Sharing truths under the Ponderosa

I finally got around to answering Jennifer from under the ponderosas's excelent questions. It did impact my essay on English as a global language ever so slightly but it I had fun which is more important.

So many of your photos include your dog, I'm curious about him. What's your favorite thing to do with him?

There are actually three dogs. :) The slightly smaller greyish one at the back is Fey, the mother and the other two are her nine month old puppies. The big male, with his head in the air is called Arjun and the slightly orange coloured female in the front is called Shanti.

My favourite thing to do with them is to go for a run into an open space where they have never been before. The get very exited, leaping up into the air and landing where they hope their prey might still be lurking. Their noses go up, they sniff the breeze and their faces light up with huge doggy smiles.

I love your house. I try to imagine what it's like to live in. Does it feel earthen, like a cave or a den? What does it smell like? Is it light & airy inside or does it stay dark?

At the moment it is still quite light inside because we had to pull down our first attempt at a roof. The feeling inside is magical. Imagine being surrounded by double storey walls made out of earth. They smell like earth, feel sandy against your cheek and they radiate a slight coolness. The thickness of the walls buffers most sounds so it is very quite inside.

What's your favorite time of day?

The moment just before the sun goes down. The birds hold their breath and then everything turns to gold.

Tell me something about ordinary, day-to-day life in S.A. (I know almost nothing!) -- maybe tell me about the grocery store or about riding the bus or walking around the school campus...

Driving to work in the morning I see a duck flying over the highway. A mini-bus filled with passenger fly past me on the left and swerves into the middle lane barely missing a car hurriedly pulling out of the way of a BMW approaching with flashing lights on my right. Both cars are ignored by the traffic cops, leaning against their orange, blue and white patrol cars, pulling older vehicles over and hinting that bribes are cheaper than fines.

Waiting at the traffic lights I spot an advertisement, fastened to a lamp post. It reads: “You are now entering a crime free neighbourhood.” A few meters down the road a four metre high blow up doll with the message “KEEP THEM OUT” is used to advertise security systems. He is wearing a striped jersey, a mask and a voracious grin. In his one hand he holds a blow-up knife twice the size of his hand. In the other hand an even bigger gun. Behind him a strip club billboard shows the crossed legs of a woman and a message that reads “Teazers – now open for business”.

I drive in and out of several neighbourhoods on my way to work. Our neighbourhood is an agricultural holding with horses, trees and the occasional owl. I cross the highway and drive through Alexandra a township where thousands of people live in small corrugated iron shacks or low income housing. I notice goats sniffling at the trash, a father in earnest conversation with the small schoolboy whose hand he is holding, a beautiful young woman immaculately dressed walking to work and a half dressed women washing her upper body using a bucket. Some people walk to work, some catch mini-bus taxis and some drive expensive cars.

I drive into a middle class suburb with hardly a person in sight. Broad pavements are covered in green lawn and trees peep over high fences. On an aerial photograph Johannesburg shows up as one of the biggest man made forests in the world. I turn onto another highway and slam on the brakes as traffic crawls to a standstill. Flickering blue lights announces the reason, an overturned minibus taxi.

Taking the earliest possible off-ramp I now drive through an upper-class suburb. Hired security guards stand on every corner. Houses and expensive townhouse complexes with ridiculous names like Sea-view (I kid you not and no, there is no ocean in Joburg) are glimpsed through expensive ornate gates. The radio news informs me that someone is holding up a radio station in Pretoria to protest against crime.

I pass the Nelson Mandela foundation and several other luxury office complexes and turn into our office park. I wave in the direction of the person who opens the gate. I cannot see him because of the tinted glass he sits behind.

Walking into the foyer of our building, owned by a female black empowerment investment company I am confronted by two paintings. The one shows a black girl wearing a head kerchief, smiling shyly and the other a grim, rough looking older white man. Both paintings have the words “Whites only” stencilled across the bottom.

I could write far more about the contrasts found living in South Africa. The guilt of driving a car when so many have to walk to work in the rain or buying groceries from women who work up to 12 hours shifts earning little money and respect; the powerlessness when reading about escalating crime, intolerance and corrupt powers; the wonder of hearing many languages spoken at the university campus and getting glimpses into the cultures and opinions of my classmates formed by lives so different from my own.

