Hier in Florida is dit maklik om oortuig te bly dat Afrika die enigste mooi is wat daar op hierdie aarde is.Ek dink n mens se hart wil graag suiwer getrou bly aan Afrika en altyd net die een kontinent lief he. So terwyl jy hier in swamp sit vertel jy jouself dat dit nooit kan vergelyk met Kaapstad of die Drakensberge nie.

Selfs as n mens iets soos Niagara besoek en die jou brein probeer om die asemrowende mooi in te neem – dan vertel jou hart n ander storie. Jou hart fluister deur die storm van impulse wat jou brein stuur – “dit is nog steeds nie so mooi soos die Victoria valle nie“. Dit is asof jou hart jou nie wil toelaat om te erken dat iets op n ander kontinent ook mooi mag wees nie. Asof deur dit te erken n mens sal verraad pleeg – die uiterste misdaad – om te verklaar dat iets behalwe Afrika mooi is.

Dan gebeur dit dat jy n plekkie so mooi sien dat jou hart stil raak. So tussen die herfsblare en perfekte gevormde heuwels – le n perfekte meer knus terwyl n asemrowende stroompie deur die rooi en oranje en kopergeel bome deur kabbel. Mooier as mooi – om die waarheid te se jou brein vertel jou dit mag dalk die mooiste meer toneel wees wat jy nog gesien het. Jou hart raak stil want hy weet – daar is geen meer in Afrika wat mooier is as dit nie. Net so mooi – ja seker rondom Malawi – maar God het nie een kontinent voorgetrek nie – so dit is so mooi as wat dit kan wees.

So met n stilte – n skuldige stilte laat jy jou hart en jou brein toe om rustig te raak en vir een oomblik is dit nie Amerika se mooi of Afrika se mooi nie – maar slegs God se skepping se prag soos slegs Hy dit kan maak.

Almost a hundred years ago Einstein proved that gravity curves spacetime in such a way that an object follows the curvature because – according to him “that is the only possible future for that object”.

I sometimes wonder if the same apply to Man. Can Man escape his destiny? If you are meant to be someone or do something important – can you escape? I guess the “Warrenese” theologians would call it “Purpose”.

There is an Arabic word for this – it is “kismet“. The word means “a predetermined or unavoidable destiny.”

The notion of kismet has been with humanity forever. Even Nietzsche had a name for it – he called it his “Amor fati” or Love of Fate.

Every now and again I see the glimpse of the unavoidable. In those times I have tried to hide myself in the prevalent shallow biblical interpretations and institutionalized “Christenese” – but once your faith has carved that deep canyon in your being – no existential river can ever run shallow through the wasteland of your soul again. A deep soul can no more pretend to live shallow (in the land of shallow) than a three dimensional being can try to exist in a two dimensional world ( Flatland ).

After that every book prepares you better (even the most depraved), every conversation convinces you more that its needed and every day makes you more anxious that if you don’t do it – this world of doublethink will continue unabated.

And yet with a Jona-ish naivete you wait one more day hoping you’ll be better prepared – more equiped – more mature or have one more insight that will allow you to do it “perfect” (or avoid it altogether by waiting long enough until someone else does it).

And then the words of Annie Dillard freezes the gently flowing river that I thought I could not cross with these words:

“You’ve got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down.”

I had an incredible progression the last two years:

First I feared that I might just simply be backsliding – losing my faith. Then I realized I could not denounce God – He is as real to me now as ever…maybe more than ever. I wasn’t losing faith in God – my faith had simply outgrown the carefully packaged religion/emotionalism that I once thought was faith.

Then I feared the dreaded twins of excommunication and false communication – those silent weapons that nuke the heart and destroys the will.Then when the some of the excommunication happened – instead of disintegrating like I use to – I constructed firmer than ever. There in that silent moment where all religion was stripped away and the Pharisees uncloaked to reveal who they really are – I found the strength. The strength to talk about the excommunication to rip the smiling plastic mask from the faces of those that wear it. No disintegration left to do – I was finally standing firmly on level four and I was able to see level five.

