DAYS 28 and 29: OUDRIF STRAWBALE COTTAGES, DORING RIVER

On the gravel roads towards Oudrif, we were forced to take our time traversing large tracts of muddy and slippery ground caused by bubbling springs that were flowing for the first time in many years. Eventually, we reached our destination and it felt good to be back at this retreat and to get to know our hosts again. Malcolm and I were introduced to the other guests. We were a mix of cultures and it was good to share our stories and interests with our new acquaintances.

The next morning, Bill, our host, took us across the Doring River on his rubber duck to the old donkey wagon route that wound up the side of a hill. We stopped often along the way to study the flowers, insects and spider webs and learned so much. Bill, who used to conduct and guide river rafting expeditions in this area, had fallen in love with this land and eventually he was able to buy the farm on which he built five strawbale cottages and a bomo (a central place to entertain guests with both an open fire and a well-equipped kitchen). Jeanine, his wife, had come here as a guest and had never left. She is such a talented woman. Her catering skills are outstanding, her knowledge of plants and herbs rich, her love for all animals is passionate and her ability to put people at ease and make everyone feel as if they are part of her family, is remarkable. Both husband and wife made every moment of our second visit, a worthwhile and memorable detour.

During our dining times, it was fascinating for me to listen to the conversations, and observe how the culture into which we are born, imbued us with bias and judgements. Unbeknown to the other people present, some of those labels bandied around the table, applied to me and now that I am more comfortable with who I am, these comments no longer had the power to hurt or define me as ‘other’.

DAYS 30 and 31: THE BATHS, CITRUSDAL

Malcolm and I left Oudrif with a promise to return sooner than later. The day was partly cloudy and cool, so unfortunately the flowers had not yet opened their petals to greet the sun.

In the car once more, I allowed my thoughts to drift back to an unexpected tender gift that been given to me by Jeanine and Bill’s old, arthritic dog, Muftah. The tenderness of his gesture lingered within me and would continue to do so for many weeks to come.

Three years ago, Malcolm and I had both been bitten by a friend’s dog. On our arrival at his house, this dog had snatched and punctured my hand in several places and it had bled copiously. The following day before we left the farm, I was taken to a nursing sister in charge of the local clinic and given the necessary treatment, but the drama did not end there. While I was away and Malcolm was packing our car, he was also injured by the same dog and some hours later, when we passed through the next town, we were forced to find a doctor so that he too could receive treatment.

Since that incident, I have been very wary of dogs. Walking on the beach near our home, dog owners often let their charges off the leashes and allow them to jump up at one. My beach walks had become an obstacle course for me to negotiate. I was conscious of my fear, but unable to put it aside – neither rational, nor logical thought processes were helpful.

On the last day of our stay at Oudrif, the elderly dog, Muftah, took it upon himself to join us at our cabin. That afternoon he slept on a couch and enjoyed the winter sun. That evening, when he noticed that we were ready to walk down to dinner, he aroused himself painfully and nudged my right hand. Muftah, gently placed the one scarred by another dog into his mouth and led me slowly down the path to the boma. Around 22:00, once dinner was over, he nudged Malcolm, suggesting that it was time to go to bed. Malcolm, simply patted him, and then he came to me and insisted that it was time to go back to our cabin. We did so, and once again, the dog prodded my hand and led me back up the pathway. He did this with such love and gentleness, that unbidden tears came to my eyes.

Jeanine, told me that Muftah often chose which guests to visit and gave each one a special type of healing.

As we entered Clanwilliam, my thoughts turned to more mundane things. I was able to do some essential shopping and Malcolm refuelled the car. We arrived at The Baths, in Citrusdal around lunchtime. This is a favourite place of ours to visit. We usually camp here and always try to book our favourite site away from the hustle and bustle of the hot pools. The chalets, have also provided us with some happy family times, while the hot water spring have always been a welcoming balm to my body.

On our very last afternoon of camping, I thought back over the last 30 days and I remembered all the colours and textures of sand and dust that I had removed from the floor of our off-road caravan. Our car, both inside and out, was still layered with dust and the memory of the Namibian sky, laden with sand particles, could not be forgotten either. Each campsite that I recalled, brought back a myriad of rich memories. As I bent over the handheld broom, I said a quiet prayer of gratitude for all that this trip had provided.

This journey had been life changing. There is still much inner work for me to do. I have a long way to go before I can truthfully say that I have completed the Go(o)dman’s journey.

The authentic ‘me’, the beat of my soul has settled within me. Yes, there are ancient beliefs that have been exposed and I shall have to continue to reinforce my newly discovered feeling of being good enough and worthy. Self-judgements will, in time, drop from my being and be transmuted into wisdom. I am a work in progress.

The Go(o)dman had signposted The Way. As I write, I hear his direction to…“Be whom you were ordained to be, a unique creation of The Three-in One…Be at peace and know that you are worthy and that those who judge you, are simply dealing with a reflection of their own unworthiness”.

I know that in my uniqueness I have been called to accept who I AM.

