perditablog

Wishing you all a blessed 2026.

I started off my New Year following the prompt of my heart to avoid social media and spent my time resting and preparing my new Sacred Space in preparation for things to come. I really needed the rest because the end of 2025 was like something out of Charles Dicken’s Tale of Two Cities – it was the best of times and the worst of times.

Our family is facing a grueling challenge (the details of which will remain private to honour those involved’s wishes). At the same time this traumatic time has shown us that we truly are a loving family. We deeply care for another and are there for one another despite geographical distance. This sense of family, support and belonging has been magical and ever so healing especially for my Inner Child. It has filled me with a deep and abiding sense of gratitude and awe for the Grace that has been an enduring thread throughout my almost 67 years on the planet. It is also super cool for me to realise that somehow, somewhere along the line I have learnt to be able to hold two opposing states of being simultaneously (more or less gracefully).

Yesterday I ventured back into the madness and boy, was it chaotic!

For whatever reason my feed was filled with posts on America. Not the gentlest return to the digital world as you can imagine. I felt tumbled, torn and tossed before feeling total despair especially after my beloved husband educated me on what has been going on the world of politics recently. I normally avoid politics both locally and internationally although I admit I have felt drawn in by posts about Jeffrey Epstein because of my interest in the empowerment of women. Oh, wait a minute, now I understand the algorithm. Light bulb moment!

Yesterday I learnt from first hand experience about the phenomenon called “rage bait”. When my husband calmly uttered :” rage bait” as I turned bright red and spluttered my fury about this post and that, I finally understood and the spell was broken. Not before I saw some posts that left with my mouth agape – turns out it is not just the local guys who are corrupt and dishonest and slimy – it would seem to be pretty much all politicians. The idealist in me weeps and mutters about service and “what about the people” and for a brief second I wish I was into AI cos then I could have a cartoon of a red-faced, enraged me with steam coming out of her ears to show you all…

This morning as I sat in meditation Mary Magdalene did not just hold my hands as she did the day before – she sat behind me encouraging me to lean back into her arms as if to comfort me. To hold me in a loving embrace as I awoke to world in which a six year old little child is now an orphan and the people who are meant to protect him and everyone else, turn on each other. His mother’s death becomes a political ball, an issue as dishonesty, fear, rage and grief swirl around America. I am not ashamed to admit I promptly sat down to meditate again this time specifically for America and for Renee Nicole Good’s little child and other loved ones. Simply because it was I can do to in some small way stop and transmute the negative ripples radiating out from this tragedy.

This time, as I sat in her embrace, Mary Magdalene drew her own shawl over my head and put her hand on my hand as it rested on my broken heart. She encouraged me to let the tears flow for what has become of our world.

This is where I will be in 2026 – hanging out with my Divine Self, Mary Magdalene and probably Mother Mary and Yesuah too. Safe and sound in my Sacred Space immersed in roses and the scent of Dragon’s Blood Nag Champa incense as I pray for my brothers and sisters in America and elsewhere.

I will pray as I always do for “The Highest and Best for All Concerned” and simply state “Thy Will Be Done”. I will not use words once these intents have been stated- rather simply sit in silence in the Presence of the Divine knowing that The Good has it all in hand. Everything is unfolding exactly as it is meant to.

Those of you who follow me might have noticed that I use The Good as my new name for God. I learnt this from Megan Watterson, the feminist theologian who is tirelessly working to tell the true story of Mary Magdalene and other female spiritual leaders who have been silenced, buried and maligned through the ages. Megan is the author of “Mary Magdalene Revealed” and “The Girl Who Baptised Herself” and the creator of “The Divine Feminine Oracle” I love so much.

Megan’s explanation that referring to the god within as “The Good” speaks to our inherent divine nature – this makes such beautiful sense to me. There is no doubt that there is some good in all of us.

As I return to avoiding social media and the division it incites and sows in us I marvel at this simple, poignant fact: the sister thousands mourn today bears the name Good.

