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Het `n besige tyd beleef die afgelope maand. Waar ander ouens pub crawling doen vir pret en plesier, doen ons mos spreekkamer en hospitaal besoeke vir ontspanning, kan jy maar sê. Beide tydverdrywe is ewe riskant, maar elkeen het ook sy eie voordele. Na `n hewige drinksessie vergeet jy vir `n wyle van jou probleme en ontspan jy effens, dis immers waarom in die kroeg is. By die hospitaal werk dit ook so, as jy daar uitloop met al die stapel x-strale, scans en bloedtoetse onder die blad en die dokter het jou gesond verklaar, dan ontspan jy ook so effens, maar nie te veel nie want jy weet, net soos die drinker se onafwendbare hoofpyn wat soos klokslag toeslaan, net so gaan die stapel rekenings ook opdaag en eis om betaal te word. Die lewe werk so; daar is nie pret sonder pyn nie.
Die drinker se voordeel is dat sy tydelike gevoel van vrede in die kroeg hom aansienlik minder kos as die gemoedsrus wat jou R150,000+ se stapel doktersverslae jou kos.
Uiteindelik verskil die twee tydverdrywe nie veel van mekaar nie. By die kroeg kan jy in `n geveg betrokke raak wat jou in die hospitaal kan laat opeindig, terwyl die dokter en hospitaal se rekeninge jou weer in die kroeg kan laat beland.
Die ding van die crawling spree (as ons in Amerika was kon mens dit seker die Obama Care Crawling genoem het, en in Engeland sou dit die NHS-crawling kon wees. Hier by ons is dit die Zuma-does not-care crawling?) kom so: Ons vat my erge pyn dokter toe, en dit werk weer amper soos daardie musical chair speletjie behalwe dat jy sonder musiek vir meer as `n uur lank op een stoel sit en wag – eers op `n stoel by ontvangs, dan op `n ander stoel voor die dokter se deur, dan op die stoel voor sy lessenaar, dan op `n stoel by die hospitaal se ontvangs en teen daardie tyd is jy regtig nie meer lus vir speel nie, jy wil huis toe gaan. (meer…)

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Hierdie boek is nou ook beskikbaar by Barnes & Noble, Kobo en iTunes.
Vir die van julle wat nie `n Kindle besit nie en dus nie van Amazon kan aflaai nie, is dit nou beskikbaar in ePub format by al bogenoemde boekwinkels.
Die gedrukte weergawe sal eersdaags beskikbaar wees.
Hierdie storie is `n speurverhaal wat nie regtig `n speurverhaal is nie. As jy daarvan hou om speurverhale vir ontspanning te lees moet jy liewer by Deon Meyer hou, die man skryf uitstekende speurverhale, van die beste wat in Afrikaans beskikbaar is.
Water in Wyn in Bloed is eerder vir die denkende mens wat vrae vra oor die lewe, oor moraliteit, oor kerk, oor wat ons as ‘normaal’ beskou in ons abnormale samelewing.
Dit mag dalk skok, en jy sal moontlik met meer vrae as antwoorde sit na jy die boek gelees het. Die hoop is dat dit jou sal help om buite die boks te dink en ongebaande weë te begin ondersoek.
Lees en geniet.

Kliek die skakels hieronner om die boek te koop.

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I came across this piece of wisdom and thought you might find it as inspiring as I did.

“When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But…that is not what great ships are built for.” –Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Do Not Lose Heart, We Were Made for These Times

–by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, syndicated from moonmagazine.org, Mar 13, 2017
Mis estimados queridos, My Esteemed Ones:

