood from the trees.