Wednesday, November 18, 2009

AARRGGHHH MOMENTS




AN ARRGGHHH moment is when...

I realised that the majority of my time is spent feeling caged at work.
I dont live for work but work to live.
Work is not my passion but rather my enslavement to paying off debt.
I am clocked by the hour, paid, owned between 9am and 5pm, accountable and bored.
It is sad to think most of my days are filled with mundanity waiting for when I am free to leave.
Yes, I am the product of a monetary system where we are forced to use paper - with no instrinsic value - to pay our way through this world.
Imagine a world where we were not paid for the jobs we do. Where we could do what we love doing and instead of payment, we would receive food from the growers who love to grow fruit and vegetables. We would put our children in schools with teachers who love children. We would not need bankers, actuaries, advertising or any tasks that do not create something. Craftsman would be rewarded, artisans would flourish, musicians would sing, and dancers would fly. Because instead of the need for more money driving this world - the need to express the beauty of humanity will come to the fore.
A world most people cannot imagine - because people need to be controlled, enslaved and forced to work. Because if given a choice - and if money wasn't driving us then we would be lazy, no gooders looking for a free ride. We cannot and will not believe in a world where work does not exist.
Where if you turn the word "WORK" into "PASSION" or "PURPOSE" then why would we need to get paid.
Where if you turn the word "BUY" and "MONEY" into "ABUNDANCE" and "BARTERING" why would we need to be dependant on a system that is imprisonment for the soul.
IT is a world I long for..
And that is the reason for the ARRRGGGHHHH moments
When I wake up and it is not even a possiblity.

Friday, November 13, 2009

REBIRTH WITH THE BIRTH OF ZIA



The day I discovered I was pregnant was the day my life eternally shifted.
It was September 2007 and I had been married for only four months. Being pregnant was not a possibility for me having been told that my eggs in my ovaries were disintergrating from two gynaecologists. So obviously the pregnancy was not planned. So this was a miracle. A gift. A soul who chose me to be her mother. Shew what a huge honour but incomprehensible at the time.

But since that day - the thought - process and experience of being pregnant and ultimately giving birth to my daughter Zia, has been about one journey and one lesson only: SELF LOVE.
Shew what a tough one that is - because you truly know at a deep core of you, beyond your conscious effort that unless you LOVE YOURSELF enough - you cannot have this baby. You cannot bring up a child who is whole and LOVED unless you love yourself enough to say: I AM WORTHY OF THIS BABY.
It was a ride. Filled with lots of anxiousness, fear, exhiliration, self doubt and excitement. But finally giving birth was like dying to myself. I had to allow all my fear to die. I had to make sure all my self worth issues and my failures and insecurities was killed. The birthing process is not like anything a woman will ever experience in her life. It is more than just pushing out a baby.

It is being humbled by the amazing Creator we have to allow us to grow another human being inside of us. To feel her grow and turn and move. To know from the day of conception that she relies exclusively on me as the mother - for her survival.
So if you dont love yourself enough to look after yourself - then you dont look after that baby inside of you.
Never before did I experience being so alienated from my body. It had a will of its own. It wants and needs was beyond my efforts to deny it.
But the fear that enveloped me when I thought of giving birth - physically - crippled me.
Days before the day - i was on tenterhooks not knowing what to expect. And having no option of an epidural I knew this was probably the worst pain i would feel.
Would I beable to bear it. Would I beable to keep my dignity. Would I let myself and the baby down. It was all chasing through my head.

When i finally went into labour at 6pm on 22 April 2008 my worst fears came true. The pain was unbearable. I had developed a bladder infection that made the dialation of 2cm feel like 10 cm. I was in agony from the word go and this lasted until 7h30am the following morning.
It was a pain that came and went. The pain of LIFE itself. Giving me brief glimpses of hope. I walked, sat in a bath, laid down, turned, twisted, hung on, spoke, was silent, breathed, prayed, meditated, breathed, twisted, walked, stood up, sat down, back in the bath, out, worried, begged for drugs, waited for drugs, cried but never screamt.
The dignity was in not letting go. In my mind being a primal woman was losing my dignity and i refused to give into the urge of letting go. Screaming like a banshee....worried what my loved one would think. That I would be embarrassing generations of women before me who gave birth under the trees nogal.

So i kept it in.
While my husband slept on the bed supplied for my convenience in the birthing room. Ok he woke up half hour later.