Do not lose heart. We were made for these times.
I have heard from so many recently who are deeply and properly bewildered. They are concerned about the state of affairs in our world right now. It is true, one has to have strong cojones and ovarios to withstand much of what passes for “good” in our culture today. Abject disregard of what the soul finds most precious and irreplaceable and the corruption of principled ideals have become, in some large societal arenas, “the new normal,” the grotesquerie of the week.
It is hard to say which one of the current egregious matters has rocked people’s worlds and beliefs more. Ours is a time of almost daily jaw-dropping astonishment and often righteous rage over the latest degradations of what matters most to civilized, visionary people.
…You are right in your assessments. The lustre and hubris some have aspired to while endorsing acts so heinous against children, elders, everyday people, the poor, the unguarded, the helpless, is breath taking.
Yet … I urge you, ask you, gentle you, to please not spend your spirit dry by bewailing these difficult times. Especially do not lose hope. Most particularly because, the fact is – we were made for these times.
Yes. For years, we have been learning, practicing, been in training for and just waiting to meet on this exact plain of engagement. I cannot tell you often enough that we are definitely the leaders we have been waiting for, and that we have been raised, since childhood, for this time precisely.
…I grew up on the Great Lakes and recognize a seaworthy vessel when I see one. Regarding awakened souls, there have never been more able crafts in the waters than there are right now across the world. And they are fully provisioned and able to signal one another as never before in the history of humankind.
I would like to take your hands for a moment and assure you that you are built well for these times. Despite your stints of doubt, your frustrations in arighting all that needs change right now, or even feeling you have lost the map entirely, you are not without resource, you are not alone.
Look out over the prow; there are millions of boats of righteous souls on the waters with you. In your deepest bones, you have always known this is so.
Even though your veneers may shiver from every wave in this stormy roil, I assure you that the long timbers composing your prow and rudder come from a forest greater. That long-grained lumber is known to withstand storms, to hold together, to hold its own, and to advance, regardless.
… We have been in training for a dark time such as this, since the day we assented to come to Earth. For many decades, worldwide, souls just like us have been felled and left for dead in so many ways over and over — brought down by naiveté, by lack of love, by suddenly realizing one deadly thing or another, by not realizing something else soon enough, by being ambushed and assaulted by various cultural and personal shocks in the extreme.
We all have a heritage and history of being gutted, and yet remember this especially … we have also, of necessity, perfected the knack of resurrection.
Over and over again we have been the living proof that that which has been exiled, lost, or foundered – can be restored to life again. This is as true and sturdy a prognosis for the destroyed worlds around us as it was for our own once mortally wounded selves.
…Though we are not invulnerable, our risibility supports us to laugh in the face of cynics who say “fat chance,” and “management before mercy,” and other evidences of complete absence of soul sense. This, and our having been ‘to Hell and back’ on at least one momentous occasion, makes us seasoned vessels for certain. Even if you do not feel that you are, you are.
Even if your puny little ego wants to contest the enormity of your soul, the smaller self can never for long subordinate the larger Self. In matters of death and rebirth, you have surpassed the benchmarks many times. Believe the evidence of any one of your past testings and trials. Here it is: Are you still standing? The answer is, Yes! (And no adverbs like “barely” are allowed here). If you are still standing, ragged flags or no, you are able. Thus, you have passed the bar. And even raised it. You are seaworthy.
…In any dark time, there is a tendency to veer toward fainting over how much is wrong or unmended in the world. Do not focus on that. Do not make yourself ill with overwhelm. There is a tendency too to fall into being weakened by perseverating on what is outside your reach, by what cannot yet be. Do not focus there. That is spending the wind without raising the sails.
We are needed, that is all we can know. And though we meet resistance, we more so will meet great souls who will hail us, love us and guide us, and we will know them when they appear. Didn’t you say you were a believer? Didn’t you say you pledged to listen to a voice greater? Didn’t you ask for grace? Don’t you remember that to be in grace means to submit to the Voice greater? You have all the resource you need to ride any wave, to surface from any trough.
…In the language of aviators and sailors, ours is to sail forward now, all balls out. Understand the paradox: If you study the physics of a waterspout, you will see that the outer vortex whirls far more rapidly than the inner one. To calm the storm means to quiet the outer layer, to cause it, by whatever countervailing means, to swirl much less, to more evenly match the velocity of the inner, far less volatile core – till whatever has been lifted into such a vicious funnel falls back to Earth, lays down, is peaceable again.
One of the most important steps you can take to help calm the storm is to not allow yourself to be taken in a flurry of overwrought emotion or despair – thereby accidentally contributing to the swale and the swirl. Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach.
Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely.
It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good. What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts – adding, adding to, adding more, continuing. We know that it does not take “everyone on Earth” to bring justice and peace, but only a small, determined group who will not give up during the first, second, or hundredth gale.
…One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times.
The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires … causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these – to be fierce and to show mercy toward others, both — are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity. Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it. If you would help to calm the tumult, this is one of the strongest things you can do.
…There will always be times in the midst of “success right around the corner, but as yet still unseen” when you feel discouraged. I too have felt despair many times in my life, but I do not keep a chair for it; I will not entertain it. It is not allowed to eat from my plate.
The reason is this: In my uttermost bones I know something, as do you. It is that there can be no despair when you remember why you came to Earth, who you serve, and who sent you here. The good words we say and the good deeds we do are not ours: They are the words and deeds of the One who brought us here.
In that spirit, I hope you will write this on your wall: When a great ship is in harbour and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But … that is not what great ships are built for.

