Audio Corner

Hi Everyone

I have finally figured out how to upload my recordings. Check out the Audio Corner in the navigation bar on the right.

See an example below. This is a fairly accurate indicator of my mood today. I have always loved this song from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Cats. I had so much fun recording this one.

Hope you enjoy.

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02 Memory by CornflowerBlue

I wonder where this little one went.... Today, I wish I could go back to the blonde little girl I was sooooo many years ago. Maybe I don't stop long enough to smell the flowers anymore.

Sex Kitten, Bitch, Alley cat, Hound or Puppy Dog? Which are you?

We recently said farewell to a teacher at the college and when I said my thankyou’s and goodbyes, I confessed my not-so-politically-correct-tendency of associating people I meet with objects or animals. It is not a conscious process – these associations just seem to happen automatically.

Usually, when I meet someone for the first time, there is a quality or trait about the new acquaintance which emerges and automatically converts into a visual metaphor in my mind.

The lovely lady in question here, I associated with a chilli pepper. She struck me as quite sassy and fiery. I got the distinct impression from our first encounter that there is much more to her than meets the eye. It was a very positive association for me and turned out to be very true. She was a firecracker and spiced things up somewhat, and she will be sorely missed.

But I digress… I’m pretty sure we have all assumed that we are either a “dog person” or a “cat person”… usually when it comes to pet preferences. But the analogy runs a bit deeper than that… I think there are very strong anthro-zoological archetypes in relationships. I just can’t seem to decide which is which, especially when it comes to relationships with men and women. I’m wondering whether or not we shapeshift between different archetypes. Perhaps that is the answer…

This is a bit tongue-in-cheek but I genuinely do associate people with animals more frequently than anything else. In some cases, I can even specify the breed of dog or cat in question. There is the Cocker Spaniel guy - you just want to fluff his hair and touch him whenever you see him. He is irresistible and openly affectionate. You ALWAYS know when he is happy to see you – sometimes he wags his tail so hard that it can knock you off balance. These guys are playful with boyish charm. He is honest, (well, most of the time…) He won’t voice “harmless little lies” or tell you he has been somewhere when he hasn’t. He will forget your birthday and your anniversary, not because he is being spiteful, but simply because he is incapable of doing so. But, when there is a celebration, he will join in enthusiastically. Should you ever catch him doing something wrong, he will look very guilty and plead for forgiveness with such sad puppy dog eyes that you feel a natural compulsion to reach down and pat him on the head. It is very difficult to hold a grudge against a Spaniel.

The Staffordshire Terrier guy – he is territorial and cocky. He likes to strut around and look strong. He will mark his territory whenever there is another hound in sight – as a matter of principle. He is not as intimidating as the Rottweiler, the big aggressive but loyal dog. Some men are like that. Then there are the Labrador types who are not as protective of you, but they are very loving and loyal. Then there is the Small-Man-Syndrome Chihuahua type – they bark neurotically, are cheeky, obnoxious and try to over-compensate for their small stature. Of course, I have met a few Pitt Bulls too – they are just mean but if you are in control, they will do whatever you ask which is not necessarily a good thing.

However, some men who start out as Spaniels tend to shape shift into a Siamese cat after a while. I have had a Spaniel-Siamese encounter. They are notoriously unpredictable, independent and difficult to read. Like a Siamese, they will rub up against you one day, and the next will act like they have no idea who on earth you are. The invariably have their own agenda and it may not necessarily include you. These are the guys who disappear from the radar for days on end and then suddenly reappear at your doorstep as if nothing happened. The most annoying thing about them is that the moment you are ready to banish them forever, they do something really cute which disarms you. These guys are like difficult pets – they are impossible to “train”. You can tell them umpteen times not to drink from the tap and to leave the fish in the fishbowl, and you will get an appearance of obedience. However, as soon as you leave the room, they will do exactly the opposite – because they can. They like to watch things move and like to play. These are the guys who will show no interest for days on end like a cat with a piece of string…. If the string lies there and is available, they will sit there and groom themselves or fain boredom. However, watch the curious intensity of a Siamese if the string is moved. Then you have their undivided attention. Then again, some of these Spaniel Siamese are just alley cats who will hump anything in sight for the hell of it!

However, just as some of these adorable Spaniels shape shift into Siamese cats, I must concur that some women deserve the feline adjectives attributed to them. There are some women who are prone to “catty” behaviour, some are just cougars on the prowl (present company excluded!), while others are purring sex kittens. I’m sure you have met them all. The problem lies in knowing which role to assume when – are you a puppy dog when he is a Siamese or are you the Siamese when he is the Spaniel??

My recent experiences with men seem to indicate that men tend to respect the cats more. A cat is independent and kind of bitchy at times. It is an accomplishment if you have managed to win the affections of a cat. I reckon cats have a wonderful sense of discretion… they endure the company of dogs until it becomes insufferably boring and not a moment longer. They make no bones about their boredom. In fact, I don’t think cats are capable of faking - well - pretty much anything.

