The light of a Soul

URGH!!!!!

There are times in my life that I regret. Magnificent moments of utter catastrophe. Moments you  hide even from the closest of close friends. Moments that not even copious amounts of alcohol can prize from your soul. They are the moments that people judge you for – whether they have a right to or not. Regardless of how far you have come. Where you are now. What you have achieved. Moments of black that mar your soul and shape your destiny. Moments where you are so far from Grace and Faith and Hope that nothing makes sense. Nothing matters. Except stillness. And dark solace. And no more pain.

Those moments I can deal with. I am good at moments like that. There have been rather a few. So I know how to process. The decisions that lead to an event and an event so huge it carries visible and emotive consequence. I am very good at consequences.

But what about the small moments? The little ones where you harm another without intention? The moments when you make another doubt who they are. Or perhaps even what they are. Not with any kind of maliciousness. Not with any kind of wish to harm. But harmful none the less.

I don’t have many close, call in an emergency type friends. Friends that, at your lowest point – the point when your damnation of yourself is absolute – they still find the grace of your soul beautiful. Friends like that. The ones that God sends. I have been luckier than most I guess. Over the years, God has blessed me with a few. Perhaps because he knew I would need them more than most.

I do have many, many acquaintances. People who are fun. People who fill the grey of a rather mundane and introverted life with light and colour and balance and joy. They are ‘acquaintances’ merely in the distinction of the 2 words. They add immense value to my life. And I would hope that I add immense value to theirs.

Sometimes though, the acquaintance crosses over into the friend. They bring an intrinsic value to my life that belongs only to them. Sometimes, Faith brings them. Sometimes, work. Sometimes, worlds just collide and the light in one sees the light in another. And the light makes sense. The light of a similar soul. A similar Grace. A similar Faith. The light in one soul, understands the light in another. That is how I see real friendship. The light in one soul, finding, understanding and accepting the light of another soul.

Except this time, because of stupidity. Or naivety. Or just some complete assholic batshit craziness on my part – someone ended up getting hurt. Those moments – I don’t always know how to process those moments.

So generally – I write. Because in anonymous words I can find the ways to say sorry that I cannot always find in person.

Without intent. Without malice. Without wanting to. The massive amounts of stupid that I carry around in my soul reared it’s head and bingo bongo – shitstorm.

I hurt someone I really didn’t want to hurt the other day. Someone kind, and gentle. Someone gracious. And Grace filled. Someone that is already filled with hurt. The hurt of others, the hurt that others leave behind – but also the hurt we inflict on ourselves. I understand that kind of light.

Over the years, I have a learnt that Grace sometimes leads us to places we don’t always understand. But we still have choice. I got a bit lost in the stupidity of choice. And I made the wrong choice.

I will not chose wrong again. And I won’t let you chose wrong, with me, again either.

I am so sorry.

I will not hurt you again.

I promise.

There but by the Grace go I

Sometimes, you say the wrong thing.

Sometimes, you hear the wrong words.

Sometimes, you see what is not there.

Sometimes, all the things you didn’t do come back to haunt you.

Sometimes, all the things you did do come back to haunt you.

My dad died when he was 52. He was strong and vibrant and I barely remember him. I remember a smile sometimes. Other times I wonder if I honestly remember. Or just remember what I want to remember.

He never grew old. He never grew frail. He never got weak. He never faded.

The mommy, for reasons they are trying very hard to figure out, has faded. She is sitting in this odd no mans land where words are jumbled and she can’t remember to swallow. This grey area where she knows there is something wrong, and she thinks I can fix it. This hard and horrible place where she wants her mommy. Much like we all do, when shit gets really bad.

I don’t know which is worse. The maybe a memory or the memory of old.

Sometimes, all the things you said and did and didn’t do come back to haunt you.

Sometimes, you take it out on people who don’t really know you. Or know how broken you can be, when it gets hard and you are tired.

Sometimes, all you can do is sit with someone. And let them talk the broken away. Whether it be the broken ‘misremembered’ words. Or their broken self. Everyone should have someone that will sit with them.

Sometimes – we forget what matters. And then Grace reminds us.

Sometimes, Grace is all that sits with you.

Sometime, Grace gets you up and moving and functioning. It keeps you moving when the tired gets you.

There but for the Grace go I.

See you later, my friend.

Every now and again, you meet a person that makes absolute and fundamental sense to your soul.

Gender, race, age, appearance – none of it matters. Somehow, in this big universe, you just click.

Attached to the house I currently live in, is a separate rental granny flat. For too short of a time, my friend Laurence stayed there. I met him the day he moved in, and last saw him about 4 months ago, the day he moved out.

Unfortunately, because of work, Laurence couldn’t stay. He tried. He worked the longest hours I have ever seen anyone work, trying his level best to support his family.

But eventually, the long hours took their toll, and Laurence went back to Villiersdorp.

Such was our connection that we stayed in touch. He had the absolute best sense of humour. I have never come across the like. We chatted via WhatsApp and I started making a few plans to visit him and his wife.

This was our conversation on Wednesday 17 January 2018.

On Saturday 20 January, Laurence with the easy laugh and massive smile and the best love I have ever seen for another, hung himself.

I found out about his death on the Sunday. But only yesterday did his wife Ruth tell me what happened.

I simply cannot fathom it. Not for one moment. My brain refuses to comprehend that this man of integrity and love and light, hung himself.