This comes with much love and prayer that you remember Who you came from, and why you came to this beautiful, needful Earth.
CODA

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2017; Ons Annus Horibilis

Eintlik was elke een van hulle sedert omtrent 1995, in die beroemde woorde van Liesbet die koningin van daardie klein, miserabel, nat ou eilandjie, ʼn annus horibilis vir ons persoonlik … en dan praat ek nie eers oor die politiek nie, dit is ʼn heel ander storie, ʼn nagmerrie wat die Koningin se woorde nie naastenby kan beskryf nie.

Van tyd tot tyd het alles inmekaar gedon….., ek bedoel geval. Hierdie jaar 2017 van onse Liewen Heer was nie anders nie, en hier kan ons in-zoom op Julie maand, ons eie persoonlike Lulli horibilis. Dit het wel `n aanloop gehad, dalk `n soort van waarskuwing dat stormweer op pad was. Eers is dit Ma se skoothond Mia, die baba in die huis wie se lewensdraad geknip word om haar uit haar pyn en lyding te verlos. Net daarna was dit Bonnie, ons Scotty wat dood is, en toe kom die episode in die hospitaal waar `n relatief eenvoudige prosedure lelik skeef loop en hierdie ouman amper die lepel in die dak steek.

Daarna is dit ons Ouboet wat skielik die tydelike met die ewige verwissel. Ek wou nog, sodra hy weer by die huis was van die hospitaal af, met hom gaan gesels het oor von Daniken en Desmond Morris, skrywers en idees wat hy oor my pad gebring het en wat `n groot invloed op my lewe en denke uit geoefen het. Toe gaan hy nooit weer huis toe nie. (meer…)

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Bosveld

Ons staan skuins na 4 die oggend op en ry bosveld toe. Die son steek sy kop uit toe ons by Kranskop verby ry.

 

Ons en die rietbokkies geniet ontbyt voor die werk begin.

En toe begin die dag in alle erns

Chopper 44 en die arts met sy pylgeweer

Blesbokke word een vir een verdoof en aangery na die boma

Terwyl hulle slaap word daar met hulle gewerk, en dan word hulle weer wakker hemaak.

En nou het hulle net 35 dae, en dan is dit die einde van die pad vir 16 van hulle … ter wille van die wetenskap.

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Bonnie

Ons beleef voorwaar nie `n aangename tyd nie. Die afgelope week of drie loop die ou Sekelman knaend op ons spoor. Neem ons eers afskeid van Mia wat vir baie jare die kleinsus in die gesin was na ons ander mensekinders die huis verlaat het. Toe groet ons ons ouboet Dirk, en nou neem ons afskeid van ons geliefde Bonnie.

Die twee hondekinders het oral saam met ons gaan vakansie hou. Kleinsus en Ousus. Bonna was veral lief vir die see, maar eintlik was sy maar net mal oor saamry. Maak nie saak waarheen gery word nie, as die wiele draai wou sy saam.

