The Restory Retreat Centre

  Starting With Mary, Involving Us As always, be here, be present. Breath deeply, becoming aware of your body. Whenever your mind wanders, ever so gently bring it back to this present moment." Returning to Friday evening and most of Saturday, we listen once more to Mary's question:  "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"  Her poems Wild Geese  and The Journey  give pointers, helping us to grow into our own answers. We start with Mary, but very soon we are totally involved. And by we, we refer to ourselves, other poets, people all over the world. The wonderful poet in his own right, David Whyte, reads Mary's The Journey  in the following recording.  (It must be Melanie Lutz's little dog, that sometimes seems to be dead. The Melanie who was listening to David Whyte, was busy recording him while watching her little dog and posted the video. Mary would've loved the little dog, filling the screen) In the latter part of th...

There is a place, just a few kilometres from Wakkerstroom, where we start looking for the Reds every time we drive into town. On that spot the low hills are close to the road on either side and it is here where we usually find the herd of Kalahari Reds grazing. They are different from the other goats that we pass on the road. They tend to blend into the surroundings, but when the sunlight falls on them at a certain angle, they shine like copper kettles against the hill side. Photograph by Tollie Jordaan Initially we only saw them. Then, on a particular morning, we spotted the dog. Big, high on its legs, light of colour with a black muzzle. Somehow different from any other dog that we’ve seen in the vicinity of a herd of any kind. It wasn’t chasing or herding the goats. It was just there, amongst them, somehow part of them. It was the very first time that we’ve come across an Anatolian Shepherd, other than on the pages of a book.  ...

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name; Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came. I say móre: the just man justices; Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces; Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is — Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places, Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men's faces. *                                                                       Gerard Manley Hopkins Delmas, our closest town, is no dif...

Roxy - Photograph by Matilda Clifford Yesterday I saw a 12 week old Labrador puppy. She has the same light golden colour that our Roxy has and is beginning her training as a guide dog. We ran into each other by pure chance just as I was about to leave after my spiritual direction session. So inquisitive, gentle and with that sweet puppy breath. Her trainer was just about to enter their yard after their morning stroll. A few minutes later and I would have missed them. But I didn’t and it made such a difference. A dog is soft on the touch and although it may not count for much it is the theology of love as such George

We aren't immortal. We don't last long. Like our dogs, we age and weaken. And die. Ps 49:12, 20 (The Message) She came to me as a stray more than a decade ago. On a rainy December night she somehow managed to get through the electric fence. She was terrified, thin and in a general bad state. When you approached her she growled and snapped in all directions. We left her alone to find her the next morning deep underneath the stack of sprinkler pipes. She wouldn’t budge. For two weeks I left food and water close to her place of safety. When I was at a safe distance she came out, ate and drank, sat staring at me for a while, then returned to the hide-out. Gradually, there was movement in the tip of her tail to be seen when I brought the food and looked at her under the pipes. And then, one morning, as I was walking with the other dogs in her vicinity, she came out and tentatively started to walk along. She had decided to stay. She was a mongrel in the ...