Bushbabies and Bananas

© 2017 As the Light grew, the Dark became jealous, prowling at the edge of her Psyche, whispering, tempting, seducing with pretty promises and luring lies Feeding off the Shadow, hidden and hurting, twisting and tricking, until her Soul, distraught, torn apart by anguish, sought refuge in the Void, giving a last regretful look before turning away and stepping off the Edge into the Abyss There in the icy Wasteland Souls hover, frozen inside, they know that they died a long, long time ago Whilst outside, the human predators stalk and trap, and Gentle is shackled in Bluebeard’s castle, blindfolded, bound, lost in the mists, cold steel at her wrists, drifting in and out of the Real, keeping the panic at bay and the ghosts away, by withdrawing and refusing to feel Until one day all is flames and searing pain as her Soul awakens again, Realisation slams her head into the wall, and the Long Road back begins through the Underworl...

Who is dreaming me? that I’m tossing around on this black raging Sea? and I am journeying the Wastelands instead of home safe and warm, buffeted by gales and devoured by Storm, travelling the inner ways under dark-shadowed Sky,         Whose dream am I? This notion of Fate being woven by the Three, do we not have any say over our Destiny? who is singing my  so-called reality?        Who is dreaming Me? Are they objective, subjective, loving, stern? is the pain and the suffering the lessons we must learn? and who are the combatants of this war raging within?         Am I an Angel or Original Sin? March 2017 This quest to know Truth, these glimmers that tease me, through this Dark Night, this Long Night,        Who is dreaming Me? For surely we are the dream and Source is the Dreamer, We are the tapestry and Spirit is the Weaver, We are the Smile...

I look in the mirror and see… a child with a gun staring at me, a body lying in the sand killed by lies, and swarming with dirty, black flies and I know that part of me pulled the trigger; I look in the mirror and see… a starving dog bleeding in chains, and my hand is still holding the stone as I kneel in the dirt all alone; I look in the mirror and see… a woman bound, hurt, and enslaved, and I know that I have the key tucked away safely, I could set her free; I look in my mind and see all the anger, the doubts, and the fears I look in my heart and hear the whispers of a million dreams, secret hopes and unshed tears I turn back to the mirror and reach through the glass to the child, I have to love him better to have a fairer world, and I have to love him better because he is me. Christine Jordaan 05 May 2014 © 2017 WE NEED TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THIS WORLD WE ARE CO-CREATING, WHETHER WE ARE DOING SO CONSCIOUSLY OR UNCONSCIOUSLY!

© 2017 When the forest falls silent of chattering birds and the Moon shines down on empty glades, when the Earth no longer shakes under the migrating herds and the trees are felled where the cheeky apes played          Will you cry for Me then? Maputo Special Reserve When the ice melts and grasslands turn to sand and the gentle humble giants no longer roam the barren lands, when the setting Sun is pining for the lion’s mighty roar and the sweet sad sound of the night jar’s call     Will you cry for Me then? When flamingoes no longer grace the mirror-like pans and no coucals joyfully herald approaching soft rains, when no Mahogany tree lends his shade from the burning Sun nor their pods crunch underfoot in late summertime     Will you cry for Me then? When the lonely wind carries just a memory of a mighty eagle soaring, and an echo of a dreamtime with soft water falling, and the ground is soaked in blood of humans...

Pic:  Tsavo Trust © 2017 A hush has descended over the savannah     Satao has fallen,         He is no more, and the wild birds’ song      as they flip flap along,           mourning Him, but He can’t hear their call He died by a poisoned arrow     hissing through the crisp winter air and He crashed to his knees,     amidst the sorrowful trees         wintering, leafless and bare A shadow dimmed the skies      as the light left his gentle eyes whilst his killers circled round        knives in hand, and there’s a stain on our soul      from the blood-soaked ground where His dear face was butchered,          and a curse on the land Pic:  Tsavo Trust Satao, it’s dusk,    the moon i...

When the rising moon calls to his soul       he cannot answer, he cannot follow Her shadow’s path weaving through the magic of twilit trees    as She glides so lightly through the sky, perhaps he catches a glimpse of Her against the smog and city pollution      through a dirty window as Night slowly creeps by He is trapped in this cage until his keeper comes tomorrow, when he is wheeled out for his part in the show,       degraded to being dressed as a human and playing drums, and the idiot crowd laughs and thinks this is good,     and that this is fun He cannot express his urge to swing or call, and instead of tree bark he has cold steel,     he cannot feel the gentle breeze rocking him to sleep in a branch, just the city’s noisy stories makes up the sadness of his real    His very nature eats away at him,     because you cannot trap the wind as it dances thro...

© 2017 He is a wild spirit       trapped in someone else’s idea for his life Imagine his despair of life in a cage, the pure frustration of wanting to swing free in trees and interact with his own kind, feel another furry body,       touch another wild mind      Feel his fear of the beatings when he hasn’t learnt to play his role correctly,           as designated by Mankind the Civilised, in this degrading parody of entertainment, dressed in an absurd guise of our shameful society,         served up to the mindless crowd that either do not know or simply do not care,          that once he lived in a forest and was happy there And when the hordes leave at the end of the day, the lights dim,        and the music fades away, he is led back to the empty silence     where time tick tocks away What passes through his mi...

Photo credit:  Karl Ammann Beautiful people…. I was honoured recently to be contacted by Karl Ammann ( www.karlammann.com ), a wildlife warrior of note (named Hero of the Environment, and SAB Environmental Journalist of the Year).  He asked me to help raise awareness of the plight of the #slaveapes  as he had seen the world roaring out for our beloved lions.   Together with Dr Dan Stiles (danstiles.org), Nick Cockayne ( http://www.apeactionafrica.org/index ) and a specialised team they have created PEGAS. And so world - I am afraid I need some more tears from you, I’m so sorry.    After the lion march, I seriously wondered if I had any more tears left in my heart or had I cried them all out…  I worried that I had become one of those hard people you see that just don’t cry anymore…  but I’m afraid my heart has been broken again…  actually as I sit here now I wonder at what point one’s heart says “eno...

Global March for Lions  Today, somewhere, another roar has been silenced by bullet or deadly bow and a betrayed spirit departed to wherever the Wild Ones go Today, somewhere, an executioner has hung up his weapon of death, boasted his tale of a bloody kill and his victim’s last agonising breath Today, somewhere, another heart has broken and bitter, despairing tears wept and a plea to the Sacred poured out to the night drifting up to the angels where wishes are kept In springtime last year I had a vision that the King Stag was standing on a lonely high peak so faithfully in the mist of the magic so patiently , hurting, with the tragic, waiting for us to grow into our Heroes and in our thousands we gathered before Him and knelt in a fervent prayer that the Light would descend down to Earth and live in every mind here With a thousand sighs of the wind and in a beat of the Earth’s wise heart the tears of outraged Love are carving out a new pat...