Until finally at 7am I was told its time. I was 10cm dilated and i could finally push.
BUT NO ONE EVER TELLS YOU THAT PUSHING IS HARD.

That unless you push through - the baby in the canal is like a suction. You push and if you dont push hard enough - it gets sucked back up. So there I was squatting and being told to push - NO LADIES - NOT DIGNIFIED. Dont push with your neck with your torsoe. Which at the time is a distorted, gynormous orb between you and the floor. Errhh so I missed lamaze class. But still its not natural phenomenon with the baby miraculously popping out. No its hard.
Its primal and then its when the screams come. Loud and intense. It rips through you like a contraction of a jaggered knife ripping through your pelvis.
Its like nothing on earth you can ever experience unless you going to be killed and you happen to be eaten by a great white shark.
Its insane. Its exhiliration, Its adrenalin, Its LIFE. Raw, hard, intense and passionate. Its what the word means: BIRTH: the act or process of bearing or bringing forth a human being. ITS THE ACT OF LIFE.

I had no idea I finally pushed Zia out of me - accept for seeing my husband's face. White with shock and awe. In that moment I released. All the pain, suffering, negative emotions of my life in one fell swoop.
Letting it go. Screaming but happy that my baby has been born screaming and fighting for that breath that would give her LIFE.

Seeing Zia for the first time was the most natural, and deep connection I have ever felt with another human. I knew her. From before time from another time. From Life itself. She was with me again as promised. She was here.
This is LIFE, my LIFE, my child, my Zia, my WORLD, my reflection, My journey. SHE IS WORTH the pain. A small price for the eternal gift she is.
I would never go back and take the epidural. Because the birth was my workshop. It was my process of LIFE. It allowed me to face LIFE and BE ALIVE.

MY REBIRTH!!!

Thursday, November 12, 2009

POEM OF LOST LOVE BY PABLO NERUDA




Tonight I Can Write by Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through the nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

THE LIGHT CATCHER





You made the headlines- no you didn’t shoot it.
You even got the breaking story… not knowing it.
You were on the radio…not there to hear it.
The headlines read:
The light capturer left, passed away, dead.

The news broke
And you were gone
Just like that …in a heart beat..
Hung from your living room…
Rope around your neck, strangled to death without a breath…
You were dead, passed away and gone but never forgotten.

Rage, rage strangled red and raw
I screamed, angered at how you saw
The only path
Led to this pathetic and violent end
Distinguished the magnificent flame of you
Just over some misguided feelings of what you could not mend...

So now what remains?
Is your remains…
Sprinkled across the ocean
As vast as this confused empty emotion…
Anger, sadness, regret and finally some relief
Of Acceptance... Of Love...Of hope..
Of seeing you swimming, free, happy and whole..


Leaving only the perfect postcard pictures…
Of light you captured
of laughter and moments gone by..

And all we have is the wonder
Of beautiful perfect postcard pictures
That you captured
The light of
Times with you gone by…

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

MY FIRST TIME


This is a first for me...
The first time I am blogging.
The first time I am connected.
The first time I am free to be me.

Today I gave in. To the idea that blogging is for me. That I can write something worth reading that is my truth without wondering who will read this or what it will reveal. To just be FREE to write. Write about my life for me. And if no one reads this or the whole world read this - it is for ME. Not for them. Not for approval or comment or connection. Just a place to call my own. A space created of my own. My own place. My own space in this life where nothing is alone. And no one is sacred and everything is shared.

So this is my space. And I celebrate my freedom........


Freedom
It is fitting to think about this concept as it has dodged me most of my life. Born into a muslim conservative family as a so called "coloured" person under apartheid - the idea of freedom is ludicrous. Ludicrous to think that women ever feel free even without these constraints. But in my case - free from identity as a teenager and then now as an adult free from my humanness. To be free from feeling unworthy and free from addiction to rejection. To feel freedom to receive love without fear of it leaving. To be free to LOVE regardless of it being right or wrong. To Love freely and eternally.
But mostly Freedom has manifested in a beautiful precious courageous soul called Zia. Who has come to teach me - about what it means to love freely.
To be LOVED so much and adored so much - is to be free of the FEAR that something will happen to this most amazing soul and I may not be able to take care of her.
TO BE FREE TO BE A MOTHER....THAT IS PURE FREEDOM