Sweet Fragrance
‘As we reached the end of days, he would often turn up late. Not by much but not with the metronomic punctuality we had come to expect of him. He’d show up late, with no apology either. Of course back then we had no idea it was the end of his earthly days. I mean, we knew it was the end of days for the rabid capitalism we’d made our own but we still lived like kings, consuming left, right and centre and celebrating it. But let me not digress, I’ve learnt to leave the critique of human civilization circa the 21st century to you.’
Despite the friendly barb at the end, I could feel her voice thick with emotion. This was no ordinary call out the blue from the Dervish.
‘He also started to look a little shabby, not much different from his usual rugged look but just like he couldn’t care too much about that stuff anymore. We were well used to the unshaven face and general rejection of how one should dress for various occasions. Now there was not just a rejection of those norms but a sense of peace about the choice. He no longer bothered with any verbal recompense for making the rest of us feel like preening birds. And he never stopped smelling like roses or some sweet, deep earthy aroma, shabby or not; he wafted a trail of something that had you wanting to unwrap and eat him up like a bon-bon.’
At this, the Dervish’s voice lifts to that smoky tinkle of crystal and then she is silent for a long time. The view outside is the deep, crisp blue of a Highveld winter. A black stinkwood is silhouetted against the picture perfect sky and the ground below littered with her slowly decaying summer dress.
‘I wish I knew how we don’t see what is right in front of our noses’, she suddenly says and then goes silent again.
I’m shook, I’ve never heard the Dervish use such words before. She’s been my fountain, my muse, my go-to for the depths I’ve craved to seek and now she is here suddenly bare, unknowing, seeking herself. Time has taught me to keep these thoughts inside. It doesn’t feel like the kind of moment for me to blurt out the first thing that pops into my dazed mind. Life proceeds at its pace before our seeing eyes and hearing ears and breathing bodies. It’s a good thing the wifi is stable and phones are charged, we can sit in silence while we process.
‘It feels like I want to say I wish I had known more, for longer. In fact, let me be honest with myself and say that everything is exactly as it should be. We don’t always need to know everything about all the things going on inside ourselves all the time. We can be lost. We can feel anger, fear, anxiety, joy; whatever we feel, when we feel and not need to process it. Much less set about seeking some understanding of it. Knowing it, knowing ourselves all the time. Being present is enough, in fact that’s all there is and it’s what I learnt from him. That to not know is itself peace. Because peace is much like its absence, it’s all consuming. Peace, yes, that’s what I learnt. Peace even in the midst of a maelstrom. Peace uber alles if he was germanic. Peace in all its forms and versions and iterations. In every moment, in the depths of the end of days and the peak of summery laughter spreading under the shade of a tree on the banks of a burbling brook. Peace in the cold and in the heat. Peace in the daily grind and peace when a genuine compliment is given, with love. Peace when love is manifest in its infinite variety and peace when sitting alone in longing. Peace, I learnt that from him, as much as I might have shared my own learnings and the teachings of the pathways to the light.’
Her voice has settled now and she has settled herself too. We meander back to daily life and the kinks and high-jinks of our overlords and their abandonment of the work we pay them to do. We stretch ourselves into the depths of the meaning of our existence in this human form and how much we can (and mostly do) become blind to while grinding and living our best lives.
She laughs and adds; ‘Indeed — we tend to make a billion choices of what we see and how we manifest in every moment. Waiting a minute in our warm cars while a domestic worker crosses a street. Doing so in full peace, knowing with guilty minds the sheer luck of our birth in this form that gifts us the unearned privilege to wait patiently and wish the pedestrian well. Silently wish that her long, expensive, cold, unsafe journey will be completed soon; that she will arrive to literal and human warmth, that she will share in the feast of all of life’s joy and beauty we can so easily access. Not hoot and curse this human crossing a street while all your walking is done in a glass encased gym.’
‘This too I learnt from the time spent with him and I remain forever in love with the being encased in the sweet fragrance of a soul journeying through this realm; in peace. I wish that for you too, my dearest rapporteur.’
We sign off and I luxuriate in the warmth of the tender blessing to walk this perilous human existence in the sweet fragrance of peace. But I’m still trapped in the Highveld mine dump village for now and I soon find myself in awe of the Dervish’s incisive mind; here she has tasked me with growing myself into something more; while in the cold, waterless city of gold in the holy land. I feel cheated and overwhelmed. There are so many more enriching, if only more liveable, places to take on such a task.
Still, there’s worse conditions to learn and grow in; imagine if you’re a decent being in human form playing in politics anywhere on this planet circa 2023AD?
Sweet Fragrance is an account of living, loving and longing. In perpetuity.
© Jesh Baker for Oppi Stoep 2023AD.
