Things I Cannot Live Without: Music

I have vivid memories of a long gone era, when I was young and my parents were still married. When evenings were filled with music and dancing.

Some of the most special are of my father singing “Blueberry Hill” by Fats Domino or him crooning to “November Rain” by Guns and Roses. It was no surprise that most of these moments were when he was tipsy, sometimes not. He was a conservative man but through music he awakened. These were the times when he most displayed his affection, either with my mother, myself and my siblings and his extended family.

I remember going to a music festival with him when I was seventeen. Nevermind Oppi Koppi or Splashy Fen, I went to KKNK( the Klein Karoo Nationale Kunstefees – an arts festival in Oudtshoorn). Afternoons consisted of drinking cheap bottles of wine and listening to musicians, young, old, Afrikaans and English. I had to live in a tent for a week nd had to deal with my father trying to bum cigarettes off me as he had recently found out that I was a smoker. He had quit for two years, but that didnt deter him from asking. Being the good daughter I refused him a ciggy everytime.

Although I thought the trip might be boring…afterall I was 17 and a typical rebellious party animal daughter…I took the portunity to spend the little time I could with my dad as my parents were divorced and we didnt spend a lot of quality time with him back then.

Well, it is one I will never forget. Instead of watching me like a hawk he let me do pretty much what I wanted to. If I didnt want to spend tme with him I could walk through the small town of Oudtshoorn dropping in on little art shows and comedians, looking through flea markets and meeting some interesting people.

I remember sunshine and music. Blackie Swart singing “Luwe Lulu” and heaing some David Kramer and Koos Kombuis. I could barely speak Afrikaans back then, hell I stil do a shitty job of it, but it wasnt so much undersanding what they were singing about because it was about feeling.

And music is about feeling.

Music is about laughing and crying, about lifting the spirits or sometimes fueling your anger. The strumming of a guitar and the beat of a drum. A voice singing a tune, someone singing along, the clapping of hands and the movement of feet to tunes.

I remember my darkest moments, lying alone in my bed, the tears streaming like a flood; to the sounds of Pink, or Guns and Roses, or Matchbox 20 or Sara Barielles or Live. Has your heart ever been in so much anguish that you cannot breathe, your chest is caving in and in those moments you are so completely overcome with grief you feel you will die?

Have you ever been at a concert and they play your favourite song. Thousands of people dancing and singing to the same lyrics. Almost as if you are in trance. A feeling of complete elation and bliss that cannot be substitute?

It is true that I love the mountains, but second to the mountains is music. I cannot go long in this “Babylon” without it.

Mafadi – A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

Vince Lombardi Said It

“Gentlemen, we are going to relentlessly chase perfection, knowing full well we will not catch it, because nothing is perfect. But we are going to relentlessly chase it, because in the process we will catch excellence. I am not remotely interested in just being good.”
Vince Lombardi

Count Em All

Most of the time life blows.

If I look back on the almost 30 years of my life so far most of it was pretty shitty. I can’t lie. My parents divorced when I was young. Most of my school life was trying to fit in which turned out to be a collosal fuck up most of the time.

I was one of those kids that never quite fit in.

Even today I can count the friends I’ve kept from my school days on my one hand.

Yeah I have “friends” on facebook and other social media, but as far as us having seen each other face to face?

Hell, I see myself somewhat socially inept. I don’t know how to deal with others’ crises, I sometimes can’t even handle my own.

I guess that’s typical of a Virgo. Putting things into boxes and then leaving them to gather dust…

Or

…Over analyzing everything to death. Breaking it all down and trying to make sense of it.

I prefer my boxes. Sometimes not dealing with crap, be it mine or someone elses is better than trying to make sense of it.

I don’t know if that makes me a shitty person or friend. I can offer my shoulder, but will it do any good? We all have to dig ourselves out of those pits when the time comes.

One of my fears?

Is being a burden. It’s the constant nagging feeling that I am a drain to those around me as opposed to not being a drain?

I’ve never wanted to be pitied upon, okay, maybe sometimes, my sister knows all about those moments.
Hey, sometimes its nice to have a pity party alright?

I love being social, I love having a good time with people, but sometimes I still feel like the “outsider” looking in.
It’s sometimes easier being a recluse. Lying in bed until past 2pm, reading, dozing, just being anti social.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t question everything. Sometimes I wish I could’ve been happy with my white picket fence.

No questioning, routine, a mediocre life, a comfortable income. What more could anyone want?

Well apparently I wanted more.

And then I realize that I am exactly where I want to be.

The friends that I have, I know they have my back. The job that I have, pretty fucking awesome.

