A Little Farm School

Im not really sure where it all started. Maybe it started when I was born, or it went further back than that. Maybe it started the day my daughter was born. Maybe it started the day I made the biggest decision of my life, to be a single mom,  and kept making that decision. Maybe it was the day that someone asked me “If you could do anything what would you do?” I replied “I would be a teacher”. This simple sentence, these 5 words, this soul-honest statement has set into motion a series of events that is so much bigger than me. A ball rolling that no person could conceive of - maybe there is a God? And He/She planned this, but I find that hard to drink down, because where does my free will come in? Maybe The Universe has a plan and it will push you in that direction until you bump your head so many times on the wrong path, that bruised, broken and very damaged, through many lessons, tears, blood, laughter, hate, sorrow, forgiveness, humility, friendship and love, you come out onto the right path. But you had to go down the bumpy road (a few too many times if you ask me), to have all the knowledge that is needed to partake on the right journey. 

There is so many things that lead to this point, that Im not sure where to start. So maybe here is a good place…That sunny day at the Talent Market, at Asante, sitting on the grass, with all my friends around, trading, laughing, sharing. My daughter is somewhere eating something and climbing onto someone. We are all a family and we all look out for our own. I have truly been welcomed into this amazing community, and without these beautiful people around me, I would have been a very lost soul. I was a very damaged woman, and these friends took my daughter and I in, gave us love, laughter, food and friendship. I thank you. So on this lovely summer’s day, amongst the music and laughter, I sit and chat with a beautiful, buxom woman, Helen. We have just met and I am selling some of the unnameable’s things that have been in my garage for too long. I was desperately unhappy in my current job, and knew that I was made for greater things than organising events. It was not my forte and took me away, days, nights and long hours, from my girl, my sunshine child, the reason for my breath. The world was pushing me to find something new, but I was so lost and could not see. She asked me the most profound question of my life, and one that has changed everything. “`if you could do anything (job-wise) what would you do?”, I sat and thought, and the most honest answer I could think of, even though it was bat shit crazy, and would NEVER happen, I replied “ I would be a teacher”. *PING* went the lightbulb in my head. I then talked myself down and said it would never happen, I don’t have a degree, I’m too old to start a new career (at 28 I might add) and so on went the head, when my heart was crying for the simple statement to come true. She said to me, you don’t need a degree, I’m a teacher, and I started teaching without a formal education. Well, that was it. I was sold. I was going to be a teacher. How? No idea. 

So I did what I do best, really well, like a pro! I wrote a letter. And I sent it everywhere. Every single school in the Western Cape and all the Montessori and Waldorf Schools in the country. I was determined to be a teacher. 

The LETTER:

Good day,
I would like to apply at your school for a position as a teacher or assistant teacher. 

My passion in life lies with children, it always has. In my schooling, my teachers made all the difference to my educational motivation, as well as overall in every aspect of growing up. I loved school and excelled in English - having won an English Literature Scholarship to my high school, Penryn College. Another talent I had was Drama. At age 13, I won a silver medal runner-up in the South African Drama Championships - even after forgetting to introduce myself to the judges! My Drama teacher was a larger than life lady, and she will forever be an icon in my life. She contracted cancer shortly before my finals and her lack in my tutorship has left a deep hole, even now, 15 years later. Teacher's are the pinnacle to children's futures. I understand this so deeply and am so passionately eager to start in the education industry. 

When I finished school at age 17, being very impatient to step into the adult world, I studied my O and A levels, and completed both in one year. There were two choices in front of me, the film industry or studying to teach. I chose the film industry, and spent 11 very happy, hard working years doing what I loved. In all the excitement of the entertainment industry, I had a nagging lack in life. When your career revolves around making things "look good" it left me empty. I wanted to make a difference to people's lives. Yet, this was my chosen career and I gave everything to it. English took a back seat for me, even though I continued to write poetry and essays on the side. I started a long distance English Degree in 2008, and completed 4 subjects. Passing with flying colours and a few distinctions. However I chose to leave my studies to concentrate all my efforts to the film industry. 

