Day 4 - Magical Health

Still on the topic of Rhonda Byrne's "The Magic".


Ironic how we only consider our health when we don't feel that great...


How about flipping the coin and actually giving thanks for your health. Just think of it. Your feet and legs take you places, your arms and hands write, dress and caress. The list goes on and on. 
...and don't forget your senses. For one, I'm totally unable to imagine my world without my sense of smell.


Take stock my friend and say Thank you :)

Day 3 - Magical Relationships

Still on the topic of Rhonda Byrne's "The Magic".


All about how your daily interactions with others provide meaning, pleasure and purpose to your life.
Choose three people you'd love to improve your relationship with and get your hands on a pic of them (with you or alone).


Grab your journal and stylo and individually starting with a "Thank you" and their name put it down on paper what you are most grateful for having this person in your life. Repeat this five times for each loved one you chose in your top three.


Also, carry the pics of your three precious peeps with you for the day - just a reminder of the wonderful and close connections you have with your nearest and dearest.


...and feel the LOVE :)

Day 2 - The Magic Rock

Still on the topic of Rhonda Byrne's "The Magic".


Those who have seen "The Secret" will be familiar with Lee Brower's gratitude rock practice. The long and the short of it is that one uses a rock/pebble/stone as a reminder that you have much to feel grateful for. 


Since viewing the Secret a number of years ago I've made it a habit to look out for smooth pebbles during my travels. Thus far, my favourite is a smooth volcanic rock I picked up in Bali, on the gorgeous Tulamben beach after a lovely scuba diving experience. Every time I hold this rock in the palm of my hand I relive that exhilarating moment of emerging from the surf feeling one with Nature and all her splendour.


For this particular practice you'll use your personal magic rock as a reminder at night before you go to bed of the highlight of your day. The best thing that happened today, in other words. 


Give thanks and then drift off to sleep.


Sweet.

Day 1 - Count your Blessings

Still on the topic of Rhonda Byrne's "The Magic".

Day 1 is all about counting your blessings and realizing just how much you have to be grateful for.
Simple, yet effective.

List 10 things/people/even events you are grateful for and why.

Reread your list, really feel the gratitude and slowly something starts unfolding within.
...and so the transformation starts.

The Magic by Rhonda Byrne

"Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."
~ Roald Dahl

Oh wow! A follow-up to "The Secret" and an absolute must read. This book actually takes you from just reading to doing instead and that says a lot.

Once again as with "The Secret" the Magic kicks off with a passage from a holy scripture. This time, the Gospel of Matthew. Without giving too much away, suffice to say the key to leading a full and satisfying life is GRATITUDE. And so the 28 journey starts. 28 Days to learn as many magical practices to turn your life around. Life changing could read as a more rewarding life too - whichever way you choose to view the proverbial glass. Half full, half empty?

I'll be sharing each day's lesson over the next 28 days.
Why?
Because sharing is caring :)

Oh the rage!

Rage

A Poem 

Rage. Rage. Lightning burst and blind. Thunder

rage and crush, crack earth; explosion and crevasse.

Thrash tree, twist and fall; rock like finest china blast.

Rage, wind, rage. Shake foundations, split air and ear.

Bundled staves of forces fling at earth and man.

Crows and ravens flail, plow raging, earthen air,

grow weary, finally quail to quaking ground

for respite from fierce bitterness;

wet-eyed owls abandon swivel-headed dignity

in frantic search of sheltered stump,

deep hole darker than the darker night.

All crouch, cower, beg and fall, bend double

under fear, seek refuge any slightest slit might yield.

He stood and raged – raged! – deafened by blear enfilade,

lightning might throughout the demon-studded night;

raised silvered threat of fist to god, and shook

the centers of the world with outrage and defiance.

He leaped and shouted at the storm, raged at rage,

joined, united with the rage; out-raged the rage

bolt for bolt, when flamed by bolt and turned to ash...

then raged – raged! – in god's hard face,

undeterred, undiminished, unabashed.