I have the most beautiful child in the world, and as much as I hate it when at almost five she is giving me shit… She is independent, happy, fiesty, questioning and kind.

Every time I see her smile I know I have so far done something right.

I’m happy to be me, just plain old me.

And yeah, most of my life has blown, but the last two years have been pretty fantastic, and its getting better.

So in those sucky moments, when things are fucking you over. Have a look at how far you’ve come.

Hey…you haven’t offed yourself so it can’t be that bad.

Count those little blessings, because, in the end, they are the big blessings.

The Moment

In the moment nothing is right or wrong,it just is.

Growing Older

The wounds of love gouging my heart.

The suns rays burned into my skin.

The tired eyes of one that has read a thousand books.

The greying hair of years well lived.

The cracking voice of a story teller.

The withered hands of a writer.

The hardened body of an explorer.

The wrinkles on ones face that tell of many adventures:

The crows feet at the corners of the eyes from laughter and tears.

The creases on ones forehead from questioning and pursuing.

The dimples on ones cheeks from smiling and shouting.

A liver that has worked too hard and muscles that have strained.

Bones that may have been broken and feet calloused by many a journey.

Why would we want to die pretty?

Instead,

Die with a story

Etched onto you, for all to Read.

-Romaigne Erwee-

The Gorge

How often is it that you find yourself driving through a remote area and caught yourself wondering: “What the hell does anyone do here?”

We are so often caught up with the road in front of us that we hardly take a step back to see what we have around us, taking a road less travelled and perhaps being pleasantly surprised with what we may find.

Our weekend to the Drakensberg was just such a weekend. Finding interesting little areas off the beaten track and finding out not only about ourselves but also a little more about the area.

This weekends’ trip with Soul Adventures started with some eggs on toast just off the highway in Harrismith, a sleepy little town that I think relies heavily off of the rest stop where we were eating. It had been quite a cold week in South Africa, we are now well into Autumn and this was confirmed as we drove onto a lesser taken road into the Drakensberg. There was snow capping the very peaks of the “Berg”, it may be a little early for snow, but the view was spectacular.

Yeah, I was a little girl again, going back home.

We met up with a couple, a lovely German lady and a Tanzanian gentleman, at little spot in the middle of the Berg(we’ll get there later). Then we were off the The Royal Natal Park for our hike for the day.

Not only is hiking to the top of the Berg a great experience but to walk the Gorge, the bottom of the Berg and to see the Worlds Second Highest Waterfall dropping from 1000m(1km) above you is altogether astounding.

Perhaps one of the best hikes in the Drakensberg as it can be easily accomplished in one day(around 14km in total) you find yourself walking along the riverbank, through forests and grassy plains, which so well depict the different biospheres the Berg accomodates.

For me the Forests were the highlight, you almost know that nymphs and river sprites are watching you from behind mossy outcrops of rocks and little waterfalls that create rainbows of ligh tin their wake. Also if you are lucky you may spot some of the local wildlife, gazelle and of course baboons, but a wide range of bird life as well.

On most of the journey you have the sounds of the river next to you, sometimes loud and powerful, sometimes hushed and soothing. Again the waters are fresh and pure, perfect for drinknig along the hike, most rejuvenating, not only physically but also spiritually.

We ended our journey into the gorge with a 30m abseil into the rivers. A little scary but completely exhilirating, if one could be suspended there for the entire day it wouldnt be long enough.

We made our way out and on the road again to find our accomodations in Swinburne, with some of the best rock climbing and bouldering I have at least ever seen.

That evening we stayed in a converted barn, a little upgrade from the usual tent accomodations, lovely because we had rafters from which to hang about and practise our belaying and abseiling techniques. All of course being done while we were sipping on some Sherry to keep the cold at bay.

We were all fairly early into bed, but not all of us slept, I perhaps managed an hour or two, but that isn’t unusual for me out there in the wilderness, and not that I mind.

We woke early to sunrise over the fields and rocky outcroppings surrounding us, with horses in paddocks and the locals making their daily run to the local town for supplies. The air was crisp as we had our morning coffee and muesli, all of us preparing for the day of rock climbing ahead of us.

It was only a short brisk hike up to the first bit of Bouldering for the day, a warm up for the dragons that lay ahead. For me a lot of fun, practising my belaying and rock climbing techniques, absorbing the sun and watching whilst others attacked the rock faces.

By this time our expert rock climber, Jonathan, was leading up the Spear, a somewhat intimdating rock with a vertical face looking about as pleasant as a gunshot to the foot. He made it all the way to the top, looking like a speck in contrast to the mighty Spear.

