perditablog | musings and reflections along the way | Page 2
Lat jy gan, Vrou!
Posted on October 13, 2016	by perditawayfarer
Facebook sent me a memory recently : a loving message from a friend who has since passed away from cancer.
Wim loved to refer to “impulses” when referring to writing and Life!
So his message from Beyond became my impulse to post this bittersweet sketch I wrote years ago before the “rinderpest” as I jokingly refer to the time in my life when things changed, never to be the same again.
Lat jy gan, vrou – lat jy gan!
Oftewel: ‘n Bruidskar het nie brieke nie.
(‘n Storie vir middeljarige voortelevisiekinders)
Ek en ‘n vriendin sit anderdag vroe more en filosofeer. Dis iets wat ons al hoe meer doen nou lat ons so raak-raak aan die middeljare. ( Net raak-raak, gehoor, nog nie behoorlik vat nie!). Daar kom die gewigtige onderwerp van die huwelik ter sprake.
Ons praat toe ewe oor die gewaarwording wat ons albei gehad het die dag toe ons vir die eerste keer die bruidsgewaad en sluier aangepas het. Daar staan ‘n mens voor die spieël en ‘n vreemde vrou staar terug. Jy ken jouself nie – dis “die bruid”, die universele vrou wat so misterieus vir jou loer. Kom ons wees maar eerlik, sy’t so ‘n effense selftevrede Mona Lisa-glimlaggie om haar bakkies en daar’s drome in haar oë.
Sien, of sy nou wil of nie….. sy’t verwagtinge van die eg. Sonder twyfel (ja, selfs in die een-en-twintigste eeu.) Ten spyte van al die artikels wat sy lees en die praatjies wat sy hoor, bly daar maar die ewige hoop op die sprokiesgeluk. Dit help seker ook nie juis dat sy gewoonlik ietwat verlief is nie, alhoewel synde ‘n voortelevisiekind is ek nou nie heeltemaal seker hoe dié wat so voor die tyd saamwoon se verliefdheidsfaktor staan nie.
Kom ons sê dus, hoe dit ookal sy, daar’s opwinding in die lug!
Nou wonder ek net of dit nie genadiger sal wees om die arme witgewaad sommer by voorbaat ‘n paar dinge mee te deel nie. Soos lat dit my smaak dis eintlik hemel en hel so in een bondel om met ‘n man(s) (mens!?) te leer saam leef.
Die ergste wat ek kan onthou , is die ontnugtering oor die alleenwees – die eensaamheid. Ek is baie seker toe ek besluit het ek gaan trou, was “om nooit alleen te voel” beslis deel van die pakket. Foutjie! ‘n Mens kan toe al die tyd op jou heel alleenste voel so saam met jou geliefde in die huweliksbed of wat praat ek alles?
Ek het seker nie die storie mooi verstaan nie, want ek kan nog onthou lat ek gedink het die raad wat my ma se suster vir my gegee het, is maar raar:
“Dita, daar twee goed wat jy moet onthou. As jou man sy klere op die vloer lat lê, is enige geld wat jy in sy sakke kry terwyl jy optel, joune. Noem dit maar ‘n ‘pickup tip’.
Jy moet ok vir jou ‘n tas kry en dit vol ou skoene of ander goeters wat jy nie gebruik nie stop. Dié skuif jy summier onder die bed in . Wanneer julle die eerste keer so vassit, lat jy besluit jy loop, vat jy net die tas en wanneer jy oor ‘n halfuur of so terugkom, sit jy dit net weer terug. Niks ge-in-en-uitpak nie.”
Ek moet bieg, ek was eers in die war. Gedink my huwelik sal vol gemeensaamheid en ander erg verhewe konsepte wees. Niks van die ondermaanse geploeter van ander mense se klere optel of agter hulle aan skoonmaak nie. Tot ek die eerste keer in die middel van die nag wou loop en met ‘n skok besef het waarheen dan nou? Toe tref dit my! Die vrou weet waarvan sy praat!
Wat die klere optel betref – dit werk! Dit laat ‘n mens beter voel. Veral in daai armoedejare en ook besonder goed as hy rook en die geldjies nodig het vir sigarette.