One of the things I admire most about cats, is their ability to move objects with their eyes. A cat can stare at a door with such incredible force that any human within a 3 mile radius will arrive and magically open the door to let it out. Dogs on the other hand, dislike being stared at. Most men dislike silent treatment. Once the cat has mastered the stop and stare technique, no dog is safe. Ask any man who has been given the look…

I don’t think cats are unpleasant… they are merely disinterested at times. Heaven knows I have been at times. On the other hand, it is not hard to understand why men refer to some women as sex kittens… stroke a purring cat and you know why. Cats are very sensual and tactile. If you treat a cat right, she will stretch herself out, purr and leave you in no doubt whatsoever that she appreciates the attention. On the other hand, I think I have been too much of a puppy when it comes to men. You always know where you stand with a puppy. If a puppy likes you, you know it. It seems to me that most men, even the Spaniels, prefer the cats… They like the chase. They are fascinated when the string moves especially if another dog or cat is interested.

So which am I? I think my Spaniel is shapeshifting into a Siamese at the moment. Every time I think I should switch to the dog type I lose. The puppy dog is always outsmarted by the cat, no matter how endearing the puppy may be. If only I could stop wagging my tail!

Da Vinci & the Imperfectly Perfect Me

One of my favourite things about living in Sydney is that I get to commute by train instead of sitting in traffic on the highway between Pretoria and Johannesburg.  Aside from falling asleep on the shoulder of a handsome random stranger now and then (yes, I have!!), it allows me time to think and wake up gradually before I tackle my day. 

This morning, my mind wandered to the time I spent in Florence a few years ago on my “Shirley Valentine Trip” to Europe after my marriage ended. It was probably one of the most defining and empowering emotional journeys I have ever undertaken.  For many years prior to that, I was desperate to visit Europe so that I could see and explore the buildings and cathedrals and admire the art I had studied as an undergraduate student in History of Art – my additional major.   Florence is the ultimate Renaissance city and the Quattrocento is my favourite period of the Renaissance. 

At the time, there was a fascinating exhibition of Leonardo da Vinci’s work which I visited more than once. He was a painter, a sculptor, an architect, a mathematician, a mechanic, an astronomer, an anatomist, physiologist, botanist, geologist, physician, a philosopher, a musician and a writer. I remember seeing the Mona Lisa in Paris for the first time a few days later and marvelled at how it continues to inspire so many people today but found it ironic that Da Vinci was not satisfied with this masterpiece and considered it incomplete.  

I recall reading that he started painting the Mona Lisa in 1503 in Florence and laboured over it for 16 years before he finally sold it shortly before his death in 1519.  In fact, in his notebooks, he lamented this dilemma and asked “Tell me, tell me, has one ever finished anything?”  Isn’t it ironic, that Leonardo Da Vinci, probably one of the greatest minds of all time, felt inferior at times? Surely after 16 years of labouring on this painting, he would have perfected it?  Does practise really make perfect? 

I think there is a bit of Da Vinci’s dutiful perfectionism in all of us.  It occurred to me that a lot of my stress stems from guilt-driven “demandingness”.  In a sense I guess there is an inherent moral principle ingrained in me that compels me to feel guilty if I do not demand perfection of myself.  How many of us feel that we may not fail because if we do, then we are somehow a lesser person?  It is almost as if there is a compulsion or a moral obligation to strive for perfection. 

It is a sobering thought that I worry and beat myself up emotionally out of a misplaced sense of guilt.  There is this internal conditioning that plays in the background which says I have to be the perfect mom, I must not let bad things happen, I must always maintain control….  Failure to comply with these self-imposed imperatives leaves me feeling guilty and I realise that sub-consciously I condemn myself for being less than perfect.  This in turn leads to stress and worry and feelings of self-recrimination.  I think that is true for many women I know….

Sometimes we tend to measure ourselves against almost unattainable standards of perfection imposed by others. But as I realized in recent years and months especially, the plumbline of perfection which is set by others is an ever-changing, ever-shifting measure which becomes almost impossible to follow and ironically one which these individuals do not apply to themselves.  For too long I have attempted to shape-shift my being and evolve to the measure and pace set by someone else.  It is an impossible feat to shape-shift my soul to meet someone else’s obscure notions of perfection which seem impossible to pin down and delineate exactly. It is very difficult when there is a double standard or the goal post keeps shifting. This begs the question of whether perfection is ultimately desirable? 

I am beginning to think that imperfection is more desirable because intrinsic to imperfection is a measure of freedom.  William James contended that  "Freedom in a world already perfect could only mean freedom to be worse, and who could be so insane as to wish that?...Surely the only possibility  that one can rationally claim is the possibility that things may be better."  Therefore, in a so-called perfect universe, the positive will already have been achieved.  In an imperfect reality, we have a chance to make things better and to effect some positive change.  So perhaps the key is not to strive for perfection but to strive to make things better than they are. 