Copyright by Don Gray

  

Just how willing are you to fly?

During my Hypnotherapy course we talked a fair bit about allegories for growth and how to bring a potent message across succinctly. Trina Paulus' "Hope for the Flowers" has a powerful message that deeply resonated with me (and still does). A message that the struggles in life are part and parcel of our journey and we should not attempt to shortcut the process. To rather totally submerge oneself in the experience, learn the lesson and emerge renewed/refreshed/rejuvenated.

"One day a small opening appeared in a cocoon. A man sat and watched for the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little opening, then it seemed to stop making progress. It seemed as if it had gotten as far as it could and could get no further.

So the man decided to help the butterfly. He took a pair of scissors and opened the cocoon. Then the butterfly emerged easily. But its body was withered and tiny. Its wings were shriveled.

The man continued to watch, expecting that at any moment the wings would open, enlarge and expand, and become firm and able to support the butterfly's body.

Neither happened. In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around in a withered body with shriveled wings. It was never able to fly.

What the man, in his kindness, did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and struggle required in order for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening are Nature's Way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings. So it can fly once it has achieved freedom from the cocoon.

How does one become a butterfly?
You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar."

The Sunday Standard, New Delhi - 18 December 2011

Came across this article in a local paper while waiting at the Delhi Airport for our return flight home.

Sharing is caring, so here goes:-

Stories of Wisdom

A teacher and his disciple were walking through the forest. The disciple was disturbed by the realization that his mind was in a constant state of unrest. He asked: "Why are most people's minds restless, and only a few possess a calm mind? What can one do to still the mind?"

The teacher smiled and said: "I will tell you a story. An elephant was plucking leaves from a tree. A small fly came, flying and buzzing near his ear. The elephant waved it away with his long ears. Then the fly came again, and the elephant waved it away once more."

This was repeated several times. Then the elephant asked the fly: "Why are you so restless and noisy? Why can't you stay in peace for a while in one place?"

The fly answered: "I am attracted to whatever I see, hear or smell. My senses pull me constantly in all directions, and I cannot resist them. But how do you stay so calm?"

The elephant answered: "My five senses do not rule my attention. I can direct my attention wherever I want. This helps me to stay immersed in whatever I do, and therefore, my mind is focussed and calm. Now that I'm eating I am immersed in eating. In this way, I can enjoy my food better."

The disciple saw light. "I understand! My mind will be in constant unrest if my five senses control it. If I am able to disregard sense impressions, my mind would become calm, and I will be focussed."

Moral: The mind is restless and goes wherever the attention is. Control your attention, and you control your mind.

~ Adapted from Inspiring Stories by Remez Sasson

The urge for a Walkabout.

My feet have been itchy since I can remember. Nope, nothing like Athlete's foot - think more Wanderlust. Though I'm sure the former might cause one to be restless too.

It was this desire to move that compelled me as a child to trace imaginary journeys with my finger on a tattered map in my "Atlas of the World".  I was happy to "travel" from Dar es Salaam to Zanzibar, Damascus and Jaipur in less than an hour. Less than an hour you may ask? Only on a magic carpet and then you better hold on tight. Did I mention my untamed imagination?

But, I'm digressing again. Point is a few weeks ago in Darwin, Australia I chanced upon this children's book in a gift shop at the breathtaking Katherine Gorge. For those unfamiliar with the Outback - it is in the middle of Nowhere. No Kidding.

The book is a collection of Aboriginal fables as narrated to Naiura by his his grandmother. A very insightful read. I was especially drawn to one particular fable, and it goes like this...

