[For Doreen Benjamin] What was I doing? I was cleaning the microwave tray from excess milk. Why? Well, because the milk boiled over. But I wasn’t crying; no one was. At least they weren’t anymore. But let me explain; You see, this spilled milk was over two weeks in the making. It was yet another turn in a series of unfortunate events which led me to that moment of taking that simple step, with my sister casually looking on opening the little door to the microwave, peering in, and then throwing my head back to look to the heavens in a proverbial “OHHH Jesus Please… (take the wheel)” Which prompted my sister to abandoned me after her initial sharing in the groan of frustration. But why two weeks? The fact is that this spilled milk could be traced back and blamed solely on one thing, and one thing alone… Pneumonia. Mm hm. That foulness that collects on the lungs and that is of no benefit to the world or humankind whatsoever. This ‘P’ word is to blame for my moment of woe. But allow me to divulge a titbit of backstory. Had my Grandmother not contracted Pneumonia, I, or any of my other family members, would not have been at my Uncle’s flat to begin with to aid in the matriarch’s recovery, after she’d spent a tiresome long-weekend in hospital. Not a slight thing by any means; waking up and not knowing where you are with no one familiar around; this coming after a hazy and delirious few days, involving a backache inducing overnight vigil (by said Uncle) and a somewhat unconscious ride in an ambulance. So there I was, making a round of coffee for several of us. My uncle meanwhile, had stolen himself away from ironing some of his Sunday best shirts, and was now attempting to turn on the geyser. We wanted to give Granny a relaxing bath earlier, but my uncle’s attempt to reprogram the geyser’s timer had only succeeded in making it fail to come on at all. So there he stood, behind me in the kitchen, leaning precariously on a small wooden stool to reach the geyser’s control panel. Then he asks me, over his shoulder, to run inside and switch off the iron. And so I did. Low and behold the iron was there in the back room, huffing and puffing away like it was dying of thirst. And so, that jog to the room, unplugging the iron, and making the return journey had cost me a minute, and one could not pass by Gran’s room without checking in (costing me several more precious seconds). The consequences of which were evident at the opening of the microwave. SO, you see, had Pneumonia not struck down my Gran, she would not be recovering at my Uncle’s place, he would not have been stretching to reach the control panel (during a session of earnest ironing) and I would not have been there to make some cups of coffee that required milk at an above-than-ambient temperature… Hence, no milk would’ve spilled. As it is, or was, many prayers were said before the milk boiled over, and many since (from around the globe mind you). The old Lady (I shan’t reveal her age… ladies take issue with these sort of things) is on the mend, stubborn as always, craving ice cream and Ginger beer whilst smuggling sugar replacement sachets for her afternoon tea. Although it must be said she was preparing herself for her date with Jesus whilst curled up on a gurney a week prior (I would be too mind you), but she has not sung her last song just yet… and she does love to sing. Thanks to Jesus for taking the wheel, healing a loved old lady… a family can draw nearer. And so, Pneumonia and spilled milk aside, there are some deep positives to this tale: beauty that runs deeper than tired legs, battered lungs and a tray of medication . . . but runs through heart and mind and soul, witnessed in moments and memories - a soothing bath, combing of hair, or sharing a warm meal at a table a half a century old. An old lady fell And a family rallied around her, to share in this fragile and mysterious thing we cling onto, holding on so dearly, when its most flagrant. --- God Bless you all.
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Today is a rather special day in the calendar of my family and I, perhaps not for the reason we would like, but it will remain a landmark day... eight years ago we lost a father, husband, brother and son. >> My Dad, Keith Benjamin. I was planning something else for today, but events led me to this post... I've never really made this blog personal as such, apart from one or two rare posts, and I'm not about to start, but for today I'll make a concession. A couple of weeks ago it was my Birthday - and how beautiful it was, with the rain and cloud disappearing for just that day, it seemed. It was a yet another reminder of how blessed I am. I've been counting my blessings of late - being alive for one, as I was involved in what could have been a very bad car accident in pouring rain, thankfully that too is behind me, just about. The times above is when you're most acutely aware of you're own mortality, conscious of your next breath, laughing with your family - it realigns your perspective, clears away the complications, of which there are many. So today I thought I'd take stock; this past year has been both big and small for me... one 'event' that passed by without much fuss was that this, my blog, turned one year old (in mid July), but more important than that milestone, is the journey I've been on in the interim. It's a strange thing, the spirit; to say that my spirit has grown so much in the past year can mean many great things, and yet for some, can mean absolutely nothing at all. You see, the world doesn't measure greatness, or success or even development by that thing called your spirit... It really is a strange thing, both ancient, and alien to us; for those who acknowledge it anyway. It's kind of like undertaking a long arduous journey, requiring great mental and physical fortitude (as I did along with some friends earlier this year, and last year as well). At the end of it though, what are you left with aside from memories? There is no material pay-off, only your mind feels enriched, your muscles feel weaker (for a little while immediately afterwards anyway) before healing. You may even feel older, or maybe just downright tired. And yet, the investment is there, in the spirit also. And so I'll say this - this past year has been big for me personally, and the next one will be even greater. To achieve the