On pink porridge and peace

I usually wake up at around 6.30 and lie in my black four-poster bed luxuriating for another few minutes before getting up to light my candle and incense, make my fabulous psyllium berry shake and coffee and let the shower water wash the night off me. In these minutes I say my prayers for the day and generally shake off the morning fear that has always been part of me.
This morning I took a little peek through the curtains and saw two older Omani ladies walking by, dressed in their colorful dresses with sparkly leggings. The one was carrying a large bag of greenery on her head, obviously the breakfast for her goats. Somehow this was such a comforting sight, these two friends going by their normal daily routine, chattering, just being in the moment.
I also wore a colorful dress today and carried the peace on those womens' faces into my class with me. The class, my stage and my sanctuary.
I started the Saturday at an easy pace for the students and in the break went to stand in front of the sea.
There were so many gulls just floating on the sea, bobbing up and down on the gentle undulations of the waves.
For a moment I felt one of them, just doing what they do, just resting in their natural state, no future, no past, no worries, no creeping morning doubts. The light reflected off the water and my heart was flushed with joy.
I remembered a recent morning, a similar feeling, a moment of utter contentment in which time stood still. The loved one surprising me with a beautiful bowl of bright pink porridge with condensed milk. Who needs words, with gestures like that?
I could hardly wipe the smile off my face for the rest of the day, and I am sure will savour that moment in years to come.
So, I wish you all precious 'pink porridge' and 'birds drifting on water' moments, small celebrations of life's wonder.

Ietsie vir die siel

Ek dink ek het begin dagboek skryf in Standerd 6, en dit was rondom daai tyd wat ek my lewe lange liefde vir gedigte begin ontwikkel het. En wie kan nou n mooi liefdesgedig weerstaan? Min woorde wat reusagtige beelde en gevoelens skep. Hierdie een woon al in my vir baie baie jare, ook van skooltyd af. Dit is van Sappho, n Griekse digteres, woonagtig op die eiland Lesbos. Dit is redelik los vertaal... nie deur my nie....maar die beelde is so duidelik en indrukwekkend. Dit laat my hart nog na al hierdie jare vinniger klop. En hy klop juis so lekker vandag vandat ek gehoor het dat my beminde een van die dae weer by die huis is.

Sommige se n leer te perd

Andere se n leer te voet

en nog andere, n vloot op die see

is die mooiste sig

op die donker aarde

maar, ek se:

hy wat jy bemin,

hy is dit.

Coming home

My best Omani friend at the university has come back to his old position as head librarian. He was substituting for a while as head of HR, and we hardly saw each other all semester as we were both crazy busy and working in different buildings.. He is one of those Omani men whose dishdasha gets shorter as his beard gets longer; he is a humble and gentle man with really twinkly eyes, and has a really wicked sense of humor.
I always joke that in most cultures, the shorter the skirt, the more promiscuous the wearer; but here in Oman it works the other way round- the shorter the dishdasha, the more holy and pious the person.

We joked a bit today, but got onto some serious topics as well, and he told me this story.

In the time of Mohammed, there was a man who married a woman of his own choosing. It was a love marriage and they were very close. It was not long before the first baby arrived. However, the husband had to embark on a long journey of 6-8 months and in that time the young child fell ill and died. In the words of my friend, "there was no email in those days", and the news was not relayed to the man. It was a very difficult time for the woman, being separated from her love as well as losing her baby.

So, finally she got word that her husband would be home the next day around the time of the Maghrib prayer, around sunset. She prepared herself,-in these days we would say she went to the "beautification saloon"- , she prepared the house and also went to the market to have his favourite meal ready.
The reunion was joyful and when he asked about the child, she bit her lip said that he was having a good long sleep.
The night was passionate and happy, and it was only in the morning when he asked again that she gave him the sad news.

He went straight to Mohamed, upset and also angry. He complained about his wife, that she had lied to him, and waited for the prophet's reaction. To his surprise, he was sent home to go and think again, as what she had done was a symbol of her deep love.

I found the story moving, and I have such a deep respect for the inherent strength seated in every woman.

I am truly happy today, as I know that my loved one will be home soon after a couple of weeks away. I am doing the necessary preparations, and I so look forward to revisiting the contours of his face.

The chalice

One day in a kingdom not too far away, a lonely prince sat by his window carving wood. This was his passion, to sit at dawn’s first light, chiseling away small chinks from a block, watching it revealing its secrets and listening to the knife speak. In the early morning, as the bells pealed  low, he would sit and dream. Dreaming was his other passion.