For my maternal ancestors

And all of you out there who (like me) have felt abandoned and longed for connection.

In 2019 when I turned sixty, I gave myself a weird and wonderful gift.

I asked to finally let go of the past .

I committed to the process and looked foward to having it done and dusted.

As if it works that way…

My expectation was that I would be dealing with my relationship with my father and brothers. You know all the patriarchal stuff.

I was not disappointed.

It was a wild ride especially the very severe depression I developed when I realized my own part in the dance.

What really blew me away though, was what followed this year.

After a beautiful family gathering which should have filled me with joy and bliss, I woke up during the night sobbing.

The feeling was so familiar.

An inky abyss of abandonment and rejection, that I had experienced many times before in my life.

I remember literally buying myself a stuffed toy gorilla during a particularly bad bout when my marriage had ended and I was reeling from the loss of my dreams and my whole worldview.  

Rather irreverently I named him Jesus, because Jesus and I were really tight at that stage…

I sometimes even referred to Him as my boyfriend!

Cheeky , I know, but it was kinda real for me , but that’s a whole other story…

When my mom died very suddenly a couple of years later and my father asked that I move down to Stellenbosch to take care of him, I sheepishly gave Black Jesus to the little girl next door.

I think she was five – a much more appropriate age for a stuffed toy, my Inner Critic jeered.

So imagine my horror, when now , some twenty years later,  I found myself longing for that stuffed toy again.

At a time when I should have been at my happiest.

In my bed with my fiancee.

The next minute, I remembered my mother’s face on two photographs of her holding me as a baby. The two photographs I am posting with this blog.

What also came up clear as day , was an experiment my scientist father had told me about when I was young.  I could see the pictures in the book about the experiment clearly in my mind’s eye.

Please forgive the detail here – it was a different time ( 1950’s,  I should think).

There were three images of baby monkeys.

One had a “mother” made of a bare, wire frame , the second “mother” figure had a towelling cover and the third was a real flesh and fur monkey mommy.

The experiment proved that the monkeys needed touch and nurturing and not just milk to survive.

That monkeys could die, if they did not receive love as infants.

The puzzle pieces fell into place for me.

During my depression I had been so aware of how excrutiating it must have been for my mother to  be so depressed and have a newborn to take care of.

I kept remembering her face on the pictures and feeling such compassion for what it must have been like for her to feel nothing.

To be dead inside and not able to function or take care of herself let alone a new born.

Thing is …

Right up until that moment I had not allowed myself to feel my own pain in this situation.

Not fully.

Just tiny snippets here and there.

Tugging at my gut.

As I surrendered , bits and pieces from my therapy and other experiences and insights seemed to flow into one realization.

This experience formed the original wound for me that made me fiercely, externally referenced – ever searching for connection and love outside myself.

Being such a tiny infant (nine month’s old) most of my communication was non-verbal so it makes perfect sense that I would scan faces and sense people’s emotions to try and connect.

An empath was born  : a hypervigilant being , desperate to survive, to connect, to find love, feeling everyone’s feelings.

Here’s the miracle though.

The woman I am today, knows with every fibre of my Being : Love is not outside.

It is in me.

It is me.

I am Love.

I am Compassion.

I am connected to everyone and everything.

To all of Life.

I can relax and be.

I can put the mirror down and experience Life in every now moment.

The whole human race is my family.

As I show up for myself (and others), I experience myself as the One.

Something done in a small moment is something sacred and holy.

It’s the sitting in the sun enjoying a cup of coffee and feeling the warmth on my shoulders as the world goes by.

A small moment stolen from the busy , frenetic day of earning a living and caring for the children – a never-ending rush and pull of too many tasks and too little time.

A tiny moment walking in a park feeding the birds (mostly ducks) with old bread kept for this purpose. (Yes, I now know this is not a  good practice!)

A sunset or sunrise enjoyed from the balcony – just being and drinking in the colours.