Oor die weglopery het ek later ook maar gespot. Ek kon die eerste ongeveer nege jaar van my huwelik nie bestuur nie. Manlief het baie daaroor gegrommel – gesê ek is nie behoorlik uitgereik nie. Sy dogter sal glo van ‘n sertifikaat vergesel word dat haar blindederm, mangels, verstandtande verwyder is en dat sy in besit is van ‘n geldige rybewys. Maar ek het die chauvinis in eie munt terugbetaal met my stelling dat ek oortuig is die Here het geweet Hy kan eers vir my ‘n bestuurslisensie lat kry wanneer ek nie meer die hasepad sal kies nie.
Toe ons al ‘n hele paar van daai alte bekende sakke sout verorber het, kon ek wettig my ry kry, maar daar’s ek nie meer lus nie. Altans nooit op een gegewe oomblik so moedeloos dat ek dit verder as ‘n paar keer om die buurt waag nie. Verkieslik laat in die nag en met skreeuende bande vir effek. Maar ek sit altyd weer met die probleem van waarheen.
Die weglopery lat my dink aan Billy Graham, die evangelis wat ander aand op die Oprah Winfrey-show dié bekende grappie as die waarheid vertel. Hy en sy wederhelf is al vyftig jaar getroud. Iemand vra haar toe of sy al ooit aan skei gedink het. Waarop sy antwoord: “Skei, nooit…moord, baie!”. En dis nogal heilige mense,nê!
Wanneer ‘n mens so lank met ‘n ander mens saamleef, word hulle regtig soos in die Bybel staan “een met jou”. Vriende van ons kuier ander dag by ons. Hulle trek so agt-en-twintig jaar saam in die tuig. Ek moes net glimlag oor hoe dié tweetjies mekaar ken. Sy kan met groot akkuraatheid voorspel hoe hy gaan reageer op vrae – wat sy antwoord gaan wees. Jammer ‘n mens kan nie geld uit hierdie vermoë maak nie, want dit smaak my, dit kom nie van self nie. Baie klein jakkalsies moet sekerlik vrek voor ‘n mense ‘n ander so goed ken dat jul gedagtes en woorde só een word.
‘n Wonder voorwaar dat ‘n ander mens jou ten spyte van al jou skete, foute en dinge tog leer aanvaar het soos jy is. En jy vir hom.
Die manne sal sekerlik getuig oor een groot jakkals wat die wingerd verniel. Wat daai aanvaarproses mar swaar maak. Luister ‘n mens na my wederhelf van digby die sewe-en-twintig jaar sal hy beweer dat ek tot onlangs toe vir ongeveer tien dae uit elke maand in ‘n monster verander het. Wanneer die fisiologie pla, waai die hare. Dis gewoonlik ou koeie wat die res van die maand rustig wei. Die vog op my brein lat my al die dinge wat krap, naderhark. Probeer Meneertjie toe mos ‘n intellektuele gesprek oor die onderwerp voer. Terwyl ek huil dat die trane spat, troos hy (ek is seker met opregte bedoelings) dat ek kwansuis nie “ toerekeningsvatbaar “is nie. Dis soos ‘n yslike, rooi lap voor die spreekwoordelike bul en ek dink daai heilige tannie Graham het ‘n punt beet!
Maar wanneer ‘n mens deur die Genade en die huismense se geduld nog ‘n daai-tyd-van-maand oorleef het, bly dit mar salig om agter sy blad in te kruip en lepel te lê. Dan’s daar ok daai heel oomblikke wanneer Manlief weerloos sy hart oopmaak en praat oor wat in hom aangaan. Of jy hom skielik uit ‘n ander hoek bekyk en merk dat die hare al hoe dunner word en die kaalkol op sy kop groter. Dit maak ‘n mens se hart sommer week sodat jy baie dae se afskeep en gebrom verduur.
Nee wat, lyk my dis eintlik ‘n ingewikkelde storie, dié getroud wees. Dis harde werk en hartseer werk en nimmereindigende werk. Ma help ok nie juis nie. Kla ‘n mens by haar oor hy ses bakke gebruik om een gereg te maak (wat jy natuurlik alles moet was); of permanent (of so voel dit) voor die televisie sit en koerant lees, sê sy net met die wysheid van die jare: “Tja, my kindjie, dis wat dit is getroud te wees.”
