(It’s not what you think) 🐆
A friend, who I had thought knows me quite well, made the casual comment that she didn't think I liked dirt, or getting dirty.
Recognising the value of the Householder in the Tantric tradition, as well as someone who does almost all her own gardening, and 100% of her own housework and cleaning, I was surprised she carried this perception of me.
I live in the countryside, and getting dirty is intrinsically part and parcel of rural living!
There's an unspoken pact in our village where it's perfectly respectable to go out shopping in old, threadbare overalls or paint-splattered aprons, with dirt under ragged nails, and grease wiped across sweaty brows.
Living relatively remotely, I quickly learned how to change a flat tyre, drill holes into fences, prepare and paint walls, and keep my saltwater pool - surrounded by trees and subject to heavy winds - sparkly clean at all times.
Pragmatism is practically my middle name!
When out gardening in the early mornings or late evenings (mid day is just too damn hot in the Karoo), I often get bitten, stung, bruised, cut, and scratched - not mention almost poking my eye out on several occasions on the razor-spiky leaves of my yukka trees.
I'm on a strictly first name basis with wasps, bees, spiders, bumblebees, scorpions, ants, lizards and snakes.
Yesterday, after coming in from my daily gardening duty, I felt something wriggling around in my dress. Putting my hand down the front, to my horror, I pulled out a baboon spider! Luckily it was a juvenile, and hadn't bitten me, but this is not an uncommon occurance.
Big, beautiful leopard toads live in my cats' water bowl outside the kitchen door, who stare up at me with saucepan eyes at night, and I'm convinced a cunning little mongoose pays midnight visits through the cat flap to eat their food on a regular basis: the kibble is always scattered all over the floor in the morning.
A friendly young hadeda loves inviting himself into the house, like Goldilocks, and making himself comfortable on my daughter’s bed - 🛌 I kid you not.
I once banged my head so hard on the stone ledge above my fireplace when cleaning it out, I was mildly concussed for days.
Not for the faint-hearted this feral life of the wildling.
The upside is this: there is nothing quite so grounding as hard manual labour, and getting one's hands sunk deep into the soil of the earth. Becoming intimate with all our living relations is also a precious gift. They are the best antidotes to anxiety and depression that I know of, and it keeps me firmly anchored in reality.
Furthermore, without an intimate partner in my life, my feminine erotic energy is sublimated deeply into nature - the gentle breeze on my skin, the pleasurable caress of a lover; the dancing golden light of the semi-desert dusk, my Shiva. For me, lover nature is the best aphrodisiac!
I may not enjoy the luxury of manicured nails or blow-dried hair anymore, but I wouldn't swop the glories of dirty, grounded living and fresh air for anything - and I can still scrub up well when the occasion demands.
This gal grew up grubby on a large, overgrown plot in Kwa-Zulu Natal, and she loves gravity baby!
I describe Mama Afrika as the umbilical cord to my yoni, and my down and dirty lifestyle the Tantra of my juicy pleasure.
Comments