DAYS 25 TO 27: WHITE HOUSE AND GOEGAP NATURE RESERVE, SPRINGBOK

Three hours after leaving River Life Resort, we arrived at our last night stop in Namibia. We were greeted by another warm and welcoming host and received a gift of homemade aniseed rusks (a type of thick, hard biscuit enjoyed with coffee at breakfast time by South Africans and Namibians alike) by our hostess. All was good with our world.

The staff, who had serviced the campsite and chalets, were still on site and welcomed us warmly too. We women chatted with ease and enjoyed some moments of laughter. The facilities at White House were neat and well maintained…especially the shower that provided a bountiful amount of instant hot water in a sparklingly clean ablution.

After a very comfortable night, we headed back to the road that took us to the Namibian/SA border post. I could not help but think back to the day that we had entered at the same post and how much healthier I felt. The debilitating tiredness that had dogged me, had vanished and my hands and feet no longer felt detached from my body. I knew that this trip to Namibia had happened at the right time and that I had been given a blessed opportunity to heal.

We progressed through the border quickly and once we were back on the national road heading towards Cape Town, Malcolm and I became enchanted by the sight of dainty and fragile lilac coloured, single-stemmed plants that had pushed their way through the sand. Once we left the river gorge, we were overjoyed to see fields of orange daisies. Later, pink, yellow and purple wild flowers filled the spaces between rocks and hills. So much glory, such beauty, miraculously risen from this usually barren and forlorn soil.

We looked forward to our arrival at Goegap Nature Reserve, which is near Springbok, and settled in there as quickly as possible as the wind was gusting dust all about us. We needed to put up the side-pieces of the awning too, as once more they would provide us with necessary protection against the elements.

This ‘rest’ day gave me a chance to return to The Go(o)dman and the voice of Judgement. I know his voice well. He has walked with me, wherever my shadow has fallen – a judgemental voice, reminding me that I am not perfect. I have learned how to tame this beast, but his roar still finds a way to fill my mind with chatter and sap my energy. There was obviously still some more work to do.

On our second day in this reserve, we drove around the circular drive to view and enjoy the flowers and I allowed myself to simply rest and enjoy the spectacle.

The next morning, as we drove away from Goegap towards the Doring River, I knew that it was time to cement the teachings that had been given to me and to re-explore the deeper meaning of the card, The Lover, that had started my exploration into my ‘self’.

Many years ago, while still attending a mystery school, I had been taught that the three figures on The Lover card were not what they seemed to be. It was explained that the figures were in fact a priest, (the androgenous figure on the left of the card) who was marrying the groom (in the middle) and his fair bride (on the right).

This, I realised, was the myth of Sophia being portrayed in a very telling way. The symbology on this card was a visual confirmation of the decision Sophia had made to prepare herself for her reunification with her Christ Self and to consummate her holy right to return to the Cosmos. I realised that it was important for me to reunify my own masculine active, rational and practical aspect of myself, with my feminine, creative, compassionate and ‘messy’ part of me.

Almost immediately after thinking about this alternative interpretation of this Tarot card, I knew that during this trip of discovery, I had given most of my attention to my feminine feelings and it was important for me to also explore the more masculine aspects of myself too.

The decision made, I knew that my resolve would be tested, but I did not expect it to take only a matter of minutes. While travelling towards Oudrif, it came to my attention that I needed to deal with a situation that had arisen back at home; one that I had been avoiding and that required a response from me.

Needing courage, I called on Madam Justice and internally held her sword and scales, while I became the listener and observer and detached from the drama. This ability to separate myself from the emotion of the situation was a new experience and surprised me. I was, thus able, to express my truth with clarity, compassion and authenticity. Nevertheless, the consequences of what I had said weighed heavily upon me. There would be repercussions, but I knew that I had done my best and that I would be able to deal with the outcome.

Within a short space of time, the issue was amicably settled and gave me the opportunity to acknowledge how much I had learned on this Namibian trip. I realised that I was more able to set firm boundaries, make choices that were best for me and speak in such a way that what I said was heard. I was astounded by this new feeling of certainty that had filled me and I recognised which scenarios on this journey that had helped me to forge these skills.

The car journey south was an abundant wonderland of artistry; the landscape had been recrafted by Mother Nature. Trillions upon trillions of wild flowers in hues of radiant and mellow oranges, sun yellows, brilliant whites, glorious pinks, vibrant magentas, wine reds, soft lilacs, proud blues and regal purples, mesmerised me. Malcolm and I hardly spoke. There came a time when the enormity of what I was seeing brought tears to my eyes. These flowers had been asleep through nine years of severe drought and, according to the locals, were the tallest that they had been in the last 23 years.

The analogy was clear. I too wanted to bloom. I wanted to become the person who I was born to be.

DAYS 22 AND 23: JANSEN’S KALAHARI GUEST FARM

We had a pleasant drive to this game farm and loved sitting under the awning of our caravan watching the animals pass us by. It was good to be back where the sand was red and the hospitality of the farmer was both warm and inviting.

