The Moth and the Star.

When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.
~ Thomas Jefferson

It’s been a hard week and I’m hanging on for dear life to the knot in my rope.

So in tribute to my burning hands (from holding on, obviously) - I thought it a wise move for some positive self-talk. Sure, quotations go a long way but my dark cloud might need something more substantial like a fable in order to lighten up.

I wonder whether you are familiar with the fable by James Thurber about a young Moth and a Star. If not, here follows a short synopsis.

We’ll call the moth, Moth. And you’ll soon realise just why this seemingly ordinary moth should be referred to as such. In my humble opinion it should be MOTH but then again that might be seen as partisan.

Anyhoo, back to Moth. Moth was young and he had a plan which involved a luminous star. Moth was so bewitched that instead of chasing candle flames or street lamps (like the other moths) at night, you could find him at the edge of a forest making the one serious attempt after another at reaching his star. By the time dawn announced a new day Moth would be exhausted but strangely content. And so the days passed and the weeks of course.

The candle flame or street lamp chasers mostly ended up in cinders or were badly scorched but our little trooper had no injuries as his “light” nourished him rather than destroyed him. I’m sure you can tell how this tale ends. Moth never actually made it to his Star but he did end up leading a far more compelling life compared to the moth crowd.
…and if I’m not mistaken dementia (or fatigue) kicked in at some stage and he truly believed he made it to his Star.

Of course in my ideal world Mr. Thurber would end his fable with Moth realising it was more about the journey than actually reaching his Star.

And for the Record. Why moth is MOTH in my mind.
MOTH had vision and a clearly defined goal he pursued single-mindedly.
Also, the quest for his Star nourished him to such an extent that he persisted with boundless energy.

Who knows, there might have been other moths watching his attempts at night and learning. Learning to dare and learning to dream.

Deep breath. I’m already better.
Much better.

Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible and achieves the impossible.
~ Anonymous

Follow the Sun.

Aircraft to me are akin to the magic beans so hastily sown by the boy in the much beloved English fairly tale, Jack and the Beanstalk.

True, I don’t have to grow my own aircraft or literally climb several storeys to my destination but my “magic bean” does provide the way to be transported from one place in space to the next. The sneaky promptness of the transformation is the greatest. From one moment where the destination is still only a place you’ve read about to the second you arrive and it becomes your full technicolour, skin prickling reality.

My most recent jaunt did not involve escaping from hairy giants (unless you count my loving companion), but it did feature a crocodile that by its sheer popularity and significance seemed to follow me everywhere in Dili, Timor Leste. Its reptilian shape could be recognised in wooden carvings, etched out in weavings and worn on T-shirts pretty much everywhere.

And when I asked why the crocodile featured as much in Dili, my question was answered by the telling of a tale, involving yet another young boy…

“Many years ago a small crocodile lived in a swamp in a far away place. He dreamed of becoming a big crocodile but as food was scarce, he became weak and grew sadder and sadder.
He left for the open sea, to find food and realise his dream, but the day became increasingly hot and he was still far from the seashore. The little crocodile - rapidly drying out and now in desperation - lay down to die.
A small boy took pity on the stranded crocodile and carried him to the sea. The crocodile, instantly revived, was grateful. “Little boy”, he said, “you have saved my life. If I can ever help you in any way, please call me. I will be at your command…”
A few years later, the boy called the crocodile, who was now big and strong. “Brother Crocodile”, he said, “I too have a dream. I want to see the world”. “Climb on my back,” said the crocodile, “and tell me, which way do you want to go?” “Follow the sun”, said the boy.
The crocodile set off for the east, and they traveled the oceans for years, until one day the crocodile said to the boy, “Brother, we have been travelling for a long time. But now the time has come for me to die. In memory of your kindness, I will turn myself into a beautiful island, where you and your children can live until the sun sinks in the sea.”
As the crocodile died, he grew and grew, and his ridged back became the mountains and his scales the hills of Timor.
Now when the people of East Timor swim in the ocean, they enter the water saying “Don’t eat me crocodile, I am your relative”.
~ From the East Timor's Independence Day Committee

Traipsing the Great Wall.

