different perspective – Brave New World of Blogging

Home. Choices. Or not.

WELCOME: SHALOM: AHLAN WA SAHLAN: DUMELA:

GOEIE DAG

This is heavy.

This is serious.

This is long.

This is challenging.

This is a conversation that roars in my head so so often.

(See “Home” below written in 2016.)

But I notice, I only raise with very very selective friends.

Fearful of the backlash. 🤐

It seems to me we live now in a world where the fear of ‘saying something someone may not like’ means we say nothing, about anything that isn’t mundane and ‘safe’

Long gone are the days of my youth in South Africa where politics

(and the other taboos of sex and religion🤣) was a constant topic.

A debate round dinner tables, in the street, everywhere.

We talked, shouted, railed,

but we also listened.

I remember clearly Desmond Tutu talking, cajoling and shouting out for us to hear, reminding us;

Share the Joy- Desmond Tutu : admired and loved by many

to remain silent in the face of injustice is to take the side of the oppressors

(See “Cry My Beloved Country” below)

Hiding behind ‘what if I offend’ is to compromise who I am and makes me feel like a sheep being led to the proverbial. 😏

So I Lean on the courage of a remarkable woman, Claire Thomas,

whom I am lucky enough to call a friend; and share one of her posts.

It is long; it will take commitment and time to absorb,

perhaps shared with a coffee or stronger.

It may challenge a perspective, or not.

That’s okay.

It may open a conversation.

That’s great.

It may highlight how we condemn and condone.

That’s good.

It may make your eyes glaze as you pass by it.

That’s sad.

Regardless, I am sharing.

Acknowledging that my bravery is only partly mine,

I ride on Claire’s shoulders

(I was going to post this to a global privacy setting,

and at the last minute, didn’t.)

Not THAT brave 🙄 – anticipating a backlash.

So in a safer space, I share it with my friends,

who know me,

in the hopes it helps us all with perspective. 🙏

P S, And of course if you don’t open the link

this will mean nothing,

so thank you Claire Thomas

and to my friends – have a read. 🙏

SILENCE AND BIAS IN THE FOG OF WAR

Silence and Bias in the Fog of War

Cry My Beloved Country

“Home”

Special City : Special Experience

This is the second concert I have been to of a totally unfamiliar genre/work.

Not something I usually do – I always play safe when I book my concerts.

Apparently not this season.

And I am So glad I did.

This work is Sublime – tears down the cheeks kind of sublime – (and not from the $13 a glass of wine)

Rather from the juxtaposition of death and creation. The poem, Dream of Gerontious is stunning, I won’t quote, but so worth a read

And the music, Elgar at his most sublime.

He said ” I wrote it out of my insidest out” “This is the best of me”

And then the singing – soaring praises, exquisite phrasing

and such comfort after the journey to death :

“Softly and gently, dearly ransomed soul. In my loving arms I now enfold thee”

Special city;

Special experience

Another day – Another lesson

Life is full of surprises.

I mean, take saddles for example.

Yes, that’s what I said, saddles. They go onto the backs of horses.

Ever thought about them? Well of course not, nor had I until last week.

Like chicken breasts from the supermarket, saddles, just ‘were’. How many of us think about the size of the chickens that offer us these juicy large breasts – when I did, I baulked at the thought that they may be the size of dogs!!!!!

So why would we think about a saddle? No reason of course since we don’t eat them, and most people don’t go near them in day to day life.

Except I am not not on of the ‘most people’ having decided well into my 60’s that I shall learn to ride. Which means sitting in most instances on (in?) a saddle. Still I gave it (the saddle, not the horse) little thought – it just Was.

Some saddles rubbed me in uncomfortable places, some buckles chaffed and left reminders long after the ride was over, but mostly they just came with the territory.

Until I changed my territory and went on a fabulous trail to the High Country (blog to follow: HiddenTrails,Globetrotting.com.au) where I met a Saddle Maker. Not just ‘a saddle maker’ but Peter Horobin and his daughter Marlee who make saddles which are sent all over the world; these are ‘bespoke’ saddles – think Kate Middleton Duchess of Cambridge and her bespoke dresses and you get the idea.

note the chalk diagrams of the ever patient horse’s muscles

Peter was amazing, teaching us about the muscles and bones around the shoulder of the horse, how saddles impinge or don’t on their movement, how poor mounting (climbing into the saddle for my non riding friends the wrong way) can bend the tree.

Yup, its okay I also didn’t know what he was talking about and heard the voice of a rather dumb naive blonde (that would be me) ask what on earth he meant. Turns out a tree isn’t what we were seeing all around us, but rather part of the saddle, a foundational part in fact.

And of course there was a next step – a visit to his shop/workshop/sanctuary/creative studio which I did today after my third only riding lesson put on the Mornington Peninsula.

And what a wonderland of energy, passion, skill and hospitality. The saddles – there are SO many different types, every one hand made, so many colours, so many uses, so many textures, it was like entering Aladdin’s cave, an abundance of smell, touch, leather, style and confidence.