i love my dog

as cat stevens sang so passionately...i love my dog. i have to chuckle and laugh. i have recently been accused of projecting my need to care and to give to my dogs. giving it some thought i acknowlegded to my accuser that that is indeed the absolute truth. how can i deny the relationship i have with my kids. and perhaps it is filling a void that was perhaps made for humans to fill. but dogs are not called mans best friend for nothing. i am not ashamed that i have given this top spot in my life to the two best companions i have had in my life. to get up in the morning with those deep brown eyes staring at you. watching you sleep. keeping watch. making sure the master is safe. is still ok. breathing. resting. they patrol the parameter. how can i ask for more. where will i find companions more loyal than them. they are obedient. they are loving. they dont talk back. they dont argue. they show their joy and excitement without hesitation when i return. they cuddle up next to me when it is cold. they run with me on the heat of day down the beach without complaining. they climb the mountains with me. they walk with me through the vineyards. they splash in the rivers with me. they lie next to me when i am tired. they are constantly under my feet. surrounding me. making sure i am ok. all the time. instinctively. caring. protecting. they ask no questions. they dont demand or expect anything in return other than the fact that i care for them the same way they do for me. something that comes naturally. from both sides. perhaps one day i will be ready for the human upgrade. but for now...i love my dog.

what is freedom

does freedom mean that you are allowed to do whatever you want. or can we talk about all the limiting influences in your life that actively work against your freedom. your family generic heritage. your specific dna. your metabolic uniqueness. the quantum stuff that is going on at a subatomic level where God is the only ever-present observer. or the intrusion of your souls sickness that inhibits and binds you. or the social influences around you. or the habits that have created synaptic bonds and pathways in your brain. and then theres advertising. propaganda. paradigms. inside the confluence of multifaceted inhibitors. what is freedom REALLY?

i remember the vivid images of a maximum security prison in south africa. i had the privilidge to visit one of the most dangerous criminals in the nation. i am not at liberty to disclose the reason for our meeting or the circumstances. all i can say is that it was life changing. even though i knew he was a dangerous man i could not help seeing the peace and honesty in his eyes. after an hour of listening to his words he asked me a question that would get stuck sideways in my head and heart for most if not all of my life. his question to me was: when is a man truely free? after thumbling and falling over my own words he waited for the silence to become uncomfortable before he spoke again. and these were his words... "i am more free than most of the people walking outside these walls"...and with these words he left me with. i had to figure out to myself what he was refering to as i drove he long road back from the prisons hidden location in the mountainous area. it echoed through my mind. that hot afternoon i came up with numerous answers but none of them satisfying my soul. but this i do know...freedom is not physical. freedom is not the absence of restraint. freedom is not the absence of rules and regulations. freedom is not human rights. freedom is not political. freedom is not philosophical. freedom is not about having a free will. freedom to me is a state of being. to me it is an emotional awareness. to me it is an sense of knowing. to me it is only obtainable in one way. to me freedom is a ONE WAY traffic.

endless summer #54

tomorrow i embark on what i expect to be the pinnacle of my endless summer experience. the harvest in champagne. it has been one of my life ambitions to not only visit and see this mystical region. but to breath it. to smell it. to taste it. to walk it. to live it. to understand it. and so for the next month i will be creating my own history. my own destiny so to speak. to find another part of the puzzle that is me. it has been my passion since the first day i started understanding this magical world wonder. liquid gold. dressed in cristal and pearls. so smooth and elegant. like a beautiful women that enters a room and makes all heads turn. making guests gasp for their breath. owing to her mere beauty. her elegance. the way she glides across the room. the softness of her presence. the simplicity of her beauty. but weirdly. i am seriously nervous. not for the work. or even the language. but to be disappointed. there. i have said it. honesty. but the excitement far surpasses this fear. it feels like destiny in the making and i feel honoured to be the leading player this time round.

become a loyal reader...

dear readers. become a loyal reader on this blog by signing up on the left. then you will receive regular updates by email if you so wish. i have also made it easier for those that read the blog and that want to leave comments to do so. i the past you needed a gmail. now you dont need an gmail account anymore to leave a comment. so keep those comments coming. it would be appreciated and would make the blog more interactive...something that has been on my mind for a while. i look forward to hearing from all of you.

