As I was driving around our little town yesterday, I was visually assaulted, yet again, by the screaming headlines of newspapers.
MAN STABS NAKED WOMAN
TODDLER BEAT UP - FATHER ARRESTED
AND: A week ago, the corpse of a naked and bound woman was discovered stuck in a tree- she was also impaled on a branch that stuck through her throat. This woman's corpse was up in this tree for at least two weeks and no-one saw it.
I pondered on all this horror, trying to imagine the events that lead up to the various assaults and murder and I didn't know what to think. I wanted to know how this happened, what was the story?
What happens inside you to be able to resort to this cruelty?
Why in God's name do you have children if you clearly don't like them?
Was the naked woman asleep when she was stabbed?
Who killed the lady in the tree? Why??? How many helped to get her up the tree? Why????????
The thought struck me that the perpetrators of these heinous crimes actually live in the same town as me- have I passed these people in the street? Maybe even spoken to them?
I experienced such feelings of hopelesness and a wave of futility hit me - What is the point??
And this is it- The original meaning of the word 'sin' is to miss the point. It makes sense doesn't it?
Once you understand this concept the rest becomes much easier. We are here only to create love around us, and to infect as many people as we can with this love.
Nothing else makes sense to me, and the more you spread it, the more it grows and produces such beautiful results.
God's love is everywhere and free to share with all, it heals, it motivates, it gives answers, it empowers you to such an extent that you find the courage to let go of all that is negative and cruel in yourself.
We have no option but to let go of all the baggage and to move forward - bitterness is so unbecoming!!(and so destructive)
I want to live my life to its fullest, and I want to spread as much love as I possibly can to whoever wants to receive it.
A little boy came to me yesterday, as I was stuck in the time-warp of all this horror. He looked up with a big smile and said: "Mam, you haven't hugged me to-day"
If only this child knew how he blessed me, how I needed that hug, how we all need it.
Is that what went wrong in the lives of the tortured people that caused so much pain to others?
Did they have no love at all? Why not??????
Tuesday 28 February 2012
Tuesday 7 February 2012
Yara's Blues - Richard Bona
I find myself in a state of suspension - a kind of limbo if you will. Try as I might I can't seem to make sense of most things around me. I have long suspected that most people belong to a club with certain rules that I have not been privvy too. This is becoming apparent to me daily, and yet I don't feel excluded, more relieved that I was not invited, as I simply can't live within the confinements of subversive behaviour and codes of (mis)conduct.
The only way I can explain my feelings of displacement is to use the word 'weldschmertz' - a beautiful word in German that describes the grief for the world that grips your heart. I have often experienced it, but this time it doesn't want to leave me at all. Am I obsessed with suffering? I don't know, maybe, but I do know that I am nonplussed at general human behaviour, mine included. Daily one hears, reads, sees the results of people's 'love' for each other. Calling it a 'crime of passion' sounds quite exotic and exiting, it isn't. Its more often than not horrendous, leading to damage and executed with chilling precision. Whether physical or mental cruelty, its all the same to me and I wish only not to be involved with it.
I refuse to live in a state of suspicion and distrust, I have been blessed with really wonderful people in my life, so I don't walk around suspecting all attention as cunningly disguised foul play.
When I was 13 and stuck in a dreadfull hostel - far away from my country and parents, I used to lie on my unsympathetic hostel issue, torture device that was called a bed, my earphones plugged into my illegal radio and listened to music. Between praying to God to release me from this hell and listening to my beloved radio, I managed to survive. God did release me, and music ( and books and words) are still my answer to everything that ails me. I will never forget the hormonal teenage-angst I went through when 'Nazareth' released their gravelly, wailing and pulsing rock song 'Love Hurts' I was delirious with pain and suffering and cried bitterly into my pillow and promised myself that one day a guitar slinging rocker on a huge bike will stop in front of this ghastly place and pull me onto his machine.
