Diary of an Unborn Writer #43

Enough of these characters. I am a man not a writer. I am here in New Zealand. The people here call it AOTEAROA: The Land of Infinite Light.

I have been on islands and in cities. Heard the breathing of lakes, the heartbeat of a mountain. The latter is Mt. Ruapehu and I am camping at his base.

I am meeting Maori Wise Women and Masters of all colours: of dance, of music prepared to share their treasures and I sit like an empty box: receiving, receiving. Day by day turning into a new man.

I meet people like Rose Pere. She is a Tahuna a wisdom keeper and speaks with the strength and directness of a large stick. She is optimistic about people and their connection to the land that must be restored or we will go. Not the land. We.



I met Ojasvin, a dancing Master with his wife Iris who teach a Haka for Healing. They tell us to stand in joy and sing together.



Day by day, I also sit by my Guru, Prajnaparamita who is leading me on this trip. She speaks with a clarity and softness of feathers that can shatter bricks. I have many bricks and her words float around me and deconstruct me inside.

This is healing and out of this rich abundance of wisdom. Joy is surfacing. Like a seed through concrete cracks. Strength to fulfil good intentions is arising. I am travelling so the real test will be when I get home. But from this spot, free with each day and calling any new spot home, the rich fruit of life is calling me to enjoy it to the full and to take as many with me as I can.