Sleutelwoorde

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Binne-in elke vrou woon a Wild Woman. Daar is ‘n natuurkrag in haar diepste wese, vanwaar sy haar instinkte volg. Sy leef passievol en kreatief.

Her name is Wild Woman, but she is an endangered species.

“Be wild; that is how to clear the river. The river does not flow in polluted, we manage that. The river does not dry up, we block it. If we want to allow it its freedom, we have to allow our ideational lives to be let loose, to stream, letting anything come, initially censoring nothing. That is creative life. It is made up of divine paradox. To create one must be willing to be stone stupid, to sit upon a throne on top of a jackass and spill rubies from one’s mouth. Then the river will flow, then we can stand in the stream of it raining down.”

Diepe vervulling van ‘n vrou kom wanneer sy so opgewonde – amper sexually aroused – voel deur ‘n kreatiewe idee, dat haar passie gesien kan word aan die manier wat sy van binne gloei. Op daardie punt begin die Rivier van haar Lewe vloei.

Soms word ‘n vrou se creative juices vergiftig. Dan neem die ego oor en wil dit iets skep wat geen blywende sieleheil en groei meebring nie.

Dan is daar druk uit die samelewing en haar kultuur, wat haar laat glo dat haar idees nutteloos is, en futiel. So word haar Rivier van haar Lewe vergiftig, dit hou op vloei en word haar psyche gif.

Dis dán wat sy begin droom van slange. Slange wat haar pik.

La LloronaAs La Llorona elke nag by die rivier soek na haar kinders wat verdrink het, hoop sy om haarself te vind.

La Llorona se naam beteken letterlik The Crying Woman. Hoewel sy nie juis huil nie. Nou en dan ‘n traan pink waar niemand sien nie, ja. Maar huil? Nie sommer nie.

Vir die wêreld wys sy haar snaakse kant. Haar lawwe kant. Haar pittige aanmerkings laat mense lag. Jonk-jonk was haar gesig al gemerk met lagplootjies. Vrolik en vriendelik. Ja, dis La Llorona se gesig wat almal ken.

My naam is La Llorona. Wild Woman. Crying Woman.

Don’t go down to the river, child,

Don’t go there alone;
For the sobbing woman, wet and wild,
Might claim you for her own.

She weeps when the sun is murky red;
She wails when the moon is old;
She cries for her babies, still and dead,
Who drowned in the water cold.

Abandoned by a faithless love,
Filled with fear and hate.
She flung them from a cliff above
And left them to their fate.

Day and night, she heard their screams,
Borne on the current’s crest;
Their tortured faces filled her dreams,
And gave her heart no rest.

Crazed by guilt and dazed by pain,
Weary from loss of sleep,
She leaped in the river, lashed by rain,
And drowned in the waters deep.

She seeks her children day and night,
Wandering, lost, and cold;
She weeps and moans in dark and light,
A tortured, restless soul.

Don’t go down to the river, child,
Don’t go there alone;
For the sobbing woman, wet and wild,
Might claim you for her own.”

(La Llorona – from the Mexican folktale)

Sou enige iemand anders hierdie lirieke met meer weemoed kon sing as Joan Baez?

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