We chose to spend our second day there, simply resting and enjoying the ambiance. We even treated ourselves to a full breakfast at the restaurant. It was also good to have WIFI to connect with our family again and to catch-up on simple chores, like the handwashing and clearing the caravan of as much dust as was possible.

I wrote an email to my mother in which I mentioned that I was feeling very vulnerable about publishing this travelogue on my website and as I pressed the send button, I realised that I had begun the third step of The Go(o)dman’s journey. I had moved forward into judgement. This is the last card, the third stage, of the process that I have been exploring since I had that dream on our first night at Amanzi. I was getting closer to the core issue.

I had just closed the last gate on our way out of Jansen’s Kalahari Guest Farm, when I felt a very familiar gentle energy surround me.

Many years ago, I began to read books about Mary Magdalene and grew to love and respect this most beloved disciple of Jesus. Research by some of the authors that I had read, proposed that it was probable that she was married to Jesus. This hypothesis was based largely on the cultural norms of that time. My interest in this theory introduced me to the Sisterhood of the Crimson Veil.

They were a community of Hebrew women who were humanitarians, teachers and healers. Most of them were identified at an early age as having special skills and received training, that began in early childhood, to enhance their gifts. They were all named Mary, or Miriam in Hebrew, to which a personal title, such a Mary Magdalene, Mary Egypt and Mary Salome, was ascribed. Every woman in this order wore a crimson veil except one, their leader, who wore black and was always referred to as Mother Mary.

The insights that I gleaned from my interest in these women, provided me with enough material to conduct a weekend workshop, which included both men and women, on how to experience the Feminine Divine within ourselves. A few years later, I did another workshop to honour the Masculine Divine.

As I settled back into the car and drove away from Jansen’s Kalahari Guest Farm, I felt a soothing voice say to me, “You have learned much over the last few days and we too would like to contribute something that we trust will add value to your knowledge”. This is what I was told:

“Unworthiness is the blight that holds the soul back from stepping into that which is their right. By feeling not good enough, never ready, always judging one’s self, the soul continues to tread the wheel of karma and return time after time to incarnate into a human body.”

Peace is only felt in the hub of the wheel of life, where the sum of the parts – all that soul’s life experiences – are held with acceptance, consciousness and balance. This place is devoid of judgements and feelings of not being good enough. The hub of you knows only gratitude as all knowledge is treasured.

Therefore, the Lover or Go(o)dman makes his or her own choice – to step back into the emanation of Christ/Sophia…or to return to a human body. There have been many souls who have been ready to take this vital step, but at the crucial moment of choice, believed that they did not deserve their place in the Cosmos. Are you ready…? Will those who read this be ready?”

DAY 24: RIVER LIFE RESORT

Over the seven-hour, energy sapping drive to our next stop, this information kept churning over and over in my mind. My propensity to judge was soon to be tested.

When, at last, we turned off the tar road onto the gravel, we were surprised to see a Road Closed sign. I had to laugh and wonder if that was directed at me. We only had two kilometres to travel on this piece of road, before we turned towards River Life Resort, so my intrepid and optimistic husband pushed onwards.

We turned onto a two-track rocky trail and, in time, came to a stop on a high hill that overlooked the farm below. Nursing the car and caravan down the gradient, Malcolm eventually got us to a farm gate to what looked like an abandoned farmhouse. Not a comforting thought as it was late afternoon and we had nowhere else to go.

In the distance we noticed a lady walking towards us. She introduced herself to Malcolm as the general house assistant, who told us that the owners had gone to visit their son in America and that the campsite was closed. We had a confirmed two-night booking there, that had obviously been overlooked. The campsite was dilapidated and strewn with baboon droppings. Dust and mud covered the derelict ablution…my judgement of this situation, upset my emotional equilibrium. I was not a happy camper. However, Ennastasia, did not abandon us, she quickly cleaned the doorless shower and toilet and, her husband, Joseph connected the water supply so that I could have a warm shower, which I enjoyed, despite the showerhead falling from above, missing my head and landing at my feet. Malcolm and I eventually spent this night, on the banks of an almost dry Fish River, enjoying the stars and, once the dog stopped barking, we also found the deep silence comforting.

We decided not to stay for a second night and chose to press on to our next stop, from where we would be able to cross the border back into South Africa a day earlier than planned. However, before departing, we strolled downriver to where the water was still visible. We enjoyed clambering on the smooth rocks and studied the craggy, tiered mountains that flaked thin, slate-like fragments above this pool of water.

Then it was time to hitch the caravan and retrace our way up the steep track to the top of the plateau. Malcolm, is a skilled driver and the car, our trustworthy Pajero, managed to pull the caravan up the steep incline with ease…while I gripped the door handle fairly tightly.

Once we arrived back in Simon’s Town and Malcolm was able to send the owners of River Life Resort an email, we learned that they had sadly been forced to sell their beloved property and took full responsibility for their oversight. We came to a very amicable agreement on how to settle the refund.

