Warning: Kindness is Dope

I met someone recently who thanked me for something I did for her 20 years ago.

I kid you not.

To be quite honest, I did not recall the detail or that act of apparent kindness at all. She tells me that it came at a time when she desperately needed a strong mother figure and that young-me stepped up.

I must say, our exchanges back then never did feel like “rescue” or “help” to me. In fact, I reckon I was the one who felt good. I was the one who felt useful. I was probably the one who felt high from the endorphins that make us drunk with purpose. That’s really all I remember about our interactions ~ how lovely I felt around her.

How cool?

Her testimony has since inspired me to write some random “Thank You” notes of my own. Because the stars know that there are plenty of people who have touched me over the years. And just like that, I’m part of an energy that keeps the magical vibration of GRATITUDE in motion.

Perhaps you feel inspired to hop on the train and thank someone today too? If so, I can tell you without a doubt that the wise ones were right: It is indeed GIVING that we RECEIVE.

Try it. Thank me (29 years later).

Lee Mayimele

Chief Storyteller

Looking for GOD? (A short “Soul Sunday” reflection)

 

Don’t look for me in holy books or so-called holy people.

That’s not where you’ll find ME.

 

Don’t hurriedly hunt me in secret places, special buildings, strings of beads, ancient scripts, in potions or in star alignments.

 

Get quiet!

 

Then,

Look at the fire coloured sun, rising and setting without you having to do a thing;
See the butterfly, the migrating birds pulsing to a vibration of pure precision;

Listen to the waves crashing, a choir singing, the cry of a newborn baby;

Smell the fresh earth after a thunderstorm;

Feel the high of a meditation, the warmth of a touch, the tears that run when the soft smell of a deceased loved one wafts through your home;

Tune in, and you’re getting close.

 

Don’t chase after me in holy water, special foods or men who claim to “know”.

 

NO,

I’m more likely to be in the eyes of your lover, a generous stranger, a homeless man;

I’m more likely to be the laughter of children, the gentle push of a teacher, your gran’s dusty kitchen floor;

I’m more likely to be in the tingle of strawberries, the soft rain playing jazzy tunes on your rooftop;

 

YES,

That’s more my style.

 

For I am GOD, my child,

The creator, narrator, the connector of the dots.

The beginning;

The end;

Foremost an artist! Second to none.

 

All light comes from me, and all light flows through you.

 

AND,

How will you know when you’ve found ME?

Ah, that’s the easy part: You’ll just know!

I designed you that way.

 

© Aluta continua, as they say.  A Heart Full of Stories, 2017

APOLOGY:

It seems there were some gremlins in yesterday’s post, trying to scramble text and give me more grey air. Luckily, we’ve now sorted them out.

 

 

 

Pleae don’t take it so personal!

A gentle little boy came over to our house to play.  My kids were delighted!

 

It was a beautiful hot summer’s day in Johannesburg and a thunderstorm was brewing.

 

My daughter took her favourite cookie, and came into the kitchen to cut it up. She wanted to share it with her friend. Something she refused to do for her brother. Ever.

 

While my daughter was busy with the cookie, the boy announced that he wanted to go home. My daughter was devastated. She was just getting started. What about the cookie?

 

After he left, she started crying “Mama, he doesn’t like me! He doesn’t like meeeee!”

 

It turns out that the boy was scared of thunder. He wanted his mom a bit more than he wanted my girl. Or the cookie!

 

I understood.

My girl did not.

 

She took it personally.

I understood that too.

 

 

….and that got me thinking:  Isn’t that just life huh?  Isn’t that just how the cookie, crumbles?  Very often, we take things personally when really, the shit going down has everything to do with the other person and little to nothing to do with us.

 

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016.  Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

 

 

To Listen or NOT to listen

It was nearly Christmas.

Everyone was talking about their holiday plans. Most were going skiing in Europe and then back to South Africa for a beach holiday over New Year.

I could not even thinkkkkkk of taking leave. Firstly, I had only joined the company a month or two earlier and secondly, the most junior person on the team always stayed put. I accepted my fate maturely.

About 3 days before Christmas, and on the last real shopping day, I got the call I had been waiting for. I was free to pack up early and go home. I was elated.

I planned to light a candle for my deceased granny (old tradition), pick up my Christmas pudding from my mom, book my Secret Santa Girls Lunch and finally get all the little gifts for my family. I was excited.

As I was driving out of my office, I got a call. It was from a colleague. She needed my “help”. 

I listened. 

She had a deadline to meet and was not going to make it.

I listened some more.

She explained that she had loads of “important” things to do.

I continued to listen.

She had gifts to buy, cocktails with friends, carols by candlelight and oh yes, a spa day. She simply had “no time” to do her work and she wanted me to do it. It was a 5-day job that required working over Christmas in order to meet a submission deadline.

