Faith speak

A blog that is essentially about recovery and starting over. Inputting this on a still cold winter afternoon in the Overberg, fierce and dazzling sunshine in the garden but not hot enough to dispel the chill, the sound of patriotic anthems from the livingroom TV where the Springboks are playing the Wallabies in the TriNations.

I have been sitting outside in the sun drinking pomegranate grenadine and soda and reading a study on pre-historic rock art in Zimbabwe, the shamanistic trances shown in out-of-body experiences, with eland and elephants superimposed like ghosts, the balancing rocks of granite, the overhangs and caves. Ochre, dark raw crushed oxides, white clay, plant dyes. The house of stone, the world of my childhood, another kind of magic. Land of exposed granite domes and kopjes, baobabs, flame trees, maize fields, brown rivers streaming like consciousness itself across the belly of Africa.