Ever since we got back to Cape Town, I’ve been meaning to take Kolya off to a Thursday night satsang with the nice Art of Living people in Muizenberg. But somehow, every Thursday has been full of other things to do.
Tonight, we had a perfect satsang-shaped gap. Kolya needed a nap after his afternoon swim; it was waaaaaay too hot to do that in our bedroom, even with the fan on high; there was no one home to play with, and I’d just dumped a load of chlorine in the pool. The only thing for it was the long drive through to Muizenberg – perfectly air-conditioned and just the right length for a nap (for K, not for me, obviously, as I have not acquired the Knack of Napping whilst Driving Without Endangering Life and Limb).
So my little plan worked perfectly: he napped the whole way, giving me a lovely long stretch of peaceful, meditative driving. I love driving south on the M3 towards the Muizenberg mountains, especially in the early morning or late afternoon, when everything seems to have that warm orangey wash.
The last time I visited was September 2007, after I’d just discovered I was pregnant. So everyone was charmed to meet Kolya and to welcome him to the singing. I’ve been at satsangs with small children before – the powerful mix of rhythms and chanting and singing and drumming always seems to whip them up into a frenzy. So I shouldn’t have been surprised that Kolya kicked and stamped and clapped like a manic little tadpole trying to launch himself, NASA rocket-style, into outer space from my hip.
I remember Thursday evening satsangs at Carol and Jeremy’s as a fairly intimate group – anywhere between 5 and 12 people (not that you don’t make a lot of noise with twelve people and a few drums, but…) Tonight was more of a midsummer party, a gathering of wild and woolly tribal trance kids and spiritual questers, fabulously braided and scarved and – dare I admit it – tie-dyed. There were a few of the old, familiar faces, warm and delighted to see us. And plenty of new ones – travellers, students, visitors, friends, lovers. We sang up a storm, then Christoff and Jez did their brilliant thing with the toasted sandwiches on the braai. Everyone gathered outside, enthusiastic hands taking turns on the production line, chopping basil into the butter, slicing cheese and tomatoes and bread while the fire burned down to perfect coals. I showed Kolya the stars and the moon and cooled small pieces of melty toastie between my fingers for him, and when we were both thoroughly tired and replenished in all good ways, we took the long, quiet drive home in the dark.
There are days when it’s good to be home, and then there are days when it’s goddamn fabulous.