a day on the train

grey and dark skies all around. not really the pre-autumn weather i was hoping for. patches of blue pushing through the mass of darkness overhead. but the grey isnt really grey after all. there is a lot of puffy white inbetween breaking the darkness. somehow i can compare the emotions in me with the skies above. perhaps i have a touch more blue though. but still its feel as if the autumn has come before its time. these thoughts wash through my head as i stare out the window of the train and absorbing the environment that has become my home for a few days. somehow the greyness has become more and more attractive. broken by the green parks of the london suburbs and the brown red brick building of old industrial areas. i stare out the window as the train is about to pull into waterloo once again. this has become my daily route. fourty minutes and i am in the heart of london. a city that has captivated me by its colours and the people. watching them on the tube. waiting impatiently on the platforms. the lovers tiff on the banks of the thames. the mother picking up her kid from play school. the group of student rambling on about last night out on the town. the tourist with his camera. the girl struggling up the stairs with her big suitcase off to terminal five. the old couple clutching each other like walking canes and both in a different world of paging through memories of london after the war and the grandchildren. the guy with the hard hat under his arm his clothes stained with paint and cement telling me that he is pushing two jobs at the same time to make ends meet. the frustration and dispair tarnishes his face as the dirt clings to his eyebrows and the soil is evident under his nails. the middle aged women with her chelsea wanna be accent speaking on her mobile to a friend and discussing the new surgical procedures to enhance this and to reduce that. a conversation that brings my breakfast to the shallow of my throat and i turn the volume to max on my ipod. the cute blond girl that has just finished night shift as her head bobs and weaves with the rhythm of the train. my laughing wakes her and she sheepishly winks at me trying to hide her embarrassment. the people of this mystical city are endless. days on trains and tubes are enough to write for years. but the thing that hit me the hardest was the thoughts i had to struggle with as each person walked pasted me. stared at me. winked at me. barked at me. how do others perceive me. where do i fit in. which box. which category. and thats the beauty of my own thoughts. perhaps i can see myself in each of the characters i briefly described. or perhaps it is just my way of seeing things. non the less. these are real people. that breath and live. they go to work. they pick up the kids. the have arguments with loved ones. the swear at the boss. the curse the slow service of the waitress. they moan about the increased transport fares. they run the rat race and cram their lives into small boxes and folders like trying to get onto the tube at waterloo during rush hour. all pushing towards something without knowing what or where to. i feel content within myself that i can stand outside this race. that i can stare through my train window and laugh at myself. the breaking of hearts. the skipping of chapters. the hopping continents. living in my imaginary world where it is me and me alone. where i make the rules as i go along and dont have to give account for it or answer to all the whys. where i am king of my castle. but praise be to the Lord that this is only in my imagination. that i too live in the real world. perhaps more real than many ohters. perhaps because i am step with what ticks on the inside of me. that is perhaps why i can just be still and know...

the invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love; for your dreams; for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful; be realistic; to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day; and if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keepin the empty moments.

My modified version of Oriah Mountain Dreamer

i saw an angel

I saw an angel just the other day. It was one of those rare moments where time stops and you want the time to stand still forever. To replay the situation over and over. Wishing you would be able to utter one word in despair. In desperation speak a word to attract her attention. But in stunned silence you watch as she walks by. She stepped off the airplane and was like a breath of fresh air. Her presence filled everywhere and everyone around her. The way she carried herself was overwhelming. She walked tall. She spoke softly yet firmly. She transmitted her being with conviction and authority. Yet with utter humility. I could sense the peace and joy that shone from her face. Her eyes were warm and kind. Her smile turned heads and could possibly change nations and sway dictators. She did not see me. I was just a ghost. A shadow without shape or form. But I saw her. I followed her with my eyes as she crossed the spaces. She was heading in my direction. I was paralysed. Frozen in time. As she approached me she must have sensed my desperation, my heart ache and despair. She passed. Her scent slapped me like a heavy weight’s punch. As I turned around to see her walk away, I saw her pause, and then stop. As if something crossed her mind. As if something has upset her or troubled her peace of mind. She turned and looked up across the room. She was searching for the source of sadness that she felt resonate in her. As she scanned the room, her eyes stopped at the formless shadow of a ghost that was me. She stared at me for what felt as if it was an eternity, but was probably as second or two. The depth of her eyes connected with my soul and it changed me forever. She smiles, nodded at me and turned around and walked away.

a 100 words

joy passion wisdom discernment love compassion people friends dogs wine sharing fellowship family faith bible positivity time travel challenge experience dream living sun wind nature sea music words stories book writing pictures beauty food knowledge learning boats water green tasting smell exercise speed freedom shofar africa jesus david zoe france leadership captain bass emotions navy laughing fun funky uncomplicated heaven secret-place peace tranquillity chilling-out expectation excitement the-rush fear determined business coffee-shop wine-bar mission stellenbosch marriage children angola-mission cape town broken-heart hurt singing polo-shirts bubbly testify significant trust honesty experience eternity praise-worship silence

the desert experience

some days you wake up and you just know. you wake up with a cold sweat and it feels as if the bottom of your world has fallen out. you long for something. something deep and meaningful. something that will connect you with what runs to the core of your being. but it seems misplaced. unreachable. unattainable. where the hec has it gone. it was here just yesterday. the peace has left. and chaos and turmoil has replaced your save haven within your soul. you are filled with confusing and ceremonial thoughts of what you should be doing. you are gripped with fear and guilt. i feel trapped in a spiders web and the stickiness of my own behaviour has brought me to this. this place. the abyss of selfishness and pride. self righteousness and arrogance. serving only myself and taking everything for granted as i gallop through life. it has brought me to the doorstep of what i call my desert experience...

saying goodbye for the last time

(this is a 100% fictional story. it was one of my first short stories i ever wrote.)