I for one, need imperfection.  I need to see opportunities to better the world, to attempt to break new grounds of excellence.  I need to have the space and the freedom to recognize that what I have done is not necessarily perfect, and may be flawed.  But the flaws and imperfect bits are where I can grow and it is precisely those flaws which make me who I am.

Da Vinci attempted to capture not only the body but the personality and soul of the subject.  He used “sfumato” and “chiaroscuro” to do this.   Chiaroscuro (“light-dark”) is a painting technique which is characterized by using contrasts between light and dark, usually bold contrasts affecting a whole composition. It is also a technical term used by artists and art historians for using contrasts of light to achieve a sense of volume in modelling three-dimensional objects such as the human body.  By using chiaroscuro, Da Vinci accentuated the mysteries of the work and he believed that “plunging things into light is plunging them into the infinite".  Rembrandt was also famous for his use of chiaroscuro.  And although it is beautiful in itself, the style seems to communicate light from darkness, truth from lies and life from death.  It gives a fullness to the reality.

I think on a metaphorical level, we should aim to live life in chiaroscuro.  I need to learn to embrace the light and dark in my soul – it is what gives me dimensionality, roundness and fullness of being.   

Today, I realized again that too often I allow my self-confidence to take a battering because I face up to my flaws severely and frequently.  Too often I allow it to become my main source of concern.  I tend to focus too much on what I am not instead of seeing some of the gifts and blessings I do have.  I am no Rembrandt, but I paint and sketch and sometimes my sketches are less than perfect.  I tinker on the piano, strum a guitar and caress a violin and I do sing, admittedly not too badly but I do not proclaim to be a songbird of note.  Admittedly, I am not a perfect specimen – far from it. I may not be a self-proclaimed solipsistic guru of wisdom or a concert pianist nor do I assume to have all the knowledge and experience to presume to tell others how to lead their lives or insinuate some self-devised psycho-babble bullshit to be infinite truths.   I am simply a mother, an earthly woman, a career woman, an academic and yes

I am very much an imperfect specimen.  

But I am perfect in my imperfection. 
There is only one of  me.

I have become very good at subjecting myself to a rigorous examination of  my short-comings and defects and especially those which have been highlighted by someone else’s measure of perfection. Despite the flaws and the dark bits, I have light in me - I have many gifts and blessings in my life.  I realized again today, how often the very yardstick against which I have measured myself is inherently flawed and egocentric to someone else’s notion of who and what I ought to be.

I have been mulling over this all day.  Like Da Vinci who agonised over his paintings and sketches, I realised that I am too sensitive to the value judgements of others and too harsh in my sense of self-recrimination for being imperfect – a human being.  I guess too often I have considered these value judgements to be valid because I have not trusted my inner sense of knowing and value and elevated some individuals to a status which allows them to pass judgement on me. 

As Da Vinci may have discovered at the end of his life, perhaps practise doesn’t make perfect at all.  And maybe that is a good thing because it means there is always room for improvement.  Perhaps Da Vinci had a point when he said that perfection is not attained when there is nothing left to add, but rather when there is nothing left to take away.  It’s about distilling my sense of self to my essence – to that core of what it is that defines me.  Perhaps it is about stripping away all the superficial layers to reach the heart.  That is what matters most.

I can only set my compass to my own True North.  It is the only definition that should matter. I need to embrace the light and darkness in me and to relinquish the obsessive desire for maintaining control at all times.  Sometimes, it is good to lose it a bit.  I guess Einstein had a point, when he said “In order to form an immaculate member of a flock of sheep, one must, above all be a sheep.” ….And damn it, I am no sheep. 

Mama Africa

There is something to be said for Africa.  If you are a child of Africa, you will know that you take Africa deep inside of you - she becomes part of your soul.  It manifests as a lump in your throat  when you stumble across something from that beautiful continent.  I am sometimes reminded of this blood tie to my fatherland at the most unexpected times.

This weekend I visited the South African shop down the road to stock up on one or two items I particularly missed from South Africa.  The shop was closed but I am grateful.  As a result, I stood sulkily in front of the window and happened to notice some Ndebele dolls in the window.  Imagine that - Ndebele dolls in Sydney!  It brought a lump to my throat and reminded me of a very special woman who looked after me as a child.  Martha was a rotund Ndebele woman.  She was warm and loving and gave the best hugs in the world. For some reason, she always smelled like freshly baked bread. She knew exactly how I liked my toast in the mornings and would wait for me to come home after school.  I remember her with great fondness.  

She was as firm as she was loving.  I never took chances with her.  She had a stern look that would convey volumes in silence.  My fondest memories of her are sitting with her to sort her beads according to colour in the last hour of the day before my mother returned from work.  As a Ndebele woman she was a master beader and I was fascinated at the way in which she would create the most amazing colourful patterns with the tiny glass beads.