DAYS 17 TO 19: ERONGA ROCKS, DIK-DIK CAMPSITE

We arrived at the farm where we were to camp for the next three nights and we received a most warm welcome from both Terri and Didi, our hosts. Terri bubbled with passion and suggestions of what to do and where to go. Her obvious love for this land and its creatures was exhilarating and we got caught up by her passion.

Our campsite was outstanding. One could see how much thought and planning had gone into creating this site. The ablution, kitchen and dining areas were placed creatively between the boulders. The attention to detail, the neatness and care that had gone into the upkeep of this camp made us feel like treasured guests. This experience provided us with a stark contrast to some other camping spots that we now tend to avoid, because they are badly maintained and leave the impression that campers are necessary, but unimportant to them. Our next stop would prove to be an example of this malaise.

At Erongo Rocks, the hiking trails, car tracks and viewing sites are well sign-posted and we enjoyed doing all of them. Terri had also informed us as to where to go to best view the pair of Verreaux Eagles that nested on their farm. Malcolm and I found them soaring on the updrafts, seeking prey for their nestling that was waiting on a small rocky ledge for some nourishment.

However, the biggest thrill was waiting for us back at our camp. Around 18:00 on our last evening there, we watched the shy and smallest of the African buck, called the Damara Dik-dik, come cautiously to drink from the pond of water close to where we stood. Animal and humans were aware of each other, and trust was received and given.

Every morning too, with breakfast in hand, we would watch flocks of colourful Rosy-faced Lovebirds that flew down to that same water source and drank in short spurts. More unforgettable memories, indelibly imprinted and to be treasured for the rest of our lives.

Wherever we camped, there was this feeling of a natural order to each day. The same birds and animals arrived around the same time every day to drink water, the sunrises and sunsets constantly defined the lengthening daylight hours and, the moon that we had first seen as only a sliver at D’Urban Campsite, had waxed over the last two weeks to become so big and bright that it lit up the land like a sky-lantern.

Sitting within the gentle beauty of the full-moon light, I accepted that I had won a gracious victory…a quiet settling of the heart. A new state of being that was as tender as a seed’s tendril pushing itself up towards the light; it was still very fragile and needed to be nurtured, fed and protected.

It was with a little sadness that we left this place of peace and began to head southward, towards Cape Town. A homeward trip that would take us another twelve days to complete.

DAYS 20 AND 21: DUSTERNBROOK LODGE AND CAMPSITE

This campsite, that is situated on a game farm, turned out to be a big disappointment. The ablution block was a single building that contained two toilets and two showers that were in some disrepair. I quickly realised that if other campers arrived, Malcolm and I would have to share these unisex facilities in an amicable way. However, it was the amount of plastic litter that was strewn around the riverbed, where birds and animals drank, that saddened us the most. However, as always Malcolm and I made up our minds to make the most of our two days here and we certainly enjoyed the stars at night.

In comparison to Sophia, my life has been one of relative ease and love. I have been blessed abundantly in so many ways. Then unbidden, the memory of the little girl who had died in Auschwitz popped back into my mind. I remembered her vivid sensory impressions: the acrid smells that she had breathed, the sensitivity of her touch, her despair and the sounds that had frightened her. I also recalled her entry through the gates of the Auschwitz Extermination Camp and recollected the pain that she had endured while she was an inmate in this concentration camp’s hospital ward.

I have released most of her trauma, but this time there were impressions that I had not experienced before. I felt this little girl’s anger with God; it knew no bounds. After her demise, I believe that she questioned God, as only children can do, with how and why a fatherly God had allowed such atrocities to occur and I knew that she certainly did not tolerate any of His answers or explanations.

What Loving Source would want to punish a child in such an evil manner? This broken little girl formed a belief system that said that she was simply not worthy enough to be one of God’s children – that she was only an insignificant cell in the body of The Greatness. She could not fathom how God had stood by (and seemingly, still does) and watched all the atrocities that happened in this world. She was very angry.

Her questions, stirred my own deep-seated anger; an anger that had been my companion for many years. In order to be perfect, I had, had to bury it. This had undoubtedly contributed to my unconscious decision to live my life cautiously and seriously. Perhaps, my buried anger had opened the door for RA to teach me how much I wanted to live life? On our last night, at Spitzkoppe, I too began to speak to God echoing the same pain-filled search for answers. page 5 (656)

Malcolm, unaware of the emotions boiling inside me, stacked the wood for our evening braai (barbeque) as I sat quietly and looked towards the evening sky. As the sky turned to soft and gentle shades of blue and pink, I closed my eyes and had my own ‘conversations with God’.

“God, I am so tired of all the trite answers, so religiously and spiritually held. I am not going to accept any patronising answers to my questions,” I said. I insisted on knowing why and how He/She, The True God, could watch the rape of children and adults, the murder, pillage, abuse, muti-murders, the gender-based violence, slave trafficking, power-grabbing, warmongering, unchecked crime etc…and not intervene? How could there be a loving God when All-That-Is allowed such suffering to continue unabated?

