I heard the ligwalagwala this morning. For those who are not Swazi, it is what I know as the Purple Crested Loerie, which is officially called the Purple Crested Turaco
In the past, hearing them call was comforting – I always took it as a sign that God was on His throne and all was well with the world, by which I mean my world. 2012 was a watershed year for me, the year I said “no more!”; the year I began to sell out all of my being, not just the bits I could do without, to the Man, Jesus; the year I did all I knew to not only save my marriage, but the soul of the one to whom I was married. Did I succeed? Only the afterlife will tell – God knows, and I am happy with that. I always seemed to hear the clucking call of the Loeries on the days when I was low, down so far the only option was up or out.
Today was different. The sound brought a sense of nostalgia, not a real hearkening to the past, but for how my life has changed, the journey that has brought me has taken me through dips, curves, vales of despair, mountaintops of unspeakable joy. Where am I today on this journey? In limbo, waiting, learning to settle in completely to the job at hand, having the confidence to fulfil the vision, that of writing.
I am a writer before I am an author. While some of what I write may form into a book, the rest will remain what it is: writing – beautiful words, crashing, tumbling, crashing, filled with enthusiasm and desperate to get onto the page. Words that don’t necessarily fit into the novel I am writing, or a poem yet to be scribed, but needing to get written nonetheless.
So I invite you, dear friends, to come along with me for the experiences, the round-mouthed “o’s” of revelations, tears aplenty, both sad and happy, a journey of discovery, of dreams, of complexity and simplicity.