These traditional dolls have become a sought after export and provide income for many Ndebele women in Africa at the moment.  But they have a rich cultural significance. A young man who wishes to court a woman, will place a doll outside her door.  These dolls signify significant moments in women's lives.  For me, they remind me of Martha - a loving mother figure from my childhood.  

Africa is in my blood, and when I see icons of her like this I feel her stir in my soul.  South Africa has a rugged beauty that she imprints on all her children at birth.  I think it is something in the sunshine or walking around barefoot in her soil as a child. Mama Africa, I will always love you. 

Life in my Kaleidoscope

Into the Light - Debbie Le Roux 2011 - Aquarelle on board.

As a child, one of my favourite toys was a kaleidoscope which I received as a birthday 
gift from a friend. I spent hours looking at the pretty colours, turning it continuously to create new ones.

I think life is a lot like looking at the world through a kaleidoscope. We all see colourful elements - shiny bits and pieces. But unless you turn to the light, a kaleidoscope is a dull tube that makes a rattling sound when you shake it.  It is only when you look upwards, into the light that you see the incredible beauty and brilliance of colours waiting to be discovered.  

There is something magic in colour.  I have always found painting or working with colours 

to be therapeutic in some way.  This weekend's doodle (as above)  is about moving into the light, even if the road ahead looms foreboding and appears to be uphill and rocky.  No matter how shattered the reality may appear at the moment, the sun will rise again. Look to the light and you will find beauty in your fragmented kaleidoscope.   When you do you will not only find beauty, but you will also find friends  who want to see the picture in your kaleidoscope. I'm deeply grateful that I have always had friends who walk the path into the light with me as I reassemble the fragments of my kaleidoscope to find new and beautiful images just a turn away.  


We all have shards and fragments to deal with in our realities. It is up to you to reassemble those floating bits and pieces into an enticing new possibility.  

A lover in fragments

I realised this morning that a lover exists only in fragments, a dozen or so if the romance is new, and a few a thousand after a few years together. Out of those fragments our heart constructs an entire person. We create the person we wish them to be. The less we know of them, the more we love them.  The converse is also true... the more fragments you have, the clearer the image.  It is only then, that you really know who they are.  If you still love them then it is real.

I am the Light Keeper

It is a violent storm. The pummelling rain, driven by a howling wind lashes against the monolithic tower perched on the cliff face which drops into the dark expanse of the ocean whipped into a frenzy by the gale.  I’m exhausted and breathless from running the seemingly endless spiral of stairs to reach the light.  I’m drenched to the bone and my hair is plastered against my face.  My frozen fingers are grappling with the lens and the strobe.  I’m desperately swinging the light into the darkness as I peer intently through the storm battered windows… looking … and then I wake up in a panic. 

I have had this recurring dream for the last few nights and I am confounded by it.  I have dredged my subconscious memory trying to find what could potentially have triggered this dream but I have come up empty handed.  I have not visited any lighthouses recently or watched any films featuring a lighthouse, so I am at sixes and sevens with this one on a purely cognitive plane.  But today, I have been thinking more deeply about this dream and what it means.  What is my subconscious voice trying to tell me so desperately that it has me waking up in a cold sweat gasping for breath?

Perhaps this lighthouse is an extended subconscious metaphor of some sorts.  Perhaps it is worthwhile exploring the metaphor… In my dream the lighthouse is anchored on a mountain – with a terrifying sheer drop to the sea below. It stands alone in the face of the storm, seemingly impervious to the fierce winds and turbulent seas.  Perhaps the lighthouse is a metaphor for inner strength or an inner spiritual guide desperately directing the lost ship to a safe port of call, a Harbour of Tranquility.  

A lighthouse seems to epitomise loneliness and solitude  – but isn’t it ironic that it is precisely in times of utter loneliness that we become intensely aware of how connected we are to others?  This tall structure seems so solid and unmoving, personifying stability and constancy in the face of extreme adversity.  There is an element of defiance and deliberateness  in a lighthouse that appeals to the romantic in me. 

The lighthouse has a singularity of purpose… to shine the light into the darkness.  Night and day, in any weather, the lighthouse shines its light in every direction – 360 degrees – illuminating the safe harbour to travellers at sea or on land.  When fog shrouds the beacon, it still shines its light and sounds a fog horn to ensure that all those in range get the message.  The light itself is a warning, attracts attention and guides.  The light shines in all directions and shines for all equally. 

Perhaps the light is the fiery force of learning.  The strobe of it can burn through preconceived notions I have about life like a veld fire on the African savannah consumes everything in its path.  It is only when the smoke clears and the fog has lifted that the opportunity for growth becomes apparent.  

Perhaps the light blinking through the fog is guiding me to see a part of myself or the world I had not understood fully.  Perhaps the light is unconditional love which I offer desperately to the ship lost at sea.  The beam of unconditional love falls on all  - pirate, pilgrim and shipwrecked souls alike.  Its rays are available without limitation or condition. 

