Winds of change

Your voice can paralyze an army of jackbooted warriors with one soothing word.
Your words are the children of hope; pledged to my ailing heart.
Hope is an empty mirror, silently whispering her reflections into the wind.
If I could make all of these dance together; hope, love and fear, it would create a relentless whirlwind
such that could whip the disgrace of not believing from the faces of our souls.

Keurbosfontein

Jy met jou naakte vel en trotse hart
Jy hou my styf op die oop palm van jou hand
en dra my hoog op die skouers van jou droe lyf

Niks kom hier naby jou nie
Nie eers die twyfel van die stadsjaap
of die gelag van die bobbejane op jou voorstoep nie

Hou my vas, Keurbosfontein
Hou my in jou maag sodat ek die aarde kan hoor draai
laat ek reen op jou gesig sodat ek nooit mag vergeet nie

Love

love does not have a face
i have looked around me
i have looked inside me
love does not have a face

love does not have a name
i have called from the mountains
i have called from my silence
love does not have a name

love does not have a master
i have tried to hold it
i have tried to steer it
love does not have a master

love only smiles when you don't look
love only comes when you don't call
love only grows when you let it go

love is

Solitude

I lost my heart on a gravel road. The earth was warm. I turned my ear to listen to the weight of the world beneath me. A shower of rain; not far out to sea, arrested my armored sight and washed my indifference away.

Truth

When did we start believing that the Truth is some attainable thing outside of ourselves that will bring us fulfillment?

If we look at the etymology of the word truth, we discover that it stems from the Middle English word trewthe, from Old English trEowth fidelity; akin to Old English trEowe faithful. The Webster definition of truth is "sincerity in action, character, and utterance." The word sincere stems from Middle French, from Latin sincerus whole, pure, genuine, probably from sem- one + -cerus (akin to Latin crescere to grow.) The word sincere stresses absence of hypocrisy, feigning, or any falsifying embellishment or exaggeration.

Isn't it amazing that we have allowed ourselves to forget even these basic meanings? We are so eager to believe that we are inadequately equipped to find the real truth that will make us whole. The truth is not an independent reality reserved for a select few; it is not an opinion or a religious instruction. By looking at the definitions above it is quite clear that the truth is an attitude towards oneself and that once we are being genuinely ourselves, we are whole.

When I was little, I used to think that there was only one truth in this world - it was an elusive truth. The truth that I believed in, was one which guaranteed praise and acceptance. According to me, that truth was the only thing that could bring me happiness. It has taken me over 30 years of searching and struggling to realize that what I have always believed in was the perfection of an image, and not the truth. I believed in others' opinion of who I am and who I should be.

Now that I know that the truth is not a shining gem buried in a cave at the end of a very long and difficult road, I can allow myself to flow in the river of my own being right here and now and I can watch patiently as my truth unfolds and flowers daily.

Luscious lake

Underneath the glass floor of our desire and pain lies the omnipresent lake of unconscious feelings and memories that threatens to offer up its waterlogged corpses at the slightest of stirrings - terrifying indeed.

Jy

Is jy the real thing? Is jy genuine, diep en oopkop wyd soos 'n altyd daar dagboek pal? Of is jy soos die stoom wat styf vasklou teen my badkamer venster - hier terwyl ek kaal in die bad le maar weg teen die tyd wat ek my tande vlos? Kom, wys my 'n plek waar die lewe 'n winkelhaak in jou hart geskeur het. Kom vertel my waar jou bankbalans snags le en waar jy stilletjies die valstande van jou siel uithaal wanneer niemand kyk nie. Kan jy loshande teen die aftraende van die onbekende ry op 'n eenwiel fiets met 'n vlag in jou hand? Kan jy die groot swart letters van jou ware naam vry in die wind laat wapper, sonder Tip-ex of 'n blikkie Duplon dye?

She

she from surge beneath
thick curves through thighs embrace
soft sand drop fruit to count
full scarlet touching time

song brief hold here from flight
face gods her belly ripe
push dark from deep delight
drink slow swoon silky night

weave hand to ailing heart
shed fast mend mind from sin
sun burst bright flower might
cast prayer free wide within