The Restory Retreat Centre

Photograph by Matilda Angus “We live our lives, for ever taking leave.”                                                               Rainer Maria Rilke My father lived his life using his mind. He did not have to look up mathematical formulas. He carried it conveniently along in his head. Life was a trigonometrical problem for which tan and cosine applied. He could basically fix anything mechanical. He has Alzheimer’s. In the past few months there has been a rapid deterioration. I stand in his room in the retirement home, look at his mind through what I see. There are shoes next to his CD player, a light bulb in his socks drawer, his TV remote is among his toiletries, a few R20 notes are tucked in with his magnifying glass in its small case. Almost everything electrical is stripped or taken apart, the result of being fixed without having been broken. Nothing adds up, no pattern emerges from the data at hand, few things work

 This weekend past is one of those we will talk about in future, stating the date, and reminiscing on how extraordinary and special it was.     We knew up ahead that the unusually hot Spring days would be countered by a severe cold front that was moving in from the Southern part of the country and which would be reaching us around Saturday afternoon.   Snow was being predicted for the higher parts of the country and this would send icy winds our way. We were also looking forward to a family visit and felt comforted in the knowledge that the old stone house would keep us cosy and warm as we shared time together.      Naturally, a menu was planned with all of this in mind. I had pampering in mind, Grandma style: -               -  A vegetarian pasta with hot lemongrass tea for Saturday lunch -               - A hearty soup with chunks of bread for Saturday night -               - A typical hearty Barrowfield breakfast for Sunday with all the trimmings from home made yogu

I don't know whether it's an Irish nursery rhyme, limerick or short poem, but it goes like this: There once were two cats of Kilkenny. Each thought there was one cat too many. So they fought and they fit, And they scratched and they bit, 'Til except for their nails, And the tips of their tails, Instead of two cats, There weren't any! We definitely do not have the two cats of Kilkenny. In the course of an ordinary day there is peace and harmony in the house with each of them sleeping in his or her own sunny spot. From time to time those sunny spots can even be very close to each other without any problem. But there are days when Patat is so little-brotherish that Mily becomes vocal the moment he enters the room. And he can be quite devious in the way he taunts her – innocently lying in the sun close to her and then stretching specifically in her direction to prod her in the side. It is just enough to be a nuisance and too little to be seen as harassment. However, sh

Note: Matilda and I attended our first Living School Symposium from 24 - 26 August in Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was the official beginning of our 2 year program at the Center for Action and Contemplation's Living School. We arrived back in SA on Wednesday evening but were so tired and disoriented after our 40 hour return journey that we had to stay over in Johannesburg for a day before undertaking the 4 hour trip back home. On Friday night we finally arrived back here in the Balele mountains. It is all so much - the whole process, our marathon trips, America, the people, our peer group where most of our work and study will be done, the Symposium. I am filled to the brim and do not know what to do with it. I would love to dump it all in one go onto everyone asking, "And so,how was it?" I just can't. Just as it is impossible to pass Table Mountain through a funnel down a little bird's throat. And besides, as Richard Rohr said at the symposium, &qu