Next up, a Polish woman  whom I think was bred for this, she made her way swiflty up the rock, resembling a gecko, I was beyond impressed and in awe. We all had our turns up this face, including me. I may not have reached the top, coming away largely humbled and a little bit defeated. In the end par for the course.

One of the most rattling experiences is having to belay someone else, you know what to do and how to do it, but you know that that person is relying on you to have them if something goes wrong. You have to have confidence.

It’s amazing to see what the human body is capable of, finding ways up rock faces that look sheer. A great thing to witness when someone reaches the top triumphant.

Once we were done rock climbing it was off to our accomodation for that evening, where , even though we were sleeping in tents, we had access to hot showers, green lawns, and most importantly a Jacuzzi.

Our rock climbing expert Jonathan made us a chicken potjie to kill for(and by this I mean we were all ravenous and would’ve killed him had it not been ready a minute sooner).

The african experience:

A sky full of star and a full moon, the Drakensberg amphitheatre silouetted in the background, a group of strangers and friends sharing a campfire, reflecting over the days events, not only tough but exhilirating.

Then it was off to the Jacuzzi!

Sitting toasty warm in a jacuzzi, sipping on Spiced Gold and Coke, talking philosophical, trying our hand at a climbing wall while dripping wet and listening to the likes of Johnny Cash in the midst of other travellers is perhaps as close to heaven as one can get. And perhaps to get you back down to Earth, a dip in an ice cold pool making bets on who can stay in the water the longest before chickening out.

Sadly it was off to bed in the early hours of the morning when the bar lady decided that we had all had a little too much fun for one evening.

And in the dark, lying in the tent, the moonlight(or was that the camp light?) shining down, every stress and strain of that world out there fragments and disappears. The past and the future don’t matter, who you are and where you are from don’t either. All you have is the moment.

The sun rose too early, the only thing making up for it the beautiful amphitheatre panorama before us.

Before leaving for Johannesberg we made our way to another of the Drakensberg treasures, where we lay on the rocks like lizards, basking in the beauty of of surroundings and the sun, also learning to drink water from the falls like cowboys do. It was with a heavy heart that we had to leave.

For me , the drive back is almost always a sombre one, leaving home to go back to what…the office? Taking your  memories but leaving more of yourself behind.

What did I learn this weekend?

That I apparently have shit taste in music.

Other than that nothing could’ve worked out better.

 

 

 

 

Find It

Things I Cannot Live Without: Books, Books, Books and Rabid Dogs

Have you ever found a really old book? Perhaps in the far end of a drawer, or somewhere out of reach on your book shelf or in a box packed away with other long forgotten treasures.

A good old paperback with dog ears on both corners on the front covers, where the title and the authors name has already been mostly worn away. The pages withered and yellowed with age, the creases in the corners where one may have folded it over to keep their place. The creaky spine barely keeping all the pages together, sometimes allowing one or two loose.

And the smell. Something so ancient and calming. Like walking in the silenced passages of a library. The smell of a book or books, that knowing inside that you may learn or grow or become entranced in another world, if only for a few hours or minutes a day.

As if the words on the pages have as much meaning as the book itself, how neatly it fits between your two open palms, or clutching it in one hand while having a sip of your coffee. Or trying not to get it wet while soaking in a dreadfully warm bath, or whilst you’re trying to cook.

When you stay up until the early hours of the morning riveted by the tale unfolding as you read every word.
You fight sleep, regardless of work the next morning,promising to only read another page which inevitably turns into another chapter, especially if the next chapter happens to be less than ten pages long. When you know if you look at the time that you will have to wrench yourself away from the sentences that have bound you for hours on end. Knowing that you may go hours before you can submerse yourself in the story once again.

Where you feel you are the protagonist, the hero or heroine, walking with and through them, not knowing where the journey may take you. Solving murders, finding love, journeying through the wilderness, going on an epic quest, finding dragons, interviewing vampires, out running serial killers and rabid dogs. Facing supernatural powers and battling alien spaceships and dealing with demons. Conquering illness and overcoming disabilities and finding hope.

Seeing through someone else’s eyes, transforming yourself, uncovering world truths and sometimes lies. Learning how to cook or cope with children. How to perhaps love better and look after yourself.

A place to retreat to when the world is too much. When the lights are too bright, when people don’t understand, when the colours of life are no longer bright.

Sitting with your child and reading a story, or simply pointing out new things to them as babies. Seeing the wonder in their eyes as they not only look, but feel and mouth those lovely hard covers and squishy books they make for the little ones these days.

A life without books?

Could there be such a travesty?

I will never forget the first time I was pulled into and a part of a novel. When the book bug bit.

I’d never been an avid reader as a child. I cannot recall my parents reading to me although they were both avid readers themselves. There was no shortage of books at home.

