An aside

Did you see what happened there? I went into the Karoo and the stories just tumbled out of me, are tumbling out of me. And I'm loving the writing, not having to force myself like I have been for the past few months, they're just there, pouring out, unstoppable.

I'm sitting in my lounge, in the House in the Middle of the Street, watching the sun set over the mountain and hearing so much city noise and missing the stillness of that place out there, under the huge sky, where the biggest noise is the hadedas coming home to roost in the evenings.

Across the road, through the gate, I have just watched a woman park her car on the pavement, get out, and place five tiny vases, each with a different, also tiny, bouquet of flowers in it, on a tray. The magic continues. The question is just how to keep it going...

A visit to church

It rained on Saturday night. A lashing, crashing, fighting storm of wind and water, throwing themselves at my window. It was the kind of night that you are really grateful to have a house and a warm bed to snuggle in, and a couple of DVDs to watch (please note, Four months, 3 weeks, 2 days, the Romanian film, while very good, is by no means a light-hearted little Saturday night movie.) The plan was for an early night and an early rise. To go to church.

Yes, I said it… to go to church. The last time I went to church, other than for weddings/christenings/funerals was, I think, in 1993, when I trundled off with my best friend K at university to see what the beautiful Catholic church looked like. It was more an architectural visit, than a spiritual one, I’m afraid.

My religious affiliations lie, well, all over the place. I’m not a believer of organised religion, although I do believe there’s something out there, bigger than us. I don’t believe that it is a judgemental presence spouting petty laws as I think are spouted in many religions by humans claiming to know these things (and here I generalise terribly, forgive me.) I do believe that church supplies a community which many people enjoy, and need. Other’s dont, and shouldn’t be chastised for that decision.

You get the idea, I don’t want this to turn into a sermon! Snigger. Back to Sunday. I decided to go to church (and the Afrikans, I thought conservative, type too) because G had said she’d like to go to the beautiful old church in her university town with an amazing organ in it and I asked if I could join her. Mainly to listen to the organ, but also to see what attracts her (and others) to it.

So off we set on a temperamentally-weathered morning. We left early, before the world woke. It was all washed clean and shiny and gorgeous, with rain interspersed with flashes of sunlight. We stopped on the way for a Wimpy burger and coffee (my favourite breakfast… sis!) and arrived early at the church. It had rained, a lot, on our way, but as we arrived, the rain stopped, allowing a comfortable, and dry little trip from car to church.

It was beautiful, with stained glass windows through which the sun shone (until there was another, HUGE, downpour) and the organ music filled me like a cup of warm tea. They sang. A lot. And the (lady!) minister delivered a very interesting sermon. And then the rain moved away so we could get dryly back to the car, and it was calm. That’s it, I think, there’s a sense of calm in the organised structure of it.

I had more to say, but the words aren’t forming. I think I’ll just think some more. I called my mother on the way home. She is a church-goer, of the Anglican persuasion. This was the conversation:

Shiny: Hi mum, I’ve just been to church with G.
Shiny’s Mum: What? Tell her she’s achieved the impossible. Didn’t you get rained on, it’s pouring?
Shiny: Nope, the rain stopped when we got out of the car, came back while we were in church, and stopped again when we came out.
SM: You see? God was looking after you.

Well, yes, quite. I’ve always believed the Bigger Presence is a generously kind being.

More weekend stories to come. It's not every weekend you watch an implosion!

SSIS - a dreaded lurgy

Help! It’s an Epidemic! Grab your face masks and run for the hills! Oh, wait, this one you cannot escape with a face mask. Well, I suppose you can, were you to run for the hills all alone and never see a sodding soul again. You see it’s an insidious disease, it creeps up, and bashes you on the back of your head, making those around you hurt all over, and it seems to be becoming more and more virulent. I am seeing it at work, at play, in the supermarket… pretty much anywhere humans hang out.

It seems to happen while the person is not paying attention. The first symptom is a complete lack of interest in anything around them. Only the ‘Me’ is of any interest. Or anything that directly affects the ‘Me’. Then the speech is affected. Sentences begin only with ‘I’ and any questions as to the wellbeing of anyone else disappear completely. This may result in severe pain in those around you to which you will be completely oblivious.

It is a disease we have all been afflicted with at some stage. I’ve had it on numerous occasions, a couple of times really severely but, luckily, seemed to have pulled through (although this, of course, is subjective). The more you’re exposed to it, the more immunity you develop (like any good epidemic), so you can avoid it next time it rears its (very ugly) head. One assumes also that, with age, people would suffer less from it, but, in my experience, this doesn’t seem to happen. Unfortunately.

This disease, which strangley has not yet been WHO classified is called SSIS, or Serious Self Involvement Syndrome. Not to be confused with GowL (Getting on with Life) and TCoM (Taking Care of Me), both of which are NOT diseases but vital functions of life, and are completely mutually exclusive of SSIS. SSIS on it’s own is just, plain, dangerous.

Oh dear, this sounds bitter and twisted. This is not at all like me. I normally have such faith in humankind. It’s not meant to be bitter and twisted, rather just an observation of society as I’m seeing it. I blame Self Help Books partly, and the rest, well I guess it’s just Ego that’s to blame, and the society we live in. And I am, by no means, excluding myself from this dreaded lurgy. As I said, I’ve suffered from it too and, no doubt, will again.

I guess this is just a way of me making sure I pay attention and not become that which I find so hurtful. You see, that’s the thing, when exposed, one becomes extremely susceptible to the disease and it seems like the best option to react to an SSIS-sufferer by just breathing it in and becoming one too. This, obviously, is no good. Thus the need for figurative ‘face masks’, otherwise known as Paying Attention. It’s the only vaccine. And cure, for that matter. I'm going to go get me some large doses of it.

It was a long weekend of much reflection. That’s pretty obvious though, isn’t it?