The Restory Retreat Centre

In South Africa we call a small pickup a “bakkie”. It is an Afrikaans word that actually means a small bowl. You’ll give milk to a kitten or a puppy in a “bakkie”. How exactly it came to be used for this type of vehicle I don’t know. In our country with its 11 official languages, we borrow and mingle. Some words we don’t translate. We just use them “voetstoots”. As is. So, whether you’re English, Afrikaans, Zulu, Xhosa, you’ll call any small pickup more or less up to a one tunner a bakkie. Thereafter it is a truck or a lorry. Were you to emigrate to another country you might find fairly similar vehicles, but you would miss using the word. There’s just nothing like a bakkie. And among bakkies there are Bakkies. Legends. You can get them only second hand. Or steal them. They’ve earned their reputation through years of use and reliability.  Driving one of them you get used to people walking around them, admiring them, kicking one of the tyres saying: “They don’t make them like...

Your love has brought us to this silence, where the only obligation is to walk slowly through a meadow  and look.                                  - Rumi I'm looking forward to tomorrow's quiet day on the farm. It seems such a long time since I last could simply be. Lately, my life has revolved around the preparation for an exhibition. I'm experiencing huge creative blocks and challenges and know that this too, is necessary for my development as a practising artist. I know the release and freedom lie in becoming quiet. Tomorrow all I will do is walk slowly through the meadow and look. There will be ewes grazing on the oats, and maybe even the birth of a lamb under the early winter sun. I will look. Matilda

A woman and her young daughter were destitute and traveling to another country where they hoped to find a new life. Three men stole them while they were camping. They were brought to a city and sold as slaves; each to a different owner. They were given one minute more together, before their fates became unknown. My soul clings to God like that, the way they held each other.                               Mira

Learned theologians do not teach love. Love is nothing but gladness and kindness. Ideas of right and wrong operate in us until we die. Love does not have those limits. When you see a scowling face, it is not a lover's. A beginner in this way knows nothing of any beginning. Do not try to be the shepherd. Become the flock. Someone says, This is just a metaphor. But that is not so. It is as clear and direct as a blind man stubbing his foot against a stone jar. The doorkeeper should be more careful, says the blind man. That pitcher is not in the doorway, replies the doorkeeper. The truth is, you do not know where you are. A master of love is the only sign we need. There is no better sign than someone stumbling around among the waterpots looking for signs. Every particle of love, any sprig of an herb, speaks of water. Follow the tributaries. Everything we say has water within it. No need to explain this to a thirsty man. He knows what to do. ...

Africa My Home: Wild and hot and bothered plagued and exploited. Impoverished beautiful people fed on the warmth of an attentive mother sun laugh easily- happy children playing amongst her skirts of foliage and frothy waves. I love it all. I love my life under the African sun. Matilda

Waarom skryf ek? Ek het ‘n gevoel dit het met my geaardheid en met my lewe te doen. Laasgenoemde het soveel vertakkings - my en M se verhouding, Pa, my spiritualiteit, boeke en skrywers, die plaas, die werkswinkel, flieks, houtwerk, die kerk, die fabrieke waarby ek kom, die werkers, my familie en vriende, die honde, die natuur, kuns, plekke, musiek, Biodanza, my rekenaar en die internet, humor, gereedskap, mense, my liefde vir die TWO se geskiedenis. Op enige gegewe tydstip is ek met een van hierdie vertakkings besig, met inspeling van die ander in ‘n mindere of meerdere mate, maar dit is tog net so dat die fokus telkens oorwegend op een van hulle is. Hoe is hierdie verskillende fasette met mekaar verbind? Is daar ‘n verband? Waar vind die sameloop plaas? Ek meen die sameloop is net op een plek - binne my. Ek is die naaf waarin my belangstelling-speke saamkom. En die een plek waar my belangstelling-familie mekaar sien en oor en weer gesels, is wanneer ek skryf. Dáár hak...

Only on his very last night did Jesus meet the Church officially. Caiaphas surely had to move appointments in his busy schedule. It wasn’t easy to convene the full Council on such short notice. But it was an extraordinary case concerning outrageous claims. Something that he had to nip in the bud with the power of God vested in him.   It actually went very well. After all, he would know what God looks like were he ever to see him…  (Matt 26:57-68) "Christ before the High Priest"  - Gerrit van Honthorst c 1617 George