"Sometimes - and as often than not when I least expect it - a sudden urge to be elsewhere overcomes me. This very compelling need to go walkabout seems perfectly natural to me and my people, even if it is difficult to explain to outsiders. Once the mood grips us, we must leave wherever we are and whatever we are doing: we may need to be alone for a while, revisit some old familiar place, or visit particular relatives.
When I go, I let me feet take me where they will. It might be anywhere, though I have no fears, because I know my country well enough to be alert to any danger. I know every creek, every gully and every shimmering hill. There are moments when I feel I know every blade of grass, as absurd as that is.
Sometimes I stray as far as the distant mountains, which seem to pierce the sky. The air is cold up there, sometimes freezing, but the water is crystal clear and very refreshing. It tastes as pure as the winter snows that feed the streams.
The hot, dry air of the deserts is just as clean to me. And when I curl up near the campfire, the vast, star-studded sky reminds me of what freedom means to my people.
I may walk for many days on a walkabout, with no thought of time. I may seem to be doing nothing at all, yet I remain curious about everything I see. Sometimes I spot new things, or things that I had missed the last time I was in the area: a hidden waterhole, perhaps, or a fallen tree that has exposed an animal burrow, or a poisonous plant.
When my clan hunts for game or gathers plant food, each of us shares a single thought: survival. We are many mouths, and food is sometimes hard to find.
So, on walkabouts I visit every waterhole, and follow many tracks, especially recent ones. I take careful stock of creatures I might see, and what their movements are most likely to be.
Then I commit it all to memory, because the next time I pass I am as likely to be hunting as on a walkabout.
Despite the occasional scarcity of food, especially in times of drought, I feel our tribal land is kind to me and my people. We may have gone hungry many times, yet we have prevailed for generations, beyond the most distant living memory. It is a good feeling, and walkabout strengthens that feeling, while ridding our minds of its many worries for a while."

A simple fable to remind us that everything is connected.

Six human needs according to Tony Robbins.

Ever considered what drives YOU as a person? 
How about your lover, your friends, your neighbor - what drives them?


Tony Robbins identified six basic human needs and believes everyone is - or can be - motivated by their desire to fulfill these needs.


1. Certainty/Comfort;
2. Variety;
3. Significance;
4. Connection/Love;
5. Growth;
6. Contribution. 


Do yourself a favor and watch this clip. It just might give you a fresh perspective on Life.

Carrot and stick.

In preparation for my Neurolinguistic Programming course I've slowly been making my way through the requisite reading material while grinding out the odd assignment or two. Fascinating stuff all together. What caught and held my attention (that does not happen often) was an interesting story as told by Gregory Bateson in his book "Steps to the Ecology of Mind".

The author recounts a project where he was involved in studying dolphin communication patterns. As is typical with crowd pleasers the trainer had to teach a dolphin a few tricks in order to pull in and entertain the audience. On day 1 the dolphin would be rewarded with a fish for say, jumping out of the water. The trainer would blow on a whistle before tossing the dolphin its reward. Dolphins are bright so it would not take him long to realise in order to obtain a tasty morsel he would have to jump out of the water. And so he did.

Day 2 would be a different story though. The dolphin would perform one fruitless jump after the other with no reward forthcoming until in pure frustration it rolled over in the water. Immediately the trainer blew on a whistle and tossed the dolphin its fleshy reward. I'm sure you can see where this is going. Said dolphin will catch the drift, roll over again and wait for the fish to be tossed in his direction. And it did. Over a period of 14 days the dolphin quickly learned that he won't be rewarded for yesterday's tricks - only for new ones. Talk about being motivated to think creatively and then act upon it.

Coming back to the subject of carrot and stick. Being an observant chap the author witnessed the trainer  throwing "unearned" fish for the dolphin outside the training context every now and then. Of course he questioned the trainer who answered, 'That is to keep my relationship with him. If I do not have a good relationship, he is not going to bother about learning anything'.

Loving it! Rapport always matters, no matter what the situation is.
Gain it. Maintain it.

Calibration urgently required.