Next I feared reprisal. I have no doubt that some form of real reprisal will come. Will it be character assassination or will it be threats. Will someone try to find a Lutheran slip of the tongue in my text – something that can be construed as anti-government? That is all that will be needed to get rid of the pesky Alien. Or the final possibility …will there be violence?

The problem with becoming completely free is that fear loses its hold on your being. Those fears lost their grip and slid away and new fears could find no foothold in this free spirit.

The problem with insight is that you no longer take hold of one vector; one plane and attempt to describe it. You see the whole multifaceted death star spinning in your minds eye. The problem with that type of insight is that it stuns you into silence like a mental taser gun. Where previously I would spout my unordered emotion about a sliver of the problem and shake my finger at the establishment like a religious Don Quixote – now I was just quiet. How do I put that insight in words?

That in fact became my final challenge and funny enough probably the hurdle that took the longest. Maybe the problem was the comfort I enjoyed of being free – of realizing that I am not a freak but that there are many like us – “Intense” individuals. I am convinced that God dropped that little nugget in my lap to prevent me from turning the rest of my life into a journey of understanding myself. Instead I was now free to pursue what seems to lie in front of me like my kismet. But for a while there I just basked in the warmth of being understood – really understood by someone.

Yet the problem that remained was the “how”. I was and is convinced that none of this will be done in the name of revenge. On the other hand – I am not so presumptuous as to think that what I will create will necessarily be Divinely Inspired, prophetic or even very wholesome. No – I think I finally understand how God works. He takes our failures – our miserably flawed sputterings and if He so desires – uses them as tools. If on some microscopic level this is to be used for some greater good – some purification – some cleansing of the wedding garment – then I want to bow in submission and humbly offer it up. If it is in fact only the apocalyptic ramblings of a yet another disgruntled idiot that’s trying to get something off his chest – then let it die in the miserable pit of “unknown obscurity”.

But I digress – I was trying to talk about the “how”. When you are trying to describe something that is concrete you can use scientific terms, when describing the abstract emotional and spiritual world – you can cling tightly to the quasi-sciences that exist in that realm. Somewhere between theology and psychology I should be able to find the right vernacular right? I suspect that might fall short. I realize I am not schooled in either and whilst I can lean on others to fill in those gaps – that cannot be the main discipline that is used.

Another alternative is to emerse myself in the satirical, cynical and sarcastic. I seem to be fairly good at it – although not a master. I suspected all along that it would position the work on a plane where I would feel uncomfortable. By the way not uncomfortable  while I write it. In fact that would be quite entertaining – I can see myself like a type of “Ann Coulter” that giggles as I spout clever poisonous lines that enrages and wounds. Such a weapon would not be surgical enough – it would be like mustard gas killing everyone on the battle field depending on the direction of the wind.

I just finished reading a book – a book I thought was safe. “Hey lets read Orwell’s 1984 – so many people refer to it. It is one of my top hundred books to read before I die so lets just get it done“. but I should have known that although I think the planet of my life is moving on a straight plane – it is in fact curved and I was met there with lots of answers.

The systems were all to familiar albeit that what we face have many more facets or dimensions. Funny how men are so depraved that they recreate the same system over and over – as if programmed. Evil is a reality and nothing is more sinister than evil dressed up as good. Orwell had slogans for his party – it was “War is Peace”; “Freedom is Slavery” and “Ignorance is Strength”. Those slogans ring eerily true in the realm of my kismet.

But the final gift Orwell gave me was the format. The most innocent of formats is the right one. The format will be a novel. There are subtle points one can make with a novel that no amount of satire can achieve. I can simply tell the story – that is all that’s needed. It will be fiction not because the truth is less upsetting or interesting  – but simply to ensure that all is told and the problem is fully highlighted.

I suspect I will take another few tries at convincing myself to forgo this act – to throw the pen away before I lay it down on paper – but in all reality looking at what I just wrote – it might be too late for that.

