To all back home
Hello
Christmas in March sped by
An Arab picturesque Thai final diner… now come, and been and gone
A tourist tour, many sights and many diners and some conversations, some, with friend meetings interspersed. Some wine, a mountain climb, lizzy around the bends of Cape Town, a connection in district 6, strumming Bob with bright eyes, entrepreneurial endeavors of old age friends, house purchase and the rooting and re-routing of a sister reformed and on the firm etched path of stability. The family dynamic, the scripted role, the patterns to play and to fulfill your cue, fulfill your cue. To converse without childhood branded striped printed brandmarks. A smile in the mooned night, a laugh with the wine. Shake shake shimmer on a cold cement stoep, to try and change and the sameness of it all – yes the sameness, both a comfort and both a cutting thread.
Now upon the return: Renewed vigour for full exuberant joie de vivre.. Promised hopes of good routines, morning waking, sunrise gazing, daily practice daily practice daily practice for the advancement and betterment.. The daily practice to not materialse. As corporate lies devour, laziness sours your energy and placates the joie dissolves the de and stagnates the vivre until it’s a bitter routine of aches and pains and morning groans. When sleep become the best part of a day you wonder --- yes you wonder!
So its been now 3 weeks of monkey hammering - already sped by a fast forward jog. Interspersed with sophisticated and tormentual household domestication and duties on To Do lists and lists and lists and lists to be ticked. Always to be ticked off and off and off we go.
The shopping list of To Do’s, which are destined never to be done. An Ikea home DIY build , a Hernia consultation, a Yogic philosophy understanding , doors branched open, candles flickering brighter, a Sanscirpt class, ayervedic medicine. charlatan or awakening, the swindler or the guider, a black corrupt cancer praying on the hopes or enlightened soul reborn to show us how to grow>? The wonder and intuitive soul.
The Recount of 3 weeks gone by.
Guitar by the wayside
Reading by the road
Poetry in the trenchole
Excel at the forefront
Reporting is gung ho,
documentating banalities called to attention and
,a corporate smong geling greaseball.
And so is the heat. An average peach of 33 degrees at 10 PM. Cousin Juls watch out – its gonna be biting when you arrive.
But there is also hope, new discoveries: Timothy Leary, guitar tricks , Sidartha and the river Herman Hesse and the Ferryman. There was a Howl by Allen Ginsberg, the union flux of skating, the embodiment of one to a complete absence of thought. Its the flowrider. Theres the ever hopeful pursuits , a light shimmering in the dark of the fulfillment to be found in a consulting job, the Masdar positions, and the online trader dream . It just there but not to actioned. Just there as the carrot for my donkey mind, to keep the spin spinning round . And then the ever comfort of a strumming guitar at 12pm warding off the dreaming of sleep – the lost thoughtlessness of a howl in the night over the drum drum drum of a strum. Good night Chrissie