Vixey’s Pawprints

In my notes for the year 1989 I come across some sentences jotted down from
a conversation I had with J, whom I call my “master.” At that time we were
talking about an unknown mystic called Kenan Rifai, about whom little has been
written.

     “Kenan Rifai says that when people praise us
we should watch how we behave,” says J, “because that means that we hide our
faults very well. Finally we end up believing that we are better than we think
and then the next step is to let ourselves be dominated by a false feeling of
security that will eventually set up dangers all around us.”
     “How can we be attentive to the opportunities
that life gives us?”
     “If you have only two opportunities, learn how to
turn them into twelve. When you have twelve they will multiply automatically.
That is why Jesus says: “he who has a lot will have a lot more given. He who
has little will have that little taken from him.”
     “That is one of the harshest sentences in the
Gospels. But I have noticed throughout my life that it is absolutely true. So
how can we identify the opportunities?”
     “Pay attention to every moment, because the
opportunity - the “magic instant” – is within our reach, although we always let
it pass by because we feel guilty. So try not to waste your time blaming
yourself: the universe will see to correcting you if you’re not worthy of what
you’re doing.”
     “And how is the universe going to correct me?”
     “It won’t be through tragedies; these happen
because they are part of life, and they should not be thought of as punishment.
Generally the universe shows us that we are wrong when it takes away what is
most important to us: our friends.
     “Kenan Rifai was a man who helped many people
find themselves and to achieve a harmonious relation with life. Even so, some
of those people proved to be ungrateful and never even turned their head to say
‘thanks’. They turned to him only when their lives were in a state of utter
confusion. Rifai helped them again without mentioning the past: he was a man
with many friends and the ungrateful always ended up on their own.”
     “Those are fine words but I don’t know if I am
capable of pardoning ingratitude so easily.”
     “It’s very difficult. But there is no choice: if you
don’t pardon, then you’ll think about the pain they caused you and that pain
will never go away. I’m not saying that you have to like those who do you
wrong. I’m not telling you to go back to that person’s company. I’m not
suggesting that you start seeing that person as an angel or as someone who
acted without any hurtful intentions. All I am saying is that the energy of
hate will take you nowhere, but the energy of pardon which manifests itself
through love will manage to change your life in a positive sense.”
     “I have been hurt many times.”
     “That’s the reason that you still bear within
yourself the little boy who cried hiding from his parents, the boy who was the
weakest in his class. You still bear the marks of that frail little boy who could
never find a girlfriend and was never good at sports. You haven’t managed to
chase off the scars of some injustices they committed against you during your
life. But what good does that do you? None at all. Absolutely nothing. Just a
constant desire to feel sorry for yourself for being the victim of those who
were stronger. Or else dress up like an avenger ready to inflict more wounds on
those who hurt you. Don’t you think you’re wasting your time with all that?”
     “I think it’s human.”
     “It’s certainly human. But it’s neither
intelligent nor reasonable. Respect your time on this Earth, understand that
God has always pardoned you, and learn to pardon too.”

     After this conversation with J, which took
place just before I traveled to spend 40 days in the Mojave desert in the

United States

,
I began to understand better the boy, the adolescent, the hurt adult I once
was. One morning, going from the

Valley

of

Death

in

California

to

Tucson

in

Arizona

, I made a mental list of everyone I
thought I hated because they had hurt me. I went along pardoning them one by
one and six hours later, in

Tucson

,
my soul felt so light and my life had changed much for the better.

Warrior Of The Light                                                           Copyright @ 2005 by Paulo Coelho

Last Sunday, one of my worst nightmares almost came true. It was early in the evening and I was settled comfortably on my couch watching The Kumars. Suddenly I heard lots of shouting coming from my mad neighbour’s house. Nothing unusual when it comes to their household but I went out to check things out anyway.

I noticed their gate was wide open and the whole family was watching its dog  run up and down the road. I just stood by the gate watching when suddenly I noticed that Earl Grey was crouched underneath a car on the road.

I rushed to open the gate just about when the dog noticed him under the car. It was horrifying watching the dog crawl under the car and all I could hear was loud scuffling, barking and hissing.

I tried my best to pull the dog out but I couldn’t get a proper hold on him. And one of its Masters, the Mad Neighbour’s son was transfixed by the car totally unsure as to what to do.

Finally I got my dad’s walking stick and managed to frighten the dog out from under the car. When I looked underneath, I held my breath expecting to find the mangled body of my Earl Grey instead I found NO KITTEN!

I was not sure whether to be happy or to panic. But luckily not long after that, Earl Grey made its appearance and slinked quietly back home. Amazingly he didn’t have a scratch on him!

However, that incident sparked off another row with the Mad Neighbour but I shall not contaminate my blog with details about that Madman.

Now if only Earl Grey learns from his mistakes. I seriously doubt it though because as of right now, I know he is outside Dancing with Death yet again.

About a week ago, Jared noticed this tiny grey and white kitten meowing pitifully along our back lane. We took a closer look and found that she had a terrible gash along her back on her right hind leg.