The deep humming sound emitted by the engine of the 1930’s style sidecar motorbike was almost hypnotic and was I not snaking through the Beijing traffic I would’ve easily been lulled to sleep. But I was too excited to think of sleep in any shape or form at that stage. From the sidecar I glanced over at Ah Beng, who skillfully steered the motorbike through the manic traffic. It wasn’t long before we were on the freeway heading to the Great Wall. Experiencing the marvel of the Great Wall had been on my bucket list for eons but never in a million years did I envision making my way to the only visible man-made structure from the Moon in a sidecar motorbike.

I remember learning about the great wall as a little girl and my total amazement after unwrapping a Chappie (South African brand chewing gum) and reading the “fun fact” printed on the wrapper: “The Great Wall is the only man-made structure visible from the outer space”. I was thoroughly impressed. After all, even at that stage I could appreciate that outer space was quite a big place. And who could forget David Copperfield's walk through the Great Wall – maybe I was just very impressionable at that tender age.

For the record, the Chappies fun fact turned out to be the figment of some very imaginative soul’s imagination. According to NASA the Wall is not visible to the unaided eye from outer space since the wall is of similar colour and texture as the surrounding landscape. NASA did not mention anything about Copperfield’s stunt though so I’ll allow myself that one childhood memory to remain “true”.

As we headed further North the road winded through the mountains and I couldn’t help but scan the landscape for signs of the Wall. It was only later, much later (my eyes burning from exhaustion and/or exhaust fumes by then) that Ah Beng pointed it out to me, adequately proving NASA’s point on just how well it blends in with the surrounding landscape. Once one had it in view it was really hard to miss it for it was clearly visible how it attempted to tame the landscape. It certainly was both imposing and impressive at the same time. I could actually imagine it taming the hordes of Mongols who I’m sure at the mere sight must’ve turned their horses around to return to Mongolia at a frisky pace.

Upon reaching Huang Hua Shang we exchanged the sidecars for trekking shoes as we tied our shoe laces to start our trek on the Wall. Yip, it certainly was wide enough for six horses to stand side by side as the Emperor intended it to be. Suffice to say, the view from up there was absolutely fabulous and the air crisp and fresh on our sweaty cheeks and foreheads. A rather strenuous hour later we reached a guard outpost to enjoy our picnic lunch of fresh baguette stuffed with rare roast beef (apologies to the Vegetarian readers). A cork popped and a more than palatable French red wine did the rounds as well – if I’m not mistaken a second cork popped not too long after the first one. We were on holiday after all.

Fed and happy I dangled my legs over the edge of the wall, and with the sun on my back the famous Chinese proverb “the journey is the reward” came to mind. However, in this case the destination was just as great as the journey itself. For a while I pondered “journey” and “destination”. Just long enough for the potent combination of wine and sun to work its magic on my foggy memory bank. Nah…too much thinking. I picked up my glass of red and sighed. Thrilled about being able to bask in the present.

Fully Content.

Do-BE-Do-BE-Do!

It is a Saturday afternoon and the sun is blazing down from a blue sky. A colour I can best describe as almost Maya blue. In the distance I witness the odd wind-whipped cloud touched with just enough gray to remind you it will certainly rain later.

Leaning against the trunk of a palm tree I dig my feet deeper into the sand and feel a sense of peace washing over me. The faint waft of coconut scented tanning lotion reminds me of other pleasure seekers on the beach. However it doesn’t take long to tune out the sound of kids and shrieking adolescent boys. Funny how tuning out unwanted elements barely ever works on a crowded long-haul flight…

The revelation hits hard me as I reach out to grab my notepad. In that moment I realise just how mercilessly I have drilled “doing” into myself. To the extent that I almost feel guilty for not being busy with either an activity or at least scribbling a to-do list. Retracting my hand to rest on my lap I’m reminded of the documentary, The Quantum Activist where Amit Goswami compels viewers to opt for a more balanced (and catchy) Do-Be-Do-Be-Do as opposed to a lopsided just doing (all action - like me) or exclusively being (no action taken).

So how to BE? Closing my eyes I focus on deep breaths, filling my lungs with all the fresh air I can get. I open my eyes and all of a sudden the colours seem to pop out vividly. I feel the coarseness of the sand against my thighs while I hear a little girl’s voice to my left asking her mom for ice-cream. As I’m witnessing them from the corner of my eye I can almost taste and smell the ice-cream when she hands it to the girl with the pigtails. The smile on the little one’s face is just priceless.

