I have a friend that assists animals with muscular stress release. It is absolutely amazing to witness the techniques that he uses on horses, how the muscles relax under his expert hands and give relief to these huge animals. I had no idea that my horses could be suffering from pain until I saw what magic his healing hands achieved. My friend and I come a long way having met whilst we were both working in the casino industry. We have moved on from that glamorous life both having chosen to rather work with animals. We now meet wearing old clothes and steel capped shoes when once that was suits and smart attire.
He has progressed in his work and found the world of weighted, magnetic tuning prongs, which in essence means I found them too.
Until his last visit I was feeling rather blue. I had recently suffered the loss of my dog Grace, two of my horses with the added bonus of two children leaving the country and to top it all I had a problem foot so I was rather sad. My friend arrived took one look at me and said “ We have work to do..”
After ‘tuning’ the horses, he was keen to try his witchery on me. I am up for anything that would make me feel better, but my only request was that we should be ‘hocus-pocussing’ at the graveside of my beloved animals. We set off to the bottom of the property where I had a swing bench set up under the trees, overlooking the entire property from the secluded spot. There, buried, lay my horses Ari, Roland, and Okkie. My dog Grace, as well as that naughty Skippy, the goat, also inhabit the ground that I put my feet on, so this is my sacred place. The only drawback is that my very elderly neighbour lives right next to the boundary fence, making him privy to all the little things that go on there. He has been introduced to the Wilde madness since day one, and I think I am spoken of in hushed tones and with rolling of the eyes in that household.
To illustrate the madness that he has to endure we met during my first week of taking occupation of the farm. I decided to sage it. Now, you need a pretty darn big sage bush to make it around that property. I had just started my ritual and had made it to the bottom fence of the property when my burning sage bush went out. WTF?! If that wasn’t ill at work what would be? I stood there muttering to myself and it must have been loud as I saw my neighbors standing on their verandah watching me. Without further ado I marched back to the house, found myself a lighter and marched straight back to where my burning bush had given up the ghost. I lit my fire, blew upon it until billowing smoke enveloped me and proceeded to complete my smudging journey. It took forever and as I was walking along the boundary fence I saw two little faces following my journey until I was out of sight. When I got back to the house after the completed the task I smelt like a veld fire. I stank. That’s how my neighbours first saw me.
Not long after that we met when I got earthmoving equipment in to dig a grave for my horse Ari. He had been put to sleep the night before and as he was lying on my front lawn in the heat of summer it was a race against time. The back actor arrived late morning and I chose the sacred spot under the trees. The neighbours came out and quietly stood watching the digging process. They asked what I was building and I told them I wasn’t building, I was planting as it was a grave They shook their grey heads in commiseration handing me tissues as I stood there crying.
Then a few months later we buried Skippy the goat. This time Lennie and I dug our own hole slightly to the right of where Ari lay and the neighbours watched again from a distance with great interest. Tissues were brought to the fence and we all cried together. I think they knew by now that the area was earmarked for burial ground and any digging symbolised one of the animals had passed. To show my appreciation for their tolerance I bought an outdoor swing seat from them and had it installed so I can still be close to all those that are now living underground.. All was well until Grace passed away. Another hole dug, this time the lamentations were loud and once again lots of commiseration and condolences from the ageing neighbours, with tissues on hand.
In between all the digging of holes and excavating the ground I walk my dogs every day, late afternoon. This is our quiet time as we take a little time out of the day sitting there swinging away, finding myself, whilst my dogs play in the paddocks. Every evening it’s the same route, same dogs all taking a break. Sometimes the neighbours are sitting in their yard and they come to the fence to have a little chat, other times they just watch through the parted curtains.
In October 2022 we buried two horses, Roland and Okkie. The ground was blerrie hard and the poor back actor had a hard time. The guy that dug the pool sized hole told me he couldn’t fill it once the horses were put to sleep so we had to get shovels and do it ourselves. it took 9 people 5 hours to fill that hole and the neighbours stood watching the entire drama as it was unfolding.
Then I had the idea of putting a cooler box at my swing seat… it belonged to my grandfather and has been with me for many years. My idea was to have my sundowners there, enjoying the view knowing I am surrounded by the souls of those that I love so much, so how awesome would that be? To make sure it doesn’t get ‘midnight shopped’ or stolen, I painted it the same white as my swing and dug a hole right next to the swing. Digging it into the ground and painting it the same colour as my swing it was camouflaged. I was busy digging the hole when my neighbour piped up from the fence: ” What are we burying today?” His face was a study when I replied: “ My cooler box…”. That cemented the deranged label in his head.
Imagine their ‘confuckulation’ when my friend decided to try his tuning prongs on me. I was seated, feet bare and a man doing a cleansing with forks chanting and channeling all negativity from my aura…
My friend said:” The neighbors will think we are strange” I looked at him and said: “ Too late for that. The ship has long sailed, they just watch in trepidation and sometimes amazement, hoping and not hoping nothing new comes to light.” I just hope they don’t suffer any long-lasting ill effects from my antics, I would love to be a fly on their wall sometimes though.
I have to admit that after my aura altering experience I am back on track living my best life. Life is for the living and I am making the best of it, the only thing that can cloud this radiance is an encounter with the Feathered Fuckers. There is no end to their gifted beaks and satanic moves, no amount of ‘sageing’ or ‘pronging’ will ever assist here.
Last night I had to withstand the brunt of their displeasure. What sparked their attack is still not clear but apparently everything about me offends them. I threw my dignity in the wind and ran like I knew where I was going screaming at the top of my voice for Lennie and Oupa to come save me. It was ugly. Walking the dogs a little later the old neighbour was standing at the boundary fence watching me with an interested eye. “Why were you screaming so much earlier?” he asked. When I told him it was the geese chasing me he just walked off muttering to himself. I think I heard the words “crazy” and “not well” in Afrikaans.
I agree.
Once again my Sesotho let me down this morning. There is a plot owner near me that has so many chickens but he doesn’t feed them. They come and plunder my garden. I am tired of feeding his birds and they are just multiplying so I thought I would ask if I can buy some. Unfortunately he does not speak anything but Sesotho. I haltingly asked him:” Ke battle dikoko” mixing Malawian and Sesotho not knowing any better.
He just smiled and stood looking at me expectantly. I tried again and this time he gave me a thumbs up. Ok I thought we are getting there. Then he turned around and left.
This puzzled me and when I was standing at our local Kwik Spar at a till I asked the lady that was serving me how I would say I want to buy your small chickens. ” Ke batla ho reka dikgoho tsa hao tse nnyane.” Jirrrrr…. I would never have got that. Instead I apparently got the ‘ke batla’ right but then asked him for cake. Fuck.
I need to be saved and saged.
I am now on my way to go and read this sentence to the man. I hope I get to buy some chicks.