The backdrop for this post is set by the recent riots in England. 
Needless to say, the entire saga really upset me and not even PM Cameron's pledge for "social fightback against Britain's slow-motion moral collapse" could lift my spirits. I'm unable to comprehend how young people can justify their opportunistic (read criminal) raids for mostly hi-tech gadgets and designer gear by blaming the government & authorities for all that is seemingly missing in their lives. As one of the shopkeepers said, none of the youth who ransacked his shop looked hungry... 


Alas, I'm not blogging today to voice outrage as I had the opportunity to calibrate my emotions over the weekend with an inspirational film based on the memoirs of Li Cunxin. "Mao's Last Dancer" portrays Li Cunxin's life journey from a small rural village in China to Madame Mao's dance academy in Beijing and beyond. Far beyond his imagination could ever carry him.


In the film, the various stages of Cunxin's journey as a ballet dancer is beautifully stringed together with Chinese fables such as the Lucky Carp wind chime where legend has it that as the carp swims upstream it has to leap over many obstacles and with with final leap it turns into the Celestial Dragon. The boy's limitations range from not being flexible enough to lack of strength but whatever he lacks in the physical realm he absolutely makes up for in mental toughness as he overcomes his obstacles with gumption. I had to grin at one stage during the screening when Cunxin performed frog leaps up a staircase with sandbags strapped to his legs. My CrossFit coach would have a field day with that move. 


As with all great stories the hero has to make tough decisions and be prepared to deal with the consequences. After years of dedicated training Cunxin is spotted by the Director of an American Ballet Company. It is during this exchange program in Houston, Texas that Cunxin has to make the tough decision to either return to China or remain in the States and risk not seeing his family ever again. I won't ruin the end of the movie so make a plan and get your hands on the DVD. Watch the trailer if you need any further "nudging".


Back to my point, here is a person faced with real adversity who managed to exceed all expectations, even his own. He was concerned with hardcore issues like his legacy, his future NOT the latest mobile gadget or designer jeans. I'd much rather walk Cunxin's way than the English rioters'. 


Calibration complete.

Cozying up to Greatness.

Don't go through life, grow through life. 
~ Eric Butterworth

Yet another day where I realise how blessed I am for having so many inspirational people sharing in my life.

• i-MM travelling the world and forever sharing enriching reads and wise snippets.
• A relentless CF coach Kevin Lim, who expects nothing but excellence. 
• My BFF who makes me laugh out loud - hysterically at times.
• Gorgeous Nic and sassy Janine. Gutsy lasses proving everyday that it is indeed possible to follow your dreams (and still make a comfortable living).
• My editor, Sharon who put in long hours on my manuscript and provided me with much-needed guidance in the confusing world of publishing. 
• My lover T, for his patience (Trust me, with me around he requires busloads).
• Galpals Heloise, Hayati, Sandy, Pauline, Sproetpoep, Adele, Geraldine - viva sisterhood!

Eternally grateful to learn from you on this journey and I endeavour to pay it forward.



All you need is relentless determination.

Dear Mr. Mandela,

I would have preferred to write you an old-fashioned letter on real paper but in this technological age I have no choice but to revert to an e-mail.
The fact that I currently live and work in Singapore certainly plays a role too. Then again, an E-mail is quite fitting as it shrinks distance, almost to the point of eliminating it.

In a way this is how I feel about your presence and influence in our country.
Mr. Mandela, you "shortened" the distance between the various groups in our country in so many wonderful ways.

The first time I heard of you was in 1990. As an Afrikaner schoolgirl of fourteen years old, I was ignorantly unaware of you.

At that time my mother recently moved us (my two younger brothers and I) from the Freestate to the town of Rustenburg. We lived in a small house next to the railway track and this is where I firsthand came to witness how deeply revered you are. On the day of your release every single train passing our brownstone house had people hanging from the windows. They were celebrating and waving banners with your smiling face on it. It was one huge party.