I lift my hand again, not reaching for my notebook this time around but instead I rest my hand on the warm sand. Feeling the Earth through the palm of my hand I close my eyes yet again as I lean back against the Palm tree.

Happy and grateful to BE here.

Humour me!

"A little nonsense now and then is cherished by the wisest man."
- Willy Wonka, from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl

Do you know what tickles your funny bone?
This might be the most important Q posed to you today. Consequential in the sense that by knowing the answer it firmly places the control in your hands for tapping into the best medicine. And the fact that it is much better tolerated by the body than anything the world of Pharmaceuticals has to sell is nothing to sneeze at.

A hearty belly laugh not only boosts your mood and provide a twinkle to the eye. It also decreases stress hormones (such as cortisol), reduces physical pain (impossible to pay attention to the stabbing pain in a stubbed toe while laughing at your natural flair for walking into inanimate objects). In the same breath, a chuckle also strengthens the immune system and this is mandatory when dealing with self inflicted injuries for example (such as said injured appendage).

Personally, puns reduce me to giggles, especially when teamed with good illustrations. Good reads the likes of The Road to Happiness by Eric Weiner rates up there, while well intentioned pokes at sacred cows are sure to put a grin on my face.

So how do you up your daily dose of laughter? Start trawling the Net for good sites, browse the shelves at the bookstore to find authors/artists that make you itch (in a good way) and open your eyes wide to the comical in everyday situations. I just have to envision myself behind my desk looking as serious as the Cold War to crack up laughing. Even more so in the knowledge that I’m usually aching to get out the office and into Nature. Yip, I do like making fun of myself…

Start your day with a smile and who knows, you might be fortunate enough to end the day in the same manner. But don’t be selfish by keeping the good stuff all to yourself. Share the love by spreading the joy to those around you!

So in the wise words of my favourite Doctor, I’m signing out.

"Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one."
- Dr. Seuss

The path to Bliss.

Work is love made visible. And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy. ~ Kahlil Gibran

Had the privilege to explore the Thai city of Chiang Mai a week ago. Chiang Mai lies snugly in a beautiful mountainous area and it used to be the capital of the ancient Lanna kingdom. Since the city is nowhere as huge and congested as Bangkok we decided to explore by bicycle. Our local guide Nong, was brilliant – and not only thanks to his charming smile. He made every effort to explain the local history as we visited a number of Buddhist temples and he did not even micro-flinch the slightest at my barrage of questions. Admittedly, I do get carried away at times…

At one stage while cycling along the banks of the Ping river Nong pointed out a “wishing stick/limb” to us. Now I’m sure the true meaning of the stick/limb gets lost in translation, but allow me to at least attempt an explanation. During the Songkran festival the Buddhist devouts make merit by providing support in the form of a specially carved forked stick/limb to tree branches that overarch perilously. Not just any kind of tree though. It would only be the branches of the revered Bo or Sacred Fig tree to be pampered in this manner. It is believed that Lord Buddha reached enlightenment while meditating under one of these trees. In modern times, Nong elaborated, entire families would work together side by side grafting the “stick” and then carry it together to the Tree. Here it will be blessed by a monk before being put in place to prop up the overhanging branch. The few examples we saw were painted a sunny yellow and some were even swathed in cloth.

Later while cycling towards a little village market I couldn’t help but think of these wishing sticks as stunning visual reminders of faith/love/devotion/human aspirations.
Which brings me to the quote at the start of this post – work is love made visible…

What if you treasure the ability to work and do so with total dedication but you are just not that keen on your current job?
Does one carry what seems like a burden just as the devout Buddhists carry the heavy wishing stick/limb through the village to the Bo tree? With humility of course.
Or does one choose the route of “carving” out a new job possibility like the devout Buddhists spend hours carving the wishing stick/limb?

I guess it is all about your perception. Whether to actively partake in the creation of your ideal job or taking a more laid-back approach. More important though is the willingness to accept (with love) the outcome. And to live/love with it.

If so, whichever path you choose to follow will lead to your bliss.
That’s all I hope for.

Mapping it out.

Had an inspirational week filled with a number of new ideas - three whoops for the Borders bookstore and Brian Johnson's Philosopher Notes. I learned my locus on control is mostly internal. It took me a while to digest this tidbit of information and for the penny to drop. Just like everyone out there I have my ideals and goals but the question that came to me was just how mapped out I had it.
Was it on paper, something tangible in other words or just some airy-fairy floaters on the horizon?