With the birth of my daughter in 2015, everything changed for me. I left my career and moved away from Cape Town to the Garden Route. I chose to raise my daughter in a safe, beautiful environment, with a mom that is present in her life. I started working as an Events Co-ordinator, again making sure that people's entertainment was my priority. I have given this field a good run, yet still it leaves a void, I want to make a difference. I want to work with children, they are the difference. 

It has taken me a year of searching and asking myself, researching and talking to people, and I realise the question I keep asking myself "what do I want to do with my life?" Is pointing me in the direction of education. It has always been the answer. Even as a young child, when asked what I wanted to do, I wanted to be a marine biologist(I get sea sick), a film producer (because everyone wanted to be a Director and I was different) and an english teacher. I want to give back to the community, in the way that my teachers transformed my life and have grown in me an insatiable passionate love for English Literature and learning. 

I am in the process of applying to start a long distance teaching degree, at the University of Pretoria. This is the first step in the career that I am born for. I am passionate, caring (often too much, but then, can we ever care too much for the eager hearts of children), loyal, creative and honest. 

Thank you for taking the time to read my letter, I look forward to setting up a meeting soon. 

Best,
Talia Day

And I waited, a few replies trickled in, the usual thanks but no thanks. I was determined and kept the positivity going, every no is one step closer to my yes. I received a lot of no’s. A lot.

Dear Talia,

Thank you for your inspiring letter, we do not have a position available, but our Principal would like to meet you.

Yours Sincerely,

The Secretary (Of the most prestigious private school in the area)

Well! I was so excited I could barely sleep for the whole week. The day rolled up and I was so nervous. I dressed in my most formal outfit, a black dress, black tights, black school shoes (ironic much) and my hair was neatly back with a touch of make up. Nervous as anything I walked in the front doors. The Principal firmly shook my hand, said I’m not offering you a position young lady, but I had to meet the person that had the courage to write such an inspiring letter. You did write this letter? Um, Yes Your Highness I did! (Not quite my reply, but almost) He went on to say that he would have hired me right then and there if I had some educational backing, but because the school is run by a board, they would not accept me. He strongly advised that my next step was to study (and my balloon went pfffffffffffffft! POP!). He sat back in his chair, shook his head and said, wow, with a CV like yours, and that letter that you wrote, I just had to meet you. Thank you, I replied, and was shortly thereafter dismissed. 

Words cannot be put down to describe the level of my disappointment, I hit such a low, that I was ready to give up. All the no’s were really starting to build a foundation upon my depression. Brick by brick, upon my coffin, layered with the self doubt again, that I had so briefly overcome. With a heavy heart, and a dim shimmer of determination I started researching a degree in education. UNISA are really overworked and now, 5 months later, they still have not replied to my application. I went in to the branch only to be told that I can’t apply for a degree because I have an incomplete degree and I have to do a 1 year course to prove myself. Ok… (Really! The bureaucracy! It boggles the brain - to coin a saying from my mom) Application sent! A Short Learning Diploma in Early Childhood Development. Well, Im still waiting for a reply on that one too. 

Rodriguez.

I had resigned from my position as events co-ordinator with the company, and was working out my resignation period, when I got a phone call from a lovely American lady. We chatted for a while and the gist of the conversation was that Rodriguez (THE Sugar Man) was in Wilderness and he wanted to do a Free Youth Concert and Open Mic session with the kids. Can I organise it? We want to do it on Valentines Day Sunday, it was Wednesday. I had 4 days. . . . . Ok then! Facebook post. Done. My phone did not stop ringing until eventually I turned it onto silent and had a standard message. People came from all over the country, Johannesburg, Parys, The Karoo, Mpumalanga, people cancelled their 50th anniversary trips to Mauritius to attend the concert. It was amazing. Rodriguez and his family are the most wonderful, kind, gentle, soft and caring people. We raised funds, free sound and technicians and got sponsorships for food. We organised underprivileged kids to share the stage with the big man and a whole group of local talent. What an amazing day it was! I felt so honoured to shake the hand of this iconic man, and to know his beautiful family. To the Rodriguez camp, I thank you. 