Come to think of it, the lighthouse does not demand that travellers pay heed to its warning.  It does not uproot itself and stride into the ocean to drag the unwilling vessel to safety.  It respects others to follow their own spiritual paths and live with the consequences of their seemingly foolish decisions.  I wish I were more like a lighthouse so that I would not be discouraged or feel that I served no purpose if my light were ignored.  It keeps shining its light because eventually someone will notice and will find a safe port of call.  That is true faith. 

The storm in my dream is hurricane-like in its force and destructive power  – a mother of a storm.  Perhaps my subconscious is echoing the wisdom of the old proverb that “the darkest hour is nearest the dawn”.  Isn’t it usually the last part of a voyage on a perilous coast line that is particularly challenging?  It is at the fulcrum of emotional turmoil, teetering on the edge of a steep cliff face, that the winds subside and the crisis wanes to find clarity and understanding we have been searching for so desperately.

Intrinsic to a lighthouse is the concept of vision and seeing beyond the immediate storm battered reality.  It is an apex of sight extended in all directions seeing so much further than before seeking the light.  A light seeker – etymologically this harkens back to the Semitic stem  of the word for “menorah” derived from “minaret” – the root of which (“nar”) denotes “light” or “to shine”.

I do not think I am the lighthouse – I am the light keeper.  I cannot force others to accept my light but I know that some of the light falls on me too.  We are all beacons of light – like lighthouses, we all look different.  Some are taller than others, some are more attractive than others but like lighthouses, we each have distinct patterns of light which are unique to us.  Our outward appearance does not reflect what light we have to give on the inside. 


I think my exhaustion in the battering storm is driven by a feeling of unworthiness and unlovability.  Sometimes we are giving our love away and end up hurting because our cup is bone dry - mainly because we don't demand the same in return.  Perhaps the lighthouse is about tough love. The lighthouse keeper leaps with joy for each ship which is led to safety.  Similary, the lighthouse keeper cannot accept responsibility for those ships who do not look up to see the light and run aground.  It stands its ground regardless.  Perhaps I can only take responsibility for the light that I put out.  Sometimes the fog of indifference is denser than the illumination of the strobe but it doesn't mean that the strobe is meaningless or weak.  Perhaps I have had enough stress, frustration, and obstacles without going on a wild goose chase and chasing rabbits down holes for answers.  Perhaps the dream is about anchoring myself in the rock of wisdom and doing constant maintenance on the purity of the light I transmit.  After all, a fallen lighthouse is more dangerous than a reef.  For now, the love in my eyes and the smile on my face will be the strobe in my lighthouse which I pray will guide you home to a harbour of tranquility.

Just for today

You are some sort of magical creature.  I can try to cut you out of my everyday routine but I cannot seem to lock you out of my heart.  I miss you so terribly today.  So, I wish for a quiet moment - just once...


I wish you would run your fingers through my soul. I wish you could see some light in me, just for a moment.  Look a bit deeper - peep through the keyhole of my soul.  Just for today.   Just once, I wish you could feel exactly what I feel, believe what I believe, perceive as I perceive, look, experience, examine, and just once.... see into my heart and understand me and perhaps you may realise just how much I loved you.

Wear your dignity, not his shame

I am deeply disturbed by acts of violence – especially when they are perpetrated against women and defenceless children.  Recently, I listened in horror to the account of the CBS journalist who was gang raped in Egypt and the self-righteous and misogynistic responses of some people in the media.  She is a celebrity and the world has reacted in outrage.  However, I am aware of another victim, someone’s mommy, wife, daughter  and friend who has been brutalised too.  

While I do not know her personally, I am deeply moved by what has happened to her.  I have been thinking of her and stand appalled at the devastation one person can cause in the soul and life of another with out a second thought. 

So this blog is just a thought from one stranger on this side of the planet to a broken and shattered woman on the other side of the globe…

Dearest girlfriend

I do not know you and I cannot profess to begin to imagine the heartache you must be carrying inside of you right now.   While I don’t know you and the details of your particular circumstances, I understand the spirit of a woman and it is with the deepest respect and compassion that I write this.  I have been thinking of you and trying to put myself in your shoes.  I am deeply disturbed by what has happened to you.

I have never been raped and that is only because I have been lucky, not because I am a better person than you or because of anything you did that I haven’t.  Don’t allow this monster to take a way your righteous anger.  If you feel that you have done something somehow to deserve what happened to you, you are allowing him to keep hurting you, even though he is absent.    You were the victim – not the perpetrator.  Too often, one hears that women try to find the fault within themselves  for what happened to them and in a sense they assume the role of the perpetrator.  You were in the wrong place at the wrong time and became the victim of a predator who uses sex to feel a sense of power over women which he obviously cannot get otherwise.   He is a coward.  Blaming yourself only empowers him.