My interest was piqued and I read more about your life - at one stage stealing the neighbour's Sunday paper wedged into the fence as there was an entire feature about you.
Of course I could've asked the neighbour for the paper once he was done, but he had dogs. Vicious dogs!

Four years later the first free and fair election took place in South Africa and I voted for your party. You smiled down at me from an ANC voting poster taped to the corner streetlamp in front of our house. I must confess to taking the poster down late one evening after the elections. It was absolute bliss studying your photo up close, noticing the tiny moles and loving smile.

Fast forward a few years to 1997 - I'm working at the Johannesburg High Court's common room in the heart of the city. Our instructions were to cater for a high tea and deliver the treats to one of the Judge's chambers at the High Court. It was not an unusual request and after we set the area and headed back to the Common room we could detect some excitement in the air. The waiters and I quickly walked down to the area just beyond the entrance to the court and this is when we heard that you, Mr Mandela was on your way. I nearly fainted when I heard the news. If my memory serves me right someone actually did faint that day when you and your entourage entered the building. Madiba, you were so tall and so very regal. Your presence was calming to the point that a hush descended over all of us. We were just in awe. You were greeting some of us by hand and somehow I found myself in the front. I extended my hand and while looking into your eyes I felt the warmth of your hand as you acknowledged mine. It was all over in a split second but that moment will be in my heart untill it stops beating one day.

Mr. Mandela, I must confess that I smelled my hand afterwards. Not because I'm silly but because I like to involve all my senses in this world. Point is, my hand faintly smelled of vanilla and even today when I smell vanilla while baking a cake I have a flashback of your gentle eyes.

And that memory makes me very happy indeed.

It took me a number of years to realise just how important moments of happiness are in this world. Not only because these moments are fleeting by nature but mainly due to its rippling effect to spread joy and love to others.
I'm busy with a mini-project of documenting the happy moments of those near and dear to me. And that would include you, Madiba.

The project does not have a name, yet (maybe that is why I call it a mini-project).
All it involves is tracing your hand's outline on a piece of paper and plotting/illustrating/writing about what gives you joy.

A good friend of mine, an Austrian lady teaching Yoga in Hong Kong agreed to share hers as an example. Please see Monika's hand enclosed. I am priviliged to be surrounded by a number of inspirational people as I'm sure you'll gather from Monika's art.

Madiba, I've been carrying this letter in my heart for a while - I hope it finds you well and happy.

With deepest gratitude,

Juria Maree

Against all odds.

Plopping myself down on a dainty chair I try to catch my breath after climbing up the steep and narrow staircase to the rooftop. It is only after rambling through my bag for my sunglasses and shifting them onto the bridge of my nose that I’m able to take in the magnificent sight in front of me – the Boudhanath Stupa in Kathmandu with the early morning sunlight reflecting of it in it’s full glory. A splendid sight. Do yourself a favour and Google the Boudhanath if you are not familiar with it.

I order an espresso from the waitress and as I listen to her footsteps descending down the staircase I’m surprised to realize it is only nine in the morning. So early and what a full day it’s been thus far. As if on cue Buddhist monks from the nearby monastery starts chanting the mantra “Om mane padme hum” and in those few intimate moments with only my thoughts everything is vague and yet clear.

As my mind goes back to the Home for disabled children where we are volunteering I’m struck by the realization that I witnessed something extraordinary earlier that morning.

Allow me to paint the scene - for the duration of our stay we would walk at the crack of dawn from the family-run guesthouse to the children’s home. A good twenty-minute walk from the valley up towards a hill. Just far enough for one to be slightly flushed upon reaching the Home’s big iron gate. We would then spend the next two hours helping the kids get ready for school, reading the paper with them or just chat about those things that connect us all – this would normally be sport related. Mostly Soccer/Football in that neck of the woods.

This particular morning, the kids could go play, as it was a public holiday. The boys grabbed a soccer ball and set of for a field next to the school. I was reading the daily paper with some of the girls and after an hour or so decided to follow the sound of the excited shrieks and constant dialogue to the adjacent field.

