A dynamic state of peace

It is pouring loudly with rain. The clouds are united in a pure, white sky that has neither definition nor limits. Trees, bushes and pot plants are swaying, shaking and drooping, though the arum lily stands undaunted. The strings of rain are close together, there is unity, harmony in this hard, persistent dance. 

My mind's inner eye is occupied (literally). It is claimed by an image observed yesterday, outside my head, just like the rain today. It is an image of a family of Egyptian geese, led by the male, with Mom as the rearguard. 

Eight or nine goslings paddled for what they were worth through the windblown ripples of their home lake, keeping in perfect single file and so imprinting their live bodies into the 'duck(ling)s in a row', which now inhabit my head.

Once the parents had got them all safely to shore and, famished from their strenuous outing, they immediately began foraging in the grass, Dad raised himself to his full height, stretched and shook his splendid wings, pushing out his chest with its dark brown medal in a momentary posture of proud glory.

Mom had meanwhile flown to perch upon a railing to groom herself in private, as it were, taking some time out from the family.

* * *

In the aftermath of a sorrowful division between dear friends and fellows of mine (a situation which remains painfully raw and as yet unresolved), the undemarcated sky and rain, the disciplined little goslings and their steady parents offer an objective correlative to my inner state: I have taken a stance that is aligned with my heart, mind, body and soul. My friends know where I stand and, most importantly, I know where I stand.

Balance is a dynamic state of peace. I wish this for each individual member of my great and varied human family.

Photo: thanks to Ken Barris

Trinity of blogposts 2 Course correction (with yoga, dance and fairies)

So. Life drives you with a momentum that makes it really hard for you to take stock. “It’s all too much” is the daily feeling, you’re in survival mode: keep going, keep going, keep going, keep gggg ... And I kept goinggg, stuffing my days up with humdrum duties, dredging ever deeper down into – actually beyond the remains of – my energy (!) to summon patience, more patience, AND MORE patience and loving kindness for the endless admin and communications required, to organise the daily physical and emotional support my parents asked for, fitting in (against my, secretly somewhat languid, nature) with THEIR WORLD (a world of, to me, too many false securities); and, simultaneously, trying to learn more about my new partner and his – to me, in many ways, completely foreign – outlook on life. Looking back now, at the three moves in three years, which I was obliged to weather, they reveal something about the panic my own heart and its lostness.

I ‘skidded’ off the mountain in Hogsback, which had been my home for 8 years, and skidded up and down the coastline, in a manner of speaking, as each place Jay (not his real name) and I found to rent, albeit all were beautiful, was quickly sold, due to unfortunate circumstances besetting the owners. Were we hexed, Jay and I?

Absolutely. The hex was: my utter idiocy. Possibly that germ of languidness. So, what was the turning point in the tragi-comic tale?

Well, the first course-correction, I believe, was that I chose to leave the beautiful village of Brenton-on-Lake – or, rather, I chose to accompany Jay, who was set on returning to what I privately call “the belly of the beast”, that is to say, the Eastern Cape, where it is impossible to ignore or avoid South Africa’s notorious problems. Jay had never felt at home in the Western Cape, I was sure he was secretly yearning (my take, not his) for his home environs outside East London; and he also wanted to be closer to his shop again. As for me, I listened to my heart in following, not just Jay, but a ‘geographical piety’ – a kind of deep, inner compass that drove, despite everything, joy into me on seeing again the lush green grasslands and roaming cattle so typical of the Eastern Cape (definitely not a mis-take).

We found a place to rent that had been advertised, of all places, on Gumtree, and it turned out to be situated in the very village where I had enjoyed art lessons during my latter four years of living in Hogsback. The rocky sea shore was more familiar to me than it was to Jay – I’d sat there every other Saturday with sarmies and a boiled egg after the art class, writing poems whipped by the wind.