I get a phone call on the Monday, Taal-Ya! (in her gorgeous American accent) she says they’re outside and Rodriguez needs to speak to me. So me, naturally, (why do we always do this?) I think, I’ve done something wrong! I’ve made a boo-boo and said something inappropriate and the Rodriguez camp is here to sue me and scream at me, drag me off kicking and screaming to the depths of their dungeon to rot there like the lowly events co-ordinator that I am. I run, to reception. She takes my hand and says, “I don’t think we should do this here, can you please come outside”. (Oh my holy boo-boo, they’ve got tuxedo clad bouncers outside that are going to whisk me away in a nameless van and no-one will ever hear or see of the-one-that-failed-Rodriguez.) We walk outside, she takes my hand and puts a slightly larger than enormous wad of R100 notes into my hand. 

*BLANK*BLANK*BLANK* 

(my brain’s synapses failed to function at this point)

“You did such an amazing job at organising the show, and Rodriguez wants to thank you, and everyone that was a part of it. This all the money he can draw from his account in the US, and we have spread it amongst everyone that was involved.” she says to me. (Sorry, I’m still blanking away.) “Its R5000, Im sorry its not more”… The tears, just fell. I had no words. I just stood there shaking. Crying (like an idiot). My shoulders shaking I just stood there and cried (like such an idiot). She kindly hugged me and I just cried (ok, really, you’re getting snot on her shoulder, you idiot!). At that point, I had had R9,85 to my name, and pay day was 11 days away. I went to their car, greeted the man himself (THE Wonder Man), we shared a laugh, a hug and a rock ’n roll handshake. From the bottom of my heart, from the depths of my soul, I thanked him. It was a profound moment in my life, a moment of complete humility and such an overwhelming sense of gratefulness, not just for the money, but for the experience of meeting The Man himself and for being a small part of his big world. I was completely humbled. 

The Next Yes

Dear Talia,

Thank you for your wonderful letter, our Principal would like to meet you.

Yours sincerely,

Dawn

Knysna Montessori School

“I’m sorry to say that the position has already been filled” she says to me as I walk in to the office. (So then WHY AM I HERE!!!!!!!???????) “but, a CV like this, with such an inspiring letter does not pass over my desk very often, and I had to meet you”. (Again!!! Ok, thanks Universe, but my nerves really can’t take this anymore, interviews are scary, ok!) We proceeded to have a lovely chat and she asked me if I would be interested in signing up as a stand-in teacher for when she needs someone? Of course yes! I will! But (and maybe I should have done more research) I really don’t know much about Montessori… only that it is an alternative education system, and I want my daughter to attend a Montessori school (This makes me sound very clever, neh!) The product of this meeting ended with me meeting Taddy (as she is fondly known by all) the founder of the school and the Teacher Trainer. This all happened in the span of about an hour. I was so excited to meet her, the lady who had an oil painting portrait at the entrance to the school (very posh). R36 500,00. Shit.

R36 500,00 to do a teacher’s training. Double shit. Balloon = Boom! (pffffffffffffffft!)

Ok, who do I know thats REALLY rich? No. Can I get a loan? No. Student loan? No, can’t afford to pay it back. At this point, I have a part time job with the most incredible woman, Flea (I still don’t know how she got the nickname). It gets me by, just. Just. Ok, can I put on a short skirt and stick out a leg? No. Can I sell my body on the internet? No. Can I sell my car? No. Am I in anyone’s will that I can maybe, you know, off. No. Gosh. I’m so out of ideas and even more desperate to get together the cash to study to be a teacher! (Now, please note, all of this goes through my mind whilst I’m sitting in front of Taddy, and smiling.) I’m sorry, I can’t afford it. I would give anything (here I really am contemplating giving everything, like my body and soul) to do this training. She smiles kindly at me and says, I offer the training myself, but its only a South African qualification, and thats R15 000.00 - (well thats R20 500 less than what I was just contemplating murder on). Done! I have R4500 deposit right now (thank you Rodriguez) and, can I pay off the rest? (Thats become my standard question, can I pay you off? Quite funny actually. I paid off my daughter’s birthday present, R50 a month for 4 months.)

I was her only student and would be receiving one-on-one training. I was nervous, excited and curious! I honestly had no idea what I had signed on for, and oh my goodness, was I in for a shock. 

