With time various topics, most connected to the 'ancient ways,' will be covered. Some of these might be controversial in nature - you're most welcome to contribute.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

You ...

Sometimes I see you in the shadows,
waves of hair covering your eyes.
Sometimes I see you in the light,
droplets of water on your skin.

I feel you every night in the darkness,
a warmth that makes me silent sad.
I smell you in the early morning,
little flowers covered with dew.

I hear your voice in the wind,
whispering softly in my ear.
I feel your hands on my back,
when I work sweating in the sun.

Sometimes I want to run,
away from you ... to you.
Always in my mind ... You,
You .. return to the Shadows.

The Eland Girl ...

It was June, hunting season, I was 15 years old ... deeply in love and heartbroken at the same time.  The beginning of that same year I left for boarding school, 900km's away and my girlfriend left forever - back to South Africa.

My stepfather, a black tracker and myself were hunting in the south of the Kavango - the first day of the hunting season.  The Land Rover cutting slowly through the thick Kavango sand ... eyes scanning the bush for game and terrorists.  This was the time of the infamous Bush War ... a war I grew up in, as if it was part of me ... a war I'll join 3 years later.

My head scrambled ... heart broken ... scanning for game ... always scanning for SWAPO (terrorists) ... my mind jumping from branch to branch like a excited monkey - my hand steady on the rifle.  Suddenly I saw movement in the thick bush ... "Eland!!!" I shouted.  The moment the Land Rover stopped I was ready ... aiming for a clearing in the bush, where I know they must break through.  I shot ................. my stepfather, a man of short temper, immediately on my case ... shouting in anger that I shot to fast and missed an opportunity.  Verbal abuse followed my tracks from the Land Rover into the bush.  Angrily I broke from the other two and followed my heart.

After a bit of tracking I found the Eland ... a young girl - I shot her through the heart.  I approached her as the Bushmen do ... walking backwards.  There is a reason for this ... the Eland is sacred to the Bushmen and also the only animal that will cry tears when wounded.  They approach the Eland without looking at the tears, then kick sand in the Eland's face to cover the tears.  I did this all, because I could feel the thick silence in the bush ... the death of something great.

I sat with her and took the saliva from her mouth and covered my joints ... a deep sadness washed over me.  Months of sadness poured out of me ... a mix of tears in the sand.

The Eland is a sacred animal to the Bushmen, one of a few animals with lots of fat.  Fat is associated with girls in puberty and the Eland deeply linked to menstruation and also the first kill ... boy change to man.

When the Eland mate, the couple don't stay with the herd ... they break away for a short honeymoon.  I killed that ... I killed love ... I shot a heart in love to pieces ... I killed a young girl in love.  The 'magic' of the moment suffocated me ... killing anything will never be the same.  I never hunted Eland again ...

Monday, January 7, 2013

A Little Black Pot ...

Last night I looked at my little black, 3-legged cast-iron pot in the fire ... a wave of happiness washed over me.  You're a very rich man if you own a little pot like this, with a bow, horse and a good dog.  Who need all the TV drama, if you can watch a little black pot dance in a small fire.

Most of us have forgotten the power of a small fire, now replaced by weird little and big screens ... stealing all your precious hours of solitude.  A small fire calms the mind and is a form of meditation, it keeps predators away and make strangers feel welcome.  It provides heat and you can cook on it, forge your arrow and spearheads in it, it provides light ... to the deep hidden parts of the darkness of night and soul.  It is also the spark for immense creativity.

You can't taste the goodness of nature without a little cast-iron pot, mine walks everywhere with me - I have little time for these shiny, non-stick, light weight, aluminum clatterware - the microwave for the modern bush fairy.

I looked at my little pot doing the tango in the smallest of flames and I wonder about the bigger pots in life.  See ... a bigger pot means a bigger fire, more stuff inside and more than one mouth, more eyes watching a tango ... solitude gone.  One needs special people to share a fire and a pot, because it is such a special place ... a place where a lack of respect can't be tolerated.

The moment you share a pot with another ... it get's complicated.  The sharing can only work over a long period of time if both really SHARE the responsibilities.  If not, then one can only last so long doing everything.  The worst is that kind of person who does not share in the duties but complains about everything and expects chronic entertainment.  Stillness of the mind do not exist for these type of people.

It is easy to keep a pot going, once it is heated up it only needs a small amount of heat.  You're not a good cook if you let the fire die.  Even worse when two people share a pot and let the fire die.  It is hard work for one person to keep the fire going for two or more - it can only last so long ... then one day you'll see that person and his little pot gone ... forever.  Walking the mountains and streams, looking for a place of Stillness and Solitude.

When we are very young, not knowing much or just plain ignorant  ... not understanding Stillness and Solitude - we are constantly looking for that One sitting very happy and content, watching his little pot in a small fire.  We then look for entertainment and knowledge, not respecting the wisdom of the moment, not understanding that what we are looking for ... is just that ... in the Stillness and Solitude.  A lack of respect, a lot of promises, a lot of talking and no doing and just plain ignorance, make us wake up one morning ... a soul and a little black pot has moved on ... walking the mountains and streams, looking for Stillness and Solitude.  Such is the power of a little pot dancing the tango in the smallest of flames.