The Restory is a Retreat Centre nestled against Tafelkop, a singular mountain head near Wakkerstroom, South Africa. Here we live a simple life as contemplatives.
It is a place of re-connection: with ourselves, people, Nature, Silence and Creativity. Our retreats are aimed at this. Our conversations, writing and art centre around the univocity of life. We need a place that reminds us that we are all one. The Restory hopes to be such a place and space.
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Vanuit Die Restory - Gesprekke Tussen Reisgenote (54)
“Maar Hy antwoord hulle: “'n Slegte en afvallige geslag vra 'n teken,
en geen teken sal aan hulle gegee word nie, behalwe die teken van die profeet Jona.
Soos Jona drie dae en drie nagte in die maag van 'n groot vis was,
so sal die Seun van die mens drie dae en drie nagte binne-in die aarde wees.”
Matteus 12:39-40
~ ❖ ~
“Josef het 'n stuk linne gekoop, Jesus van die kruis gaan afhaal, Hom in die linne toegedraai en neergelê in 'n graf wat in die rots uitgekap was. Hy het 'n klip voor die ingang van die graf gerol.
Mark 15:46
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It is in the darkness, when there is nothing left in us that can please or comfort our minds, when we seem to be useless and worthy of all contempt, when we seem to have failed, when we seem to be destroyed and devoured, it is then that the deep and secret selfishness that is too close to us for us to identify is stripped away from our souls. It is in this darkness that we find liberty. It is in this abandonment that we are made strong. This is the night which empties us and makes us pure.
Thomas Merton
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Merton beskryf die oomblik wanneer Christene vanoor die wêreld voor Jesus se graf saamkom, die aand van Stil Saterdag, “watching in the night.”
"The first voice that speaks in the silent night is the cold flint. Out of the flint springs fire. The fire, making no sound, is the most eloquent preacher on this night that calls for no other sermon than liturgical action and mystery. That spark from cold rock, reminds us that the strength, the life of God, is always deeply buried in the substance of all things. It reminds me that He has power to raise up children of Abraham even from the stones. . . .
The fire that speaks from the stone speaks, then, of his reality springing from the alienated coldness of our dead hearts, of our souls that have forgotten themselves, that have been exiled from themselves and from their God—and have lost their way in death. But there is nothing lost that God cannot find again. Nothing dead that cannot live again in the presence of His Spirit. No heart so dark, so hopeless, that it cannot be enlightened and brought back to itself, warmed back to the life of charity."
Die Gesprek
Elemente Uit Die Gesprek
Finding seeds
Whichever spiritual angle you are coming from, there is something significant about this festival season that acknowledges humanity's universal longing for hope.
Situated at the turning of the seasons, we align with an ancient planetary rhythm written in our bones, a deep and rumbling reverence in the background of our hearts that parallels the ebb and flow of the turning earth, sun, moon, planets and stars.
We align with a rhythm that recognises death, followed by life, loss, followed by gain. Our myths and stories tell of renewal, rescue, hope, emergence.
Why do we want things to be better? Because they can be. Seeds tell us that. Despite whatever darkness we are in, be it depression, fear, brokenness or oppression, seeds stay alive.
They guard the future as eager packages of potential, eternal optimists.
They are like little knights in smoothened armour, who defend the grail of life.
I read this in the rivers that flow to the sea and always return to water the mountains. I read it in the rocks that rumble and crumble as sand to the sea then go millennia-journeying into the dark and molten heat-heart of the earth, only to emerge as beautiful crystals. I read it while breathing the very same molecules of oxygen that creatures on the shores of vanished lakes breathed, long before the continents assumed their current temporary shapes.
There are generations of people ahead of us whose clear bright faces are yet unknown; there is a heart-seed in humanity that wants those people to survive, to thrive, to somehow emerge both living and immortal after all the dying is done.
May you and yours know and experience deep peace and fresh hope in the coming days.
Drawing by Ron Leishman When last did you whistle while working? When last did you hear someone else whistle while working? Somehow it bothers me that whistling has become an almost absent element in our work. The sound of a person whistling a tune while busy somewhere in the house or out in the workshop conveys something of an underlying happiness, satisfaction and contentment. An enjoyment of the work itself. The tune need not be flawless. Applying more air than sound won’t lead to disqualification, as long as the intention is there. Whistling can even be replaced by singing in all that I’ve said up to now. The same principles apply. The absence of any of these two activities bothers me because it says something about us doing the work and the type of work that we do. Can it be that our type of labour in this 21 st century is not conducive to either whistling or singing? What type of work is that then – draining, stressful, pressured? Or are our conclusions ...
I have no way of proving that God exists. For a long, long time I believed because I didn't think I had a choice. If it is a choice between heaven and hell, you do what it takes to secure your celestial seat. Somehow I never stopped to consider why I so strongly believed in a heaven and hell, but wasn't nearly as sure that there's a God holding the keys to them. Then the sunbirds came. Slowly but surely I am being taught the dialect I need to converse with God. Or rather, to follow on what seems to be a trail that God leaves me. Being just up ahead and beckoning me all the while, it's not a chase after or a search for God, but rather a joint venture with God scouting and reporting back when my spirit runs low on this journey through life. In A Rare Find and Bird on my window sill I touched on synchronicity. I have come to believe that consciously living our moments, awakens us to the fact that there are more things in this life than meet the eyeball. Things t...
As Matilda has already indicated, one of the most difficult things to do after you’ve visited a country is to return and convey something of what you’ve experienced. How do you show a city’s many faces, introduce its inhabitants? How do you tell of the effects a history has on people and of a stance towards life that can actually not be translated into words? In the case of Prague, it is very helpful to have someone like Jara Cimrman. ~ ~ v ~ ~ Petrin Hill, on the left bank of the river Vltava running through Prague, is in many ways a site worth visiting. Climbing the 299 steps of the Petrin Tower, inspired by the Eiffel Tower, gives you one of the most beautiful views of the city. But by going down into its basement, you enter into the psyche of the Czech people. Here, quite unobtrusively, is the museum for the “ Genius, who has not become famous ”. Matilda and I almost stumbled onto it by chance and as we went through the exhibition, our amazement over this brilliant ...
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