The Magic of Gratitude - A letter to my friends on the New Moon

There is magic in the world. It is called gratitude.

Whenever I am in despair (read: worry, panic, fear or discomfort) there is only one way that I manage to shift it - by shifting my inner dialogue to one of gratitude.

But there's a catch. I can try to find as many things around me to be grateful for as I want, it won't really change my situation unless I can find gratitude for the very thing that is causing me discomfort.

I was learning how to make a macramé necklace (a South American weaving technique using the body as a loom) while I was in Hogsback, and at some point I decided it was a good idea to divide all my strings in half so I would have 12 to work with, instead of 6. Half an hour later, I'm sitting with half a ponytail of loose threads covered in beeswax knotted into a spiral, and I suddenly experience it all: First worry. Then panic. The last thing I want to be doing is starting all over, so that means one option: I am going to have to untangle this thing.

Fear. Discomfort.

It took an hour or two, but I untangled that knot.

(Have I mentioned that living on a bicycle teaches a lot of patience?)

And then I had to say: Thanks knot. (You bastard.) It served to remind me that I in some way a play a part in the creation of every situation in my life. My choices take me there. And then I have to take responsibility for it. Finding gratitude for that knot went a long way in helping me have the patience to untangle it, and I've discovered that laughter is one of the best ways to find your way back to gratitude. (By the way, that project still has a lesson to teach me - it's lying in my bag, unfinished and probably tied into a series of new knots!)

So I spent two weeks in Hogsback learning a lot about gratitude. Gratitude for the great beauty surrounding me, so generously shared by Mother Earth. Gratitude for warmth. Gratitude for food. Gratitude for company. I spent some time at Middle Earth Nursery where owner Carol nurtures her plants and the earth in the most respectful way possible. She grows organic, pesticide free vegetables and herbs. She has a water wise rain water system, combining rain water harvesting and grey water treatment. There is a sense of safety and calm at Middle Earth that I could only ascribe to the harmony with which the people who live there live with the Earth Mother.

While at Middle Earth, I had the privilege of spending time with Marie-Claire Dixon, a medicine woman who has been traveling the earth with bare feet for twenty years. She is a skilled storyteller and wise teacher who is generous with her knowledge of plants, Native American tradition and rituals and mostly her wonderfully wild woman within. The night of the full moon after visiting the secret waterfall overlooking the valley below Hogsback, we were driving back on one of the plantation roads curving its way through the forest. The car had overheated earlier in the day and neither of us knew the road we were on, so we're winding our way through the pine trees praying that the car makes it home. On every other uphill the car would stutter and lose power and we would urge it on with bouts of laughter and lots of prayers to the powers that Be. It reminded me so much of the night I arrived in Hogsback in a cloud of mist, fog and rain.

You see, Hogsback is a well known destination in South Africa, and it has a certain reputation as a tourist friendly, hippie village with loads of restaurants and shops. So when you pass the sign in front of the imposing cypruss shrouded in fog that says: "Hogsback" you start looking out for... well, anything that resembles a town.

But when you pass that sign in the cloud and you start winding your way down the mountain on a slippery mud track masquerading as a road, and all you see is forest on either side with driveways disappearing into the mist, you start thinking:

I hope I haven't passed the town because if I did, I'm not turning around and cycling back up this fucking hill.

As I described this arrival to Claire, she laughingly informed me that Hogsback is basically a shop. And a gas station. All the plots are big enough that no-one has to see their neighbours. If you're looking for a conventional town you won't find it here on the mountain - it's a town built for introverted, hard-core nature lovers. What you will find is severe weather, breathtaking views, dragon's breath and magical experiences, but barely any street names or market squares. No sunset strolls past cafés and sophisticated cocktail parties. Where getting around is usually a breeze on my bicycle, in Hogsback you need to mentally prepare for even a five kilometre journey, and then you still accept a lift if it is offered. Yes, the roads are that steep and that bad, and most properties are kilometres apart.

The difference between my expectation of a place and the reality can have one of two effects: I can be disillusioned and unsatisfied because my expectations were not met - and this is usually my first reaction. Especially when I'm cold and wet and all I want is a fireplace with a warm beverage, and all I'm getting is kilometre after kilometre of muddy track with vehicles coasting past without as much as a wave, a how are you, a "can we give you a lift/directions/this portable thermal blanket that we saved for a lost cyclist?"

But eventually, my mind makes peace with the fact that I'm cold and wet and starts to say things like: you know, cycling through this magical, eyrie forest sure beats sitting in traffic. So I shift to gratitude. I start noticing what is present, and appreciate the moment for what it is: I hear the sound of birdsong and the dripping of the rain on the forest floor. I start enjoying bouncing through puddles and losing and regaining my balance, completely engrossed in what I'm doing in the moment.

This shifting to gratitude, like anything, takes practice. It takes awareness of your thought patterns and letting go of expectations, but the results truly are magical. If I didn't know about this technique of creating magic in my own mind, I doubt that I would still be on the road, cycling in 8m/s headwinds up rocky slopes and laughing and crying at the same time, but here I am, still going, and so grateful for the opportunity to experience real freedom.

On this new moon we start heading into autumn - my favourite season and time of the year! I pray that you find the stillness and presence to look with eyes filled with gratitude at everything around you in the time ahead.

In love and gratitude
Maria
xx