aaah...
Joong Sticky Rice Wrapped in Bamboo Leaves) - vegetarian version which
Gien is teaching to me...
and me keen on creating a South African version -
perhaps using mealie meal instead of sticky rice -
for this beautiful, tasty, yet economic meal.
In South Africa (as I guess in many countries),
meat is often equated with wealth.
I can really see how the introduction of amazing vegetarian food...
and yoga/Buddhist ways can
MAKE A DIFFERENCE...
Aaah South Africa beloved land...
so much violence and poverty here...
yet so many transcendent beings too...
...country of warmth...
...where Gandhi made his mark
...where Gandhi can still
...because the spirit lingers...
even while blood is staining the earth
and AIDS orphans bury their parents...
..mmm... back to Joong & yoga (union of mind, body, spirit)...
...OmOmOm
blessed be
...may the tree which grows from this seed of suffering
bear fruit which will truly amaze and astound
and lead all on earth to a new way of Be-ing...
...MMM this blog has wandered all over the place :D
Friday, August 22, 2008
When food is poetry
The Child; Ingrid Jonker
By her death, she joined herself to the children of our country about whom she had written. Her tragic passing was as powerful an indictment of the apartheid system as were these verses which she has left us....
PEECH AT THE INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE ON "CHILDREN, REPRESSION AND THE LAW IN APARTHEID SOUTH AFRICA", HARARE, SEPTEMBER 24, 1987(1)
Mr Chairman, Rt. Rev. Archbishop Trevor Huddleston,
Comrade Prime Minister of the Republic of Zimbabwe, the Honourable Robert Mugabe,
Your Excellencies, members of the Diplomatic Corps,
Comrades leaders of the brother people of Zimbabwe,
Distinguished participants at this important conference,
Comrades, friends, ladies and gentlemen,
The Afrikaner poet, Ingrid Jonker, died in 1965 at the young age of 32. Consumed by a dark foreboding and overwhelmed by despair, she committed suicide as her creative intellect was coming to its ripening.
By her death, she joined herself to the children of our country about whom she had written. Her tragic passing was as powerful an indictment of the apartheid system as were these verses which she has left us:
The child is not dead
the child lifts his fists against his
mother
who shouts Africa! shouts the breath
of freedom and the veld
in the locations of the cordoned heart.
The child is not dead
not at Langa nor at Nyanga
nor at Orlando nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police post at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his
brain
The child is the dark shadow of the
soldiers on guard with their rifles,
saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies
and law-giving
the child peers through the windows of
houses and into the hearts of mother
this child who wanted only to play in
the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to the man treks on
through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys
over the whole world without a pass
To Michelle in South Africa (Feb 7th 08)
blood is spilling
running beneath the front door
onto our pavements
down the streets
Oh South Africa
breathe the wisdom of the open sky!
Om Om Om
Gandhiji
bless us with your life's prayer
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