Although I’ve been drawn to drift through Mpumalanga, I also have a vague, unsettled feeling about this leg. So much is happening that I could frame as “negative” but at the same time I’m receiving so many insights and experiencing so much growth that I think it may just be spiritual growing pains. I’ll only know once I’m back in Jozi, but in the meantime I’m keeping my metaphorical bags packed and at the door, just in case I have to beat a hasty retreat.
I almost didn’t have a choice on that first night at Mac Mac Forest though. So much rain fell. Apparently 80mm! I could hear the thunderous sound of it on my tarp and was a bit nervous, but I was confident that my tent was waterproofed enough, and the tarp was there as a solid protective roof, so I sat inside my tent with the flaps closed and waited for the storm to pass. It didn’t. Hours passed and I began to obsessively check my weather app, but it remained committed to its original prediction of 100% chance of rain, for 48 hrs. The noise of the storm was so loud that I didn’t hear the camp manager come to see if I was ok, the first time. When she returned a while later she was taking no more of my apparent stoicism and hooted and hooted to get my attention. This time I did hear her and opened my tent flap… and got the fright of my life! There was a muddy river running next to my tent door that was already several centimetres high, and I realised that my tent and I had become a very precarious island that this river was threatening to wash away. The camp manager was not pushy. She asked if I was ok and if I needed any help. Usually I would say “I’m fine” and struggle through, but this time I said “I’m not sure”. Which itself was pretty ridiculous, because even I could tell that I was clearly not ok. Not going to be ok. Not even an optimistic possibility of being ok. But that was her signal to generously offer me a cabin for the night, which I graciously accepted. Very uncharacteristic of me, to accept help, but I did. And because I was quite sure that my tent, and everything inside it, would be washed away by the morning, I threw as much as I could fit into my car and just abandoned the rest. Everything was soaking wet. I was soaking wet. But I had shelter. I was safe, and that’s all that mattered. The two camp managers (aka storm angels) helped to settle me into a cosy safari tent, where I had a hot shower and could make myself a cup of coffee and lie in a warm, dry bed… and feel very sorry for myself.
And here again, I can see how much I’ve changed over the years. Asking for or accepting offers of help has always been very scary for me. I’m quite sure it’s a past life issue involving betrayal and possibly annihilation in some form, but I don’t have those details, yet. I guess in this instance annihilation was on the cards either way, so accepting help was maybe just buying myself some time? Very gratefully though. When I moved down to Cape Town, over a decade ago now, instead of asking my friend if I could stay with her for three days, while I waited for my furniture and kitties to follow me down, I chose to rather sleep on a dodgy blow up mattress on the floor. Every night by 3am the air would have leaked out of the mattress and I’d be lying awake on cold concrete, in the middle of winter. But I struggled through for those three nights. My friend still looks at me and shakes her head and asks “But, why didn’t you come and stay with me?” I’m learning though and getting so much better at it. My true friends (and a few unexpected storm angels as well) are teaching me to trust, and for that I’m extremely grateful.
I had visions of my waterproof (on the inside) tent floating away, along with my new tarp and all of my necessary camping belongings. It would mean the end of my trip. I wouldn’t be able to continue without my tent and I wouldn’t be able to drift back slowly to Cape Town as planned. I sent a request out to the Angels (not the Earth ones, the other ones) to protect my tent and belongings, but I also had a chat with the Universe about this leg of my drift, and agreed that if my tent was destroyed I would go back to Jozi immediately, then Cape Town soon after. If my tent was ok then I would continue on. I would only know in the morning though, and it was going to be a long, long wait. In the meantime, I managed to find a space of acceptance either way.