I wonder if you feel guilty that you did not fight harder and wonder if you think that you had, it may not have happened?  Please don’t.  Fear can paralyse you and there is a huge difference between submission and consent.  If you did not verbally express desire to have sex with this man, then you definitely did not consent to the act.  Please do not confuse the two.  In some cases submission without consent is the only way to save your life.  You should not feel shame or guilt over being the victim.  You have been brutalised and you definitely did not ask for it.

If it were me, I think I would feel deeply embarrassed as if everyone knew what had happened to me.  I think it is natural – we feel violated in such an intimate way – that we unwittingly wear a badge of shame that is not ours to wear.  Too often, I think we are too worried about what people may think or say about us.  Please try to focus on yourself and your own healing.  Please don’t pin his shame to your sleeve.  It is not yours to wear.

I feel such rage at the devastation that such an act of violence can have on a woman and her family.  There is no justification for what he has done.  Please, please do not allow him to minimise your femininity and your beauty.  Please channel your outrage and your anger outward – at him.  Please do not inflict it on yourself or get trapped in the abyss of self-recriminations.  You have so much to fight for.  You are worthy.  You are beautiful.  You are a mom.  You are a woman who has the right to say NO.  What he did to you was deplorable and debased.  But what happened  was as a result of HIS actions and his choice – it is not a reflection on you or  who you are.  There is so much more to you than a woman who has been brutalised.

I so hope and pray that you will look in the mirror and see beauty, grace and dignity there.  You are a survivor.  You have survived many women’s worst nightmare.  I pray that with time you will find the resilience you need to stand up and fight for your future.  You did fight him – even if your cry was silent and your resistance futile.  You did fight and you still are.  You have not lost your dignity, he preyed on your vulnerability and your fear. 

I pray that you will find the inner strength to get up each morning and face the world with pride.  You ought to.  You have conquered.  You may be hurting but you have conquered.  I wish for you so much love and understanding from those closest to you.  I hope that you will have understanding silences because sometimes words become superfluous and obsolete. I pray that those closest to you will allow you the space and time  to deal with your emotional trauma and not compound it by making you cope with theirs. 

I hope that you are hugged when you need to be hugged and told that you are loved.  I hope that you will again find a way to combat the fear and do the mundane things in life without looking over your shoulder.  I hope that the eidetic memory will leave you soon, so that you are not haunted by the event and reliving it every night.  I wish for you many nights’ peaceful rest in the loving embrace of your husband.  I hope that your marriage and family will be your sanctuary.  Allow them to care for you and love you.  More than anything, I wish for you to find your inner voice and defy what this man has done to you and your loved ones.   I pray for you to find a means to channel your heartache, rage and anger positively.  

You are a beautiful and dignified woman and a mom whose children look up to her with love and appreciation.  Focus on that.  More than anything, I hope you will not allow this gutless non-entity of a man to keep violating your mind or to wreck your marriage.  I wish for you good friends who will walk this path with you  and be there for you in your darkest hours. Above all, please fight for your survival and your healing.  

Please claim what is rightfully yours… your right to life, happiness and love.    

Lots of love from Sydney

CornflowerBlue

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The Angel in the Marble said "Sawubona"

"I saw an angel in the marble and I carved until I had set him free." - Michelangelo Bunarotti


I travel to work by train every morning.  While sipping my cappuccino this morning, I watched as strangers boarded the train and noticed a few  familiar faces.  Oddly enough, even though I smiled at the familiar faces, they did not acknowledge my silent greeting.  I was pondering this phenomenon of detachment when I recalled one of my first lessons in conversational Zulu.  I’m a child of Africa, hatched under the African sun and have always thought the Zulu greeting to be truly beautiful. When you greet someone in Zulu with “Sawubona”, it literally means  “I SEE you”. The appropriate response “Ngikhona”, translates into English as “I am here”. 

Intrinsic in this greeting is the notion that “until you saw me, I did not exist”.  By recognising and seeing each other, we come into existence.  This is echoed in the Zulu proverb, “Umuntu ngumuntu ngabanthu”  which means a person is a person because of other people.  This triggered thoughts about a recent conversation.  Sadly, I have felt unseen and unacknowledged by someone who is really very important to me.

As I listened to the criticism during a recent conversation, my heart was aching to hear the “Sawubona”  which would acknowledge me  - my wholeness somehow – somewhere between the lines, but I didn’t.  All the while my heart thumped “I am here.  I am here. I am here.”  I felt minimised and reduced to a few negative traits and flaws.  As the criticism was handed down, a part of me stopped dead in my tracks.  One of the blows hit a faultline that runs very deep – right down to my core and split me open, like the chisel of a sculptor splits a block of marble if it strikes a vein in the rock.  It split me open with the same stunned silence after a massive explosion.  It leaves you dazed for a few seconds.  It was in that silence that I heard her.  The angel in the marble.  She bellowed at me from my core – “I AM HERE!  I AM WHOLE! THERE IS SO MUCH MORE TO ME!  LOOK AT ME!!!”  I felt her roar in defiance and in anger which is generally pain that has become too much to handle. I felt her rise up and beat against the walls of my heart begging to be acknowledged.  I thought for a moment that I was not the only one who had heard her and feeling that defiance brought me to tears that flowed unabashedly down my face.  They were tears of extreme hurt and anger.  How is it that someone who claims to love you, can hurt you more deeply than any stranger ever could?  In the stunned silence the sobs subsided, I stopped fighting the hurt, and am not fighting to hold on anymore.  I felt my soul shudder like a child does after a bout of crying and looked inward.