A good shock. With our first session, I knew without a hesitation in my mind, that this was what I was supposed to be doing. The Montessori Method was what my brain was designed for. It made such complete sense to me, everything just went *click*click*click* into place. I realised that my whole life, my way of thinking, my experiences, my daughter, everything had lead me to this point. This learning. I am going to be a teacher. I am going to be a Montessori Teacher. This has become a mantra for me, I am going to be a Montessori Teacher. I had found my calling. My soul’s purpose upon this earth. And my studies began.

A Brief Acquaintance

With my new awesome, amazing, wonderful part time job in the fairy forest, I was travelling very far to work everyday. Now, there is only one person, me, that travels to this exact location. A lady that lives on the same farm as my father, heard from my Gift Mom that I travelled to said location, and she worked at the neighbouring farm, could I give her a lift one day? Sure! I’m always up for a hitch hiker and some petrol money. We started chatting, and I dropped her off at the office, in the forest. We arranged a meeting place and I went off to work. Pick up time comes and no hitchiker. Off I got to the office and poke around “hallo-ing” away, fending off the terrifyingly deadly friendly Labradors. A lady comes out, friendly as anything and introduces herself (name = gone, my brain is a sieve for names). She directs me to where my fellow traveller is waiting, and I carry on my merry way.  

A few days later, at Pick n Pay, a women walks up to me, all smiles and greets me as if we are the oldest of friends. I’m thinking, uh, should I run, or is she a customer of the studio? Anyway I pretend to know her too, and we chat like old friends. Eventually, I just can’t take it anymore, Im sorry, but who are you? (Ego, into pocket, embarrassed much?) She laughed, said she’s forgotten my name too, we met at the farm the other day. Oh ja! Thats it. *click*

A few days later, I bump into Belinda again, I’m in the car, she’s running (no one is chasing her, she is doing it for fun), and we start chatting and she says she is home schooling her kids and I mention that I’m studying Montessori. Conversation ends and we go our separate ways. A very brief acquaintance.

31 May 2016 - 19:02 

My phone rings. Thats enough to send any mother off a cliff. Suicide hour, as we fondly nickname it, is between 18:00 and 19:00. The baby had just gone down and she was still singing herself to sleep, which can take between 30 seconds and 2.7 hours, when the dastardly phone rang. Trying to sprint quietly is quite comical and I am so glad that no one was there to see it. It was my daughter’s pre-school Principal. Oh gosh, I thought, she's phoning me to shout at me because the school fees are late (Why do we always jump to negative conclusions). “Hello?” This phone call has changed my life. 

“Hi Talia, its Karen. I heard that you are studying to be a Montessori Teacher, when do you qualify?”

“Hi!” (huh?! This isn’t the blasting I was expecting) “Yes, I am studying, I’m due to qualify in December”

“Talia, I want to give you the pre-school”

*BLANK* - “Excuse me?”

“Haha! I want to know if you would like to take over the pre-school as the principal, owner and teacher?”

“I’m sorry, you want me to do what?” (I can be quite stupid at times)

“The school was given to me 5 years ago, I have loved it, and now it is time for it to be given onto someone else. Someone that is going to take it and run with it, make it into an amazing little school, and I know in my heart that you are the one. I want to know if you will take it, everything, the children, the equipment, the playground, everything…”

“I’m sorry, you want to GIVE me the school?” (At this point Im sure she was rethinking this, because I was definitely sounding thicker than a concrete wall.)

“Yes! Your name has come my way from Bellinda and another mom, and I want to ask you if you will consider taking over the school?” (WHO THE HELL IS BELINDA?? My brain is now going into overdrive to think who it could be…Lekker idiot)

“Uh… Like, the whole school? The kids and the building and the everything?” (My englishness is very deliciousness here)

“Well, no,” (I KNEW there was a catch!) “We will move the school to a new location, closer to town, which will bring more kids, and its a live in position, so you will have to move. But otherwise everything else is included, the kids, the equipment, the playground, the furniture, the fridge, the stove, the tables and chairs, everything, except the goats and donkey. Its yours, if you will consider taking it.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure that I’m understanding you properly.” (A la concrete wall stupid) “You want to GIVE me the pre-school? For nothing?”