The delicious bite of a well-prepared dish – the pause to savour the taste and the nourishment.

The lying in bed just before the alarm goes off,  or even after, before I really need to get going to face the day.

The moment when a child is born – that holy moment when the baby first breathes the harsh air.

The first kiss between new lovers or even just the look they give one another filled with desire and love.

The picking of a flower or a beautiful grass in the field or maybe in the wood or forest.

The way and moment when a child slips their hand into mine. The look of trust that passes between the two of us as I help them up from the floor after a nasty fall.

The thud of the earth on the coffin.  The small moment of finality that causes the mourners to catch their breath and feel the cry lodged in their throats as they move to throw the last flowers (gestures of love and respect) on top of the earth splattered box.

The small, small moment when the dying person expels their very last breath of precious air – the sigh that, in that small moment, signals the end of their life well-lived or wasted.

The moment when I first spot the plant struggling through the soil to greet the sun and my excited gaze.

Moments ,all small, yet strung together a string of translucent  pearls that form the life of the participant, the beholder, the one who experiences each moment  in time, aware or unaware.

Moments that become hours and days and years that flow into a lifetime of living in small, small moments.

One moment in time becomes a lifetime.

Prompt from “A Creative Writer’s Kit”by Judy Reeves

Written on 17 November 2004

We are One!

This morning whilst out on a walk with my two dogs my mind kept drifting back to something I read a few days ago.

It was a suggestion that Sandra Walter (http://www.sandrawalter.com/) made in one of her videos or newsletters.

When I read it, my heart reacted.

It made such perfect sense to me.

In my own words : the suggestion was that those of us who are lucky enough to be able to get out into nature during the lock down, should really absorb all the beauty and then transmit to the others who are not as fortunate – people stuck in urban environments , apartments, hospitals beds or circumstances that prevent them from connecting with Nature at this stage.

This thought so appealed to me , that I did just that this morning. I took it all in and beamed it out to the world.

I drew in the sight of the light on the Botriver Lagoon and the Kleinmond mountains in the distance and I sent that sight with all my love to the far corners of our beloved planet.

The sound of the water lapping against the lagoon shore reminded me of the character in “Il Postino”who makes a recording of the sound of the waves to send to his friend the poet, Pablo Neruda.

Remembering this scene and the soundtrack of the movie, filled me which so much joy that it was easy to imagine light and love streaming from my open heart out into our troubled world.

O …K…, I hear you mutter!

If all of this is just too whoo whoo for your taste – think of all the amazing outpourings that have flooded your Facebook timeline.

People all over the world sharing the view from their window or taking the time to record their favourite poems to share with fellow poets and lovers of poetry. People , just like you, sharing the beauty that brings them joy.  Flooding our world with beauty and hope at a time when we most need it.

There have been outdoor and indoor concerts, singing from balconies, people sharing recipes and families connecting in ways they never have before.

Nothing like the Grim Reaper grinning at one to make one remember what is truly important!

Art, beauty, music, laughter, family, connection – the things that make us human.

Our instinct in times of pressure, strife and lock down has been to show compassion and to laugh, to come together and to do what it takes.  We have made things bearable by joking about our shared “reality” and reaching out with offerings of what makes us each happy!

As time has passed and some restrictions have been lifted , many of us have found ourselves angry and rebellious and have chosen to find fault and rage against it all.

The gentle loving voice in my heart has whispered to me:  what we resist, persists!

You remember that!

It was all the rage – Spirituality 101!

What if the time for “against”, is forever gone, dear ones?

What if it is time to create a New Earth?  To dream it into being?

A world we wish to give our children and our grandchildren.

A world without judgement, division and hate, artificial borders and a “them versus us” mentality.

What if we are truly one?

As I pondered what to write, I happened to read a post that echoed this message almost 100%!

So, I rest my case!

Unity consciousness is here.

We are all connected.

We are in this together.