Time

Time is to be; as we drift through unknown dreams of primitive form in dark, warm wombs.

Time arrives like the dream-like smiles of dawn's first golden etching on the very grand rock of ages.

Time burps with endless mindless energy as insights accumulate alongside impatient friendships.

Time becomes cyclical as lessons are re-learned and existence becomes a drag on timelessness.

Time shift into dusk as insights deepens and new energies abound; as understanding becomes emotionally dense and personally secure; as light takes intriguing shape and form.

Time disappears as golden clouds turn dark and ominous; as failure confronts; as time shifts out.

Time becomes endless as myths provide comfort and ancestors real.

Time heals as cycles repeat; as lives become distant and then non-existent.

To what extent do you live now?

Where time is the cuddle of a puppy; the infectuous happiness of a young bundle of child; or the impossible serenity of a life lived in the now?

Where time is the note you tap on a keyboard, with a lingering smile to guide the knowledge of a mind alive; active, creative.

Perhaps you live in your memories?

Memories play tricks as happiness dominate and sad notes drift into the mist. Memories etch bitter as old despairs erupt in decay. Memories become shifting sands as closeness make way for distance. Memories get stuck in old forms and old notes, in old values and old confusions. Memories confuse foundations for living rooms, where cold winds batter truths.

In your dreams?

Psychedelic distortions litter the chambers that are visited night after night, but never known. Dreams build hope, but where is the structure of the now? Dreams become repetitive, in new forms, but then plastic, as cynicism forces the resignation of mind.

Time is a memory in horror of dreams deferred. Time is a dream in defiance of memories diffused. Time is the Now and the Now is Time; but the best time is the time of play. To play is to live; to be new; and play is an option in all: anytime.

Do you live in your memories; do you live in your dreams; to what extent do you live in the Now?

Sangomas, blue sirens and castles on the beach

Last night I dreamt that I was being visited by a
whole bunch of white sangomas (traditional healers in the Mpondo culture of the South African Wild Coast). Now this was odd, as white sangomas represent a controversial rarity; most sangomas are black; and I know quite a few.

This visit was at my old family home, where I grew-up, in a Southern Cape coastal town, where Sangomas were unknown during my childhood.

The one Sangoma that stood out in my dream was grey, older, very dignified. The other was very smooth, handsome, younger - named Kay, which struck me as a woman's name. Both looked very natural, very normal (as far as Sangomas may look normal). Chris - the one white sangoma that I do know - was present - talking too much shit as usual, and wasted my only bag of skunk.

Now my closest friend is a twasa (an initiate into the ancestral world). He was present in the dream, but gave me no information or advance warning about this visit. At some point we went off to Knutzi for an ancestral ceremony, a strange little coastal hamlet where several houses were built as castles. I was keen to dispose of my notebook, as the house was being left open.
Chris wanted to organise screaming blue police sirens to light the beach. I was quite irritated by this. The whole scene looked very clean, almost roman. I was aware, vaguely, of the presence of another twasa friend, MamThembu, and a few Sangoma friends, notably Thobela iTongo.

On waking, I felt very relaxed. I rarely remember dreams, so I wrote this dream down immediately.

Image of Bhele by Philasande Mahlakatha