Wasp stings and Gratitude

Last Thursday, in the midst of an intensely pressurised morning completing a grant application with our team before I drove to Jo’burg at midday, a wasp stung me just below my right eye.  It was intensely sore, and I got a terrible fright when he flew straight for my eye as I picked the kettle up. I simply didn’t see him until he was buzzing frenetically around my eye socket. 
 

At first I was wounded and pissed off – the only treatment available in the first aid kit was anti-histamine. Now why would I want to take that and interfere in my body’s process to deal with the poison? I threw a minor tantrum about how it was typical of “this place”, that the first aid kit would be under-stocked. My colleague in the office tried to help me but I was so irritated an overwhelmed that I just retreated, with a piece of grubby ice I picked from the filthy freezer in the staff kitchen.

Over the weekend my eye swelled overnight and was fairly impressive by morning; my beloved and I joked about how people would assumed that he’d bliksemed me.

On my drive back to Timbavati on Sunday I was drenched in the beauty of the Drakensberg and Blyde River Canyon area. Ohrigstad and the area leading to Hoedspruit is displaying the fullness of nature’s splendour after the big rains – the trees are voluptuous in deep greens, jacarandas in deep purple bloom, dropping their buds to carpet the roads and sidewalks; a magnificent tree whose name I don’t yet know that has a deep glowing orange bloom.  The land is magnificent.

I pondered how I had been feeling over the last few weeks – the depression, despair, overwhelm, the sense of having to get out immediately. And I wondered about the wasp sting and what the message was. 

This morning after a beautiful meditation, now on my yoga mat, it came  to me: the wasp alerted me to my sight – the first question that came to me on Thursday was, “what am I not seeing?” And on my drive back as I marvelled at the beauty of Limpopo, I became sadly aware of how unappreciative I had become of my home in Timbavati. True, sometimes the intensity and dominance of nature can be overwhelming – like the chaos, to my eyes, at the riverbed after the rains, when the new growth careens upward from the trees pushed horizontal by the floods.  When I’m feeling tender, knowing that it is the leopard’s territory and that she can attack if I am unaware or disrespectful, that I may turn a corner and meet the buffalo and have nowhere to run or hide, sends me into tense anxiety.

Yesterday morning I walked this very pilgrimage path next to the river – my boss suggested I do this as I had named one of the contributing factors of my fatigue as lack of exercise. Even though I was feeling vulnerable, I strapped my two way radio onto my belt, greeted the land and asked for permission to be there. Then I walked through the bush growing at a frenetic rate, over the fresh buffalo and hippo droppings, to the Rock Starlion, the massive crystal lion sculpture that my beloved conceived and constructed. I walked the path that called me to mark it out as the approach to the lion, and then made my way back to the office.

Driving back to the office after lunch I had the most intense encounter - a beautiful yellow and green chameleon in mortal combat with a brown house snake. The chameleon was incredible - stood his ground as the snake retreated, circled and came back and back at it. I was rooting for the chameleon, really, the snake was pretty scary pursuing his prey - he even came up to the car window (swiftly wound up) to check me out! After about five minutes the snake made his move and bit into the chameleon's belly and wrapped his body around him to complete the manoeuvre. The snake wasn't that big, but he lifted that chameleon's body about 30cm high to carry him into the bush .... I was drenched with sweat by the end of the spectacle!

Last night an electrifying lightning storm approached us – I watched it move from the northern horizon, cracking open the sky it came our way, a boisterous wind clearing its path. A magical sight, seeing the bush plains lit up by this sky fire. 

The previous night had been still – under the radiance of the full moon Gorgeous the Queenly Cat and I sat in the silver light, clearly being charged up by Lua. Gorgeous stayed out all night on a cleared patch of earth, barely moving, I imagine soaking it in and engaging in some kind of alchemy.

On coming home yesterday I spotted a large scorpion, grey body and huge black pincers on the edge of my raw concrete stoep. I tried to keep my panic low and not draw attention to him so that Gorgeous wouldn’t investigate. As I stood on the one spot where there is enough celphone reception, talking to my beloved, about three feet away from said scorpion, Gorgeous strolled out and stepped onto him. Before he could sting her she was off, unaware and regal. I decided I had to move him, so with not as much grace as I would like, I edged him onto a newspaper and then into a big blue plastic tub and took him up to the road. 

Hopefully he won’t come back.

So I have the wasp, and my beloved, and my dear friend B, my brother and his wife to thank for helping me through a very tough time here – a time of fatigue and disenchantment. I don’t know what the next plans are, but for now, I am here, in my little thatched roof cottage with Gorgeous, candles, paraffin lamp and gas stove, enjoying solitude and magnificent nature. Today I will clear the growing grass from around my house, rake the earth African style, so that I can see any approaching critters. And I shall erect my altar, so that I can share my bounty with the earth.