The area could hardly be called a soccer pitch – for one, the boys shared the space with some wandering cows. Secondly, the supporters watching from the sidelines did not make it easier either. Every now and then one of them would be overcome by such a huge degree of enthusiasm that they would have no choice but to jump in to join the fun, if only for a minute or two. After loud protesting from the actual players the spectator would sheepishly return to his sideline post with a huge grin plastered on his face. Unbelievably entertaining to watch.

What caught my attention though was a boy called Shree chasing after the ball with tremendous energy. The day before, I spent time reading the paper with him and learned he suffered from polio as an infant. Crutch and all he was tearing up the field. Shree was literally all over the place – chase, defend, kick…and repeat again. What an extraordinary display of passion it was. I felt privileged being able to watch him work his magic that morning on the pitch.

The rich smell of coffee brought my wandering mind back to the rooftop as the waitress carefully placed the cup on the table. Looking into the painted eyes on the stupa I found myself hoping…hoping to take a wee bit of Shree’s passion with me when I return to my everyday life in Singapore.

A tribute to the fabulous females in my world.

To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power (and destruction). ~ Maya Angelou

My first few days of 2011 were spent in quiet reflection brought on by the tiding of my mother’s passing. I could not help but feel a very deep sadness shrouding me. This despite our mutual agreement many moons ago to go our separate ways.

If you can indulge me I would describe this emotion as almost primal in its effectiveness to penetrate to the core of my being. It sort of caught me by surprise as I’ve been working constructively through our “breakup” for almost fifteen years. I say constructive as I don’t believe in pity parties – neither participating nor hosting them…

But back to my point! It took me a solid 24 hours to journey from feeling a bit lost to acknowledging the feelings and turning it into something with dare I say, a playful edge.

Construction paper, glue, pens and a pair of scissors took the sadness and transformed it into a colourful poster crammed with memories of Rika. It was almost critical for me to lock in these memories on paper as she was after all the woman who brought me into this world. She gave me my name and taught me some of the most important life lessons imaginable.

The paper trail led me from how I imagined her as a little girl (based on what she shared with me) to activities I recall that would bring a smile to her face. Gardening, fabulous books, dancing and good music – always music.

One crammed page later I found myself working on another one – this one to honour all the wise and sassy women I am blessed to have in my life.

Ma Janie, who nurtured Ettienne and I. Thank you for mending broken wings and hearts.

Fabulous aunties Lena and Marietjie, for taking me into their respective homes and treating me like a child of their own.

Hannapat for loving my father and bringing a twinkle to his eyes. Thank you, thank you, and thank you.

Ma Sarie for all the hugs, countless cups of Rooibos tea and sharing her son with me, whom I love with all my heart.

Monika/i-MM for inspiring me with her zest for life and appreciation of the extraordinary. I appreciate you tremendously, Mon.

Mother and daughter team de force Ma Piet and Sproetpoep. How I love the two of you. Our recent meeting in Cape Town did me wonders.

Heloise my gorgeous girlfriend with a gigantic heart. You are forever sharing and I learn so much from you.

My sister Roberta, memories of the mischief we shared never fail to bring a smile to my face.

Shantel, super yummy mommy who makes motherhood look so rewarding. You set a wonderful example.

Nicole my goddess friend - out of this world you are. Appreciate you always.

My kleinsus Jana - my darling, your love for my brother is so strong it is palpable. I’m looking forward to sharing many more soulful discussions with you.

And last but certainly not least for her actions sculpted me in so many ways – Rika, my mother. I would not have chosen anyone else but you to prepare me for this world. Thank you for making me receptive for these wise and loving women in my life – if it was not for you I would not have attracted them.

Ma Rika, your funeral took place 35 years later to the hour of the birth of your eldest child – me.

Thank you for bringing me into this world.

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.