Bushbabies and Bananas

Formed into being at the dark of the Moon born into body when Her light was full but seem to be spinning around this earth on my own Sun, Sun are you shining still? I’m lost and alone in the dark and its cold been searching for ages for your golden light it’s been a good journey wandering free but now I need daytime to balance the night I stop atop the cliffs and called you from mountain top to sea and in my heart I heard you answer – you’ll come when I find me so I followed Moon from East to West North to South I dreamt and cried restlessly seeking laughing and weeping until I thought my heart had died Winter reigned for many years I turned inwards and did not see until one day I had a dream that you were also looking for me I was lost and frozen to ice yet your words brought the promise of Spring Aviemore, Scotland, 2002 bit by bit I began to thaw and once more heard the Robin sing I stood alone head bowed in thought Moon was

© 2017 You're out fishing, somewhere, drifting on this ocean that you love I'm sitting waiting at the water's edge Sun burning high above Dunes shining white, deep green drooping leaves waves gently lapping the roots of the Mangrove trees Santa Maria, Mozambique, 2006 I hope you catch a big fish I want to see you glad I draw you a huge and tasty one with my pencil in the sand I'm caught up in forever my gypsy heart at peace I close my eyes and see you a man out fishing on the seas Today my heart is not wondering what lies beyond the distant blue or where the dhow on the horizon is slowly sailing to for once the wanderlust is still and I'm dreaming just of you Did you know I'd fall in love with you here on this journey through tangled forest and open green along the trail of wild flowers down to the crystal clean Santa Maria, Mozambique 2006 Do you know I'm sitting here sobbing that I have to go away I wonder if this whis

There is something in the Shadows that is pulling at my Soul soft voices mournful, wistful… somehow splintered from the Whole Like a song I used to dance to but have long since forgotten the words or the magical time of the twilight moon and the goodnight chatter of sleepy birds Is it these wishing whispers that lead me wandering off into chaos and heart-ache? I hear my heart murmur “don’t” but still I detour and then I break Why don’t I listen to the angel guiding me it’s always told me true in time this love-affair with mayhem is it in my blood? this devil of mine? Do the sins of our long-ago fathers haunt us with curses down the ages and tragedy follows tragedy as Time forlornly turns the pages? When I die will I finally just be me? released from the demon of this bad blood? or will the Shadows still trail behind me still forgotten,  still whispering, still unloved? Christine Jordaan 01 March 2017 March

© 2017 Journeying down to the Underworld I know that I risk losing my mind but somewhere there in the sludge and the slime there are diamonds to be found they’ve been fashioned there in the pressure and heat by the pain and tears of the past they’re the powers that your Soul can call when you love yourself at last But journeying through the Underworld it’s hard to take the heat caked in sweat and grimy tears and blisters on my feet hunger gnaws and my throat is parched and I dare not eat the fruit for all will be lost for just one drop of the deadly, magical juice Journeying through the Underworld I walk with the ghosts of my sold-out dreams the road is long and it’s hard to stay strong hearing the heartache in their screams Now the Underworld is a lonesome place when I bump into a devil with a handsome face my head gets foggy and I’ve forgotten why, did I come to find myself or to surrender and die? I know I must run, but he’s telling me to stay

© 2017 I am a cat stalking along city rooftops independent and free nobody owns me I am a swan dreaming gently in the pale gold reeds at the lake’s edge sheltering for the winter I am a dragon soaring high overheard roaring flames to protect Her land I am a deer trembling in the misty purple heather I quiver, every fibre of my being alert to the sound of Him coming through the deepening Dusk Inchnadamph, Assynt, Scotland, 2002 With all of my heart and soul with every atom and particle along every string and wave in the multiverse I love the King Stag I feel His love in the heat of the sun warming me I see His power in the strength of the eagle’s wing as He glides overhead my heart breaks for His nobility as He dips His antlers to Her full light rising a pale circle like a fat dew drop on a green leaf in the deep forest I am a spider spinning my web new and glistening each day trying to tell Him in a different way how much I love H

Picture Credit:  Dhillon Deviant Art In every ancient culture the People have a Sleeping Hero - Legend promises he will arise when needed to defend the land When the danger is greatest… It seems pretty dark right now so I wrote this... Lady and Lord of the North and Earth of the caves of death, and the Soul’s rebirth of mountain peaks reaching up to the sky and rocky chasms where diamonds lie please grant us your Presence and power Lady and Lord of the East and Air of gentle breezes and winds that tear of the breath of Spirit upon which eagles glide and blows pictures with clouds in the deep blue sky please grant us your Presence and power Lady and Lord of the South and Fire of the spark of life and the witches’ pyre of dancing flames and devouring burning Strength forged in the flames from tortured yearning please grant us your Presence and power Lady and Lord of the West and Water of healing wells and cleansing lighter of underground rive

Wow that was a bit of an emotional trip back to Santa Maria, Mozambique last week.  In October 2013 I left, after ten years there, and returned to South Africa.  Luckily the bay was calm on the way there.  (NOT the return trip). Maputo Skyline Dhow Mr Dick Nhonguane Inhaca island in the background Meeting with The Boss - Nkosi Zacarias Nhonguane Love the licence plate Sandbanks at low tide Catching up with my dear friend Abel, now in his 80s Beach Bar

Today I met with Prince Mangosuthu Buthelezi, President of the Inkatha Freedom Party. It's the third time I have had the privilege but the first time he brought me to serious (secret) tears. I had asked him a question about his memories of lions, and if increasing urbanisation of his people had somehow bought a disconnection from Nature... a kind of spiritual vacuum.  But the magnitude of his answer only really hit me when I was back on the very windy 15th floor rooftop parking of the Royal Hotel. He had explained to me, briefly and gently, that it was very difficult to see lions during the years of apartheid because the game reserves were exclusively for white people. And that the first time he saw a lion was as a trophy in the United States! I cried into the hot wind and watched the harbor for a while from the rooftop with this sharp pain in my heart. I wondered if the extremely high levels of violence we experience in South Africa could come from this enfo

© 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