This morning I walked up to the Blackburn Ravine above the East Fort. It was a windy morning.
Somehow the constant blowing wind in the shade made it unpleasant.
Thousands of proteas swaying their budding flowers.
Black hairy heads hiding a secret beauty just about to break to the light.
A wood monster watching me walking past.
After an hour walk I reach the little grove of ancient trees. A spring full of refreshing water.
Water finding new ways.
Out of the shadow I look to the Sentinel rising out of the blue sea into a beautiful sky.
Jung wrote:
The shadow is a tight passage, a narrow door, whose painful constriction no one is spared who goes down to the deep well. For what comes after the door is surprisingly enough, a boundless expanse full of unprecedented uncertainty, with apparently no inside or outside, no above or below, no here and no there, no mine and no thine, no good and no bad. It is the world of water where all life floats in suspension, where the realm of the sympathetic system, the soul of everything living begins, where I am indivisibly this and that, where I experience the other in myself and the other in myself experiences me.
