There were no computers, PlayStations or ‘absolutely must haves’ in order to feel happy or connected. There was no television to suck the sunlight from the desire to simply ‘be’. There were no fancy labels, that I knew of, to capture my self esteem with aspirations to possess a certain look. My mind was unfettered by any need to prove my individuality as a human being. There was such an abundance of living creatures, each with their own sense of self that such ambitions were not part of my reality.

I was fascinated by Nature and the mystery of ‘presence’. There was music and voices to be heard in the great silence of certain places. All I had to do was sit quietly for a while. There were birds and little animals that would come close when they recognised the absence of any threat. There was enchantment, ever changing colours and smells that filled my senses and took me to places beyond all imaginings.

The sunlight and warmth of these last few days coaxed the memories from behind the shadow of a clouded sky, bringing with them details that illuminate, with added dimensions, the present moment.

They laugh and joke, groan and gossip together like the warbling of birds and the cackle of geese, depending on the weather and the mood of the day.

The first time I saw women carrying rocks on their heads was over thirty years ago. They were bringing them up a steep cliff on narrow winding pathway. The grace of their movements, the surety of their steps held me in thrall and drew me to watch them day by day. I was determined that one day when there was no one around I would like to try, in order to learn, to feel, to understand their art of balance.

That day came. While everyone was busy in the Temple I decided to try with one rock and see if I could walk the precarious path to the top without mishap. With many stops and a few wobbles and heart thudding I actually managed to reach my destination unharmed, with the not-so very-large rock still perched on my head. ‘Twas for me a remarkable achievement and yes I did learn a thing or two, in the process. My respect for the ‘rock-ladies’ escalated. I didn’t have the courage to try another trip that day. However I determined that the next time the opportunity arose I would try with two rocks instead of one. Sure enough, that’s exactly what I did. This time I used a walking stick, as sometimes I’d noticed the women doing whenever the path was particularly slippery. There were moments when I simply had to hold on to the rocks when they teetered in a way that made me want to either let go or topple over the edge of that cliff, in the effort to follow their movements. After what seemed like an eternity I actually reached the top…. again with the rocks still on my head.

I have never forgotten the feeling of ‘entunement’ that came when those rocks actually felt light and easy to carry. ‘Tis a precise and much unappreciated science.

Many years later I discovered that word had circulated amongst some of the ladies who had by chance seen my second experiment.  I love to meet those wonderful women whenever we cross paths. There is always an explosion of light and warmth that needs few words to express our feelings.

True story from those ‘olden days’.

For example, ‘blog’ in Indonesian means stupid.

When I first heard the word (which was not in the too distant past) I couldn’t believe it. For that is exactly how I feel when faced with the enormity of my technological illiteracy.

I shall endeavour to come across as not too much of a blog in the future!!

Three weeks ago, we received a telephone call that the forests in which houses, that were built over 30 years ago by Pedro and his friends, were ablaze. Firefighters were, at great risk to themselves, trying to control what was truly a dangerous situation. We were told that no one would be allowed anywhere near the disaster.

Pedro and a friend went there anyway, and managed to gain access. The fires were still raging, the blackened earth and trees paying witness to the damage that had already been inflicted. They both expected the worst. As it happened, the firefighters knew nothing of Pedro’s house, and had been fighting to save the others, unfortunately without any success – they were all burnt to the ground.

With hearts in their boots, and spirits laden with doom, they climbed the hill that lead to Pedro’s house among the rocks. Everything was smouldering, and the smoke made the climb even more arduous.

Upon reaching the top, they were greeted by the miracle of all miracles… Despite the fact that the fire left scorch marks on the walls and the roof, the house still stood. Even when they went inside, the place had managed to remain in pristine condition, untouched by the inferno.

When the firefighters came to have a look, they could give no explanation for what had come to pass and indeed described it as “impossible”.

Seeing is truly believing! What gift could be better? We still reel with what, for us, was a miracle.

When I was younger I remember wondering why water was never given much attention, why for example no-one seemed to notice the living presence of water.

My father often spoke of the importance of clean healthy living water and I am still grateful to him for that, as it gave me a sense that he too understood something that not too many people seemed to understand. My relationship with water has grown as has my realisation that humanity’s lack of understanding of water contributes to the sickness and violence that roams our world with an ever increasing voracious appetite.

I remember when I was little, trying to explain what water meant to me. I met with various reactions, none of which served to satisfy my desire to learn and communicate.  So, with my child logic, I came to the conclusion that for some reason, unknown to me at that time, people were not meant to talk about such matters. This served, in a round about way, to increase my sense of awe and reverence for what I felt to be the loving, friendly spirit of water.

It was many years before I met people who experienced water as an actual living entity, to be revered, honoured, and loved. It was with those people I felt free to share my experiences and as a consequence came to hear their stories.

we spend our lives chasing liberation

from the self imposed prison of inflexible thought.

Love fails to reach through invisible walls

of projected false image before which everything falls.

freedom’s gestures of friendship

seen as threats to be fought.

Smothered in darkness, our creativity dies

our experience filtered through insinuation and lies

easy prey to the peddlers of what cannot be bought.

My brain seems to be reduced to some kind of jelly-like substance that makes me feel like one of those ‘swooning ladies’ of olden times. There is no doubt that this moment in time is meant for the kind of rest that has eluded me for many years. That fall down the stairs, while reducing me to the status of invalid, is quite interestingly appropriate. I can sit for longer periods, and can walk for a while without the feeling that my legs are not there. However, most of my time is still spent lying down and either sleeping or focusing on the injuries and observing as much as possible the many subtle changes that are taking place.

‘Six months at least until you can move normally again….. especially at your age’ is what I’ve been told by the various experts with the solemn certainty of ‘those who know best’. Of course, added to the rather ‘down drag’ diagnosis is the conviction that our ability to heal ourselves diminishes as we climb the years. Fortunately I don’t share this kind of thinking. I find it rather restricting, airless and lacking in the personal freedom to explore with an open mind and an unfettered curiousity.

So far so good, though perhaps not yet quite comfortable.

My sitting time has come to an end for the moment. Will write again soon.