Courage is not always roaring. Sometimes it is the soft voice that at the end of the day says: “I’ll try again tomorrow”. (source unknown)
The words above I found on the internet and they hit me. Hard. Difficult months; Doni left for two weeks to Lampung and never returned. Less and less courage was available and once on the track to gloomy and dark, a little is enough to go downhill even faster. The horrors that ever more frequent strike this world do that job even better. A report of 2,6 million words that, once again, proofs that the Iraq war was wrong and illegal, again hundreds of deaths in last weeks bombings in Bagdad and even then still insist that the world became a better world because of that war. South Sudan with its hundreds of thousands displaced persons celebrates its fifth birthday with the beginning of, again, a civil war. Politicians aiming for power, the population pays with suffering and often their lives. Two poisonous, rotten apples in a bin where healthy fruit hardly can be found.
No Nina Bobo on the terrace but searching for courage to comprehend all and everything … and not finding it. The small steps, the human size forgotten in the storm, with all the ado and force not noticed that soft voice. Yes, I’ll try again tomorrow.
Today I start a new blog, because of a lack of focus I didn’t come to it for a long time. A short visit to the Netherlands to teach and see some dear friends and family, in itself it was good but: ‘one takes oneself with’. After that to South Africa. A part of me will always be there I guess – you can leave Africa, Africa won’t leave you – and it was good. At the same time: everyone with eyes to see must notice that problems aren’t getting any smaller. There also politicians that are on the hunt for power and prefer to enrich themselves, the contrast between the haves and have not’s gets bigger and more visible all the time. Tension is palpable. Beautiful days nevertheless.
Three days in Madiwe, a wild park, eye to eye with an incredible nature and all the days the people … Believing in the possibility of a future, the country screams for that belief although it’s an almost impossible assignment for many.
The harshness in this country
In sweet voices,
loud and full,
in soft whispers,
and a happy glance,
sounds from deep and afar,
for those who wish to hear and see,
an ancient call,
yet always new:
we are brothers.
Over the Netherlands back to Bali. Pak Par did the garden, his wife cleaned the house and all looks good. It’s an exception she did this, in principle she stopped working to babysit her granddaughter. That is, looking at all the debts the family has, quite an impossible thing to do but, nevertheless, that’s how it goes. The ceremonies in the meantime don’t stop, if there is one the granddaughter is brought to an expensive day care. A small world with, sometimes big, problems and still they manage. Courage for life is abundant, there is a lot to learn for me. What’s happening in the world is practically unknown to most Balinese and sometimes that’s not so bad at all.
Mohammed Benzakour, a Dutch writer, wrote a letter in the name of allah as a reaction to all the bombings and lust for murder in the name of a god.
Allahu’akbar — yes, most certainly. I’m great, magnificent and great. But not in the sense your limited brain thinks I am. I am great because am in All. Because I’m part of everything and everything is part of me, until the smallest spire, the tiniest spider. That should make you profoundly humble.
A little drop but if only one man would change his point of view. I’ll try again tomorrow.
The fact that, when I came home after a trip with (too) much good food and excellent wines, the scales in the bathroom was stolen should be seen as an act of love, initiated by the gods here. I can ignore the scope of it.