She sensed my energy dip, so she added something extra. She explained that she had already talked to the CEO of the company and “cleared things” with him.

She ended her pitch by adding that she thought that I “wouldn’t mind” because I had “nothing exciting to do anyway”.

I stopped listening. My ears just stopped playing ball. 

For a moment, the CEO ploy flashed across my mental dashboard as I envisioned beautiful gold stars next to my name and a promotion. Fortunately, that shit didn’t last long. I came to my senses. Quickly too.

I said “I can’t help, I’m afraid” and when she said “And why not?” I said “Ear trouble”. 

I did!  I could have high-fived myself right there, I must say!

I hung up and went to light that damn candle. 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Enlightenment is Hard Work!

They say that when what you FEEL, what you SAY and what you DO are aligned, that you are on your way to enlightenment.

I was a long way from enlightenment this weekend.  What I was feeling, what came out of my mouth and what I had to do, were all just one big yawn!

It was one of thoseeeee ones.  My son was teething and the rest of the family was feeling the pain. At 2 hour intervals throughout the night, he kept waking his sister. Each time I got him to close his eyes, my daughter would call my name and wake him up again.  My husband and I danced in the dark all night, from spot to spot, as and when the screams dictated.

And this movie continued all night long. 

Naturally, all of us woke up grumpy.  I knew that some coffee for me, a bottle for the baby and a glass of milk for the toddler would help. I walked to the fridge.  We had no milk. We ALL needed milk.

It was 6am on a Sunday after a party with lots of champagne.

I needed to wake my husband.  For milk.

The milk arrived and was served. Just as I sat down for my coffee, I saw it.  Projectile vomit from my teething son.  Directly on to his sister’s hair.  (Now, the hair story is one for another day but let’s just say that there are curls for days and lots of spaces for the pieces of vomit to hide)

I needed to give her a bath and a hair wash.  Naturally, she didn’t want her brother to join her.  Naturally, her brother wanted to join her.  Naturally, I lectured her about “sharing and caring”.  Naturally, there were more tears.

By 8am the sun came streaming into the living area, Barney was working his magic, the coffee starting doing its job and my husband returned from his run full of energy.  The kids ran to him and said “Papaaaaaa!”  I fell in love again.  Big time!

Breakfast at a beautiful organic market in the countryside was just what the doctor ordered.  Enlightenment was around the corner. 

Once out in the countryside, the kids were beautiful. They walked hand in hand, wore their hats and said their prayer before sharing a croissant. My daughter said “Mama, he’s cute hey?” as he sang a song.  Theseeeee were the kids I ordered from the catalogue, I thought.  These precious little gifts from God.

I didn’t want to return them afterall.  I decided I’d keep them.

My husband ordered some bubbly. We needed it.  We toasted to the sun, a crap night, a better day.

That’s when we saw the cutest couple.  Hand in hand with matching sunglasses.   They were looking for somewhere to sit down.  The guy agreed to talk to the manager while his girlfriend went to the loo.  The only table available was in our section.  The guy said “God no! We hate kids” and walked off, determined to find something farrrrrrrrrrrr away from the playground.

The girl returned from the loo and walked straight into my daughter pretending to be a horse, with her brother on her back.  She said “Oh my God! These kids are the cutest. I can’t wait to have some! I adoreeeeeee kids”.   She picked my son up, put him on her hip and held my daughter’s hand.  She was a natural. She was glowing.

The puppet show was about to start and the kids ran off.  We pretended to be looking at them but our ears were on high alert.  The guy returned and said “Oh, there you are! I told the manager how much we hate kids”. 

My husband and I were frozen.

My heart hoped that she would SAY what she was FEELING and then DO what those feelings desired.

But, like me.  Enlightenment evaded her.  She said “Oh great, honey.  Thanks for that” and gave him a big kiss.

Allow me to wish you well on your journey to enlightenment, friends.  May what you think and feel always find the right words and may you DO that which will take you towards the light.

Aluta Continua, as they say. The road is long (for me).

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Vision

I was on my way to Dubai for an important meeting.  I had prepared well and looked forward to the finalising a strategic deal.

I planned to drink lots of champagne on the flight and make use of the pyjamas. Afterall, flying first class was not something I did every day.

My eyes started getting red soon after boarding.  By the time dinner was served they were on the colour of tomato soup.  The woman sitting next to me said “What are your eyes telling you? What do you not want to see?”.  I laughed, had my nightcap, ran over my notes for the meeting and went to sleep. Lying flat!

I had a plan in my head.  I was sticking to the vision.  (No pun intended).

I arrived safely at my hotel and when I finally got to look in a mirror, I panicked. Just a little bit. My eyes were blood red.  I went to see a doctor immediately.  I needed to sort my eyes out pronto.

When I returned to the hotel, I could not shake the feeling.  I felt awkward and scared.

But, I had a plan. A vision.  I planned to stick to it. 