I thought of Michelangelo’s words about his sculptures “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free” and I realized how profoundly true it was of this situation.  That day, I realized that there is indeed an angel trapped inside of me – in this humble block of marble there is more to me than you are seeing in front of you and she is screaming for release and to be acknowledged.  Michelangelo said that in each block of marble he could see the statue as plain as though it were standing before him.  All he had to do was liberate it from the rough marble walls imprisoning it so that he could reveal it to others.  What a wonderful man he must have been.  I so wish you could look deeper and see the angel in me.   Unacknowledged, pain can erode your soul from the inside out – like an incessant dripping wears away at the limestone to create a large vacuous cave inside.  It is from that cavernous hollow that the echo of despair and self-doubt becomes the background noise for every conscious moment.

Marble is an unforgiving medium – mistakes and damage cannot be undone except by changing the design.  A single blow made with the chisel angled incorrectly, can crack a block of marble. The same is true for a human spirit.  I am the marble – the primordial quantum soup of endless potential.  Just like the marble, I hold the form of every thought and as I intend or visualize, the angel in me is revealed.  I have heard her and now I am chipping away at the marble to free her.  I’m chipping away at the fear, worry, sadness, feelings of worthlessness, and unlovability so that the inner angel can emerge.

I realize that a very special person passed briefly through my life and that person was me.  I need to return to her.  I am only human and flawed but I am perfect as I am.  I have always endeavoured to be your most loyal friend, a caring person, someone you can count on, dependable, fun and loving.  I have always been a giver and have demanded little in return. But I realized, I have not been any of those things to myself.  I realize that I will need determination on this journey.  I have gathered my chisels and I have started chipping.  I have to stay on course, grip the wheel and keep at it.  

I will win this battle, one chip at a time and I will have cuts and bruises along the way.  I am not a master carver. I have been found wanting - rejected because the block of marble is substandard.  Isn’t it ironic though, that the block of marble Michelangelo used for the monumental David, was rejected by the quarry master as being flawed and unsuitable.  Michelangelo disagreed.  He took what others considered the consolation prize and discovered something truly beautiful because he was prepared to look deeper than the superficial reality. I only wish you would really SEE the wholeness of me.   

Perhaps someday, I will hear you say, “Sawubona” and I may or may not answer “Ngikhona”.  

I wish I were a Dandelion

I got a TomTom GPS as a gift a year ago.  I find it indispensible when driving in Sydney – especially in the city which seems to be a confounding maze at times.  Unfortunately, there is no magical GPS in life – there is no Google map or directions on the road to self-discovery and self-actualisation.  There are no directions which tell you which fork in the road will be more complicated down the line and which will be fraught with troubles and roadworks.  There is no way of knowing which road to take to reach your destination sooner and which ones will end in a cul-de-sac.    Too often, in the past I have found myself at extremely confusing intersections in my life or on an endless roundabout – going round and round in circles, uncertainly procrastinating, not knowing which exit to take when. 

Sometimes, a U-turn is necessary even in the face of oncoming traffic even if it goes against the grain completely.  At other times, a wrong turn or detour can lead to some new discoveries and life lessons which I would never have learnt if I hadn’t ventured there.  

There have been times in my life when the light has been RED –a brightly lit warning – and I have wanted to throw caution to the wind with reckless abandon and run the red light.  At other times, I have stood still at a green light because I was not ready to go or to move forward.  I have lost my way at times but I have had wonderful people in my life who have helped to light the beacons on my journey.  Some of those beacons will never be doused.

I have been mulling over this for a few weeks now – given that a new year seems to augur a new beginning with a hint of a promise of a new chapter in life.  I have been hesitant to write down anything on the blank page until I knew what I had to say lest I jinx it somehow.   I have taken time out from recent events to assess where I am right now – my internal GPS was searching for the satellite signal to find my co-ordinates.  I figured, once I know where I am, I can figure out where to go.    

Recent events and time has brought about a change in me.  I have altered course and done a U-turn to find my way back to my centre – the unembellished essence of who I am and what I am.  I am just a human being – a woman - flawed but one of a kind.  Irrespective of others’ expectations, I am who I am and I have to live my life by my own compass.  I am an idealist, sentimental and nostalgic at times.  I have seen a lot, felt a lot and bled a lot in the last year.  But I have taken measures to stop the bleeding and am trying to grow a thicker skin so that I don’t bruise so easily.  My trust is something to be earned but I do believe in compassion, forgiveness and kindness.  I will not let the world or individuals warp me bitter.