Silence…no answers came. I opened my eyes and saw that the potatoes, mealies (corn) and fish had been added to the grid above the coals. It was nearly time to eat and I trusted that the answers would eventually come.

That night I dreamed of a wedding. I saw an array of muted coloured gowns; certainly not the clothes to be worn for a celebration and so, I knew that I was not yet ready for the next step. At least, I had discovered which deep seated belief system was being re-examined. I was now intensely entrenched in the second step of The Go(o)dman’s search for Love Divine. My anger persisted.

Unexpectedly, early the next morning, just before our 10 o’clock departure to our next campsite, I heard the answer.

I start my day by using my breath to connect with God and say a sacred mantra or two. About two months ago, I began to use a verse that I had often said in groups before; it was a verse that had never held any appeal to me.

It goes like this:

I Am the Soul, I Am the Light Divine, I Am Love, I Am Will, I Am Fixed Design.

We were taught to use this mantra in a particular way; however, I have personalised it. This is how I practice it now:

• I Am the Soul…and I breathe myself into God and God into me. I do this several times until I feel a strong connection with All-That-Is.
• I Am the Light Divine…using my breath, I place a Christed-light (variations of gold and copper) all around my body and I wait until it spreads and encloses me in its beauty. I remain sitting quietly…feeling the energy pulsating around me…and within me.
• I Am Love…using my breath once more, I kindle a tone of pink sparkling light to my left.
• I Am Will…I use my breath, and I ignite a shade of blue shimmering light to my right. I wait for it to vibrate.
• Next, I allow the blue and pink glittering sparks to crisscross, merge and settle around the central Christ Light. This vibrant blend of colours often pulses with beauty and I enjoy cocooning myself within it.
• Finally, I say, I Am Fixed Design… I stay within the Three-in-One radiance as described above. At this stage, the original colours intermingle and create a variety of other luminous tones and symbols. This is when I feel at total peace and at Oneness with God.

AND on this morning, as I repeated these words, I felt a resonance of Holy Words within me, “This is your answer, you and every other soul were made from an atom of My Light. This pattern is My Pattern and it is a Fixed Design. This Holy Design cannot be altered. It cannot be changed. This Fixed Design has been created through My Will and My Love. It is Perfect. So, tell me Beloved One, how can I intervene in something that is already Perfect? It will take time for all humans to know that they have Christed Souls. There are no short cuts.

By implication, dear one, each soul must and will find their own way back to Source, from where they emanated. There are many ways and means by which this homecoming is made possible, there is no right or wrong way, it simply is The Way. Each Soul will find their path…in their own time, with grace and purity of Love and Will. So be it”.

I begin to feel the first stages of acceptance, I am filled by this new knowledge and understanding. Stage two of the transformational process had given me the means to lift my ‘stuck’ foot off my link with God. Perhaps the numbness in my physical feet will begin to heal now too?

It was time to leave Spitzkoppe and continue our journey.

Swakopmund is a town of diverse cultures and very welcoming to all visitors. Many of its unique buildings are reminiscent of German architecture and its propensity for wide streets are a tangible reminder of bygone days when wagons required a wide arc to accomplish an easy turn around.

We have been here several times. Malcolm and I always enjoy walking from Alte Brucke Resort, where we camped, to the town centre. We revisited our favourite cafés and restaurant and even rekindled a friendship of some 43 years. Travelling is enriching in so many ways and is always enhanced when one’s senses are prickled.

Many of the Namibians who live inland, have second homes in and around Swakopmund, which provide them with a means to escape the unbearable dry, heat of the summer months. However, during winter, the cool Atlantic currents make this town misty, damp and cool and that certainly created the right mood for me to re-examine my feelings around my own mortality.

On the day we left Swakopmund, and headed towards the Spitzkoppe Community Campsite, the heavy rolling mist and rain kept Malcolm’s attention focussed on his driving – as did the gravel, secondary road which was again bumpy and corrugated. We still arrived at our destination around 11 o’clock, to find our favourite site unoccupied.

This area is largely flat and level, but is also dominated by sharp masculine mountains with towering peaks, contrasting rounded and smoother feminine-like domes and many tumbled rocks that take on the shape of animals, birds, sphynxes and skyward-facing stone gods. There are also Bushman paintings to be seen; a relic of a time when clans came here to heal and gather strength. For me, their art imbues this place with an aura of sacredness.

I love returning to this campsite and watching how the sun paints the rocks and mountains with colour and shadows. As the evening descended on our first night there, I became aware that something subtle had changed within me.

But with any deep transformative process, it is never easy and it seldom has a direct path to the light of day.

