The Restory Retreat Centre

Falling Bird by Rose Bleckner "This is what the things can teach us: to fall, patiently to trust our heaviness.  Even a bird has to do that before he can fly."                                                                                                      - Rainer Maria Rilke

When will the world learn that a million men are of no importance compared with one man?                                                                           Henry David Thoreau We are always counting: “How many people attended the meeting?” “It was a wonderful service. I would say there were about five hundred people.” “We’ve got 73 likes.” Apparently, the bigger the numbers, the more successful the venture, the posting or the person. By using that yard stick we start playing for the audience. Whether the one playing is church, artist or school. We try to provide what the people want, what will draw the crowds. Of course it is necessary under some circumstances to make adjustments to help an audience grasp a concept. We owe it to our message and them to help people understand. Unfortunately, too often the emphasis shifts from the message to the audience as the all important factor. And although there might be some merit in market research on all levels of

Contrast in Krakow - Photograph by Martin Ryczek You, God, who live next door: If at times, through the long night, I trouble you with my urgent knocking-- this is why: I hear you breathe so seldom. I know you're all alone in that room. If you should be thirsty, there's no one to get you a glass of water. I wait listening, always. Just give me a sign! I'm right here. As it happens, the wall between us is very thin. Why couldn't a cry from one of us break it down? It would crumble easily, it would barely make a sound.                                            Rainer Maria Rilke – The Book of Hours I, 6

Ukiyo-e Art Image  A man noticed that his axe was missing. Then he saw his neighbour's son passing by. The boy looked like a thief, walked like a thief, behaved like a thief. Later that day, the man found his axe where he had left it the day before. The next time he saw the neighbour's son, the boy looked, walked, and behaved like an honest, ordinary boy. This is a story by Taoist writer Lieh-tse as recalled in Benjamin Hoff's book: The Tao of Pooh and the Te of Piglet. It all depends on how we look at things, doesn't it? Matilda

My mother with me back in 1961 (left) and my daughter Eylene and I in 1991 when I turned thirty (right) I'm packing for the move to Wakkerstroom. This time round, I feel a great need to sort out and discard what I no longer need . Also on a emotional level, I am more able to work through stacks of photographs and letters, cards and mementos of the times of my life and to reduce it to a manageable account without being too sentimental or precious about it..     When my mother passed away a decade ago, I was left with shelves of files and boxes containing what can be called "the hard copies of her life": journals, recipes in her own handwriting, knitting and embroidery patterns, touring guides, favourite books, accounts, photographs and correspondence. I never got round to tackling the sorting out of this tender heritage.      But now the time came to do so and I spent many a day engrossed in my mother's life. So much so that I want to some day write about

When I opened the packet with the prescription medicine that I bought for my dad, I found the pen. Delmas Pharmacy inscribed on the side. “Someone will be looking for it, having no idea where they might have placed it. I must remember to take it back when I go to Delmas again.” I put it on my night stand, in plain sight. As a reminder and so that it doesn’t get lost or somehow damaged.  But to my dismay I forget to take it with on the occasions I go to town. About a month passes. It is time to get a repeat on my father’s medicine. I have to go to the pharmacy. That in itself reminds me of the pen. I take it with, relieved that I still have it, undamaged. “Here’s your pen. It was in the packet with the pills you gave me last time” I say at the counter after asking for the medicine. “I’m not sure whose is it exactly but I thought you’ll be looking for it. Sorry that I’m only bringing it back now.” The pharmacist and the assistant behind the counter laugh at

Photograph by Chan Kwok Hung The next few weeks are going to be a rough ride. Next stop: Wakkerstroom! George

People buy their groceries in supermarkets. I do that too, but I also visit their story and real life drama sections. There is so much on offer, you won’t believe it. And the beauty is, in those aisles you don’t have to fork out a cent. The assistant at my checkout point yesterday must have been 15. Even younger if possible. I wondered how she got this job on leaving primary school. A dainty beautiful child with her fair hair, the glowing red pimple on her chin merely an indicator of her age. Somehow very active and lively behind her till. A little bird hopping, being positive and chirpy. A stark contrast to us adults trudging along, slowly swishing the flies with our tails. She startled me when all of a sudden she came out from behind her counter, came skipping towards me and placed her Closed sign on top of the bag of dog food draped across my trolley. “Oom* is last in the queue.” Back she hopped. I was the last one in her queue indeed. It was just after 13h00 and

Drawing by E.H. Shepard But Pooh was thinking too, and he said suddenly to Christopher Robin:  "Is it a very Grand thing to be an Afternoon, what you said?"  "A what?" said Christopher Robin lazily, as he listened to something else.  "On a horse," explained Pooh.  "A Knight?"  "Oh, was that it?" said Pooh. "I thought it was a-- Is it as Grand as a King and Factors and all the other things you said?"  "Well, it's not as grand as a King," said Christopher Robin, and then, as Pooh seemed disappointed, he added quickly, "but it's grander than Factors."  "Could a Bear be one?"  "Of course he could!" said Christopher Robin. "I'll make you one." And he took a stick and touched Pooh on the shoulder, and said, "Rise, Sir Pooh de Bear, most faithful of all my Knights."  So Pooh rose and sat down and said "Thank you,&

There are times when I confuse myself. My love and admiration for heavy draught horses is a very good example. For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated by these gentle giants. Whenever I pick up a book on horse breeds, I almost automatically turn the pages to the heavy horses - Shires, Clydesdales, Percherons, Brabants and Suffolk Punches. Friesians are usually classified as a light horse, but somehow their general appearance and height let me regard them as a lighter version of a draught horse. So I love these horses. But somehow I am a little bit afraid of them as well. How is it possible to control that strength, guide that weight? Weibert: Photographs by Gary Loney In all fairness, the main reason for my fear is the amount of actual contact I have had with horses in general. It is almost none. My love has been a book love, my fear grew out of very limited real life exposure. That applies to horses in general, but even more so in the case of

Playing with my food: Strawberry, black olives, french leeks and peperonata topped pizza. Inner artist treat deluxe! OK, I put my foot in it! When I wrote the post  Hidden in the heart of things , I confessed to having committed to a week of spoiling the inner artist with treats as prescribed by Julia Cameron in her book, The Artist's Way. The purpose of this twelve step program is the unblocking of creativity and I have worked through it a couple of times already the past decade, always with astounding (and often totally unexpected) results.     As I was listing my heart's desire in my task book, the thought occurred to me that it would make a good post to tell how and if I had managed to successfully execute this truly difficult task. It would also be an incentive to see it through: I do not enjoy stating publicly that I had flunked a test! Then of course, an anonymous comment on the post prompted me, and I knew I had to come clean.     You want honesty, dear Anonymous?

Image: ThinkGeek The dinner guests were sitting around the table discussing life. One man, a CEO, decided to explain the problem with education. He argued, "What's a kid going to learn from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?" He reminded the other dinner guests what they say about teachers "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach." To stress his point he said to another guest; "You're a teacher, Susan. Be honest. What do you make?" Susan, who had a reputation for honesty and frankness replied, You want to know what I make? I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could. I make a C+ feel like the winner of the Congressional Medal of Honor. I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall in absolute silence. You want to know what I make? I make kids wonder. I make them question I make them criticize. I make them apologize and mean it. I make them writ