That he found himself in such a state of despair, that in a mad moment of sadness, he thought he needed to end his existence.

Pain is a funny old thing. Physical or mental. It creeps into your bones and turns them into lead. It saturates your existence like a feather light armour you don’t even know you are wearing.

It sets in by degrees. And slowly leaches the light and the life from your eyes.

Laurence was a legend. He moved into the granny flat next door and, just because I had the privilege of knowing him, he made my world a better place.

He was honest and real and genuine and true.

He worked hard and he adored his family.

He touched my soul.

Unfortunately, because of something I don’t know or understand, Laurence couldn’t stay.

I will miss you. The you I knew but also the you I never had the chance to know.

Thank you for making my life better, just for being in it.

I know your light is shining bright, there where you are. I hope it is surrounded by all the things you have loved, that passed before.

See you later, my friend.

For Blommie.

Like a ton of bricks.

Like the world ending.

Like the whisper of death in a war.

Like the sound of nails running across chalkboard, never ending.

Like the whisper of desolation across your soul.

I’m sorry, your mother is terminal.

No one can truly know when their time is up. When that moment comes, either fast or slow, and your maker holds His hand out.

No one can truly know what the leaving, leaves behind. What the leaving will mean. What the leaving will take with it.

No one can truly know, how tired the leaving can make you.

To be left behind. Or to watch the moment of leaving coming ever closer.

Your mother is terminal.

Those 4 words. Like death to every hope you had. Every moment of future you thought you dreamed, with another.

Your mother is terminal.

I am so sorry, my blommie. My dear, precious, glorious friend. I wish I could make it hurt less. Make it more bearable. Make it go away.

I wish I could heal. Or say that right words. I wish I could stand by you, and love you just a little bit more. So that my love can balance the leaving. So that it doesn’t hurt so very much.

I am so sorry that your mommy is leaving.

I cannot fathom it. I cannot really even describe it.

I will not show this to you. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

But I wanted to write it. Because I remember the leaving of my father. And how much it bothered me that no one really knew what to say.

I know now, that it didn’t matter what they said. It would never ever be the right thing. It never can be.

Because the leaving is all there is.

It is consuming.

Be strong, my blommie. Be brave. Be consoled, just a little bit.

I love you. You are in my thoughts. You are in my prayers.

You, your family and your mommy.

Her life will not be forgotten.

Her soul will shine bright.

Her memory will stay with you.

Her life will be celebrated.

Her God will welcome her Home.

And she will wait for you. Just out of earshot. Just out of sight. Just around the corner. Just there.

She waits for you.

With Grace.

 

I am

I got caught up in the idea that I had wasted some of my life the other day. Wasted it on not feeling good enough, not being thin enough, not being enough really.

Wasted it on doubting myself. Doubting my abilities. Doubting my inner being.

Wasted it on endlessly looking for …. Peace? Acceptance? Love?

Wasted it on people who don’t deserve time. On endeavors that I knew would harm me? Collecting stuff that ultimately adds no value?

Except, the idea occurred to me, that every single thing I have ever done, has led me to here. Every person, every fault, every word, every endeavor, every ‘thing’ I have coveted / wanted / needed, every failed relationship, every miserable moment.

Every glorious moment.

Every honorable friend.

Every smile, every laugh, every step on a very hard road.

They have all brought me to this place where I drove home from bootcamp last night singing and dancing to some silly song that I don’t even remember anymore. But I remember dancing.

Because bootcamp bitches. But more so because

Joy….

Fit….

Love for self….

Acceptance of self….

Doing the best I can, and actually doing it.

Being the best I can be, even it if it is not perfect, it being enough.

Facing life head-on. With a smile and a laugh and a joy that I have not had before.

Because I am. I am loud. I am the carrier of a bit of excess weight. I am sarcastic. I am self-conscious. I am too often lost. I am too often doubtful. I am kind. I am loving. I am honorable. I am a good friend. I am a brilliant daughter and sister. I am not alone as long as there are friends. My friends are not alone as long as I breathe. I am courageous. I am hard working. I am brave. I am too often sad. I am more often loved.

I am the best of me.

I am.

The Death of Friendship

I have a friend who believes that every person in our life, past and present, is there to fulfill a very specific purpose. She also believes that friends, while not only fulfilling a purpose, also cater to a very specific facet of our personality.

Say I have a silly side (so do), I have friends that compliment, elevate and sometimes even exaggerate that facet of who I am.

It follows then that when we go through dark periods, while we do indeed have friends full of light and love, we also draw to us the darker, the hidden agenda and the not always so good for us.

Sometimes we even survive them.

Life is ever changing though. Darkness becomes light, we grow and we hopefully find our joy again.

So what then becomes of these dark period friends? Not everyone is capable of change, of finding peace or hope or joy. And not everyone wants to.

In the face of obvious negativity or overwhelming bitterness, the choice and decision is easy to make.

Not so much when it is just an ‘unpresent’ friend. You know the kind. Always too busy. Never answer anything. When you do meet, usually by chance, they are the one who asks if you have put on weight. They are the gossips. The ones you have a sneaky feeling revel in the misery of others. But they never do anything obvious. And they have their good sides too.

I guess I am wondering when you call it quits? At the first veiled insult? At the tenth? Or is it much like a scale, with the good and bad balancing it out?

I’d like to think I am a good friend. The sad thought though is that I am probably someone’s ‘unpresent’ friend.