So halfpad deur raak die gewone situasie skielik poeties. Ek wonder hoekom dit so gebeur. Ek dink dit is wanneer geprosseseerde gevoelens – daai wat jy reeds weggepak het en gekategoriseer het – skielik uit hulle box uitspring soos n Disney comic. Jy draai skielik om jou (soos n slegte Van Damme movie) en neem in wat jy sien met die ou gevoelens as agtergrond en daar op die railway crossing van emosie, herinnering en realiteit is ek by ons groepie se potjiekos byeenkoms.

Hier in die vreemde hang die vlae teen n deur terwyl die boeremusiek deur die aand syfer. Party like die ou vlag – ander like die nuwe vlag – ons almal settle maar op die Springbok vlag. Hulle roep ons “Aliens” maar vanaand vir net n rukkie is ons nie Aliens nie. Vir n rukkie is ons manier die Status Quo en die land se burgers is die “Aliens”.

Hulle verwonder hulle aan die spontane lag en gesels en ek sien op hulle gesigte die gewaarwording dat dit regtig moontlik is om n gemeenskap te wees sonder maskers. Nee ons het nie perfekte tande nie en die vrouens neem nie deel aan die “perfekte blonde ponystert, water bottel in die regter hand” mascarade nie. Ons het variety soos Meraai sou se. Daar is ook nie veel “good boy”’s as ons met die kinders praat nie. Net reguit praat soos ons altyd doen. Die kinders eet solank nagereg terwyl die bredies kook. Party is van die kerk van “mag roer” ander glo nie in die kettery van potjie roer nie.

Ons bid maar na die eet – anders word ons vet soos my sus sou se. Met n “thank you Jesus for the food” en rukkie stil bly oor ons maatjie se groot seer is dit tyd om vir ou laas saam te kuier. Nuwe verhoudings ontstaan en nommers word neergeskryf. In die oe n flikkering van hoop dat ons miskien mekaar se verlang n bietjie kan verlig.

Die bekommerde sekuriteits wag kom se dis nou tienuur (!) en is sprakeloos dat ons die kinders alleen laat swem. So begin die oppak en skoonmaak. Dan is die kort verbreking in die “spacetime kontinuum” verby en ons almal ry weer terug huis toe – maar eintlik ry ons weer terug in realiteit in – die kort brekie net genoem om die ken weer op te kry. Vlae opgevou tot volgende keer…

Soms word ek benoud as ek dink ek moet dalk eendag in die vreemde begrawe word. Dan weet ek – as die stof wat ons vlees geword het in Afrika gemeng is – sal n mens altyd vanuit n Afrika hart leef en beleef en ervaar. Ek kyk na die valsheid om my dan vra ek “Here waarom ek?”

Maar elke sonde het sy skuld wat terugbetaal moet word…

Daar is dae wat ek dink dit is beter om in Pretoria se gevaar te leef as in Florida se relatiewe veiligheid. Dan dink ek aan my kinders en ek weet – ek kan dit nie aan hulle doen nie. Ons is altyd tussen daardie twee onvereenselwigbare realiteite.

Nou droom ons maar dat God eendag die Atlanties sal oopkloof en n pad maak na waar ons drome en ons realiteit weer bymekaar kan kom.

(Na aanleiding van hierdie blog: http://blogs.litnet.co.za/rethabloemseblog/om-te-Pretoria-aan-C-en-D-en-I)

On this very special day I was tempted to borrow from what others say.

I could echo Auden -

“You are my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and Sunday rest”.

Or would Shakespeare be my best? -

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate”

But to do that would be missing the mark – the reaching of the desperate;

A failure of vernacular – a poetic way to capitulate.

Because what needs to framed, what needs to be said

- whats burning inside me and where I hope to end…

Are words laid like marble stones before a queen – petals before a bride.

So running through the hallways of my heart and scouring the alleys of my mind

– I gather the memories of you, of us, and lay it before the blind…

to shout at them to make my case – and finally whisper – don’t you see?