On awakening the next morning, we noticed that a heavy mist had silently shrouded the mountains and it did not take long before we were enveloped in a drizzly rain; it was very cold. Malcolm and I donned thick layers of clothing and sheltered under the awnings that now had some of the side-attachments, which provided us some extra comfort and protection. It was heartening, though, to see the desert sand absorbing the moisture and I imagined how the dormant seeds that were hidden below the pebbled soil would be responding to these conditions. This mist was an unmistakable metaphor for my own process. Nature truly has a way of speaking to me, but transformation is a three-pronged process that requires some deep introspection.

Firstly, you need to be cognisant of what needs to change. Next you are required, to receive the new revelation and to know, without a doubt, that it is a truth that resonates within you and then comes the preparedness to finally accept the new insight and to experience a ‘resurrection’, or what the Gnostics called, a change of heart, to settle within you and alter your way of being and doing.

My own change of heart was about to reveal its story. During our second day at Spitzkoppe a memory popped into my mind. Almost thirty years ago, I had visited an Intuitive Healer, who had told me that there was a ‘foot’ that was blocking my link with God. She said that it was not my own ‘foot’, but an aspect of me, another version of myself, that was preventing me from forming a dynamic relationship with my Source.

I have explored many religious and spiritual teachings. I internalised some and rejected many, however, the Gnostic Sophia Myth had become one of my lodestars.

Sophia together with her twin soul, the Christed One, was the last emanation of the True God, (The Divine Masculine and The Divine Feminine/Holy Spirit). Being last, Sophia, felt alone in the vastness of the Cosmos and opted to rectify her feeling of aloneness by creating her own world. She filled it with a secondary force, called the Creator God.

Soon, she forgot that her true home was in the dazzling blackness of the Cosmos with God. She tumbled into an illusionary world of her own making. Sophia, experienced untold hardships which worsened her feelings of loss an emptiness. She tried seeking love in a world that proved to be abusive and uncaring. Sophia’s lived reality was strewn with suffering: she knew poverty, prostitutions, illness and despair.

Eventually, this Child of God, decided that she had taken all the abuse that she was prepared to experience and commanded her will to help her change her way of being. Sofia, cleansed her body and readied herself, through various rituals, for the marriage of the Divine Grail: the reunification of her Divine Masculine and her Divine Feminine and to reclaim her holy heritage.

The True God had watched Sophia’s descent into the world of illusion. Father/Mother God saw her suffering but had never interfered in the choices that she had made. God observed and when she ascended back to the Cosmos, He/She God was enriched and expanded through the knowledge, wisdom and compassion that Sophia brought back to heaven with her.

During our last day at NamibRand, I became aware that the next step of my journey into understanding the Go(o)dman/woman was about to take me to the darkness of my deepest emotions and would provide me with the chance to understand myself a little better. It did not take long before the teachings began.

As we drove down a track between two fences that would take us to the Swakopmund road and the next campsite, Malcolm and I noticed a swirl of sand funnelling upwards from the ground. It was out of character and strange. The closer we got to it, the easier we were able to discern that there was something on the ground that was causing this phenomenon. Slowing the car down, we noticed that a Springbok was trapped. It had obviously tried to clear the fence, which they usually do with ease. However, this time, its usually graceful and well-timed leap into the air had obviously not been very well executed. The hoof of its right hind leg had become snared in the top two strands of the fencing. It lay on the sand with its leg awkwardly pointing skywards. The more that this Springbok struggled, the more trapped, dehydrated and tired he became.

Usually, in the wild, one does not interfere with the daily life-and-death dramas that naturally occur, but when a man-made interference is a contributing factor, man often needs to take an action. This Springbok was fated to die a long slow death – until exhaustion and a lack of water took him out of his misery.

Malcolm and I could not simply have driven passed. We walked to the fence where the buck now lay still. Malcolm donned a pair of protective gloves. It took a matter of minutes to assess the situation. I positioned myself to the left of my husband and tried to ease the vice-like grip of the wire on the trapped hoof, while he used force to separate the top strands that were wrapped around the Springbok’s hoof. “Stand back so that you don’t get kicked,” said Malcolm. With a twist and a turn, the buck broke loose and ran at speed away from us; its injured leg still splayed at a very awkward angle.

 Perhaps, he would not survive anyway, but it was heartening to see this animal turn and look back at us. We climbed back into the car and headed for Namib Desert Campsite. The emotion of that encounter with the Springbok stayed with me for the rest of that day and reminded me of the many aspects of death and dying that I had read about and personally experienced.

In bygone years, the Egyptians, Toltecs and Templars regarded it essential for its warriors, some members of their royal houses, as well as the initiate priests and priestesses to be exposed to life-threatening situations. Their warriors were especially conditioned to fight fiercely…to the death if that was necessary. This type of training forged an unbreakable bond of brotherhood between them.

I have had my own close encounters with death. Each one has made me wonder about the purpose of my life. When I was still quite young, while at a meeting for the parents of a Scout Cub Pack that I ran, I spontaneously took a step backwards…a second before a heavy pillar fell from a high platform above me and hit the ground where I had, a moment before, been standing.