Writing this there is voice in my mind criticising what I’m writing. I represent only my view of living in this country. The outlook of a middle class white woman brought up in a time of apartheid. My voice can not adequately describe living in this country. I do not speak an African language. My life is often isolated from the suffering surrounding me.

But I am here now. I cannot change my history. I can however keep an open mind and heart in order to change the future. I can refuse to turn my back on injustice mumbling that there is nothing I can do to change these things. I can acknowledge that I need to change and investigate ways of doing so. I can cultivate having respect for other people, their histories and the way these histories influence their choices. And I can hope and dream of a future enriched by our differences and a better understanding of our pasts.

Lastly: what's your favorite joke?

The Zen master steps up to the hot dog cart and says: "Make me one with everything."

The hot dog vendor fixes a hot dog and hands it to the Zen master, who pays with a hundred rand bill.

The hot dog vendor puts the bill in the cash drawer and closes the drawer.

"Where's my change?" asks the Zen master.

The hot dog vendor responds: "Change must come from within."

Ps - some good news. My company has agreed to let me work only three days a week. Yippee!

I am sitting here at three twenty in the morning having oats because I am too hungry to sleep. My dogs have sneaked into the bedroom and Arjun is snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

My brother is visiting from San Francisco which is why I have been absent, not only from my blog but also from my studies. So now I'm laying awake worrying about everything and a little bit more. (Don't tell anyone but sometimes I feel like shouting bugger off until everything and everyone goes away and I can slip into a hole in the ground where I will curl up into a small ball until all responsibilities get sucked up into the stars and I can step into an early morning fresh with new possibilities)

Reading your blogs in the early morning hours helped sanity return. Especially this post by LittlePea. It is good to know you are all out there living your lives and fighting your own battles. Your courage when showing up on your blogs gives me the courage to take a deep breath and say: "I can do this."

I'm still working on my interview questions. It has just been a crazy week.

But since early mornings are a great time for confessions I would like to answer this question left in my comments by bazl .

Are you this calm and placid? Or do you consciously create this calmness in your artistic expressions?
The calmness is definitely a conscious creation. I write to remind myself of the beauty in life and calm my heart.

I am known to have occasional fits of rage. I get irritated and impatient when things don't go my way and I can be very bossy when my "control issues" get the better of me. The busier I get the more I want people and things to jump when I snap my fingers and I can cry like a spoiled little girl when they refuse to.

Confession time is over. I'm sneaking back into to bed. Sigh. I hope Arjun has stopped snoring.

Flutter Truths

Thank you Flutter. Your questions are wonderful.

1.The name of your blog is Truth Cycles. What insights can you give into the meaning of this and how it applies to your life and writing?

Truth, for me, operates on many different levels. What is true today might not be true tomorrow. Today I feel like a strong powerful warrior, tomorrow I worry about loosing focus. The day after I don’t care, my entire being is focused on hiding away.


Some days I remember to let go of all self judgement. I curiously observe the ebbs and flows of energy taking the leap into chemicals through my synapses and back again. Some days I don't. Sometimes I go for a run and the wind sweeps me up into the leaves where it dances their sound into and through me.

Certain truths I can only ever discover by forgetting. There is a special kind of self love, that I discover when I run out of reasons, that leaves me vulnerable and open to affection and hope.


2. Through your gorgeous photos, we have all fallen in love with your dogs. What place do they have in your life and if they could speak one sentence, what do you think they would say?


My dogs keep me sane. They remind me to play. They love me. Their furs are soft, they are huggable and they love to have their stomach scratched. They completely emerge themselves into moments of elation. They can run extremely fast. Fey can run up to fifty kilometres an hour. Watching them I get caught up in their joyfulness.

They also ground me. Running away is no longer an option. Travelling ligh is difficult when accompanied by three dogs, a reluctant boyfriend, a very large dog basket, a huge bag of food and lots of bones.

The one question they would most definitely ask me:
“Why do you spent your days sitting in one spot and staring into that small box? Are you done yet? Look how gorgeous we are, can we go for a run now? Now! “


3. Your poetry is breathtaking. What inspires you most, to write?

Blush, thank you.

What inspires me are the truths gained from understanding me, my dreams and my surroundings. I burrow deeply into myself trying to recognize what I am feeling.