Saam met Ma en Pa by die see, met Mia in die rugsak omdat haar been seer was en sy nie vêr kon loop nie.

Sy was lief vir water, of dit nou n getypoel of stortreën was, as dit nat was moes sy daarin speel, maar nooit in die  swembad nie, daarvoor was sy te veel van n lady, n waardige, afsydige Skotse lady.

Na 14 jaar saam met ons, het kanker haar kom wegvat. Sy was gedaan en die veearts het haar uit haar pyn verlos.

Ons mis jou ou Bon met jou ronde lyfie en kordaat houding. Jy was uniek, jy was dierbaar. Mooiloop ou honne. Dit was goed om jou te geken het.

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(Continue reading from previous post)

The next morning the healthy dead man was wheeled off to the operating theatre. While waiting in line for his turn to be poked at form the outside and spied on from the inside, he was informed that a small monitor would be implanted under his skin somewhere over his heart. This gave rise to fierce betting between two theatre nurses over the shivering body of our zombie under the theatre lights, as to where exactly the doctor was going to do the implant. Our brave Mr Reg Shoe suggested they each make a cross with a pen on where they thought the implant should be done.

When the doctor arrived and boldly inserted the device, the male nurse joyfully shouted ‘I won. You owe me a decent meal at a decent restaurant!’ The doctor was not impressed, but high-fived the winner and moved to the nether regions of my recently-back-from-the-dead companion.

The anaesthetist explained to my zombie that he was not going to put him to sleep, but that he was going to give him a little shot of some good stuff to make him happy and relaxed so he could enjoy the show of his insides on the monitor. A camera probe was inserted in an artery in his thigh and moved all the way to his heart where the doctor joyfully pointed out to his happy patient that the repair work to the inlet and outlet manifolds of the pump during the previous bypass operation was still in mint condition and could thus not have been the reason for his cardiac arrest this time. He pointed to a small, crooked artery in between the previously repaired ones and said that that one was blocked, and it could have been the culprit giving the surgeon the fright of his life. And then the cardiologist abruptly left the theatre and stayed away for a very long time, which caused some panic in the mind of the living dead on the operating table.

When the doctor casually returned a while later, he said the artery was too small and crooked to put a stens in and with that he removed his probe, stitched up the thigh and left, never to be seen again by me or my Mr Reg Shoe, not even when we were discharged from the hospital the next day.

After the operation, the anaesthetists told us that, while the doctor was moving his probe upwards through the belly of the beast, so to speak, he looked at the area where my moron said the original pain came from. And said he, the doctor had some good news and some bad news. The bad news was that one of the ribs will have to be removed, the good news was that they could create a new wife for him from the rib. In unison, me and my zombie cried NO THANK YOU! We can barely handle one of them. We do not want an extra one.

When the good wife came by we mentioned to her the proposition that was made to us by the doctor. Contrary to expectations the good wife was elated, provided that the new wife took over cooking, cleaning and sex. With that the Zombie almost shot out of bed to go tell the doctor to proceed with the operation.  I calmed him down and pointed out to him that, being a zombie, and an old one at that, we could expect some vital parts of his body to start falling off in the foreseeable future. Considering such a prospect, we decided not to accept the generous offer because a clean house was very much overrated in any case.

And now we are back home. We hit the ground running and haven’t stopped since. The work will not wait for you to die, said my moron réanimé who is grudgingly sporting his original pain in the side for which he seeked medical help and was, at phenomenal cost, rewarded with a score of new pains added for his trouble. He is not a happy man, but being sad will not make it go away, he says.

If he was a cat, I am sure he’d by now be close to, or living his 9th and final life. And I was just beginning to like the moron.

And so, stuffed with painkillers (including the green FECO variety), he is happily trotting along to the finishing line. I, the famous Red Cap will keep you posted on our beloved Mr R Shoe’s hazy progress down the hill to oblivion.

 

“When we believe what we think, when we take our thinking to be reality, we will suffer.”

Adyashanti: Falling into Grace

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