The first day’s meetings went well but I had to excuse myself from an important dinner that night.  I had to.  My eyes needed rest.

I went to dinner alone.  I felt like someone was watching me.  All the time.

My vision did not include this stupid twist.

My food did not arrive despite two reminders. They apologised and told me that that had never happened in the history of the hotel. They agreed to send the food to my room.

That creepy feeling increased tenfold.  

I went to my room.  The doorbell rang and my heart jumped!  It was only the food arriving but for some reason I was freaked out. I tried to eat but could not relax.

So, I went downstairs to the hotel lobby.  I thought that perhaps a spot of people-watching would distract me. Help me return to normal.  Help me to stop acting crazy!

I was walking across the room when I heard someone making a sound. A catcall kind of sound.  I turned in the direction of the sound and it was a man. An Arab man in a long white cloak and a veil on his head.  He winked at me. 

I knew something was wrong.  I felt INSTANTLY nauseas.  My beautiful vision was gone.  Instead, I was filled with fear, disgust and paranoia. 

I decided to sit down.  For God’s sake! This was a famous hotel with cameras everywhere, plenty of tourists and my business associates were staying in the same damn hotel. What could go wrong?

So, I straightened my shoulders, gave myself a mental smack and walked across the room to another part of the hotel. I looked around for the man.  I did not see him.

I took two steps forward when I heard the man make the sound again.  By now I was officially freaked out!  He was hiding behind a plant and he stuck his tongue out and licked his lips.

Through my sore eyes I saw fear. Big time!

I planned to go straight to reception and alert them to my fears but my phone rang and I took the call.  When I looked around again, I saw the man talking to the people at reception, laughing and looking like they all knew one another.

I could not go to reception. I definitely did NOT want the bad pervert to know that I was scared of him. That was not an option.

So, I went to my room. Bolted the door. Texted my colleague in the room down the hall to find out how the dinner had gone. I didn’t care about the dinner, actually. I just wanted to know that he was there if I needed him.

My eyes insisted on closing. I could not sleep but my eyes needed to be closed.

About 3 hours later, the room phone rang.  I answered and there was no one there.

I called reception. I asked them if they had called.  They said no.  I check with my colleague. He had not called either.

Two minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

I did not answer.  My eyes refused to open. Literally.  

I did not know if it was the bad man, my colleague, reception, security or some other extra terrestrial!  I guess I will never know.

On the long flight back home, I let my emotions flow.  I just burst out crying!  Those tears acknowledged that I was pissed off that my body had failed me at such a crucial time, that I had let some stupid man play games with my mind when I was not feeling well and that as a woman, I was such a soft target.  Most of the tears were about the vision.  The vision that had gone wrong. Literally.

When I arrived in Johannesburg my eyes were cleared up.

And, instead of keeping an open mind, guess what I did?  Yes, another vision.  The vision I had was of eating hot dinner with my husband in the safety of my home, telling him my story with my eyes sparkly and white.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tears (Poem)

And sometimes you have to cry. The tears just come. You just let them.

 

The release is magical.

 

The knowledge that the plumbing is working is comforting.

 

The tears remind you that those unique emotions, both happy and sad, are all part of the mixed masala that makes your story an interesting one.  Your unique plot in the great book of life.

 

 

Rejection is NOT Fatal

Many years ago I met a new woman.

I was immediately drawn to her.  I liked her presence.  She walked into a room and you knew she was there.  

Unfortunately the feeling was not mutual.  Regrettably, the woman with presence dismissed mine.  More than once.

I didn’t feel good about it. 

And no, I could not “just move on” or “just ignore her”.

I was drawn to her light.  This fact remained. 

Now anyone who has ever been rejected would know.  It’s an addictive drug.  Once you’ve had a hit, you don’t just STOP. No way Jose!  You get hooked. You need to go back.

So, back I went. 

Now, the first few times her rejections were subtle.  This time, she went big!  She arranged an office party for 6pm and did not invite me.  She was kind enough to tell me her sweet reasons.  She knew that I would need to use a bus.  And gosh, those buses really “don’t wait for anyone”! “But listen” she said “You won’t miss anything.  You’ll be fine!”

She was right.  Those buses did not wait for anyone.  Certainly not when you walk slowly because you are blinded by tears.

The bus left me that day.

But, what girl with presence was not right about was, I was not “fine”. 

I was not fine but those tears broke the spell of addiction. I was no longer the same girl.

Once the tears were over, I thought to myself “What a bitch!”.  That release was beautiful!

I arrived at the office the next day and her light had dimmed.

I was over her.  I was over her silver Mercedes too.  It suddenly didn’t look as shiny as I had always thought.

It has been many years now, and I remain sober. Sober with beautiful stories to tell. 

So, I say THANK YOU. Thanks for the material, Girl with Presence.

Who do YOU want to thank today?