The Restory Retreat Centre

“No matter how slow the film, Spirit always stands still long enough for the photographer it has chosen.”                                                                                        - Minor White Every retreat is a journey in itself, a process of discovery and growth.  I have always been fascinated by the wealth of knowledge that abounds and the intellect’s ability to tap into that and apply it in any number of ways. To a large degree my mind has always been my tool of choice in relating and understanding my world. In a society and culture that prides itself in being rational, it was to my advantage. However, through grace and my exposure to contemplation I have discovered how limited and limiting my approach has been all...

I really did not know that there was a word for it.  I am always hungry for it, longing for it, searching for it, missing it way too many times, and over the moon every time I encounter or am part of it. In Shakespeare’s play Richard III the king cries out, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” My cry would be, “Deipnosophy! Deipnosophy! My kingdom for deipnosophy!”  Deipnosophy means the love of, or skill of, dinner-table conversation (from the Greek deipnos – dinner).  It is truly like wearing a pair of shoes two sizes too small when you’re at a social gathering where conversation consists of boasting (telling of recent holidays, best airlines, worst stop-overs, bad service at well-known restaurants, the fuel consumption of their new SUV, the trials and tribulations at the last Comrades marathon she ran and names dropping. Among other things), rugby talk, dirty jokes and innuendos and topics solely picked from facebook pages and whatsapp messages on ...

“And this our life, exempt from public haunt,  finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,  sermons in stones, and good in everything.  I would not change it.”                                                         William Shakespeare, As You Like It

Every now and again George remembers his duties as my personal muse and assigns me a writing exercise with themes that range from truly mediocre, like to write about who lives in my street, to spectacularly bizarre: the Queen's handbag being one I distinctly remember. Of course, he knows that I will find out, as I write along, that no theme is ever mediocre, but the writing makes it so. As beauty is in the eye of the beholder, mediocrity is often the shades we wear looking at the world around us. "Write about what you don't think about." I ignored the assignment for a bit. I usually do when I know it will take me places I might not find comfortable. In any case, writing about what I'm not thinking about will have me thinking about it, won't it? But yes, I know what he means. So let's see where this leads me. It really depends on the season, but in these glorious, golden, autumn days, and again in late spring, I don't think about climatic temp...