My name, in fact, comes from a Mills and Boons of all things!

But no, I never did read much. The school library was a waste of a lunch hour. Why spend time reading when you could be with your friends?

No, I was never much of a reader.

Until one day…

My father came home from work hefting I think it must be about five books(five because that was the maximum number of books one could take from the library).

I didn’t pay much heed until he came over to me and plonked the book in front of me.

It was massive and I was only eleven. A hardcover book with, it must have been, at least five hundred pages. I looked up at my father, checking for any signs that he had gone insane in the last few hours while he was at work. Well, he hadn’t started exhibiting any outward physical signs yet. But I knew he had lost some marbles if he expected me to read this book that lay before me in two weeks. Hell I couldn’t finish the instructions on how to build my Barbie doll house, nevermind this monolith of a book he thought I might read.

Before I could tell he could get knotted in manner that was acceptable coming from an eleven year old he asked me to read the blurb(the short description of the book either on the back of a book or on the inside front of the book jacket). He also asked me to give it a chance. If it took longer than two weeks to read, then he would renew it for me at the library.

Well, what eleven year old would pass up the opportunity of reading a book about a dog(yes, I am a dog person but hopefully not in the ugly person kind of way).

Where were we.

A book about a dog. But not just any dog, but a St Bernard(aren’t they the most awesome?) That becomes rabid and kills not only it’s owner and family but virtually keeps a mother and child hostage in a car for days on end.

Who wouldn’t want to read that? Well I guess most eleven year olds. Hell, I don’t think many eleven year olds had parents that thought it wise to give their eleven year olds horror stories by the greatest horror and supernatural writer to have ever livedz…none other than Stephen King.

My first adult novel took a total of five days to read. It consumed every free moment I had. At school and at home. When I was supposed to be sleeping, when I was on the toilet and in the car. When I was eating breakfast, supper or lunch.

Cujo consumed me. For five days I was trapped in a car trying to survive the onslaught of a giant dog that’s only ambition and focus was to eat me and my child.

I also learned how to use a dictionary. And it was the first time I blushed reading a book.

When a woman uses the word “flaccid” to describe a mans penis it is not a good thing.

Since then I cannot begin to tell you of the countless numbers of books I’ve read. By the time I was fifteen I was reading at least five fivehundred page books within two weeks(no, I didn’t get out much!). My idea of spending a day at the library across from my dads work was a day well spent.

There are few things in this world that can beat lying in with a good book, a cup of coffee and a warm blanket.

Nope…I could never live without my books!

Perception and Instinct

The only reality we can be certain of is our own.

What we see, touch, hear, feel and taste are only the perceptions we have of those animate or inanimate things, people and places.

Our perceptions are based on where we were raised, how we were handled, what we were taught and from who taught us.

From the suicide bombers point of view he is doing what is right. He is living in his own reality. His own world. We cannot tell him he is wrong. He may know that many will perceive what he does as wrong.

Many cultures still believe stoning a woman to death over what would seem to be a misdemeanor as perfectly normal and acceptable.

How many still believe in the death penalty? How many believe we have to turn the other cheek.

These issues are under constant scrutiny daily, human rights groups, world organisations, religious sects, politicians and the man on the street.

On a larger scale we have these groupings defining who we are. By race, by religion, by culture, by sex, by age, by musical preference and by book smarts.

It’s all just perception. And how can we really perceive another persons reality make a judgements based on what we think is true. We can’t know how many layers one has.

Can you expect anyone to understand you fully?

Never.

We don’t even understand ourselves.

We may have an idea of who we are but the person you were is not the person you were 10 years ago. Or 5 months ago. Or 3 weeks ago. Even yesterday.

From moment to moment we are constantly learning, growing and choosing and reforming our opinions and morals and ideas.

So what we were yesterday is not what we are today. Our own reality is changing. Our own perceptions are always changing.

The only time I believe we can even share our reality with someone else, the only time we may be able to perceive another persons reality is when we live in the moment. In the now. When there is no thinking and only being and doing. When our actions are not dictated by our morals or preconceived ideas of what is right or wrong.

Instinct is living in the now. Can we judge it, no. Can we lay a preconceived idea on instinct, no. Can place morals on instinct, no.

Even in retrospect we cannot judge actions that were made in instinct.

We forget that we are still animals. We try to put ourselves onto a pedestal, where the only thing that seperates us from animals is ego. Is the fact that we let the past and the future dictate to us how we live in the present.

Since when did that make us any better?

I say give in to your instincts, feed the animal inside you, be driven by it.

You may find passion and a thirst for life never felt before.