The prince would look in many books and dream of distant lands, lands where he would fit in, where he would not feel like an outcast, the piece of the puzzle with no purpose in the picture. He dreamt of soft light and the scent of rose, an understanding human companion; and as he dreamt, it was if time stood still.

The prince’s father was a warrior, but the prince was not. His father would come into his tower room and yell, “You are yellow, not of my seed, why can’t you be a real son, a bull, strong and courageous?”

His mother was obedient to his father, and beautiful, and idle. She had never shown much interest in him and her attention was on the intricate brocade dresses, and precious jewels she could accumulate, and on the games she could play whilst the king was away.

He was an only child, a loner, satisfied with his own company and that of the knife. He loved taking long walks on the land, enjoying the freedom and openness, the companionship of the animals, and looking for special pieces of wood to carve.

As he sat carving, he was always aware that he had a power and a voice in him, a power as courageous as his father’s, and as beautiful as his mother’s. He felt that when the time was right, it would awaken and be revealed.

And so it came, that one day as he sat at the break of day, listening to the calming pealing of the bells, dreaming of Eldorado, that suddenly and without warning, in his hand, his knife fell silent. His hand stopped moving and the hilt lost its glow. The prince laid down the instrument, descended the stairs and went to the forest to think about this. He was a calm and steady youth, and not prone to brash reaction.

After walking long and far, he stopped to rest on a log in the shade. Nearby a little monkey played, at ease in the prince’s company. The prince lost himself in observing the little creature’s antics. As he watched, the monkey ran to a nearby stump, and seemed to say, ‘’ Look, take this one with you”.

The prince was a little startled, and wondered if it really could be the monkey talking to him. Again he heard a sure voice in his head, “Believe what you hear, and take this one”. The prince examined the little log and found it to be quite ordinary.  Also he thought about his knife, so suddenly mute, and wondered how things would move forward. Deciding to trust the moment, he picked up the wood and made his way back to his bare tower room.

He did not sleep well, although he was exhausted, and got up at first light as was his habit. He sat looking at the new wood, and picked up the knife that had lost its song and fire.

As he sat with an empty mind, he began to scratch the surface absentmindedly until slivers of the timber started falling to the ground. He carved faster and faster, and throughout the day, from this ordinary piece of wood, emerged a lovely smooth solid dark goblet. He was so relieved to hear the humming of the knife, and feel his connection to it and the wood he carved.

As he finished, he heard a great hullabaloo under his window. The great king from the neighbouring land came charging up to the palace gates with his daughter at his side and one hundred thundering troops on horses behind.

‘’Where is the man who stole wood from my land?’’,  he bellowed. The prince’s father came storming up the stairs, “Have you done this thing, you useless boy?’’

The prince was upset and puzzled at this sudden attention and as he stood at the window listening to his father approaching with a heavy tread, his fingers released the cup, which fell out of the window. As that chalice fell, it was as if everything around him moved into a silent space. Everyone was looking up, holding their breath, watching that cup in slow motion as it spinned and hurtled towards the ground.

The neighbor  king  held out his hand, his hand met the cup and grasped it, and  for a moment no one moved or spoke. In a flash, the man who held the cup was on his knees, with his daughter beside and the troops behind, his breastplate shining in the sun.

“Prince, you have unwittingly revealed the age-old treasure which was hidden in the wood by an evil sorcerer many moons ago. You have done what my own court magicians have never been unable to do.  You have restored this priceless treasure and symbol of enlightenment to my family. As a reward, I offer you my daughter’s hand and a slice of my kingdom. I would be honoured to invite you into my family.”

What happened then? The king and queen went completely white and were completely speechless.

The prince had the last words,

“I accept your offer graciously, and hope never to disappoint you. For me the greatest gift was that I which I found within myself”.

The wayfarer

The wayfarer,
perceiving the way to the truth,
was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
"Ha", he said,
"I see no one has passed here
in a long time".
Later he saw that each weed
was a singular knife.
"Well", he mumbled at last,
"Doubtlessly there are other roads"

Stephen Crane

I had an informal lesson with my students yesterday discussing how one brings about change in one's life. Ha! Not so easy. But it is very clear that if you keep doing the same things, the results will always be the same. Even miniscule changes in the right direction, changes the outcome. We ended up with big purple letters across the board,
 Never Give Up.