I used to scoff at the idea of a five year plan (that would include the hangers-on) since I thought of it as too rigid - especially in this world we live in. Of course life happens and plans change, double chins miraculously appear or disappear, hair loss becomes a reality and not just a sad man you see on late night TV. So why even bother with a five year plan? Then of course I changed as well, suddenly an internal map did not sound like a bad idea after all. But in order to get to this internal map I had to spend time on paper first. It turned out to be a fun exercise and lo and behold - I have a much clearer view on where I'm heading now and feel empowered, even uplifted.

If you want to give it a go, I suggest:

Grab a piece of paper, the bigger the better - don't restrict yourself with a sad and sorry A5-er, go big or go home.
Felt markers, pens in different colours will certainly do.
Block out time (you are busy with something important so switch of that cellphone if you dare)
Find a comfortable space where you don't have to stretch over clutter and...PLAY!

1. List at least 5 activities you enjoy - if you are able to beef up your list up to ten activities, even better.
2. Out of these activities listed, circle the ones you'd feel super lousy if you were unable to ever do it again. These are your joy-makers.
3. Next step might be hard for some folks but quickly jot down your values - what do you stand for? Five will be sufficient for our exercise. These are joy-givers.
4. Look at all the scribbles on your paper and see how this fits in with key aspects in you life like family, social ties, spiritual, physical and of course career. Very important here I'd like you to think of your stance on community and the role you play in yours...
5. How do your joy-makers and joy-givers relate to the key aspects in your life. Any chance of fine tuning it so they are better aligned.
6. Jot down your strengths and don't forget those dandy qualities your nearest and dearest commented on. If you feel brave, list your weaknesses (since we all need a dose of reality too) but don't go overboard here as we are aiming at maintaining a "creative" space as opposed to something downright depressing.

Phew - that's a lot of writing but it will form the perfect foundation for our task at hand.

Now that you have the building blocks - stand up, get some space between you and your paper - go for a walk or have a cup of java but it is important to focus of something unrelated for a few minutes. Maybe the dog needs a walk…

When ready return to your paper and visualise yourself a few years from now.
Do you visualise yourself as content, healthy, surrounded by friends and family. Or is yours a case of where you envision yourself successfully addressing a packed boardroom on your latest and greatest proposal. The sky is the limit - this is where you imagination is left to roam, jump, skip, fly.........

Once you set foot on terra firma after the flight of fancy, take the paper you so dutifully scribbled on and see how you can marry your paper with your ideal “vision”. How can the joy-makers, joy-givers assist in propelling you towards the ideal you?

Of course this will take some thinking and even head-scratching to a degree but keep it playful and you'd be surprised by how easy it becomes aligning your paper and the ideal in your head. Once happy, jot it down on paper (once again) and keep it in a place where you can be reminded of your course of action.

Have map, will venture (joyfully).

You can become blind by seeing each day as a similar one. Each day is a different one, each day brings a miracle of its own. It's just a matter of paying attention to this miracle.

~ Paulo Coelho

Paying attention….Hmmm.
Recently on a train from Singapore to Malacca I was reminded once again that paying attention has many guises.
One of the zillion reasons I love to travel is because it opens my eyes, ears and mind to new and novel stimulu. In turn I am energized and return home with a memory bank loaded to the brim with vivid colours, encounters with people, even newly acquired tastes in food. Not always though; the fried tarantula I chewed on in Phnom Penh is not a taste I aspire to embrace. A good thing in view of the limited supply of free-roaming Tarantulas in Singapore.

But I’m digressing once again. The point I’m trying to bring across is that whenever I travel I am compelled to jot down memories or little snippets of conversations (like the man who sold bananas for a living at the monkey forest in Bali or young boy selling books in Siem Reap). My notebooks vary in size from full A4 sizes to ones that fit snugly in the palm of your hand . They all have stained and dog-eared pages in common though.

However, at times the senses become numb to the usual stimuli and it was on this train ride as I reached for my notebook and pencil that I stopped in my tracks. Sat back and folded my hands my lap. Instead of writing down describing what I saw I made a point of simply watching and…being.

Just enjoying the journey and allowing the scenery to wash over me as it unfolded through the window of the carriage. Lush greenery next to the tracks, faded towns that lost their glory due to fewer people taking the train these days, neat kampong houses and the odd railway worker here and there. All of this under a glorious sun set against the backdrop of blue skies.