On another occasion, while on a trip to Spain, the driver of our hired car made an error of judgement and suddenly, I found myself mesmerised by the sight of a large black car, with elaborate headlights, careering towards me…there was nothing I could do. Inexplicably, a strong force seemed to catapult our car out of harm’s way and we continued unscathed to our destination.

Then, about five years ago, in the early hours of the morning, while sleeping on the upper deck of a houseboat on Kariba Lake, I felt very ill and rushed to take the steps down the steel stairway. As I placed my foot on the first step, I lost consciousness and somersaulted downwards. I awoke on the lower steel deck with the crew and friends about me. The next morning, the captain, in consultation with our group, decided to set sail for Kariba, where I was examined by a paramedic. He noticed that I was severely hydrated and immediately put me on a drip and administered two litres of saline. This medic also tested me for Malaria and within minutes it was confirmed that I required immediate treatment for this ailment too. It was likely that if my condition had not been diagnosed on that day, my organs would have slowly closed down and that death was probable. That dramatic fall, had saved my life.

I still had so many unanswered questions about death and dying. The ‘aha moment’ when it eventually arrived, was truly enlightening.

Through this journey of The Go(o)dman I would, eventually, be able to finally connect to the child of the Holocaust, my abovementioned near-death experiences and my recent RA diagnosis. Spitzkoppe Community Campsite would provide me with the means to heal and to celebrate a deep inner shift.

We did not have far to travel on this day, but the corrugated, potholed and rough gravel roads were troublesome. Malcolm slowly and carefully nurtured the car and caravan over long stretches of bumps and body-hammering rippled corrugations, thus easing the wear-and-tear on both of our vehicles. It seemed that, even the gravel road, was giving me a metaphorically lesson on how to care for my body, my own human vehicle.

NamibRand, is one of our most favourite campsites in Namibia. It offers good facilities that are set amongst the red and brown-orange dunes and far enough apart from each other to give each group privacy. Gemsbok and Cape Foxes visited us regularly. It was here, that the silence and the peace truly began to connect with my own inner stillness.

The few days that we spent at this campsite, gave me the opportunity to explore the trembling that was still rolling through my body. I realised that this discomfort was situated around L5 of the spine. According to the teaching of the Chakra system, my body was calling me to focus on all my relationships with: myself, others, groups, God and Earth. Unsurprisingly, this is one of the most important topics for people who work with The Go(o)dman to explore.

In the same manner that I had watched the Orange River flow by me at Amanzi, at this campsite, I was able to observe the insects, birds and Gemsbok that quietly passed by me. I focussed on my body, especially my feet and wondered why they had become so very troublesome. They felt detached from the rest of me; as if I was walking in somebody else’s shoes.

Then I had an unexpected recollection of being five years old and our doctor, who still did home visits at that time, talking with urgency and seriousness to my parents. My father and I had both been diagnosed with Polio. This happened in the 1950s, during a localised outbreak of this debilitating disease. Soon after hearing the news, my parents packed our tiny car with luggage and food and we travelled some 1 600 km to stay with family where it was possible to heal in the dryer and warmer climate of the highveld.

Janice, my very gifted therapeutic reflexologist had been less lucky than me. Polio had severely affected her body. Janice, was the one who gave me the key that would unlock the messages Go(o)dman was about to deliver.

In my book, Remembering the Soul of You, I described how I had spontaneously recalled the life of a Jewish child who had lived through the horrors of the Holocaust. That little girl had died tragically and had felt abandoned by God. When I told Janice about this memory, this dear therapeutic reflexologist said, “Meyrene, don’t you realise that it was God who lovingly came to fetch that child and take her to heaven. It was God who loved her.” These were the keywords that would stimulate a depth of exploration that I could not have imagined.       

From the Amanzi Campsite, we travelled north-west towards the desert. This leg of the journey turned out to be a seven-and-a half-hour trip. Thankfully, after the recent floods, most of the road along the Orange River had been graded and were a pleasure to negotiate.

We also needed to shop for supplies as we were low on fresh foods. Cross-border restrictions in Namibia, had prevented us from transporting dairy, meat, fruit and vegetables from our country into theirs. So, we planned to include a shopping spree in Rosh Pinah, which was the last town that we would pass through for the next week…only to find that the local Spar had closed. Fuel stops and shops are few and far between, but thankfully we found a general store in Helmeringhausen that had most of what we needed.

On our arrival at Mount D’Urban Campsite, as I climbed out of the car, I was suddenly aware that my body was trembling. It was obvious that I had begun to release something and that I was responding to what I had discovered on the banks of the Orange River. Thankfully, there would be time to discover what it was.

On this very cool and windy evening, as we settled into our camp, our host, Boeta, arrived to welcome us and handed me the homemade bread that Malcolm had pre-ordered. The heat from the packet penetrated the layers of my clothing and warmed me with a tantalising expectation of delight. Over the next few days, we enjoyed every morsel of our bread and decided to pre-order a brown loaf to take with us to our next stop too.