“Yes.” (I can hear her mind going, maybe I should reconsider, this one is a bit on the thick side)

“Why me?”

“Because I know you are the right person, it feels right.” (she has met me for all of 3 minutes and I was asking for a discount on school fees. Blind)

I went into shock, sat down, poured a glass of wine, and did what anyone does in a situation. I called my mom.

Mom, don't get a shock, are you sitting down?

To be continued…

People Ask Me Why - A single mom's journey to the Garden Route

18 October 2015

People ask me why I came to the Garden Route. This is the place where barefoot hippies have wild children, they hungrily sell their crafts for tourist’s spare change, and drive the rust bucket in which you can see the road through the floor, to buy the week’s groceries. This is the place where the Trustafarians drink coffee in the morning on their balconies overlooking the splendour of their oceanic view, and meander off to the “local” to idle the day away in their right of trust funds. This is the place where the overly rich stop off to holiday in their luxurious summer palaces and bring the city to the village. This is the place where the almost dead retire from life, where they while away their pensions in a rocking chair of wisdom and knowledge. This is the place where the divide between the rich and poor is a canyon, there is no middle class. This is the place where the ocean meets the lagoon, with the mountain smiling at their union. 

People ask me why I would leave an illustrious career in the film industry, rubbing shoulders with gold star directors and infamous actors, where the living was good and the wine was vineyard inspired. How I could leave a career I have built my life around, since 17, where I have worked my way up from a coffee serving lackey to working on the Avengers: Age of Ultron (I licked Iron Man’s suit). 

As I sit on the bottom step of my farm cottage, on a Saturday afternoon, watching the trees turn purple, listening to the fish eagle calling his mate home, and watching my daughter growl, giggle and gurgle as she chases, well awkwardly “crawls”, 3 legged, whilst the other hand is shovelling a careful selection of ants into her mouth. Sitting here nursing my lonely, broken heart and empty purse, wondering why? Why did I come here. This is the reason. The simple act of watching her and pondering life’s small pleasures. 

21 October 2015

Today is a beautiful day, its the same feeling everyday, wake up next to my angel child and wonder what the day will bring, my house is calm and peaceful. The morning pee releases the only tension in my body, and I sigh, with a sleepy groan. Check the electricity meter. Ok, Geyser on. Kettle on. Radio on. 

The wriggle bum is still dead. With her arms flung carelessly over her head, and her puckered mouth wide open, generally with a line of spit trailing onto a maroon wet patch on the sheet. My sheet is red, until she sleeps on it, which results in pooh brown, milky formula, wee-wee patch, sweaty head and spit stained maroon derivative. My city-pigeon cream duvet, which, a few past lives ago was forest dove white, is haphazardly entangled amidst pre toddler, nappy-changing-distraction teddy, swaddle blanket and midnight bottles. The benevolent, pied piper dummy is  supposed to be somewhere in there. However,  after a moan and squeal mid-sleep it falls out her mouth. The goblins (aka little fuckers) are on standby to whisk it away to the furthest middle point under the bed base, where it is impossible to access at 3am, amidst a stupor of befuddled sleep and screeching pre toddler, sorry, demon re-incarnate. 

Will I run out of diesel today? The 7am messages start - 

FNB :-) Your account is in arrears, make a deposit today to avoid debits being dishonoured. 

Vodacom, your debit order has been returned unpaid, please SMS ARR to… I try, but you have to pay for THAT sms, so it doesn’t go through, because there’s no airtime, so the message sits in my inbox, with a huge red !!, like a pimple on your forehead. You can forget its there, till you look in the mirror. 

Dear client, this is a final notice to settle the outstanding balance of…

FNB (no smiley face)- Regrettably we have not recieved your credit card payment.

Then the phone starts ringing - “eh, hello. Can I please speak to Mr. T. Pieters.” 

“This is Miss PietersE speaking”

“Eh, yes, Mrs Piters, please not that this call is recorded. I am calling you from Mr Price” 

If I’ve stayed on the line long enough to get to that point, it usually culminates in me telling them that I don’t appreciate being called out of office hours, and that they should gently fuck off, kindly, please.

And the day starts like that. 