Nietemin . Ek het altyd gedink, die tannies huil by die troues oor die mooigeid van die bruid, die blommemeisies en die dinge. Nou vermoed ek dis van mooigeid en seergeid en sommer ‘n klomp ander geidte of is dit dalkies guite?
Dis seker nou dié….
Ek en twee vriende (ok middeljarig en toevallig mans) drentel onder akkerbome deur en verbeel ons ons is weer studente. Die een is al een-en-dertig jaar getroud en die ander nog vry en vlug van voet. Dié twee steek in hul spore vas en staan my met pure verstomming en aangaap.
Want sien, daar ry ‘n bruidskar verby. Voor ek ‘n hek voor my bek kan kry, merk ek droog op :’Ai, vrou, weet jy wat jy doen?’
Die twee here se verslae aangesigte, laat my toe maar byvoeg : “Lat jy gan, vrou – lat jy gan!”.
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Posted on May 8, 2016	by perditawayfarer
I have been missing my mother for the past week or so. Probably because of Mother’s Day.
I wrote this story many years ago in her honour.
I made this collage of my favourite pictures of her when I was mourning her death in 2005
Ruby glided out of the Light bubble where she had been resting in search of her friends. Spirals and pulses of brilliant ruby red light shot from her as she vibrated with excitement. True to her name her Light body, a mass of light tendrils in the shape of a lotus flower with a succulent jewel like centre glowed brilliantly.
She slid down the maze of beams, pausing only to merge briefly with those she knew. As they met their colours joined, mixed and became one – a new hue. Briefly they danced forming a beautiful unique new vortex of bright colour . Then they parted ways and wafted on – each in their own direction. She acknowledged the few Elders she saw along the way. When she saw their distinctive delicate pure white beams, she shot a pulse of her purest,deepest Light from her centre to theirs, as was the custom.
She connected telepathically to the sound of the angels singing and surfed the sound wave to her destination.
In the distance she saw a glowing tower/dome – the temple of Light. It was already full when she reached it. The emerald columns seemed almost solid – the light was so powerful. Flitting her way through the rainbow throng she found her space close to the pure white altar floating in the centre of the Sacred Hall. The sight of the shimmering garnet, emerald and rose crystals beaming around the temple bed made her bow. Her Light dipped in reverence sending a wave of red stars rippling towards first the floor and then the ceiling of the temple. She was gripped by an almost overpowering urge to merge with the crystal beams.
Ruby watched as the Elders’ column like shafts of pure light leaned forward, brushing the new arrivals with their white light. Touching each part of them gently, dissolving the murkiness they had brought back. Until their own Light shone brightly again. One by one they spiralled up, pulsing ,dipping and dancing as they discovered their freedom from matter. Became part of the multi-coloured congregation once again.
Delighted by the joy and happiness she felt as their vibrations reached her, she swayed in unison. Her being swelled and grew with each new integration. .
“Here again? “Violet joked, “Don’t you ever get tired of it? Come, there’s something I want to tell you. Come on, Ruby… you won’t believe what I have to tell you.”
Her friend had caught her unawares. It was only when she felt Violet’s pulse right next to her, insistent, that she opened herself to her friend’s message.
Reluctantly Ruby trailed after Violet.
“What is it, Violet? “she transmitted, careful not to show her irritation at being called away from her favourite occupation.
“You’re going. It’s your turn. Can you believe it , you lucky ray? “
“No, can’t be. I’m not ready . How’d you know? You sure? Don’t joke about things like that,” Ruby signalled, feeling the flashes of joy shoot out of her.
Violet darted and circled catching the bright red stars. She played with them, forming a ring around her own Light. She sparkled with glee.
“Well, I just happened to intercept a thought form on it’s way between Archangel Gabriel and Lord Kathumi. Your ceremony is next. I’m sure, girlfriend. Ruby of the Fifth Ray, they said. So you better get ready. Be sure you know what you want this time round. Have you asked Blue Seven if he’s going with you?“ Violet formed a question mark as she wove in and out of her companion’s field.
