*image from private archive
Like a thousand times before in my life, I stood on the verandah.
I overlooked a flourishing green garden that could creditably claim the term ‘Lebensraum.’ An Olympic stone throw away gaps between the trees provided glimpses of the mountains in the distance.
One could mistakenly say that I was looking, but I wasn’t entirely just seeing something ahead of me. It was a seeing, – but more in a knowing way seeing in my mind, – all that what was around me, even assuming a deep metaphysical dimension too. I saw with my mind’s eye, – that eye, which adds imagination to vision, – in parallel to my real eyes that were somewhat inexplicably staring in a removed way, out of focus from reality.
A pronounced and conscious experience of the present unfolded itself. An enamored bond, – of having been here in this exact location a thousand times before, thinking similar thoughts, – enacted itself like a ritual. A magnetic attraction to a place of origin pulled me along.
In case you wondered, I was not having the cognitive experience of let’s say a visitor who comes with a fresh, curious and receptive look.
I was in reflecting mode and felt encouraged with hope as I stood on the open verandah, refreshed deep down into my soul by the view directly into nature. However, I was also prone to flooding by emotional thought drowning from the weight of the intensity of my imagination reliving events.
At the opposite extreme was a determination and belief that my reality is adjustable to my wishes and dreams, perhaps whims too, if I can only get in touch with this inner being called ‘Life.’
The land of nature presented a captivating view.
Grass spread like a living, deep-pile carpet towards bushes and shrubs giving way to trees sloping gently down towards a river hidden from view. There was an un-invaded openness and the occasional hill posing like a sentinel, – guarding the dragon mountains that pronounced themselves behind the horizon on a background of the deepest blue sky, smudged with white blobs and the dew point flirting with ambient temperature in the creation of a baby called Rain.
An inner turbulence of Saudade, – a melancholic hue with a cloudy patch of shadowy sadness and an indeterminate incompleteness, was in abstract contrast to the warmth and light of the late summer’ midday.
The summer-rain latitudes express boundless gratitude with profuse growth and breathless beauty in nature. A thousand colors pinked and perfumed with Double Delight and Mint, with touches of plumbago blue, bottlebrush red, cumulus white and Chinese-lantern orange, escalating into undocumented green presentations beyond the scope and comprehension of mere definition. Thoughts were punctuated by the melodious call of the Black-headed Oriole and the announcement of the Red-chested Cuckoo with long moments of haa-haa-haa-de-dah of the Hadeda’s, awakening the last slumbering senses.
Memory was choreographed against a scenery of unrestraint growth painted with the tincture of eons of existence and strains of loose imagination. Events re-lived themselves as if their stories had to be highlighted once more and gain attention, connecting the thread of existence with the fabric of eternity, materializing in this unique present. An invitation to re-read the past with the lantern of ‘now’
(‘now,’ this whole, current cognitive, conscious awareness experience a human has: re-inventing itself periodically through subconscious actions on a different level to the physical, with emotional, compassionate and passionate growth)
illuminating pages hitherto less exposed, their meaning obscured until now, as the dots of life started connecting through lines: revealing a path, pointing to a purpose, exposing a gift, – presenting a meaningful picture that quite naturally highlighted and indicated a preference. The invocation of one’s creative spirit in a way that kindles meaning and brings benefit and pleasure to all concerned.
(There are many rituals, ideas, substances, practices to invoke the spirit – ideally find your own)
Everything rhymed in colorful poetry as nature’s hormones reacted to a dose of growth-vaccination in the form of heavenly water.
Remembering became an act of adding content to what seemed an immutable forest on the canvas of life by superimposing events sometimes so grossly out of touch with the underlying reality that they created a contrasting inset of disharmonic visual irritation. When the drive to understand life is also an incognito mission to retain sanity, then answers are essential for maintaining stability. They provide views through a stabilized gyroscope in the turbulence of Saudade. Answers are the voices in our silent universe of thought and they are the conversation that leads to more enlightenment and knowing.
For the 1001’s time I am standing on the verandah, – once again looking for knowing and starting the ritual from the beginning, accompanied by a deep sense of feeling.
Mel an’ Choly
It is truly summer now on the southern tip of Africa.
Daytime temperatures have broken the 38C (100F) numerous times already.
Yesterday was another one of those hot days.
Suddenly, as if I have missed a month or two, the sun has nearly reached its southern most point, the tropic of Capricorn, also called the summer solstice.
At five in the morning she rises into the coolness, 20C (68F), of the waning night, greeted by the red-chested Cuckoo’s call and the laughing doves cu-cu-roo-cuuing while the southern Boubou entices her with his melodious voice. It is not a silent time and yet it is a quiet time. Wagtails, Robins, Thrushes, Bulbuls, Sparrows, Masked Weavers, Amethyst Sunbirds and Hadeda’s abound. The swallows are doing acrobatics in the sky. A faint breeze rustles the green leaves as they catch the first rays of sun. The lawn is refreshingly wet and cool to walk on barefoot and all the birds find something on the green carpet or in the bushes to eat. I sit by my fountain like I did last night when it was illuminated by solar light and I let the new day dawn on me. Each drop of water brings the sun higher into the sky.
It is a glorious time of the year.
The garden is expressing its joy in the most wonderful colours and shapes. If someone would ask me if green is one of the primary colours I would absolutely affirm it, and yet red, yellow and blue are.
Days flow into nights and into days again as summer winds its magic through our lives. The fountain of summer gives abundantly as if to say, “Drink to your hearts content, my partner the winter is having a rest.” Disbelieving I look at the garden that there once was winter where now there is not even a memory of it anymore. Such is life. Thankfully I embrace the summer and forget the winter. Thankfully I remember the good times and mostly forget the bad and difficult ones.
As I take a deep sip from my cool jug of water I feel life invigorating me and summer blessing me. If I had nothing and was given a chance to choose amongst many things I would choose summer first and then everything else. What would life be without the beauty and fruition of summer? Nature knew all too well that summer days should be the longest days of the year.
Give me sixty hours in a summer day and I will write you poetry for fifty-nine the other hour I will sing to you as I prepare another rhyme My words like a mountain stream will flow and their story breathlessly embraces you summer days and summer nights will glow now that I've found what I know is true Give me ninety hours in a summer day and I will play for eighty-nine one hour lovingly I will fill my heart sending you this dearest gift of mine My eyes in awe another summer day will see and every moment addictively I fill my soul summer, without you I could never be you give my life, a reason and a goal Give me a lifetime of summer days I would dream for all but one One day I would spend in gratitude Wishing you are never gone