The Day I Left My Home

"Vat heirdie fokken kind voor ek haar gooi"

Monday morning. Alexandria is 11 weeks today. I woke up with the unconscious knowledge that today would be the day I would leave my life behind. I would walk out of my front door for the last time. Kiss my kitties goodbye and I love you, for the last time. I would sleep in my bed for the last time. I would call my flat "home" for the last time. For the last time, I would have a home, for a very long time.

Her ginormous nappy bag is packed for her day at creche.
5 Nappies - check
1 wet bag - check
4 Bottles and formula - check
2 Pied piper dummies - check
3 Bibs - check
2 sets of clothes - check
2 blankets - check
1 Packet wet wipes - check

Thats the normal bag-pack for a day out. The lounge couch could be somewhere in there too, and the bath. She is still dead in bed. I'm dead in my head. Shower. Get dressed. Pin up my hair. No make up. Lug the dead-weight out of her warm spot, feed the screech till it tones down to a comforted suckling. Dress my heart. Kiss her soft spot on her head. Load me up, the pack horse. Grab my heart child. Walk out the door, without a second glance, or even the conscious thought that this was the last time.

I left with nothing. Not a thought. Not even a spare nappy. I just went to work.

That night I found myself on the edge of a lake, pouring my broken heart to my mother. She gave comfort and advice. She bought wine and dinner. I brought abusive nightmares, indecision, fear and an emotional monster. Later that evening, on a couch turned white with dog hair, and the kind, smiling eyes, of a beautiful angel lady, Sherene, my eyes cried till the lake overflowed, and the house was dry of any wipeable surface for snot. She was our refuge for the night. She never asked a question, or turned a cold grimace. She welcomed 3 generations of women, 2 of them broken, and only one too small and new. I was a broken mother, seeking solace for my daughter. And then there was my mother, my mother, my mother... who is wordless to describe. My mother, for all of the emotions that word holds - mother - she was holding the tissues, and the wine. She had bought some nappies and a toothbrush.

Sherene is a kind elder lady, with a hot young fling on the side. She loves her dogs and her cats and Mr Charles Harrington, the Cat. She opened up her home, her heart and her spare room for a mother in need, and an infant in deed. The bed had a large doily throw, and crocheted pillows. Old lady pink, a shag carpet, and an antique-rose inspired lampshade adorned the room. It was a cocoon of talc smell and comfort in the bosom of an elder. I slept, wept and slept. And when the tissues were finished, I wiped my nose on my sleeve.

Day 1.

Fear

And fear is the hyena at the shackles of your feet
And it tickles the base of your neck
And your back cringes from it
And my body freezes
And the blood ceases to flow
And only the beat of terrified heart
Pumps the adrenalin from body to soul

And the demons of dark feed off the emanating
It radiates from me to the gaping mouths
And i am frozen
The icicle slide down my navel
And it drips slowly as it melts
And i am cold
And i am immovable

And with each moment i am fear
And i beg at death's door
To release me
To unchain me
To allow me to flee
And run till i cry
And scream till i die

And the wrinkled fingers curl around my throat
And i choke
And i am too scared to breathe
And the darkness fills my lungs
I breathe it in like elixir
That poisons my cells
And roots me to the nether

My mind closes
Shuts its doors for business
And i go crazy
And i hear speak
From voices not hear
And i am insane
And i am alone
The words ghostly whispered
Between my ears

And the darkness is my friend
And the fear is my companion
And they keep me warm
As i freeze
And my sanity slips further from grasp
To a place
A no where
It ceases to exist

And i die
And i become fear
Your fear
Hear the whispers

Anger

And anger came along
And screamed its deadly song
And only the ears of one posessed
Will sit with the demon
And only thoughts unpure will hear
In silence it rages
And black fury settled over

The choked night
The darkest overwhelming kill
And spreads its hands
And it says "friend"
And it draws you below the surface
Where the water chokes your cries
No one is listening
And it rapes you
Till husk so dry
And it chains you
Till your struggles weep
And it takes your soul

To keep

To abuse

To mould

Please

Give me a last day to live
Please
Whisper to me when I shall die
Please
Knees begging for the final day to live
Please
Hopelessness a fog around me
Please I cry forlornly