That what we have here is a treasure – a nugget gold – a character beyond measure.

A larger surprise than the Cullinan

The beauty of Africa woven into a person

Yes – you are my North and South and Summer’s day

But if those poets knew you they would plead

“Oh pity us for what we need

are words to capture what we see”

And I would declare that even if I help

some things might be left unsaid and should simply left to be…

Ek onthou Augustus met sy geniepsig piets
met al my skool klere om my maar nog steed rillend.

Ek onthou Augustus met die koud wat skelm skuil
as die stoom my verder afkoel in Moreletta se kuil.

Ek onthou Augustus se huiswerk doen voor skool.
Hande hou in die donker waar Silvies se gees gool

Ek onthou Augustus se huil van koud op wag.
My polisiejas drippend van die dou – nog n bitter nag

Ek onthou Augustus se kerkplein met mallend bus en mense.
Ek onthou die pyn wat ons gemaak het – met ons valse grense.

Ek onthou Augustus se warm ontsnap na skuim koffie.
Ek sien nog die studente om my en ek sien nog die prag van my liefie

Waar is ons Augustus? Waar is daardie koud?
Ek ruil graag hierdie verte vir al Pretoria se goud.

Waar is ons Augustus? Nou is daar net gloed.
My hart soek na n antwoord want om my is net my bloed.

Waar is ons Augustus?

]]> http://pursuitofmeaning.wordpress.com/2009/08/13/augustus/feed/ 1 pursuitofmeaning http://pursuitofmeaning.wordpress.com/2009/05/11/napier-children/ http://pursuitofmeaning.wordpress.com/2009/05/11/napier-children/#comments Mon, 11 May 2009 00:42:38 +0000 pursuitofmeaning http://pursuitofmeaning.wordpress.com/?p=252 ]]>

I created a separate blog for a charity we are trying to support in Africa. Please check it out and let me know what you think. Here is the link: www.napierchildren.wordpress.com

We recently came back from visiting South Africa. While driving to the airport it struck me how few of our folks at home really agree and appreciate what we are trying to do for our children’s future.

And of cause after the farewell at the airport even the kids ask why we are doing this. Sometimes I wonder whether it is worth it – rendering three generations miserable for the sake of one generation’s future…

Either way the situation back home has not really improved when it comes to crime, affirmative action or quality of education or even living.

So for now Africa will remain to us like this picture. The flower is Cosmos and yes it is a barbwire fence.

One year ago today was her last day. One year ago she went to be with God. I wish she was still with us – but not with all that suffering. Somehow I never could get myself to talk too much about what Natalie and I saw in that hospital room. Maybe that is part of the last respect we give her – maybe its just because we prefer not to remember her like that.

Either way – here’s some Afrikaans just for her:

“Mamma ek hoop die hemel is alles en soveel meer as wat jy gehoop het. Niemand wat ek ken het meer uitgesien daarna as jy nie. Ek loop met jou sensitiewe gene en ek het drie wat dit ook nou het. Min verstaan die diepte van ons gevoelens, min wil verstaan dat daar eers so iets is. Niemand verstaan die branders van emosies – niemand behalwe Hy – Jesus…”

I can hardly believe that twelve years have gone by. He is our oldest and we love him with all our hearts. We are so proud of him. There is so much I still want to teach him and – yes he has that stubbornness gene so sometimes teaching him takes a bit of patience. but at least I know that stubbornness will serve him well as adult because there’s much falseness to resist and lies to uncover.

It is a strange age. He wants so much to be “big” now – yet at night he still wants to lie with his head on his mother’s lap. Big and small all in one package. Few kids have lived through what he has. Has had the same challenges. On a whole I think he did remarkable.

Whenever I wonder whether this is all worth it – he is one of three little reasons that keeps me here; that keeps me putting up a smile and “getting on with it”.

Lord may your care and protection never fail him in this year. May Your hand take mine as I show him the way. Help and bless him this year.

Amen.