At times I am struck by a moment’s beauty. Knowing that I have a blog to recreate and share this beauty on makes me look closer. I stare and listen, waiting for a metaphor to appear so that I can catch it and release it later to run over the page and into my writing. And when I watch it dance a second time I get caught up into the magic again.

And sometimes I want to share just to get a wow that is beautiful .


4. If you could choose one thing to change, in your life, what would it be and how would it change the way you live?

I would change my job. Into one where I can research fields that interest me. Where I am not merely bartering my time and skills for money but am supported in my search for meaning. Where I can add value. As I gain understanding I will grow a subtler awareness of myself, other people and my world.


My job will leave me more time for studying, writing, painting, taking photos, cooking, travelling, playing with my dogs and being me.

And I will have time to blog every day :)

5. Define beauty as it applies to you.

Beauty is recognition.

Karmic Truths

I said to Florian:

In my next life I want to come back

As one of my wolves.

He said:

Maybe you already have...

It has been a busy week. I finished my essay at quarter past one Tuesday morning only to be rewarded with two more essays Tuesday evening and an essay and test date Wednesday evening.

Tomorrow I will finally have the time to answer the most awesome interview questions from Flutter

and as soon as I am able to I will answer more amazingly interesting questions from Jen B. under the ponderosas , Jill NotSoSage and Kristen sticking to the Point.

(I would have like to answer Jen's One plus two questions, but she was refusing to ask any. (Something to do with being an attention [insert word that will attract the wrong google searchers])


Reading their questions was wild and I am so looking forward to answering them.

Searching for truth

I go outside to take pictures. Winter is shaking out her quilt made up of browns, blues, rustling leaves and grass smelling of early morning dew. Colours lean into and tumble over each other.

We go for a run. The light slowly fades into evening blue. One of the neighbours installed a bright search light. They have been robbed four times and last year one of their sons was shot. As I near the light the crickets grow silent. My shadow jumps up behind me, next to me and then ahead of me. I turn the corner and the darkness enfolds us.

I am no longer able to ignore the poverty around me, people robbed of their futures by greedy, power hungry governments and businesses. They work at petrol stations, building sites and supermarkets, as security guards and road workers.

My mind says you can’t change things, giving up your life won’t give them back theirs. My heart recognizes my fear but knows that I have to act. My mind knows a thousand excuses. My heart says no more.

My head is right. Sacrificing my dreams without clear direction won’t solve a thing. My heart is right. I have to act.

Together they need to come up with a plan.

I need to believe that another future is possible.

As Mmatshilo Motsei writes so poignantly in her book - hearing visions, seeing voices:

“Incorrigible dreamer that I am, for a moment I pretend that I live in a different South Africa – a South Africa where all African mothers are well fed both physically and spiritually, able to produce enough milk for their babies. I pretend that South Africa is a country where you would never see groups of shattered African men waiting along the road for a white man to pick them up in his truck to offer them a job, and thereby a sense of purpose. Setlhare sa mosotho ke lekgoa – a lie that we no longer utter, but continue to live. I yearn for an Africa where no mother, her baby on her back waits at the gate of a construction site in bad weather for a man who has never laid eyes on his child. I wish and pray for a continent full of parents who love themselves enough to love and care for their children. Loving oneself enough gives strength to nurture others”

I no longer want to feel ashamed to be white in a country where we close our eyes to what our minds try and talk our hearts out of feeling. I can do with less so that others can have more.

I want to be part of a solution, of a future where everyone can fulfil their dreams. Where we can heal and learn from each other. Where we can be proud of whom we are because our actions support our hearts. Not our fears.

I don't know what the right thing is to do or where to start but I pray for the strength and insight to recognise and follow the right choices wherever they may lead me.

More poetry

I am feeling a bit flat and energy-less. A little bit sad and discouraged.
But deep inside a small flicker of hope keeps burning. It knows everything is going to be ok.

Thank you for the beautiful comments to my last post. Knowing you are out there makes my little flicker hop a happy jig into the corners of my heart, setting sparks flying. Smoke rise up and dance across my mind's eye waltzing your stories.



"As each star differs in brightness,
so do the children of man
yet each serves his purpose
and each is entitled to an opportunity
to achieve his full potential,
to adjust to his environment,
to grow physically, emotionally, socially,
intelectually and spiritually."
Morray 1979