Beyond despair I cling in desperation
To a thought of you
All the time your love caressed my soul
When you looked at me in farewell
The touch of unconditional union in separation
We shared
A life, you gave me life
For the last time
Give me a last day to live

I can’t exist without you
You are my world
I will never see you again
You will never hear my voice
Laugh!
Your tears will never flow with mine
Lonely
Alone you shall be
Left behind a vessel of despair
Whisper to me when I shall die

Beyond feeling I can’t comprehend
My last moment
I want to say goodbye
I am not strong enough
I can’t look beyond
Only in regret do I die
Never again shall we share
My love for you is your reason to live
It is who I am
Knees begging for a final day to live

I am so scared
My body shakes
Wracked in sobs of sadness
So deep
Choking I cry and scream
I lay down
I give up
I surrender
The pain of life without you
I shall never love you again
Hopelessness a fog around me

Today I know I shall die
The darkness shall come
The birds will take me
Fly with my soul on dark wings
Away from you
“I can’t” I scream
“I can’t leave you”
Love is too deep
The foundations of our existence
“One last touch”
I cry forlornly

I can’t say what I need to
The pain in my heart
Won’t break the walls of emotion
One last time can I hear your voice
So that it may carry me
Away to my death
I need you here beside me
My life I regret
Leaving you behind
Yet,
I thank you
I love you
Goodbye Brother

The Golden Feet Of Haven

Float away in beauty
To silence filled caves,
Water beyond eye
Lapping at the golden feet of Haven
Paradise alive, unknown
Transparent in feather, fish, foal
Lives living, being beyond, all ever
To be found
And awed

A magical forest of mist and birds,
Flying to the eve
Soaring in their freedom
The canopy holds true,
A bud thirsty for light –
Unfolding
The rich mountains –
The Gods of paradise Solitaire
A temple of Soul

Rays of light sparkle on ripples of pure
Lapping at the golden feet of haven
White powder beneath, made of shells
Soft as dreamers,
Eons of life,
Lost in the space of sand

Suspended in a warp,
Never to transform
The tranquility of raw beauty
Angels take their first breath
Born in timlessness



The Sun lays it’s weary head upon the shores
o’ golden feet of Haven,
To rest and replenish it’s warmth
The moon does delight wandering through
The Guardians of Old,
Tall and unmoved, silent and watchful,
Indulgent Grandfathers

Beyond imagine, mind is concieved here
Find one truth on wings o’ brittle
As a Dragonfly,
Dipping, touching the sacred waters
Of Belief’s House

Your body calls to,
Your spirit yearns be,
Your soul will feel
The once dreamed inner core of life to become,
Here be love,
The womb of God,
In the House of Solitude
At the Golden Feet of Haven.

Shame

And shame turned my head away
And i cowered in a corner
And pity was upon me
As the lowest
As the basest
And the most disgusted
Was i to all else

And shame and i slunk away
We shrunk in this body
Deflated
Lifeless
Barbaric
Cowardly
In this body

We took each other in
And beheaded before me
I did
To save my soul
I sacrificed my life
And traded with the blood

To bed with shame
I undressed
And he laughed at my scars

All Thought

Do all other than it
Pick your dirty nails
Pretend idle boredom
Walk in square roots
But don’t think about it

Do all other than that
Chew your chapped lips
Listen to others conversing
Watch the intercourse
But don’t think about that

Tap, tap, tap
Tap the pen into writing life
It excludes you
It eludes you
Untouchable ice
Desperate in solitary
Unwanted loving iscolation
An ironic conundrum

You find friendship in the pages
You fated yourself to the temple palace
The padded room you are in
Inmate of your own concentration camp
Erosion will fade away to husk
A moth dead
The wind flutters your decaying wings

Laugh away from the anger
That watches you, red
You’ve tamed it to a scream
An explicit dull shriek
The shrill headache hiding just behind the lobotomy
Just that little measure unfelt

The dark glass holds the elixir
The needles of numb
The line of lies
The drink that dulls
All thought
Do all other than think
But don’t think about thought.

I have a feeling the universe is trying to tell me something. Or smack it into my thick head. Or break all the bones around me so that I actually get whatever this mystical all-mother-of-everyone-all-knowing-great-non-god-universe is trying to tell me.

