Friday, December 28, 2012
Gulping-in-deep the tang-salt of the-Ocean; this is most definitely not a sea;
December's summer sun on my skin; i'm in nothing but baggies;
After a deep, wonderful night's sleep - a gift to me - i plunged, barefoot, from bed - to - street - to - beach straight after waking:
i am the hot tar beneath my soul;
i am the clay-mud on the soggy path down to the sea squishing my toes and squirming my nails;
i am the crab that scuttled the rock pool, also the one suicide bombing from a rock when i surprised it and it me;
i am the salt invisible on the air;
i am the tang woven between my nostril hairs;
i am me. I am you. I am the divine. I am the Ocean, the Sky and the Clouds;
i am the rock beneath my bum and feet;
i am solid and rock and eternal being;
i am joy, love, compassion and peace;
i am in love, I am love;
i am the passion of the universe.
i am just me at the bottom of an ocean of air.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Right now I'm sitting at a table sipping a cafe in the perfectly peaceful eye of the storm that is Christmas shopping frenzy on 22 December. Words and calmly tuned into the still, quite voice within. Despite the maelstrom.
'Be still and know that I am God.'
Amidst the hurry, flurry, noise and spending I'm at one with my Creator. Needing some space and desiring to be alone, I've come to Gateway in Umhlanga knowing it would be packed. In my anonymity, despite the crowds, I'm enjoying my time alone with Charles.
Here he has perspective. Here he is free.
On another note: Charles, after having not stepped into a Catholic Church since he was, ironically, confirmed in the Church in 1983, and after a long, winding and deeply intensive journey since then, is again embracing his Catholic roots. That's despite Pope Benedict's repulsive homophobia; Charles is still grappling with that one.
A surge of people enter the mall through the automatic glass doors just behind where I'm sitting - on a red chair - at a tiny round table that's the colour of full cream milk. It's the breeze that enter with them that gently seeks my attention. Like an old friend.
Christmas in the Southern Hemisphere is something else: the weather service warned of extreme discomfort, humidity and heat along the coastline today. It's 31 degrees centigrade.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
For peace, and quiet I'm sitting at an old table in the library.
The whir-and-hum of the the air conditioner; the lone librarian talking Zulu on a phone; faint traffic noise from the road past the beach; someone's music box car pounding deeply but in no way that I can comprehend.
I've come here to surround myself with silent words and sentences, and the dreams of many writers ghost-breathing in and around my subconscious; this is a place of peace and calm and solitude.
It's an old fashioned place that harks back to an other world; old fashioned values.
Although I've purchased three ebooks online via my iPad in the last month, my first (and despite being a tactile man, and sentimental, I most definitely get it why ebooks are a future), I'm choosing a library for peace and comfort; I will always thrill at books.
I'm also choosing, today, to write real and inky words with a fountain pen in a an old fashioned CNA counter book (A4 - FEINT & MARGIN - 288 PAGES) that I bought for R21 (probably about £2).
I'm happily a nerd.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
With a beer, black and stout, beneath the tree in the corner by the pool, reclined.
Beneath the hadeda nest and the crescent moon, which bejewels the ink-pot night sky.
Not even a breath, except mine: I'm alive in my Source.
Crickets, many, some frogs in the distance. World seems at peace.
Soft light, festive lights.
Ripples in and on the pool. Drop a stone into the pond
And see what on the ripples comes back
Beer taste of metal in my mouth
Oh to kiss
Apple you're too clever, spell ahead, and trip me up. Go away
That was after taking a bite of moist chocolate cake (they mingled, impressed, in my spit): December, thunderstorm, strong coffee and chocolate cake; my kind of combo.
Spattered with grape-size rain droplets, my bare arms curdled with goose flesh; I wiped coffee flavoured foam from my top lip and nose tip.
Changing gear I'm excited to rest, and dream.
Tuesday, December 04, 2012
Next week Friday sees South Africa shut down for the summer holidays.
Already Salt Rock and Ballito are buzzing with folk from up north, here for the season: roads being repaired, walls and balustrades being painted, restaurants preparing.
I'm at Waterberry for coffee, words, then tea.
Tea signals work time, in the traditional sense.
I'm running hard again, last work touches before the world shuts down for summer-Christmas.
Phone's off for my quiet time.
Soft music from somewhere inside; outside, on the furtherest table away from the world, I'm gratefully merging into the dappled light on a copse of old-wise indigenous trees, water, the last arum Lillie's, tree frogs and cicadas.
Slipping away, into my quiet, I'm sure no-one will notice.
Saturday, December 01, 2012
Now I'm having a cappuccino with myself, still in my 'womb' space, knowing it will be over when I get back to the house.
A cool wind, unusual for so late in the summer is blowing; even so I'm considering a glass of wine on the beach while watching the ships passing in the night.
I love December because it both the summer holidays month and Christmas; many people complain about the commercialization of Christmas: no one has the power to commercialize Christmas but yourself. Only you can give your power away. Take it back.
I love the mall decorations, Christmas carols, and spending time with my family and friends.
I love giving and receiving gifts; I give as much thought as possible to purchasing something as special as possible for whoever I have in mind.
I also give the gifts with love.
Christmas, for me, is a celebration of life.
I am alive, I am brimming over with life, and love.