I was now geographically twice as far as I had previously been from my parents and, although my father’s dementia made him unable to remember where I was now, I could hear in his voice over the telephone that he felt in his heart – as I did in mine – that I was distancing myself from his and my mother’s extreme emotional dependence on me. This was no bad thing for any of us. They have the privilege of very loyal and loving carers in the familiarity of their own home. Of course I kept up with my duties to them, and of course I visited them for Christmas, but, even so: there was new room for sanity to re-enter my sphere.

Several people mentioned that I ought not to feel guilty about re-moving myself, geographically as well as emotionally, further away from my parents – to be honest: there was no energy left for any guilt in me. I knew that a cycle had, necessarily, ended. True to their natures, my parents did not complain at all. There was an overall feeling that things could not be otherwise. This, of course, is the precondition for inner peace and, I daresay, they have grown more peaceful.

So the daughter in me was making progress. But what about the wife/ female partner aspect? Unmarried though we were, my womanly heart was given to Jay – and she was distraught, if truth be told. Jay is a lifelong nicotine addict and, although I knew this when I first teamed up on the journey through life with him, I had become increasingly intolerant of what to me was his enslavement. I was helplessly jealous of his ‘first love’, Lady Nicotine, whom he cherished a hundred times more devotedly than he cared for me. As I saw it, Nicotine was his true partner in intimacy. Clearly, I needed to detach from him, too, leave him in peace, and give myself space to lose my possessiveness. But how?

It was the second ‘course correction’ that helped me with this question. The second ‘course-correction’ occurred very recently, as a result of three momentous events happening in quick succession.

Firstly, my yoga teacher, Cher, invited me to offer a writing workshop at her upcoming yoga retreat. This opportunity, again to collaborate with a woman whose mission I respected and chimed with, blew the exact wind into my sails that I needed. At last I could be working again on MY terms! I’ve been eagerly getting back ‘out there’, renewing my commitment to my writerly calling, not merely in private, but as a public phenomenon; and also focusing on my connection to my precious readers again – even this trinity of blogposts are evidence of that.

Secondly, I signed up for a Journey through dance with Cher.

And, thirdly, I went for a fairy card reading with Angie Vanstraaten.

I had consulted the fairies, as mediated through Angie, a total of three times in my life at major crisis points and each time I had been shown a way forward. This time, though, I was in for a shock of major proportions. The fairies warned me in the strongest terms that I was drained to the bone from endlessly giving without replenishing myself; that my masculine aspect was completely upside down; and that I would lose everything and suffer extremely painful experience if I did not step out of MY addiction to SERVING THE PRIORITIES OF OTHERS AT THE EXPENSE OF MY SOUL.

Wow. They freaked me out big-time, those fairies. There was one, whose hideous face with missing teeth has stayed with me in particular – fittingly called the SOUL SHRINKER! – who warned of keeping company with people, including loved ones, whose comments were habitually, unconsciously critical in the most innocent (unconscious) ways, steadily eroding my self-confidence and strength. The habit is probably best summed up in the old proverb ‘familiarity breeds contempt’, expressing with wondrous brevity the harmfulness of not maintaining proper boundaries – something I had NEVER learned!

Shaken, the days that followed I was on hyper-alert and actually began to notice this habit – both in myself as well as in Jay. I consciously applied the medicine of kindness, accepting nothing less than genuine warmth from either myself or from him at ALL times, no matter how insignificant the occasion might seem. If it isn’t kind, rather keep silent and self-examine. Fortunately, Jay was completely with me on that particular track. You could say it actually helped our relationship become ‘more professional’; we orbited in our respective (very different) worlds, with greater distance between one another, which actually gave us both the breathing room we each craved.

The Journey through dance took place three days after the fairy card reading. What a truly healing process! It’s re-ignited my passion powerfully. I’ve documented it, with view to showing a way for others, who may be at similar crossroads in their lives as I am. I urge you to seek your kindred spirits when your soul is as emptied as mine has been.

Best of all, the Journey through dance brought me a fascinating insight, which I definitely had to explore. This insight came through an offering, during our feedback session, from one of the participants, owner of the venue Driftwood Studios, ClaireKockott.

To be continued. 

