A Touch of Light

When I wrote this book, it was to write about healing, life, laughter and the inner peace that comes as one relates fully to life. Pain, sorrow and so many other things are dissolved as one understands them, releases them, forgives others and begins to rely on one's inner nature.

Through the inspiration of a story, an event or a film, I feel that one can be motivated to start this process, to change ones very existence. I hope the poems and story in this book may create something like this for you the reader.

I wish you enjoyment of what is here.

I have written under a pen name, because my other name Shaun de Waal, too often gets confused with the Shaun de Waal of journalist and short story fame. He lives in Johannesburg, I in Durban. Hopefully this will eliminate the confusion.

Michael Morain

24 July 1995

The Old Man and the Fire

a story of healing

by Michael Morain

Ntokozweni, a young girl, beads in her hair, wearing traditional maiden dress, sat close to the fire, looking into the flames, holding her hands as near as she could. Mary, with golden hair flecked by the fire, in her rough farm clothes, sat nearby, watching the flames as they tried to lick Ntokozweni's hands. Jonathan, coffee coloured from the sun, his dark eyes reflecting the fire, sat cross legged in his short pants and jersey of blue.

On the other side sat Zuma, hair greying, a hunters look and wrapped in a blanket - many coloured in the light, the patterns almost moving, as the flames rose and fell.

"Ntokozweni", said Zuma, "You have had some tough times, ne".

"Yes" said Ntokozweni shyly, hardly daring to look at the venerable figure of Zuma.

Ntokozweni and her family had had to flee their homes as a result of violence. Her mother had sought work on the farm of Mary's parents. Mary and Ntokozweni had become fast friends and could not be separated. Ntokozweni was still afraid that the people who committed violence would find her and she often had bad dreams about this.

"I am going to tell you all a story," said Zuma, "An old, old story that comes to us from so long ago that not even the trees, who live so long, can remember it.

Many moons have been in the sky, since the Spirit of our Ancestors was on earth. He was a great spirit, a mighty warrior, skilled in many things. He discovered the wind, he named the trees - as one names one's children, the animals he called brothers and they as they listened to his voice grew stronger.

One day the Spirit of our Ancestors was walking and he came to a calm, clear pool. He was tired after the many things he had been doing, so he lay down to sleep. As he slept, he dreamt."

" What did he dream?"

"He dreamt that he saw the future. He saw people walking from his heart, walking from him to the future. So many people! You can imagine! All sorts of people, big and small, ugly and fat."

"Even some like Mary?"

"Yes and Peter and anyone you can think of. As they walked, animals, plants walked with them - they talked and played together."

"The plants walked!"

Lots of laughter.

"Well, lets say they were there along the way to be played with. As they got further and further into the future, he saw that many of the animals and plants were no longer there - until eventually, the people walked alone, lonely and tired. In his dream the Spirit of our Ancestors was very, very, very sad."

"Why was he sad?"

"Well, his companions were no longer with his people and he knew that something was wrong. When he woke, he said to himself, 'I must leave a message for my people, to remind them of what I have seen, so that they will remember'.

So what do you think he did ?"

"Some magic?"

"Well, yes and no. He asked the Great Spirit - that is in everything -to create the seasons: spring, summer, autumn, winter - to remind men that everything changes and can change. Not to take for granted what is there. The seasons say, ' Look at us', they remind us that the animals and plants are not always there and we must remember that we are a family. We can depend on each other surely?"

There was silence as Zuma finished, only the crackle of the fire.

He turned and looked at Ntokozweni for awhile, in a calm and joyful way.

Ntojkozweni looked back, not knowing what to make of the story.

"Ntokozweni, you must feel this story here" said Zuma pointing to his heart, "Because it will not make sense here." He pointed to his head.

"You have gone through bad times. People can be bad sometimes, because they do not understand themselves, or you. They do not know we are all part of the same life, that we are linked. If they understood that, they would know you are just as valuable as them and to hurt you, they hurt themselves. You have a right to peace, to be left in peace. Seek it in kinship here with your brothers and sisters. Listen to the birds and animals, the peace in lying beneath a tree. Listen to your heart, it says peace - you are safe with us. "

Ntokozwini, began to understand this a little and she could feel her worries starting to fade. Peace was coming to her, though it would take time. She was safe here.

In the distance, the laughter of the hyena, seemed to say "Men are so stupid" and it warmed her heart to the Spirit of Life.

Curling Round

They come
Bearing a sacrifice
Which they feed the hungry fire
The fat and blood dripping
Warm into it's stomach
The fire satisfied
Burns a little lower
It's heat cooling throughout
The night
Until by dawn
It is extinct
Sated by its own passions

Quiet Eyes

It's eyes

The dust

Small as it is

Mandala

Cracking open the sky

It is so brief
The rumble of its passage
Continues a while after
Causing all to sway
Beneath it's power

After it is gone
The earth smells fresher
Rains come
Big drops
That satisfy the earth
Quenching her thirst
Preparing the way
For her brothers
The lightening then
A forerunner
Brilliant
As we

Moonlight

The cries of night echo the song of the sea
The moon changing
From orange age
Becoming yellow with youth
It's rays many handed
Stirring the wind
Which reaches me
I breathe deep
And am new

The Seashells

Close, Open

Energy Laughing

The Wind of Life

Leaves so green

Crinkled against the sun

Fast then slow

Click-click, Click-click,
  The rolling of the wheels,
   Along silver ribbons,
    Stepping upon the rafters,
      Of a wood long dead,
       Alive with the life,
          Of energy fuelled minute by minute,
                            The smoke,
                          Black-white, Black-white,
                      Drifting with the coaches,
                    Misting the glass,
                  Like morning dew,
              Fresh from the twilight,
          Curling gently,
        As if to touch,
      With light fingers,
The glass,
  Flash-rattle, Flash-rattle,
   Straining in its borders,
     So cruelly held down,
       Longing to be liquid,
         Once more in the sun's,
          Strong furnace,
           To fly with the wind,
            Sparkling and bright,
Click-click, Click-click,
The sound again,
Running  the track,
Going fast-then slow,
Winking past lights,
Bringing company to stations,
a parable for us.

A Thousand Timbres

The Rainbow

Beyond its light, the stars
Molecules in the garment
Of the Universe, who like a mother
Gathers her children
In the water of the cosmos
Softly singing a melody
That causes life to grow
Bud
Grow again
Until the scent of stars
Carried on cosmic winds
Breathe us
And we mirror
Them

Touch of Light

Patterns

Copyright 1995, Michael Morain and The Writer's Gallery.

The following is an announcement from the author:

The New Frontiers Institute
---------------------------

Affiliated to the: Globewide Network Academy