Ruby tried to contain the spirals of brightly coloured sparks pulsing and bursting from her core. “No, he’s doing the Forgiveness circuit. I was thinking of a fun one this time. Maybe Creativity – that’s cool, don’t you agree? Haven’t done it in eons. Oh well, I’ll just do it the Moment. When the Creator asks, I’ll just say whatever is in me then.”
At the ceremony she hovered, waiting reverently for the Elders to send out their beams. Ready to attach as soon as this happened. The Hall of Life was even bigger than she remembered. She was glad her friends were there. The dome was a pearly, irridescent white. The whole space sparkled with Light. Every Being wore their very best Light. The Love and Presence of the Creator was so strong here. Even stronger than in the Healing Temple. She knew when they opened the Book of Life, kept in the crystal chest on the elevated rotating beam, she would feel herself expand into nothingness.
But first, the River of Forgetfulness. Her mentor had explained it to her.
“Forgetting is part of the process . So we can experience things for the first time. What we have already learnt, remains part of us though. And, dear One , we all carry Home with us in our deepest core. When you truly need it, it will come to your aid. We are always a thought away even though you may not consciously remember that it is so.” Lord Kathumi’s words danced in her as she drifted in the water light, playfully twisting and turning as she had been instructed to ensure all parts of her were cleansed.
Emerging from the fluid blue band of light she felt the Elders and her friends form a circle of love around her. She felt their pulsing as her own. After a brief pause, she surrendered into the Love. Saw the tunnel open and readied herself …
Great speed and a rush of stars against blackness as she sped through space accelerating and expanding until she was no longer.
Gradually a faint light seeped into her consciousness. A dim and pinkish-orange colour. She felt a strange sensation. A heaviness and restrictedness that was unfamiliar. There was a strange thumping sound that came to her as if from far.
DOEF doef DOEF doef .
It was rhythmic and predictable. One loud, one soft. Over and over again – never-ending. Filling the space around her. It was all encompassing, yet it seemed muffled by layers of fluid.
The fluid grew thicker and began to take a shape around her. In fascination she felt the hull grow and morph into shapes. Four main appendages each ending in a host of finer tendrils.
Later Ruby heard a new DOEF doef . This one closer . So close that it seemed to be in her. It played along with the main sound – mostly in sync.
Then other sounds joined, mainly two different kinds. One soft, gentle and near. The other came from a distance . It was deep and loud.
When the loud sound was particularly harsh, the fluid would contract . Waves would slosh around her and she would feel something she didn’t know. It was like excitement, but harder and somehow not right. Gentle Sound would come then. Slowly, the churning would stop and the fluid would come to rest – be peaceful again.
It seemed to Ruby that Gentle Sound was around more. Loud Sound much less.
As the new smaller bumps formed around the top of her, she could distinguish different tones in Gentle Sound and Loud Sound. The sounds flowed like the fluid around her. Up and down, soft and loud. Sometimes long and smooth and rhythmic and at other times short and abrupt. Stopping and starting.
The pod always responded …peaceful and soothing or upsetting and rough.
Loud Sound:“ I don’t have time for this. Can’t you see I’m busy? You’re the one who wanted this. I’m still studying. We should have waited.”
Gentle Sound: “ I didn’t do it on purpose. It must be God’s will.”
Loud Sound : “ Ok, ok don’t get upset. It ‘ll be alright. Not long now.“
Gentle Sound : “ I ‘m terrified. It ‘s just… there’s no way out now.“
Ruby felt the pressure around her as Gentle Sound spoke. It was in her too now. This unknown strange excitement with the hard edge. It was growing stronger all the time.
When it was almost too much to bear, Ruby felt a pulling and a pushing that turned her upside down. The sides of the pod closed in on her and she felt herself propelled downwards. Scrambling she tried to right herself, to crawl back to the safety of the DOEF doef sound.
But it was too strong and now Gentle Sound was no longer gentle and soft. An eeiry, twisting sound.
Mmmmm. Eina. Oeh . Eina .
Silence punctured by other short sounds. Again the twisty sounds gripping her and tossing, pinching and squeezing her. Down towards something she sensed she wouldn’t like.
The vice around her and the torturous sounds. Over and over again the drawing down.. Scrambling back. Sounds from afar urging and pushing her and Gentle Sound. Pushing them both.