Reality can be an ugly concrete jungle at times. When a rainbow appeared after a storm recently, I concluded that reality is more like a hologram of consciousness which allows us to move through linear time and experience the full gamut of emotions in the hope of distilling our essence of being human.  I reckon life is to be lived in metaphorical terms.  The world around us is laced with metaphors to help us bridge the gap when our internal GPS fails.  When you think about it, we are all just sparks of light and energy spiralling our consciousness into a physical form to learn our karmic lessons before we return to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow in the alchemy of time.  The harvest of what we learn is in the intangibles – a little bit of stardust – a portion of the rainbow we have clutched in our hands along the way.

So what lies over the rainbow or at the top of my Jacob’s Ladder? Do dreams come true when you get to Oz (no pun intended)?  Rainbows are typically associated with redemption, hope and resilience.  I’m hoping that 2011 will be a rainbow year after the devastation of 2010.  For a long time I was walking in circles around the hole in the world which remained when he left and which I fell into it at night because I missed him so terribly.  But finding the rainbow requires looking up at the sky and not down at gaping abyss in the pavement.  It requires turning around and feeling the sun on your back.  The turning point was discovering the core of strength within that survives all hurt - that stump of life that remains when you cut everything away.

It means letting go.  It means that I don’t stop loving or caring but it means I can’t do it for someone else.  It means realising that I cannot control another and admit powerlessness.  I think it means trying to make the most of who I am and accepting that I must live my life by my own measure and not others’ expectations.  Letting go is not about fixing things but about being supportive.  I think it is about fearing less and loving more.  I don’t think it means shutting down but it means I stop trying to force outcomes and make people behave in certain ways.  It means releasing the resistance to the way things are, for the moment.  It means to stop trying to do the impossible – controlling that which I cannot and focusing on the possible – which means taking care of myself with gentleness, kindness and love.  I’m not sure, but this is what the needle on my compass seems to be saying.  It’s about bouncing back.  Like Dandelions.

In the most unwelcoming and harsh environments you will find Dandelions.  In the cracks of pavements in the city, in fissures in the tarmac on the side of the road, next to railroad tracks, a Dandelion thrives where most plants don’t have a prayer.  I think we should try to live with a Dandelion spirit. 

They flourish in acid or alkaline soil, sunny places or shade, dry slopes or damp crevasses.  It doesn’t seem to make a difference.  They thrive in the most adverse condidtions and can teach us a lot about persistence and survival.  There is a spirit of defiance in the Dandelion that I find endearing.  In the dreary grey concrete of a pavement the cheery yellow flower of a Dandelion sprouts out in defiance against all odds.  They are built to last.  They are also very grounded.  I hope I have a taproot as strong as that of a Dandelion so that I will be firmly grounded and not easily displaced.  It survives terrible winters and many determined gardeners alike. 

They also regenerate from their roots.  I hope I am able to when I have been cut back to almost nothing.  I hope that I will have roots like a Dandelion which will regenerate from scratch and grow anew. I hope that I have the resilience to come back and face the world with a bright sunshiny face after someone has run me over with a lawnmower or attacked me with the intention to destroy.  I hope I can stretch my roots deep enough so that the strongest poison cannot reach my soul. In a world of criticism and judgement, I would prefer to see the flower in me when another sees only the weeds.

In this world where uncertainty reigns supreme – Dandelions seem tentatively certain.  We can be assured that every year they will grow and thrive.  I hope that some day I will have the courage of Dandelions – to thrive on adversity and to nod cheerfully in the spring breeze with my roots firmly planted in the lawn that was sprayed with Dandelion destroyer the day before.  I hope to be more free spirited, brave, adventurous like they are.  I hope that I too can bring healing and comfort to loved ones as Dandelions spread their seed.  I pray that I will appreciate that the important moments in life are not on the calendar.  They arrive at the door of my memory unannounced like stray dogs that ambled in to sniff around and simply never leave.

When I thought about what letting go really means, the image of blowing a Dandelion puffball sprang to mind.  I remember how I used to love doing that as a child and I realise now how unwittingly I had spread Dandelions far and wide.  The seeds released are a letting go and of starting something new.  The letting go is a release without any care for where the seeds are heading and whether they will get a hospitable reception when they touch down. It is likely that many of these seeds will fall on hard unyielding ashphalt or concrete and will lie fallow for a long time.  The important thing is that eventually, when spring does arrive, every crack in the pavement will have a Dandelion smiling up at the sky.   I hope there is some of that Dandelion magic in me. 

So, when I find a Dandelion puff ball again, I will blow it and attach a loving thought and a wish to each seed plume.  I am not leaving you behind.  I’m taking a part of you with me and I trust that I am leaving a part of me behind that may grow in years to come.  Letting go, is another way of saying “I love you” without any expectations as I look up to the rainbow to see where my heart went to be healed.