Bliss!

What is it about emerging oneself in a new destination that is so intoxicating and liberating?
With generous scoops of enthusiasm, a pinch of fear, a dash of courage and the willingness to open the mind I loved tumbling in headfirst.
India did not disappoint.

I was truly smitten and swept of my feet. From swooping down into the small airport servicing Kochi to the glimpse of a smile playing hide and seek underneath the customs officer's mightily impressive moustache.

We arrived on Christmas Eve and of course since we were in India did not expect Christmas fever. Pleasant was the surprise to drive past little Catholic chapels en-route to the hotel.
The chapels all dolled up in colourful paper stars and nativity scenes, patiently awaiting the flock for the midnight service. Very pretty and peaceful indeed.

Somehow the peaceful image of the night before was shattered the moment we stepped out the next day. During the course of the night we must've entered a parallel universe, surely it couldn't be the same city we arrived to the night before?

Ambassador taxis, little Tata cars, tattered trucks, flighty three-wheelers all shared the three lane road that was spontaneously altered at will in a four or five lane road - all depending on the skill of your overtaking cab driver. Magic!

Dodging and diving oncoming traffic and the odd cow to the melody of honking horns. Where I've only read of "white knuckles" before I now could bear witness to the act thanks to Tom gripping the seat of the taxi. Best Christmas gift ever!

As for mois, the chaos made me feel right at home - the louder they honk the wider I smile, with every pothole we hit my eyes light up. In retrospect maybe I was just high on gasoline fumes.

By the time our driver/hero let us out of his vehicle with an amiable side to side jiggle of his head I've compiled a mental checklist for the return journey to the hotel.

And it goes like this: -
- Horn fully functional...check
- Three-wheeler able to pop a wheelie effortlessly...check
- Also able to recover from wheelie and land on all three wheels after miraculous act...check
- Souped up horn - a plain honk is just so nineties, we want a jingle from the latest Bollywood blockbuster...check
-Driver able to smoke, honk horn, get rid of excess phlegm and pop a wheelie, ALL at once...check

The joy of exploring the narrow streets lined with crumbling buildings and a makeshift cricket pitch wherever there is space to spare. Indians really love cricket. In fact, whenever it came up during a conversation that I’m from South Africa cricket was the first topic to be discussed at great length.

Oh and the women are so beautiful with their kohl-lined eyes and decked out in a rainbow of Saris or Salwar Khameez. At first I scribbled in my notebook that the ladies look like jewels but it was only when we reached the countryside at the Athirappilly falls that I realised they resembled wild flowers more than anything else. Exquisitely bright, cheery and lending great beauty to this world.

Which reminds me, look closely at the photo I’ve posted - where I'm from a hibiscus flower is either red or pink or a meek orange. Certainly not all three colours at once but in India, well evidently flowers tend to be more dramatic on the sub-continent.

Stuck in traffic while the road is blocked for a state visit of the Indian President once again I realise that it is a very different experience visiting a city compared to eking out an existence there day by day. Made me appreciate life in Singapore even more.

Had the opportunity to chat with a gorgeous gal at the Athirappilly falls who came to visit the site with her family all the way from Chennai. After the usual chitchat about Bollywood movies (since we were on a favourite location) and cricket the conversation turned to career. Turns out she worked as a French translator at an IT firm in Chennai and in her spare time she studied
Greek too. Go girl!
It was evident she lead a hectic life but still treasured and made time for family. I like that.

Oh the food, the food!
Was led into a bakery by my nose and literally swooned at the variety of Burfi and other dainty little treasures bursting with cardamom or nuts or both. Left the shop with a box clutched under my arm filled to the brim with all kinds of goodies to be first feasted upon through the eyes, then whiffed at to appreciate the aroma and only then, only then eaten with great relish. Lots of audible lip smacking happening.

I’m not going to bore you with my ode to Kashmiri Naan or the delights of Tandoori chicken. Nor will I go into just how tender prawns cooked in coconut gravy is. That reminds me of the carrot Halwa and the Mutton Korma and the fiery Vindaloo…

Wait, my eyes are glazing over and I’m dribbling on my keyboard.
Any volunteers wanting to join me on a trip to Delhi – I have a mean rickshaw checklist going.

Oh the places we could see!