Painting my face with dust scratched off the rocks. Facing the sun. No longer a smooth healed anglo saxon. No longer the desires of a westernised being. Jj you asked me to write about living in Africa. Sometimes images say so much more.
Comments
Anonymous said…
The growth has come slowly At times painful
The strength of the rock It’s immovable way Strengthens me It is as alive as I
I have been here before Yet just walked past Not noticing That we are one The rock and I
Slowly the rock sheds As do I Imperceptible to the eye That chooses not to see
There is a majesty A combination of colors And textures Changing angles Refracting
Climb on me children To the heights Be amazed at the view
My shoulders are now strong Immovable to the elements For they are passing
Is not the ground I stand on connected directly to the ground that you stand on? Does not the air we both breathe have an unbroken stream between us? What flows through us every day is staggering--what we choose to absorb, a blessing What we let go, a blessing
When my little girl and I heard Mandela would be coming to our town, in a limo parade on our very street, we got busy with markers and poster paper. That night, as the roar of the motorade was heard in the distance we took our place on the curb, her on my shoulders, with her poster. He saw us and waved. This is a true story.
Comments
At times painful
The strength of the rock
It’s immovable way
Strengthens me
It is as alive as I
I have been here before
Yet just walked past
Not noticing
That we are one
The rock and I
Slowly the rock sheds
As do I
Imperceptible to the eye
That chooses not to see
There is a majesty
A combination of colors
And textures
Changing angles
Refracting
Climb on me children
To the heights
Be amazed at the view
My shoulders are now strong
Immovable to the elements
For they are passing
And I am strong
Peaceful
Connected
To all that is
Jj
Your "seeing" is astonishing.
Hi Nobody.
Does not the air we both breathe have an unbroken stream between us?
What flows through us every day is staggering--what we choose to absorb, a blessing
What we let go, a blessing
Jj
May it commence - the great letting go.
May all these beliefs, stories, assumptions, desires come crashing down.
Indeed somewhere under the shadow of the tree, you smile.
Migrant Mother Redux.
Lancome Model for 2009 on Earth.
Where Does It Begin, Where Does It End...
The Meditation.
When my little girl and I heard Mandela would be coming to our town, in a limo parade on our very street, we got busy with markers and poster paper. That night, as the roar of the motorade was heard in the distance we took our place on the curb, her on my shoulders, with her poster. He saw us and waved. This is a true story.