Dagsê

Ek hoop dat na hierdie laaaaang wêreldbeker sokker en kouerige winter jy trots Suid Afrikaans die derde kwartaal moet nuwe woema kon begin. Vir die derde kwartaal, wens ek jou ’n bekende Ierse seënbede toe wat sê... Mag jy altyd werk vir jou hande hê. Mag jou beursie altyd ’n muntstuk bevat. Mag jy ’n huis hê met ’n venster waardeur die son skyn. Mag daar altyd ’n reënboog na jou reënbui wees, en mag die hand van jou vriend(in) nooit te ver wees nie. Mag God jou oë oopmaak vir jou naaste se nood en mag Hy jou arms vol liefde gee.


Ek het in die vakansie een oggend uit Numerie 13 / 14 gepreek oor “my motivering om te waag om myself te wees” waarby ek die preek afgesluit het met ’n gedig genaamd “The Invitation”. By verdere oplees hieroor, na die preek, het ek agtergekom dat die bron waar ek die gedig gekry het, dit verkeerdelik toegeskryf aan ’n Idiaanse oudste wat dit gedig het en dat die gedig op plekke gewysig is van die oorspronklike.


Die gedig is inderwaarheid geskryf deur ’n Kanadese vrou in 1999, genaamd Oriah (haar bynaam en skryfnaam, is Oriah Mountain Dreamer) wat ’n gelyknamige boek oor hierdie gedig geskryf het. Gelukkig het ek die boek intussen in die hande kon kry en is tans besig om my daarin te verkneukel. Die gedig klink so...


The invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.


It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.


It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.


I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own. If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to

remember the limitations of being human.


It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.


I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.


I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes.”


It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.


It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.


It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.


I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.


Groetnis

Johann Voges

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