Angie says: The Singer of healing tells us ...
Healing begins when we let go of what hurts us,
and embrace and nurture what benefits and heals us

The terrifying soul shrinker

The beautiful venue for Journey through dance @Driftwoodstudios

Weed (It's not what you may think it is)

 1.      Preamble

It is star-shaped and yellow and so delicate as to feel like a miniscule spray of mist. I am on my three-year-old haunches, mesmerised by its beauty. She speaks to me. She says she is from the stars and she asks me to look after her. I tell her that I will visit her every day. I keep my promise.

Then I sense the caretaker’s wife standing behind me. She is big and pregnant. I often play with her other children, who are older than I am.

She says, “What are you doing?”

“It’s a flower,” I say.

“It is a weed,” she replies. “We must pull it out.”

She is gentle. I don’t remember pulling out the flower. I remember agreeing with the caretaker, but I don’t remember pulling out the weed.

It has remained forever in me.

 

***

 

2.      Reflective Notes

Journey through dance

Driftwood Studios

5^th February 2023

First, we did a RAIN meditation, listening to Tara Brach.

Recognise Allow Investigate Nurture

I remembered the feeling of following my mother’s back, as she refused to turn her face to me, embarrassed by me, & me feeling cast out, unwanted, unworthy. And I knew I must re-mother myself.

 Then we walked in the lovely garden & I felt the moist grass under my soles, which have become so tough from all my barefoot walking. And I nudged the driftwood dinosaur, who looks away, into the foliage, & I found a little clearing near there, where I could hide – my bright gear did not camouflage me! But everybody was quiet and discreet.

 

Then we danced. It was strange at first with the words Cher was reading over the music, I am so sensitive to words spoken or written. But I realised this was a time to be more conscious. I breathed in the colour spring-green, which felt delightful. Then, when Cher told us to breathe in red – that was at once instinctive, it pulls me to feel so primitive, or primal, & lastly I found or was given a luminous blue sphere, Cher spoke about holding a seed, & my very beautiful sphere became a blue flower, & I remembered a tiny flower I once loved between the cracks of the paving, which spoke to me of the stars. It had a voice, & I danced her.

 

***

 

3.      Sharing

Each participant in the Journey through dance read their reflections. How many different worlds had combined in the studio, each one contained within her body! Some felt that they had freed themselves from reining in the love they feel for others and the world; another felt aware that she was releasing barriers she tended to put up, for fear of losing her independence; yet another travelled through her father into history, wars, complex family heritage rippling out into, or from, her individual self.

When I read my reflective notes, Claire said, “You are the flower.”

“A weed in a crack,” I replied sardonically.

“Yes,” said Claire, “and look how much it has influenced you.”

 

***

 

4.      Renewal

The next day, I walked along the beach near where I live. Suddenly the wind breathed an emission of positive memories of my mother into me, surprising and elating. The Journey through dance had wiped away an ancient, stagnant grief as if it were only a greasy mark on a glass. I no longer needed to think of all the wonderful things, whereby my mother influenced me during my life – I could feel them all again! The splendid books she piled on me; her not minding to walk in the rain; her irrepressible cheekiness and big-mouth-laughter.

I don’t need diligently or desperately to list or remember the bouncy, flowering weeds in the cracks of my mother’s persona anymore – they, too, are in me, abundantly so.

Even better, her back is no longer turned towards me, as I turn to face myself.

“You are allowed to be brave. You know how to swallow your fear and breathe fire with it!”

 

***

 

5.      Blue fire

I take up where I left off. I return to that point where I gave up on the little flowering weed pushing up between the paving stones. She was yellow like the sun. The Journey through dance gave me a blue sphere to hold: was that her sky?

Where will you lead me, little star-flower weed?

I don’t know why, but the words “blue fire” follow me, as well as your colour, yellow.

I’ll wait and see.

 

***

 

6.      Forgiveness

I ask forgiveness of all those readers, whom I disappointed, because this is not a story about dagga.

 

***

 – Silke Heiss, Sunrise-on-Sea, February 2023