Hair streaming in the wind I would hold on tight as we sped away to a crazy soundtrack yeah!! Remember 'Born to be wild'? aah that was me! Of course I would be the drummer, I played drums at school and I still do and I still think I rock!! Yes, it still is stunning to sing in front of the mirror and play air guitar or hit the tables in my artroom to rythms only I can hear....
So, here I am, still going through pain, still crying in the pillow, still blasting the house with music, and all I know is that I will never give up on the basic goodness that I believe is inherent in people. That once I love you I can't stop and I don't want to. A heart full of pain carries a burden of anger, and I don't want that, - it makes me look older and I run the risk of becoming bitter. I might stop caring then, and that would be the end for me.
In the words of the great godess, Aretha Franklin and the uber-sexy and talented George Benson- I give you the best advice I can (that is, if you needed some!) LOVE ALL THE HURT AWAY!!!
The same God that released me from that hostel-jail, has given us the Gift of Love - He didn't say how and when it will come, but relish in it I will. (Is it coincidence that I now live in a Hostel? Don't think so!!)
So the heart is gripped and squeezed and the music plays on, and just when you think you can't stand it anymore a stranger comes along, and says Hi there! and there I go, holding on for dear life again.... stand by the paramedics, but ride I will!!
Spread the love*****
The only way I can explain my feelings of displacement is to use the word 'weldschmertz' - a beautiful word in German that describes the grief for the world that grips your heart. I have often experienced it, but this time it doesn't want to leave me at all. Am I obsessed with suffering? I don't know, maybe, but I do know that I am nonplussed at general human behaviour, mine included. Daily one hears, reads, sees the results of people's 'love' for each other. Calling it a 'crime of passion' sounds quite exotic and exiting, it isn't. Its more often than not horrendous, leading to damage and executed with chilling precision. Whether physical or mental cruelty, its all the same to me and I wish only not to be involved with it.
I refuse to live in a state of suspicion and distrust, I have been blessed with really wonderful people in my life, so I don't walk around suspecting all attention as cunningly disguised foul play.
When I was 13 and stuck in a dreadfull hostel - far away from my country and parents, I used to lie on my unsympathetic hostel issue, torture device that was called a bed, my earphones plugged into my illegal radio and listened to music. Between praying to God to release me from this hell and listening to my beloved radio, I managed to survive. God did release me, and music ( and books and words) are still my answer to everything that ails me. I will never forget the hormonal teenage-angst I went through when 'Nazareth' released their gravelly, wailing and pulsing rock song 'Love Hurts' I was delirious with pain and suffering and cried bitterly into my pillow and promised myself that one day a guitar slinging rocker on a huge bike will stop in front of this ghastly place and pull me onto his machine.
Hair streaming in the wind I would hold on tight as we sped away to a crazy soundtrack yeah!! Remember 'Born to be wild'? aah that was me! Of course I would be the drummer, I played drums at school and I still do and I still think I rock!! Yes, it still is stunning to sing in front of the mirror and play air guitar or hit the tables in my artroom to rythms only I can hear....
So, here I am, still going through pain, still crying in the pillow, still blasting the house with music, and all I know is that I will never give up on the basic goodness that I believe is inherent in people. That once I love you I can't stop and I don't want to. A heart full of pain carries a burden of anger, and I don't want that, - it makes me look older and I run the risk of becoming bitter. I might stop caring then, and that would be the end for me.
In the words of the great godess, Aretha Franklin and the uber-sexy and talented George Benson- I give you the best advice I can (that is, if you needed some!) LOVE ALL THE HURT AWAY!!!
The same God that released me from that hostel-jail, has given us the Gift of Love - He didn't say how and when it will come, but relish in it I will. (Is it coincidence that I now live in a Hostel? Don't think so!!)
So the heart is gripped and squeezed and the music plays on, and just when you think you can't stand it anymore a stranger comes along, and says Hi there! and there I go, holding on for dear life again.... stand by the paramedics, but ride I will!!
Spread the love*****
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