It has been another one of those crazy weeks at the office, or should I rather say cellar. See us winemakers don’t really believe in the office routine. We enjoy cruising through the cellar sniffing Pinots and spitting Chardies down the drain, pretending to know it all and bamboozle the nosey tourist or two with our fancy wine-ese. It is strange how people can become so entrapped in the words of one that speaks with confidence.
So another typical day, minding my own business, chattering away - until I receive a text message on my mobile phone. These new phones all have these weird vibrating functions and it makes me jump each time the phone does its thing. I look down at the inbox and see it’s from Genna. She’s an old ex-girlfriend of mine. I have to say I was sort of taken of guard seeing that I heard about her engagement just a few days ago. “Quite sudden I thought to myself”. But, hey, she’s a big girl. She can take care of herself. Anyhow I open the text and to my surprise see an invite to meet up with her for dinner some time in the next week. Feeling excitingly weird about it, I accept and the date is set for Monday night. Whoopee-do!
The day progresses and it sort of slips my mind. Actually the whole week passes before I realise over the weekend what I have gotten myself into. Still in my mind I feel ok about this whole thing with her. After all, she is obviously over me, so I don’t have to worry about the uneasy, uncomfortable vibe that often sets the scene for such meetings that more than often only ends up in disastrous quarrels.
Let me paint a picture of her that you can also be at rest before you meet her. She has always been a real sweetie pie. A looker too, but then again, I have always had the eye for good looking girls. Beautiful dark skin, fair dark hair taken back to reveal the beautiful features of my beloved Genna. Oh yes, my Genna indeed. We had a serious relationship for about seven years before it ended when I got traded for a fancy career in Amsterdam. She was into corporate law at the time. A darn shame that was. I thought she might have been the one. But then, that just shows that I have been wrong about a couple of things in my life. Well, at least this time.
So come Monday, I’m all good to go. Last minute stuff at the “office” keeps me longer than anticipated and I get stuck in rush hour traffic. Perfect! I always remember her hating it when I wasn’t on time. Not that it happened often, but there has been the odd occasion. Funny thing is: she picks the same restaurant where she arranged a surprise party for my 30th birthday. Best party I ever had. Wonder if it is coincidence? Then again – nothing has ever been coincidence with this girl – oh no, not Genna. I recall her wearing a black dress, smooth and tight, absolutely perfect with a big sea shell draped around her neck.
So there I am; speeding off to meet the lost love of my life. Luckily I’m only a tad late; I enter left stage and there she is – my Genna, soon to be some one else’s Genna. She is sitting behind a tall glass of champagne while it is freezing outside. I sit down and immediately the connection is still there, it hasn’t gone yet. Will it ever? I can’t but think of all the “what if’s” and “what could have been’s”. Perhaps it’s just human to think that? So we talk about my new venture into the unknown while catching up on the engagement and who this scoundrel is that’s taking my Genna from me. So I listen but all I hear is bla bla bla, while she’s babbling on about how much different he is from me and he does this and that (obviously the things I never was!), and how perfect this guy is. Whatever – I think.
The mood changes and I suddenly find myself in front of a Sanhedrin. All the why’s fly straight at my head. I keep ducking and diving but they keep hitting me. I have nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. So I knuckle down and take it on the chin. The questions keep on coming: Why did I not keep contact while she was in Amsterdam; why didn’t I come to see her; why did I ignore her the times she came back to visit; why did I have to break her heart? Funny sort of questions for a girl on the brink of getting married I think to myself. But you know, probably all relevant and legitimate.
To most of the questions I give cowardice answers because I don’t think she would be able to handle the reasons I would give her. Of the two other lovers I had in town while she was away. That, for one, will break her. Not to mention the “other” problems that occurred while she was away. But I knew the answers: She broke my heart to many times before with all her shenanigans so getting a “consolation goal in overtime” was probably just setting the record straight. Also, I have lost trust in our ability to be happy together, to make each other happy, and to sustain the magic we once had. Not to mention the broken trust after “goal two”! Or the day she made that comment that crippled me and that would change my course forever – that was the final nail in my coffin. That day something died in me. I only realised that months later after she had left…it hit me one day out of nowhere. And that was the beginning of five years in the wilderness, two years of “chasing Cezanne”, one years I would rather forget, and two more years that I unfortunately can’t wipe out, no matter how hard I try.
She mentions as I sit there about the final gift I gave her that painful afternoon at the international terminal and about some note I wrote before she left. She wanted to know if we were ok regarding soul ties and I said I’m all sorted and that she’s got nothing to worry about. Possibly the only truthful thing I said all night. The night ends as we walk off into our separate ways for the last time. She says that I made it onto the guest list for the wedding but knowing that I will be away on another adventure then she will not be sending an invitation. I tell her not to worry and that I would have come had I not been away. I got in the car and drove off – as we go our separate ways for the last time.