As if from nowhere came the message: Let go, Ruby. Surrender. Let it happen. It’s the only way.
“ There’s the head now. One more push. Good. At last . It’s a girl. You have a little girl.”
Gentle Sound: “ Let me hold her. Where is she? I want to hold my baby.”
Through the harsh light and cold air she felt herself carried and placed in warmth. A softness that felt like Home. She could still hear the DOEF doef sound very faintly beneath her. She felt the wetness on her skin and the soft stroking of the One on whom she lay.
Then she was lifted up and she heard her mother say : “She’s all red. So tiny and perfect. Ohhhh….I can see God in her eyes”.
Posted in Uncategorized	| Tagged Mother's Day; mourning; birth	| Leave a comment
To err is human- to forgive Divine!
Posted on April 2, 2016	by perditawayfarer
Last night I happened to be tuned into RSG and learnt that President Jacob Zuma would be addressing the nation on the ruling of the Constitutional Court .
Dare I admit that there was a small part of me that hoped against hope that for some inexplicable reason the man would resign!! An even bigger part of me begged all that is true and good and sane to make this happen. Somehow!
I thought the speech was quite well-written. If anyone else had delivered it, it might even have worked to spin the situation.
Unfortunately all I felt as I listened, was rage. Pure and simple.
My ears rang with his maniacal laugh . There were flashes in my brain of his derisive and disrespectful conduct in parliament.
I admit he managed to deliver this speech with far less mispronunciation of words than usual. Thankfully it contained no numbers for him to mangle.
When he dared to tell us that we should be proud of the constitution and of how things went down I raced to the bedroom for my blood pressure pills!! Only kidding – my blood pressure is fine. It just felt as if my top would blow!.
I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs: how dare you talk about pride or presume to tell us anything…
I didn’t though .
I didn’t want to frighten the dogs or my love, but the anger I felt was huge. HUGE!
As he proceeded to talk and talk and deny all responsibility and at the same time utter the phrase :” I unreservedly apologize” I almost wept from pure frustration. I mean really. If he did nothing wrong, “just followed a different route” what is he apologizing for ?
Most of the apologies I have made in my life have been preceded by an admission of guilt or at the very least an acknowledgement of the other person’s point of view. Surely…admitting one is wrong is part of the process?
Then there was the fact that, try as I might, I simply did not believe a single word he said. Not one. He might as well have been reciting Dr Zeus’s Cat in the Hat! It was all gobble-dee-gook.
I, who have had to forgive some pretty big things in my life (even if I say so myself) felt absolutely no compassion or inclination to believe, never mind forgive!!
I ask myself: was I alone in my reaction? Judging from the newspaper headlines this morning it would appear not. In fact, my reaction seems to be pretty standard – at least in some circles.
I don’t like feeling this way. I don’t like being ashamed of my country’s leader.
How on earth could he (and his advisors!) have chosen April Fool’s Day to talk about all of this?? Or is the joke still on us?
Posted on February 26, 2016	by perditawayfarer
I am in my father’s house. In the room where I woke up crying “ I want my mommy” after my mother died on the operating table during what was supposed to be a routine procedure. No warning. No goodbye.
This house and this place, Stellenbosch, evoke a myriad of diverse memories and feelings for me. Some of them wonderful and moving. Others not so much. Downright grim some of them are.
We visited my maternal grandmother here when I was a child. Later as a student I strode back to my res with an armful of inca lilies from her garden in Rowan Street. A young man almost feel off his bicycle at the sight. A random cameo I have always treasured as a fond memory of my life as a student here.
Our visits when I was a child are linked in my mind to the sound of doves. Today as I woke up, I was surprised to hear birds.
This house, this place has changed so much. As places do. My father’s house is now surrounded by monstrous blocks of student accommodation. Modern boxes filled with noise and aggravation for the unfortunate neighbours.
Arriving here yesterday I had to negotiate parked cars blocking half the road with the other half obscured by two chatting students and another on a skateboard with music blaring from his person. My father’s yard was strewn with rubbish thrown over the fence without a thought.