biggest arc and the highest heights, one must pull back the arrow the full length, till only the arrowhead remains in front of the bow - when the tension is at its greatest - and with it, its potential... I've been on a deep spiritual journey, discovering what it really takes to be a man - that journey is an on going affair, and its essential, especially considering the timing of it. My tree may not be bearing much fruit right now, but I assure you it will - as is always the case when leading a spirit led life. To everyone who has read this blog, commented and liked etc, I thank you. To all my friends, both personal and professional, you support has been invaluable. Thank you to my family for your endless support, without you I'd be living on the streets right, if not for the grace of God, and to wit, my biggest thank you of to my Lord and saviour, without you, I wouldn't be living at all. Lastly, I'd like to congratulate my friend for finding the woman of his heart. Wishing Vaughan and Monique all God's richest blessings. The wedding was beautiful - may it set the tone for your future, and may you strive to reflect God's love for one another. Much Love, dear friends! Steven To all married couples: "earthly marital unions were established by God to be a type and shadow of the greater marriage between God and man" In the thorns and the cross-hairs: Liberation movements – strange thing about them – labelled outlaws, terrorists, revolutionaries, enemies of the state…. Ideals change, men change, so do politics and thence, perhaps most of all, people… people are the most fickle. “I choose God before man” – Rev. Beyers Naude People are complex, forever in a struggle to find out who we are, what we’re here for. And so now, in the modern quest for globalization – although it has been an idea for quite some time now, since the inception of colonialism – making the world one country, seeking integration, unity, solidarity, love and all that good stuff, in a world getting ever ‘smaller’ – are we not discarding ourselves? We constantly (without reward) seem to be seeking answers in each other. I made an earlier post about heritage, and remembering where we all came from; to not discard our past and to preserve our culture, yet this means to oppose the concept on globalization on some level. Of course a part of the concept of the global village is to accept each and all equally, flaws and imperfections included, and unite under the banner of humanity. However, as is very easy to surmise and gather when looking at the world today; things are becoming ever more superficial, run by capitalistic ideas and motives. Thankfully, certainly from my perspective, the larger portion of society is waking up to see that ideals are not as black and white as they assumed it was – there was never the simple ‘good guy bad guy’ complex in world politics – we were just led to side with certain nations over others, when in fact guilt can be laid equally on all sides. Propaganda. Humanity. Opinion. Belief. Strange hey? Although it is our differences that make us unique – through all the beauty – it is those same differences that has been the cause for so much conflict. Many would support the idea of maintaining traditions – the good ones at least – to retain some notes of cultures from all corners of the globe, for it is that which weaves such a colorful and diverse tapestry. As we move headlong and with gaining momentum into an uncertain future, we should always reflect, remember, pause and breathe new and perhaps better life into one of the few certainties of this life – our past. To briefly shed the complexities and distractions of today. I had such a moment a few weeks back while visiting Freedom Park in Pretoria. The center piece of the park is the wall of names (S'khumbuto - meaning, among other things "place of remembrance") with all those who died in the eight major conflicts that shaped the nation, with particular emphasis on honoring those who died in the name of peace, human rights and the freedom and liberation of South Africa. Those conflicts are:
In total, up until 1994, the nation of South Africa had been at war for over 500 years. However, it’s not just about recognizing those souls, but also laying them to rest. Something which should be mimicked in every country, in some way, is the concept of Isivivane (derived from the word “viva” – in this instance carrying the meaning of “commitment to solidarity”, “unity of purpose” and “coming together”) – the place of healing and rest. This is the symbolic burial ground for all those who died. Isivivane is crucial to Freedom park, built to enhance awareness and inspire commemoration. Arriving at the site, one is required to remove your shoes as a sign of respect. This was also the site where a host of religious leaders held ceremonies and rituals to lay to rest those fallen heroes. No matter your belief, it is hard not to be moved by this experience which is concluded (after receiving an in depth explanation as to the relevance and meaning of the surrounds) by washing your hands and face in a rock pool of fresh water. Everything here holds some meaning; even the type of trees planted, and the method for entering and exiting (through separate pathways). The actual burial ground – some would liken it to the tombstone of the site – is the ring of boulders. In addition to the two boulders denoting National government and the International community, there are 9 other boulders from the 9 provinces in South Africa, all with Historical significance. For example, the boulder from the Limpopo province is from a site once ruled by one of the earliest kingdoms on the sub-continent who traded gold with India and Egypt. The boulder from the Western Cape is from the Table Mountain range – one of the oldest mountains in the world. The biggest rock is from Mpumalanga province, a piece of green Verdite from the recorded 3.5 million year old Barberton Green-stone belt (yes, one side of the rock really does have a green hue to it). If you ever get the chance, I recommend visiting this rich place, to get away from our usual everyday ebb and flow. For those unable to visit the park, feel free to visit the website at Freedom Park.
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[Banner illustration by Joel Kanar]
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