Living with Divina

Dressed to go frogging. Photo G.Angus

This weekend, quite unexpectedly, gave us ample opportunity to practice two of the exercises prescribed by our Living School curriculum: that of Audio and Visio Divina.

Derived from the traditional Benedictine practice of Lexio Divina, which translates to divine reading, this simply means to open yourself up to the experience of either reading, hearing or seeing, letting go of your own agendas and ideas and allowing God to speak into your innermost being through the experience you are having.

On Friday evening we went frogging in the wetlands in Wakkerstroom with a group of amphibian and reptile conservationists. There we were, at nightfall, kitted out in mud boots, rain jackets and head lamps, assigned to find and document frogs in the wetlands and surrounding grassland. Already they were starting to call as we made our way down to the water. It was heavily overcast and beautiful. Then two huge birds came into sight, adding there primeval call to the bubbling and rattling percussionists down below. "Mahem, mahem", called the pair of crowned cranes. And they circled round and round against a lead gray sky.

Rattling frog. Photo by Matilda Angus

Soon it was dark and all you could see were thirty headlamps bobbing and lighting up small patches of grass or water. One would locate a sound and then creep up to it slowly, switching off the lamp now and again, until you were quite sure that the next step might flatten your frog. Then search for it with all your might in the tall grass or slushy patch of wetland you find yourself in.

I had no luck but George found a bubbling kassina that caused much excitement among the enthusiasts. What the poor little guy made of so many head lamps shining down on it, I don't know, but never before have I noticed a frog, really noticed it in every incredible detail, as that one. All the while animated conversation was going on. More and more frogs were being found and identified and the bobbing lights would converge in groups of five or ten and then disperse again in all directions. The air was alive with the sounds of frogs of which I could make out maybe four or five.

It was in those moments when I would turn off my head lamp and stand there in the darkness in the tall grass, in a wetland in Africa, with the sounds and lights around me, that I realised how safe I felt. Even more than safe. How very loved I felt. To be able to do this. To be able to have this as a memory.

Remembering the principles of Audio and Visio Divina, I tried, maybe too hard, to "feel" God in this moment. I was disappointed. I felt nothing but the moist wind on my face. I realised that that was exactly what I shouldn't be doing. That would be having my own agenda, some idea of my own I have of how God is supposed to manifest to me standing there in my mud boots.

So I let it go and simply enjoyed being loved and being safe and watching people jump and shout for joy at the sight of a thumbnail sized frog.

Matilda