I’ve been learning to do things slightly differently, especially with the little things that have disappeared into our subconscious such as brushing teeth, walking, waking up and so on. Here’s an interesting experiment for making coffee.
Ask anyone and they will tell you how they take their coffee: “Three sugars, one coffee, warm milk…” etc. The rationale is to try and make the same coffee all the time. I suppose the magic word is “consistency” isn’t it? Or is it an expression of our fear of change?
Well, I’ve ditched the measuring utensils altogether. I simply toss the sugar straight from the bowl without using a teaspoon. Then I toss the coffee straight into the mug and then the milk. The rule is to accept the results and drink the coffee as it is no matter what happens.
After a few weeks of this, I noticed that my perception of how much is enough sugar, coffee or milk changed with every cup. I’m guessing it has to do with mood, time of day or maybe how much noise I’ve been exposed to for the day. I don’t really know but this is an exciting way of making coffee nonetheless.
Try this method. It really makes for interesting discoveries, especially if you make it for someone else and serve it with a smile.
”Did you ever see a chameleon catch a fly? The chameleon gets behind the fly and remains motionless for some time, then he advances very slowly and gently, first putting forward one leg and then the other. At last, when well within reach, he darts his tongue and the fly disappears. England is the chameleon and I am that fly.”
— King Lobengula
If one vests too much time studying the history of how land was seized from our grandparents, perhaps his blood could change from red to a colour that leaves a darker stain on white shirts.
But now that one has acquainted himself with the basic nature of this and that, one knows that boiling blood cools and cool blood boils. Therefore it is better to be a surface on which both boiling and cool blood can spill yet leave not a stain behind.
The morning sky is clear
as if there was no storm last night.
Has it forgotten
or has it let go?
Whenever I resign to bed early (say around 10pm), I tend to wake up around 3am and continue working. Last night, as usual, I did. However I slept again after two hours because I felt a bit tired. That’s also normal for me. I don’t dictate to my body when I should wake and when I should sleep.
When I woke up again around 7am to take my kids to school, strange things began to happen. The plane was flooded and one was required to swim out every so often to fetch a bottle of purple stuff. This was a normal errand, a little like checking your emails every so often. Every time I swam out though, one element we rely on to determine reality got distorted. For example, when I came back the first time it remained night for a days. But nobody around me said anything about it, in fact it was perfectly normal for everyone to be in the house, in their pyjamas, getting ready to sleep.
After a few weeks of this I had to get to the bottom of it! I started asking everyone what the date was and everybody gave me an odd look and avoided the question. It was clear to me that I was not myself (so to speak). This was a dream. I eventually woke up to take my kids to school.
The time is 7am. I walked outside to open the gate while wondering what on earth that dream was about. I tried to open it and found it was locked. So I went back inside to fetch the key when a stray donkey pushed the gate closed. ”But it was closed and locked just now,” I thought to myself!
Without delay, not implying haste,
The orange leaves announce the coming of winter.
Without consent, not implying motive,
The breeze dries the washing on the line.
Without order, not implying chaos,
The mind thinks this and sometimes that.
Without a canvas, not implying emptiness,
The sky is blue. Soon it will blush at the serenading call of night.
Without awareness, not implying ignorance,
All this happens anyway.
A man sitting on a hot stove will jump off with or without anyone’s consent. This is the nature of sitting on a hot stove.
A week ago I got a call from a few gentlemen running a small civil engineering business asking for help. The recent heavy rains have ruined a road that’s used by taxis in their neighborhood. As a result, taxis cannot drive through and people are having to walk long distances to commute to and from work. They added that they tried to get help from our local municipality however they did not get positive feedback.
I figured they were showing initiative and decided to drive with them to the affected area in order to take some photos. We had to leave the car somewhere on the side of the road and continue on foot because the road was so muddy.
The rise [again] of Julius Malema reminds me of a short story told by a monk about a donkey that fell in a well; it goes something like this (note that I’ve re-adapted it as a metaphor):
Once upon a time there was a donkey taking a stroll in an open forest. The donkey wasn’t very mindful about where it was going. It was only concerned about eating as much as possible.
Suddenly the donkey tripped and fell into a well. Fortunately it was dry. When the donkey regained consciousness it realized that it was stuck, so it began yelling for help.
“Help! Help!” Yelled the donkey.