Snow

I'm sitting in my bed in my soft purple dressing gown, with my furry boy Leo snuggled very close.He is purring in his sleep and we are both happy.
 Yesterday was 6 January, in Germany it is known as the "Holy Three Kings"and in England "the Day of the Epiphany". I have always loved that wonderful sounding word. I have been reading about it a bit in the last few days and love the fact that it comes from the Greek, used in one of three ways- at the first glimpse of dawn-the first light, at the first sight of one's enemy, and for a manifestation of God. So the day is called that because according to tradition it was the day that the three wise men caught their first glimpse of Jesus.

In a personal context, to have an epiphany means to have a deep and moving realisation, a moment of enlightenment, usually preceded by some form of toil.

More mundanely, it is also the day that the season's decorations usually come down and so I dismantled my shocking pink Christmas tree and other bits and bobs; Monica was still here and helped me with that. I was thinking about the Christmas days just past and how meaningful they were to me. I really feel in a very different space with myself and the world since coming back off my holiday. I have had my head surrounded by snowflakes, like magical fairy dust and can't stop thinking about the lovely days strolling through Munich, watching children iceskating, drinking Gluhwein and admiring numerous lit-up Christmas trees, and nativity scenes.

I realised that the pervading theme of the holiday was snow. In the weeks preceding the holiday I was constantly checking the forcast, my money very much on a white Christmas. Although the Christmas was not snowy where we were staying, we found heaps of beautiful fresh fluffy snow not far away, and enjoyed it thoroughly. There is something about snow that just brings joy to my heart and lifts my mood.

 On the last morning of the holiday I woke up with the memory of a short story by Truman Capote. Many years ago I was sitting with a group of close friends; I was about to embark on a long life-changing journey, not to return for a while. We were reading passages to each other which had special meaning, and one friend read the this extract. A group of friends are sitting around talking about life, and one person asks the question, ''If there was one moment in your life that was worth living for, what would it be?" Another immediately answers, "Snow".

For years the word ''snow'' evoked the comfort and closeness of true friendship, and I always had it as part of my email address. What is it that makes snow so magic? It mutes the harshness of the world, softens the lines, creates a feeling of peace and intimacy and is just unbelievable romantic. It also makes everything look incredibly clean. Walking arm in arm with the loved one through the city in the evening surrounded by a veil of feathery snow flakes drifting from the sky was just an unforgettable experience. Knowing that each flake is unique, just like every moment of my life.

I wonder if the Magi encountered snow on their journey; it is unlikely, but possible. I wonder if snow might have been part of their epiphany, just as it was for me this Christmas.

I wish for us to cherish each moment like each complete and perfect snowflake, and may we find peaceful and intimate islands in our day to stop rushing and let the fairy dust settle a while on our shoulders.

Tea and mystery

'Maybe you allow the shimmering, simmering mystery to be mysterious, and not try to make it answerable to every twitch of your desire to be reasonable and knowledgeable'.

 

Dear friends

 

I am safely back from my much needed Christmas break to southern Germany. It was meaningful and magical and I will tell you more.

 

But today I am thinking about the year ahead and how to approach each day with a new and fresh energy, and just let it be what it is.

 

I am not a great believer in the whole concept of time in any case, and the idea of New Year starting on 1 January has always been lost on me. At midnight of 31 December, I was on Doha airport with the loved one, standing alone in a queue attempting to get a cup of tea. It was a mundane and completely normal moment, and I ended up aborting the stagnant line and weaving my way back through a maze of tables and chairs to where he was sitting. It could have been any moment of any day of any year. Us both sweaty and lethargic from airplane travel, looking for a cup of tea. How strange to say that it was a perfect moment. We didn't kiss or speak even, I just slipped my hand comfortably through his arm, and so we proceeded in search of a friendlier spot for a refreshing beverage.

 

I do however find these false beginnings a good time to think about things in general and set a few intentions as signposts on the road. My intention for 2011 will definitely be taken on into 2012, "Take more naps". It worked very well for me!

 

This year I am going to let the magic and the mystery be, to shimmer and simmer.

 

 I had a very valuable conversation with Monica last night. She said,'Stefani, define this thing you call magic'.

Magic is for me the quality that connects every soul and object to the divine, in whatever form you choose to experience it. Magic is the universe that supports me. Magic is knowing that there are legions of angels and souls in an unseen realm working for my good. Our human thoughts are so incredibly limited and we try so hard to be logical. We forget that there are infinitely more possibilities than we can ever 'think' of.

 

For me the magic and mystery of life is in the power of love.

 

I wish for all of us this year to have faith in the magic, to keep hope in our hearts and to be joyful in those 'Let's search for a cup of tea' moments.