Mystery of matrimony - a daughter marries

The mystery of matrimony

"Who brings this woman to be married?"

We do.

To be married

To be coupled

To be knotted, twisted together

Today tomorrow to death

Joining a heritage of still-married

Great grands through alcoholism and a debilitating stroke 

The hospital bed at living room centre

Year after year

Today tomorrow to death

Grands joined at the soul for six decades

Parents still holding hands

Taking dates

Today tomorrow to death
Others broken unfulfilled
But ever hope soars

Today two slide into one

Yet two stand strong

Different Same

New names

Great and grand shes took his

Swirled into the family of him

Closer, the names coupled

Collide

Integrate

Two join making one

Today a new family births

Overlapping with previous identities

Two souls unite in name in love

Joined today tomorrow to death

The mystery of matrimony

Divine Human

A friend to touch

A lover to hold

A comrade to clasp and stride alongside

Today tomorrow to death

Thandiwe & Darryl Dale-Ferguson -- I love you both and wish you days of joy and years of union.

Reflecting on my daughter's recent wedding while gazing at the sunset's illumination of the interior dome of St. Paul's Cathedral and listening to the voices of Rohan Williams and poet, Wendy Cope, swirl through the vastness.

Hope Renewed...thank you Mandela!

Today I give thanks for the life and accomplishments of Tata Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, Father of a nation, beloved by the world.

As we listen to the "live" account of his release and first steps into freedom on Sunday 11 February, 1990, we realize we had not joined the world celebrating that morning, for we lived inside South Africa, at Mfanefile, a "black spot" in the hinterlands of today's KwaZulu Natal. News was heavily censored by the government; often large black blocks of ink would remind us of items prohibited to be shared in print; other times the news would just be missing. We relied on family and friends posting us South African news from The New York Times, which we could share in our Zulu-speaking community.

On that global day of joy, we lived in darkness. Our community's hope had been so severely snatched, we had only one more unbelievable rumour to dismiss as we gathered for church. Yes, we had heard President de Klerk had supposedly removed Mandela from Robben Island. Yes, we had heard new rumours that Mandela was to be set free. Yes, we had heard. But none of us believed. Like Doubting Thomas, "until I can thrust my hand into his wounds," until I can see his face. 

And no one knew what Mandela looked like any more, as no image of him had been seen since 6 June 1986, and then it was only a reprint of a 1964 photo printed in The Weekly Mail.  It had been illegal during his imprisonment to publish his photo. So, we wondered, could we even believe any photos the white press cared to release? And in our rural community which received no newspaper deliveries, not even to the local shop, "living proof" would be long in coming.

When a copy of the 11 February newspaper finally arrives at Mfanefile, it makes the rounds to choruses, cheers and dancing. Hope. Hope restored! Hope that one man's first steps into freedom might set the path for the people of the nation to follow, walking together from the darkness into light. Thank you Tata Mandela for leading the way.

Today my prayers are with the people of South Africa, at Mfanefile and throughout the nation. 

(Ah, the wheels of change move slowly; I just typed in Mfanefile, South Africa, to locate this post, and had to resort to the nearby historically white town, Melmoth, as Mfanefile is not recognized as a real place, even though Mfanefile's population is larger, and its history is longer. )