We have the beautiful capacity to greatness towards others as well as to
ourselves. But first, we must see the mirror in the monster. Continue reading “Mirror in the Monster”
Listen…. can you hear that…. that sound… yes it is the beating of your heart. Right now over eight billion people share that sound. Each rub-dub beat a little different. We always look at how different we are as human being, we look at each other’s Continue reading “Can you hear the heartbeat?”
To our forefathers, the Gauls, Goths, Celts and Vikings it was a different world two thousand years ago. And I do mean forefathers. Whether your surname is Simpson, Smith, Van Der Merwe or Fritz you have European ancestry. Especially if you are a whit-skinned person. Before we go ahead with our Christmas Story, bear in mind that this essay is for everyone of every creed and colour. As you continue reading you will understand that. Continue reading “Christmas Story”
I am the Mother Earth, your God. Even if you do not believe in me, I call you my child. I am the earth you walk on, the air you breathe, the water you drink. You cannot leave me because I am your home. I provide the animals you eat, the fruits you harvest. I demand your respect. Every animal you hurt, every plant you hurt with your stupidity is a slap in my face, yet I allow you to live. I could poison all your rivers with my lava, I could smite you with poison rain in the blink of an eye, but I love you. Continue reading “The Earth speaks”
Ek hoor toe ‘n wyle terug dat mens kan registreer om ge’ordain’ te word as ‘n priester op die internet, dit net nadat ek in ‘n paar T.V. reekse daaroor episodes gesien het. Toe gaan loop ek rond in die kuber ruimte en vind uit dat ja, ek kan ‘n priester word en dis ‘n wettige sertifikaat in vele lande. Continue reading “Priester Wolfie”
The night sun rests in the lap of a bear, dreaming in the northern sky. A half-moon, I shine above the legs. I come forth from the edge of heaven. I climb to the deepest pit of the sky and rest awhile above cooling rocks, above houses in the cities and people who sleep warm nights on the roofs under a half-moon, dreaming. Oh, I am weak and feeble at the sight of my children sleeping. Oh, I am weak with wonder to see my dark wife dreaming, her hair unbraided and perfumed, falling across her eyes and in her red, red mouth and around her firm, brown shoulders. I am weak and feeble, gliding in cloudless dark. Forgetful of the teeth and tongues of snakes, I rest above my homeland dreaming. Continue reading “I am a half-moon in the night”
Mine is a heart of carnelian, crimson as murder on a holy day. Mine is a heart of cornel, the gnarled roots of a dogwood and the bursting of flowers. I am the broken wax seal on my lover’s letters. I am the phoenix, the fiery sun, consuming and resuming myself. I pace the halls of the underworld. I knock on the doors of death. I wander into the fields to stare at the sun and lie in the grass, ripe as a fig. The souls of the gods are with me. They hum like flies in my ears. I am .1. I will what I will. Mine is a heart of carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix.
The Egyptian book of the dead
Air and earth are my horizons. What lies between is what I am. O infinite form of being: beast and stone and vegetable; the way a man may stand in his garden or dance by the river while wakes of small boats rock the reeds. The cities and the people in them, gods who walk in white linen, like women under the blue stone of heaven. I am the priest in a hidden house, guide to inner worlds. I am the idea of myself in my mother’s belly, a bright trembling star in the memory of morning, a grain of sand blown east. I am the husband of Isis: woman, and widow, and witch. To embrace her is to dream of ripening wheat. To sleep in her arms is to dream of honey. With a word she drives the snakes from the river. The boats sail far to its mouth.
Air is what I breathe. Earth is where I stand. I have given my face to Amenta. It is white with heat. The world is bright as bronze. The dead rise up to see me, breathe the air and look into my face, a yellow disk on the eastern horizon.
The Egyptian Book of the dead
Photos by Allen Wolfie Simpson and Hanneliese Bredell
Three lyres. One sun in the east. The image of grace in my two eyes. One glad body. A day. The wind which moves the boats, moves them. The strident sun is walking through a field of stars. The beautiful one is singing in two halves of the sky. A child speaks. An old man nods and dreams. The people have come from their houses to sit in doorways to sniff the air. Continue reading “Ra is in the wind”
Dit gebeur min maar soms kry ‘n mens laat in die aand ewe skielik ‘n depressie en jy soek daai een ding wat jou uit dit kan haal. Gisteraand het ek eweskielik so teen ses uur net af gevoel. Dit gebeur min. Toe sit ek ‘n weird song mix wat iemand my gegee het op en tussen die liedjies het een my net opgevat en beter laat voel. DIe weird ding is dit was in een of ander oosterse taal (Later uitgevind it is Javanees) en ek het nie verstaan wat die dame sing nie, maar dit het my opgevat… elke slaan van die trom het my gelig, elke noot van die instrumente. En toe vind ek die lirieke van die liedjie en dit het my verstom
So ek deel die liedjie met julle en die lirieke in Javanees (wel dis wat Google Translate my belowe dit is), en die woorde in Engels.
Lirieke (Javanees): Kasme Wade (promises) Nibhayenge Hum, Milate Rahenge Janam Janam Dekha Maine Tujhko Toh Mujhe Aisa Laga Barso Kaa Soya Huwa Pyar Meraa Jaga Too Hain Diya Mai Hoo Batee, Aaja Mere Jivan Sathee
Lirieke (Engels): We will keep our promise and live up to it life after life. Love that was buried deep within, surfaced the moment I saw you! We are made for each other , so why be apart!
Liedjies wat gaan oor liefde het ‘n energie en al verstaan mens soms nie die woorde in ‘n taal nie, is daar ‘n gevoel… liefde skyn deur in elke taal. Kopiereg van liedjie aan sangers en die komponis(te) my woorde is my eie kopiereg, moet nie uit my mond steel nie, ne!
(c) 2015 allen simpson