Tourmaline crystal rain

Tourmaline 2Tourmaline

 

 

So Hum left the thick branches for the delicate higher ones, and that was when the tourmaline dream rains fell. It was a good move – So Hum felt love. His dream rain was a dream come true. He was in love with life. He had scraped together his entire being and with a quiver of excitement, was attempting to offer it to someone at the top of his rain tree.

He saw love as a gift bestowed upon him from high. It was a token of his bliss and he offered a gratitude for his existence.

In his simple dreams, his good intentions seemed to unfold effortlessly. It seemed that everything was in collusion and everything was going his way. He no longer felt the earlier needs to shy away from the dark or to look for others. All was one and one was all, and that’s all there was. His love of everything was proof of this cohesive state of being.

His gratitude poured out of him, then oozed out and then became a trickle before it dried up. This was because he started to take love for granted and love’s aethereal spirit departed to an imaginary distant shore. Was he ever a part of the eternal loving oneness that those pink and green rains had once promised him?

Allan Taylor, author. Luanshya musings

Love

Unconditional love African Soul

Love is a building block of an awareness that we ‘are’. We would not build upon our conscious awareness without the focused desire to be ‘one’ with someone – those are the mechanics of attraction that we loosely call love.  Without the first grain of love to build upon, our awareness, which is a wide open facet of our Soul, would drift quietly away from us in haphazard detachment and indifference. In such a vague state of existence we would not be given the chance of physical and cognitive growth in the swirl of universal happenings.

Allan Taylor, author Luanshya musings

The Kasankas

Bats

The same old water diviner told me about a swampy area ‘not a 100 miles from here as the crow flies’. It was called the Kasankas. Every year thousands of fruit bats arrived from as far away as Central Congo and Tanganyika to feed off wild fruits that grew there. Large crocodiles lay under wild fruit trees fertilised for centuries by drips of stinking bat guano. Spattered with dung, they took advantage of causalities, as the young, old, injured, dead and bickering fell out of the trees. A soft nerve impulse in a membranous wing in another land had caused these debauched reptilian monsters to haul themselves from their riverine habitats to become forest creatures during bat feeding frenzies. The bats came for the fruit, and the crocs came for the bats. Life and death were welcomed to the same dinner table: both invited by Lady Consequence, their gracious host.

Allan Taylor, author, Luanshya musings

Change

Those mesmerising little eddies and whirlpools that seemed to aimlessly muse themselves into oblivion in the temporal backwaters of the Luanshya River: they knew one day they would meet the great Zambezi, and eventually the grand shores of the Indian Ocean. Like them, I had to go with the flow. Our futures were not stagnant pools of mosquito larvae infested water in the vlei. Like mosquito larvae, life called for change.

Allan Taylor, author Luanshya  musings

Ross Sayers

                        Mana Pools, Zambezi Valley. Ross Sayers

Inner space

Jacon Oster Mursi girl Ethiopia

                      Jacob Oster Mursi girl Ethiopia

Just as I can describe the relativity of my time as a hollow rubber ball, so can I describe my Soul as being the sole owner of my gawky mind and body.

Inside my time ball there is an apparent nothingness which defines the outside circumference of my outer oneness. My life, like a rubbery skin, passionately wraps itself around this mysterious rounding force of nothingness; which in turn defines my physical wholeness, my rounded permanence, which in turn is my creative potential for being. I call this inner space of ‘nothingness’ my Soul.

Allan Taylor, author, Luanshya musings

Medicinal brooms sweep clean…

…in Africa and off the beaten track, away from the influences of civilisation and deep in the forest, clearings are meticulously swept by the women folk bent double and holding handleless brooms often made of vlei grasses, but sometimes of medicinal herbs to repel evil spirits from the dark side. Every morning the area around the huts and up to the forest edge, is swept to dusty smooth perfection. A strange footprint, or worse, the side-winding slurry of a snake in the sand, could be a harbinger of evil, whose presence needed to be exposed as a satan nyoka – a devil snake announcing no good.

Allan Taylor, author, Luanshya musings

Sergio Pesalano

                        Sergio Pesalano