Giovanni Tiso Writes ... and David Whyte too.

Giovanni Tiso wrote a beautiful piece about childhood homes and memories ... To visit now, if only electronically, to see that light again and the shallow sky, is to relieve the migrant’s grief for places and a life left behind.

I know these feelings he writes of, so well ...I cannot say that I miss this place, in the sense that there is no place for me there. Not in my grandparents’ house, that was sold over twenty years ago; not in the village, where I couldn’t build a life if I wanted to. I have a fondness for it that is reserved to distant things and for the past. I miss the people in it, but especially those who are no longer there. I miss my childhood, or maybe more precisely the idea of it: those interminable summer days and weeks, all identical to one another yet always charged with the remote possibility of adventure. I do not subscribe to the current fashion for romanticising boredom, but I wouldn’t trade that sameness, my few friends, our games for excitement and travel.

And David Whyte wrote this beautiful poem:

THE HOUSE OF BELONGING

I awoke
this morning
in the gold light
turning this way
and that
thinking for
a moment
it was one
day
like any other.

But
the veil had gone
from my
darkened heart
and
I thought

it must have been the quiet
candlelight
that filled my room,
it must have been
the first
easy rhythm
with which I breathed
myself to sleep,
it must have been
the prayer I said
speaking to the otherness
of the night.

And
I thought
this is the good day
you could
meet your love,
this is the gray day
someone close
to you could die.
This is the day
you realize
how easily the thread
is broken
between this world
and the next
and I found myself
sitting up
in the quiet pathway
of light,
the tawny close
grained cedar
burning round
me like fire
and all the angels
of this housely
heaven ascending
through the first
roof of light
the sun had made.

This is the bright home
in which I live,
this is where
I ask
my friends
to come,
this is where I want
to love all the things
it has taken me so long
to learn to love.

This is the temple
of my adult aloneness
and I belong
to that aloneness
as I belong to my life.

There is no house
like the house of belonging.


'The House of Belonging'
From The House of Belonging
Poems by David Whyte
©David Whyte and Many Rivers Press

Alice Phoebe Lou and her Berlin Blues Song

Alice Phoebe Lou wrote this about her music video, 'This video means a lot to me as it goes from my present in Berlin winter to the memories of my past growing up in Cape Town. My father filmed these childhood moments and last year he came to Berlin for a week and we became really close and he filmed bits and pieces of our journey together.'

I love it.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, from 'Gift from the Sea'.

'Distraction is, always has been, and probably always will be, inherent in a woman's life.

For to be a woman is to have interests and duties, raying out in all directions from the central mother-core, like spokes from the hub of a wheel.  The pattern of our lives is essentially circular.  We must be open to all points of the compass; husband, children, friends, home, community; stretched out, exposed, sensitive likes a spider's web to each breeze that blows, to each call that comes.  How difficult for us, then, to achieve a balance in the midst of these contradictory tensions, and yet how necessary for the proper functioning of our lives.

...With a new awareness, both painful and humorous, I begin to understand why the saints were rarely married women.  I am convinced it has nothing inherently to do, as I once supposed, with chastity or children.  It has to do primarily with distractions.  The bearing, rearing, feeding and educating of children; the running of a house with its thousand details; the human relationships with their myriad pulls - woman's normal occupations in general run counter to creative life, or contemplative life, or saintly life. 

The problem is not merely on of 'Woman and Career', 'Woman and the Home', 'Woman and Independence'.  It is more basically: how to remain whole in the midst of the distractions of life; how to remain balanced, no matter what centrifugal forces tend to pull one off center; how to remain strong, no matter what shocks come in at the periphery and tend to crack the hub of the wheel.'

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, extract from, Gift from the Sea.

The Story of 3 Birds That Rescued Themselves ...

My favourite cafe was closed the other day and I ended up at a nearby restaurant, hoping the espresso would be drinkable, knowing I didn't want to wander too much further in my search for good coffee.

Sitting there I noticed a rooster totally owning the small garden beyond the hedge in the grounds of the restaurant.  It amused me.  This was centre-city Antwerp.

A few minutes later I watched him visit with the pigeon you see in the series of photographs.  And honestly, they seemed to be greeting each other. 

I asked Vitaliy, the waiter, about them when he returned with a second, spresso and he told me the loveliest story.

The restaurant is called De Markt and the Bird Market is held weekly in the square nearby. Christoph the Rooster arrived first, after escaping the market, and set up home in the garden.  They named him after the manager I was told.

Then Micheal the Pigeon arrived and he stayed too.  He's named after the restaurant's Italian chef.  Vitaliy told me, smiling a little, that Christoph the Rooster often 'shouts at' Micheal the Pigeon ...

And finally, I think that third bird is a Crow.  He's quite motley but he moved in too and I love that.  How did those birds know they could set up home in the garden of a restaurant in the city of Antwerp.

And they've stayed

I loved the story.  I'll go back soon, I'll take Miss 11 with me.  She's visiting this week.  We have plans.