The next morning, we took a drive to a look-out point from where we could see the vast expanse of the rocky plain below us and the mountains, both nearby and in the distance, that dwarfed us. Malcolm and I felt very tiny in relationship to these ancient rock structures and to the land that had, for centuries, seen a diversity of people pass over it.

That evening, we watched the evening light change the colours of the sky and landscape and by sunset everything morphed into vivid yellows, oranges and bursts of red drama and then slowly turned black. Later, the heavens held us spellbound: Venus shone brightly, the familiar Southern Cross had us plotting our direction, while the clouds of the Milky Way bedazzled us with its millions of sparkles and then, there was also the crescent moon that we watched as it gently dropped below the horizon. My husband and I, felt the magnitude of our universe and with deep gratitude we spoke about how privileged we were to still be physically able to travel to places and experience nature in such a deep and primal manner.

In mid-July, on a day that made the sea sparkle and dance with rippled light, we left our home and headed with much anticipation on our long-planned trip to Namibia. This country is dear to our hearts for it is blessed with vistas of great beauty: open plains, rocky cliffs, red desert sands, a wide variety of wildlife, as well as dry riverbeds, rollicking seascapes and welcoming people…and we were not going to be disappointed.

Before we had even crossed from South Africa into Namibia, our senses were pricked by the magical transformation of the normally brown, sparse and arid land that we transversed. The bountiful winter rains, that seldom bless this part of our country, had metamorphosised the shrubs and land; even the porridge-bubblelike effect of the ‘fairy circles’ on the hills, were bright green. My heart was joyful. Our camping trip to Namibia had begun in a most spectacular manner.

It took us two days and a night, with our off-road caravan in tow, to cover the distance to the Namibian border post and settle into Amanzi Campsite. It is one of the most beautiful places to stay on the Orange River.

Sometime during the night, I had a vivid dream which had a profound impact on me. What I remembered most clearly, was the voice that had spoken to me.  It had said, “You have closed the gate to your fire.”

The next morning, I took my camping chair to the bank of the Orange River and thought about the words that were still resounding through me. As I sat and watched the river passing gently by, I became enthralled by the reflections of the cliffs, trees and birds that were mirrored in its water; it was a perfect inverse image of reality. This reminded me of Shakespeare’s words…that we mortals, are actors on the dream-like stage of our own creation. I have been taught that I can awaken from this state, become more conscious and observant and that I may even write my own script.

Without a doubt, I knew that the hiatus that I had lived, since publishing my book was over; it was time to rekindle my fire and live my book. I was being directed to walk my walk, and talk my talk of truth.

My dream had given me direction – a way to rekindle my connection with the wisdom of my source archetype, The High Priestess, or as I have called her in: Remembering the Soul of You, The Intuitive One. I know this archetype well. I know her strengths and her shadow. The Intuitive One has taught me how to trust my inner knowing, to keep my faith in Spirit strong and to face my fears.

As I sat below the beautiful trees on this riverbank, I knew that I had a choice to make. I was being challenged to be the person that I had been born to be and to live my life to the full.  Recently, I had been diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA) and on hearing that news, I had made a promise to myself that I would focus on the gifts of this diagnosis and not get hooked into the drama playing out in my body.

This diagnosis was not an either/or choice for me, but rather an opportunity to be mature and accept the changes happening in my body with dignity (the older woman on this Tarot card) and to also be the maiden, who will create something magical out of the experience. As I watched the water flowing by, I realised that I had already, unconsciously, opted to love and respect myself.

Before this moment, I had not realised that I had already begun to work in a practical manner with one of the archetypes, The Go(o)dman or Lover, that I had written about in: Remembering the Soul of You. Each archetype takes one through a three-step process:

• The first card of each of the seven archetypes: The cards on the first row of the spread, examine the innate qualities that characterise each archetype, as well as the skills that he or she may choose to hone.
• The second row of cards: These cards are positioned directly below the first row (please refer to the back cover of my book) and they serve to highlight the themes and the recurring challenges that each archetype encounters. During this step, any unresolved and unconscious patterns surface to assist each one of us to change the way we react to people and situations. Knowing where a pattern of behaviour began, gives one the freedom to make different choices for oneself.
• The third and last card row: Finally, the third row reveals a decision that one made, at a soul level, to clear a belief system that has, for eons, limited one from being authentically oneself. This is the victory and the reward.

The beauty of the setting before me, helped me to focus on what I needed to process. I flitted through the decades of my life and realised how through the business of motherhood and teaching, I had pushed my body to its limits and that I was still doing that…even now…that I am in my mid-seventies.

I realised that, since receiving the RA diagnosis, I had undoubtedly drawn upon an inner depth of grace and compassion for myself that I had not even known that I possessed. I had begun to find a way to say, “I simply won’t manage to do that today, could we do it tomorrow?” I had also begun to accept offers of help…and that was certainly life-changing.

Like the waters of the Orange River that gently moved passed me towards the sea, I felt a calmness coming from my soul (Self), which touched me without judgement – freeing me from regrets and criticism of my ‘self’.