My father is surely earning himself the reputation of neighbor from hell. He is in a constant state of battle and spends a great deal of his time writing letters of protest to all and sundry. Or phoning those supposedly in charge of this lot. Only to hear the parents can’t believe their children are so callous and inconsiderate!
For the umpteenth time I tell my father it is futile. Not a battle he can win.
He pretends to listen and returns to his windmill jousting as soon as I am otherwise occupied.
I am phoning people to try and find homes for his precious papers, books and equipment – a lifetime of academic work and knowledge. Trying to support him to simplify his life. So that he can move to a place where he will have peace and quiet. Something my brothers and I have been urging him to do for years now – to no avail. Now at the age of ninety his time is running out and he knows it.
Last night we talked about many things: writing and death and what needs to be done. He tells me earnestly of his desire to leave a legacy. I understand and realize my youngest brother, Jacques, is so right about how important his stuff is to him and why. I want to wail after a day of trying to help – that this will never work. No solution will be good enough or right unless it is his idea. Executed his way!
And then I realize the more things change , the more they stay the same. The birds still sing in Stellenbosch.
My father already has a legacy.
We are his legacy. My two brothers and me. He will live on in us. In our propensity to fight battles we cannot win, our love of books, our love for him and one another.
The persistent pernickety pursuit of perfection
Posted on September 3, 2015	by perditawayfarer
Picture of Nature’s perfection taken by recent Fynbos Retreat guest, Sheryl
I have often blithely referred to my desire to do things perfectly as :”The greatest form of self-abuse”. Do you think my knowing that or saying it to all who will give me the time of day, has cured me? No such luck!
I suffer greatly from the persistent pernickety pursuit of perfection.
This, despite the fact that I have a rather entertaining anecdote from my far-flung youth that should have put a permanent end to my self-torture. Or, at the very least, put it into perspective so that I can remind myself that to want to do things perfectly is just not on!
Whilst working in the civil service in communications I stumbled on a whole batch of beautiful Christmas cards in a safe. Many boxes of them. They were made of a very high quality corrugated cardboard with a gilt edge and our country’s emblem embossed in gold on the front!
You get the idea…perfect, they were!
Except for one small detail – we had been going through a series of changes of leadership. We jokingly said that our ministers were being changed the way some people change under pants – frequently! With the result that the leaf inside was obsolete as it wished the reader a Merry Christmas from a long since despatched minister and his dutiful spouse.
What to do, what to do? I mean, what a waste. These beautiful cards just useless –laying there. What happened next, I have often said, is something my friends really should help me with. I got a bright idea! Nowadays when I recall what followed, I always say: please if I ever say again I have a bright idea, do me a favour: just bang my head against the wall until it goes away, because it is going to mean work – lots of work…
So I look at the lovely, white cards and I think: why don’t I take the dated leaflet out and replace it with one that I have designed on the computer. Ooh, I could make different ones! One for birthdays, or for congratulations when babies are born or, or, or. It could all be linked to our new corporate culture of excellence in communication.
Cor blimey! What fun. So I convince the head of the organization (whose personal assistant I happen to be)that it would be a wonderful idea to use these cards for internal communication. We could send one to each employee on their birthday or their baby’s birthday or sommer – for whatever reason!. Lekker man lekker.
So I beaver away and I design and I print and all is more than well. Until I send out a first batch and find to my absolute dismay that there is a spelling error right slap bang in the middle of my painstakingly created masterpiece.
My joy drains faster than water from a bath as I wail plaintively : why, why? I tried so hard.
My wise boss smiles and says: “Didn’t you know, Perdita, that the Persians build a mistake into every single carpet they weave on purpose because they believe to be perfect is sacrilegious – only God is perfect”.
Now here’s the thing – I truly believe we are all little bits of God in flesh containers …so.. that means we are perfect just the way we are. Warts and all! To strive to do things well (ahmm..perfectly) is quite frankly – really not necessary at all!
It’s that old, old thing. Of being and doing.
So let me look at the perfect starry sky above Witvoets Kloof and go to sleep before the day begins with it’s striving and doing in the sure and sound knowledge that we are all truly perfect.
Posted in Uncategorized	| Tagged communication, entertaining, Fynbos Retreat, perfection, perspective, self-abuse, Witvoets Kloof	| 6 Comments