~Lets start at the very beginning~, The Sound Of Music sure had it right! The love of my life, my best friend, my hero, my agitator, my lover, my fighter, my built in dishwasher and my future husband broke his leg about 3 moths ago. I don't know if it's just me and that I'm not all with it upstairs, because sometimes I used to fantasize about getting that phone call. The one that you see in movies where the phone rings and the character answers and you hear "ma'am, this is sergeant O Connor from the state police department" ( you have to imagine the american twang), "Ma'am I'm sorry to inform you that your husband has been in an accident.Blah blah". Its not that I ever wished for that to happen, but I wondered what it would feel like if I ever had to get "The Phone Call". Especially with my love who thinks, subconsciously I'm sure, that he is an indestructable MMA fighting stuntman and that he breaks motorbikes, motorbikes don't break him.

So the dreaded day finally arrives when I recieve "The Phone Call". For the life of me I can't remember who phoned me, she was nice enough to introduce herself though. I was working on one of the hardest jobs I have ever had the pleasure and misfortune of working on.My phone rang and my first thought was to let it ring and I'd call him back later. I answered anyway and hear this very soft spoken voice on the other end. The confusion reigned my brain! As I never doubted that it would be his voice on the other end. I don't remember what she said but all I heard was "Wayne has been in an accident..."(white noise follows) "he has broken his leg" (more white noise). My first thought was that he had broken his bad leg, the one he had 26 operations on after a motorbike accident. He was told if he broke it again it would have to be amputated. For all the thoughts in the world the first one that popped into my head was me marrying Wayne with one leg. Thats ok my head told me. We'll deal with it, because he is the love your life and whats some plastic anyway?? These thoughts lasted a split second. (more white noise) And  then...

Any collaborative or conscious thought, all my sense and demeanor, my heart and soul collapsed around me and I had a panic attack.I couldn't breathe, I was then on the floor and just started silently screaming inside. I lost it. I don't know if all the little pieces that sped away from me have ever really all come back to join me in my insanity. A colleague gave me a lift to the scene of the accident and the first thing I saw was the motorbike. My legs collapsed under me and would not move. I became hysterical. The tow truck drivers (the pox on them), pulled me aside and got me to sign something. This something later cost us R4000. I had dissociated from the situation and all I wanted was to get to Wayne.

For the rest of my life I will never ever forget seeing The love of my life, my best friend, my hero, my agitator, my lover, my fighter, my built in dishwasher and my future husband lying on the road. There was so much blood. All he said to me was "Baby, I broke my leg". Seeing him there in the midst of all the chaos will be branded onto my brain for all of eternity. When you love someone so much, that you'll take their place in death and in pain and without a thought break all your own bones so that they don't have to feel their pain anymore. I will give anything to never have him go through that pain again. It broke me. He broke his leg, but my soul and heart were broken. The motorbike and the car finally broke the man.

The mystical-all-mother-of-everyone-all-knowing-great-non-god-universe really wanted to put us both through a trial. I don't know if we passed because now our animals have taken to breaking themselves too. My delicate, bitchy, petite kitten-cat, Llama broke her tail. Unlike my man's leg it was amputated and she now looks like a deformed dog. That little stump works overtime on those lizzards and you know when she is angry! You can almost feel her whipping you with her phantom tail.

This morning I awake to find our big, oh-so-fluffy, dead-all-around-the-house-in-the-best-spots-for-sleeping, 3/4 lion and 1/4 mancoon teenage kitten is limping. His foot is swollen and sore and we think its broken. (WHAT!!) But alas to my dismay after eating this morning he promptly disappears to terrorise the neighbour's much larger cat. And now I can't find him.

So I'm sure the mystical-all-mother-of-everyone-all-knowing-great-non-god-universe is really trying to tell us something. Or maybe its just me? But I really don't get your drift! Treat me like I'm a non brain and please spell it out for me, write it on my walls or get someone to graffiti it, I'm sure there are a few spirits who are able to use spray paint? Somehow my punctual mind is just not hitting on the full stop. And please stop breaking all the bones around me. Its not fun and I really can't afford any more medical bills.

Love Talia