This has been a difficult week. The moon rounding to fullness and a lower backache and belly ache contradicting the quiet dryness of menopause. Conflict at work, handled honestly enough but when i listen I can hear the roaring of wounded ego.
My father, that dimly recalled, tyrannous and scarcely forgiven presence on the margins of my conscious life, ill with a heart condition in Zimbabwe. Alone and refusing to leave the country despite his Brit passport, living with his cook up in the pine forests and waterfalls of the Eastern Highlands of the Pungwe. Elderly, frail, embattled. The anguish within me.
Impatience and tiredness, moods going helter-skelter. Centred in the Fellowship and the habit of surrender, that grudging but grateful handing over anew each day. I can’t do this alone. To let myself be held and to hold steady. I have numbers to call, there are friends, there is trust in the darker times and the Power moving within, the body that perhaps needs more attention. My body is the physical life of soul.
Later I shall go out to the lovely Hemel ‘n Aarde valley near Hermanus, driving along country lanes past green vines and olive groves and have lunchat Moggs Country Kitchen: asparagus, baby beetroot, waterblommetjies, wild mushrooms. Then to Walker Bay to watch the Southern Right whales that come into the bay to calve. My somewhat crushed spirits lifting at the prospect.
The heart of life, the suffering, the joy of it — the life beyond but including mere self. Opening my eyes this morning to a new lemon zester and nutmeg grater, very designer-chic. Hugs, kisses and flowers. Friends coming round to see me, a call from Shauna in Cape Town. Damn this mood, this tricky painful menopause — just for today I am there for others, all those who wish me well. And grateful for another glorious day of sobriety.