We coaxed her into coming closer and soon she started eating and sleeping in my back yard with Kitty. We tried to clean the wound as best we could and made an appointment to see our Vet. Unfortunately, before we could get her some medical attention, Moon as we had come to call her, just vanished without a trace.

Around the same time as Moon’s appearance, we found this tiny black and tan furball prancing about in our front porch. He looks just a little over a month old and has apparently been abandoned or ran away from its litter. Anyhow, it has managed to assimilate itself with Podgie and Earl Grey.

However, its only Podgie who seems to give it the time of day. Earl Grey has little patience for anyone or anything!

Chef: Roger Bayley
Serves 4

Degree of difficulty: Low

You need:
500g beef mince
25g fresh breadcrumbs
25g grated Parmesan
1 egg
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed
2 tablespoons olive oil
100mls red wine
400g tin tomatoes
20g basil leaves
Parsley, to serve

Method:
Mix together the mince, breadcrumbs, Parmesan, egg, onion and garlic.

Wet your hands and form the mixture into around 24 small balls about the size of a golf ball.

Heat the olive oil in a large frying pan and cook until browned all over. Cook in two batches.

Transfer to large saucepan. Pour the red wine over, then let it bubble away until syrupy, about 5 minutes.

Stir in the tomatoes, 100mls water and basil leaves.

Bring to the boil then lower the heat, cover and leave to simmer for 30 minutes until cooked through.

Serving Suggestion: Serve sprinkled with chopped parsley.

The Japanese journalist asks the usual question: “And who are your favorite writers?” I give the usual answers: “Jorge Amado, Jorge Luis Borges, William Blake and Henry Miller.” The interpreter looks at me in shock: “Henry Miller?” But she realizes at once that her job is not to ask questions, and she continues her work.

When the interview is over, I want to know why she was so surprised at my answer. I tell her that Henry Miller may not be a “politically correct” writer but he was someone who opened up a vast world for me, an author whose books are filled with a vital energy that we rarely find in today’s literature. “I’m not criticizing Henry Miller, I’m also a fan of his, “ she answered. “Did you know he was married to a Japanese woman?” Yes, of course I did. I am not ashamed to be fanatical about someone, so I try to find out all about their life. Once I went to a book fair just to meet Jorge Amado. I traveled 48 hours on a bus to meet Borges (which ended up not happening for my fault: when I did see him I stood paralyzed and could not say a word). I rang John Lennon’s doorbell in New York (the doorman asked me to leave a letter stating the reason for the visit, said that Lennon would eventually telephone, but this never happened). I had plans to go to Big Sur to see Henry Miller, but he died before I had enough money for the trip. “The Japanese woman is called Hoki,” I answer proudly. “I also know that in Tokyo there is a museum with Miller’s watercolors.” “Would you like to meet her tonight?” What a question! Of course I want to be close to someone who lived with one of my idols. I imagine she must receive visitors from all over, and requests for interviews, after all they lived together for nearly 10 years. Won’t it be difficult to ask her to spend some of her time with a simple fan? But if the interpreter says it is possible, then better trust her – the Japanese always keep their word.

I wait anxiously the rest of the day, then we get into a taxi and everything begins to feel strange. We come to a halt in a street where the sun probably never shines, with a viaduct passing overhead. The interpreter points to a second-class bar on the second floor of a building that is falling to pieces. We climb the stairs, enter the completely empty bar, and there is Hoki Miller. To hide my surprise I try to overdo my enthusiasm for her ex-husband. She leads me to a small room in the back where she has installed a small museum – some photographs, two or three signed watercolors, a book with a dedication, and nothing else. She tells me that she met him when she was doing her Master’s in Los Angeles and to support herself she played piano in a restaurant, singing French songs (in Japanese). Miller went to have dinner there, loved the songs (he had spent a good part of his life in Paris), they went out a few times, then he asked her to marry him. I notice there is a piano in the bar – as if she were going back to the past, to the day that the two had met. She tells me delightful things about their life in common, the problems because of the difference in age (Miller was over 50, Hoki was not yet 20), the time they spent together. She explains that the heirs from the other marriages were left with everything, including the copyright on the books – but that was of no importance, what she lived is beyond financial compensation. I ask her to play the same song that had called Miller’s attention many years ago. She does so with tears in her eyes, singing “Autumn Leaves” (Les Feuilles Mortes). The interpreter and I are also moved. The bar, the piano, the voice of the Japanese woman echoing off the bare walls without any care for the glory of the ex-wives, the oceans of money that Miller’s books must bring in, the world fame that she could now be enjoying. “It wasn’t worth fighting for the inheritance, love was enough,” she finally says, understanding what we were feeling. Yes, seeing the complete absence of any bitterness or rancor, I understand that love was enough. www.warriorofthelight.comCopyright @ 2005 by Paulo Coelho

Each day seems to pass faster than the previous one. For one who apparently is unemployed, I surprisingly find myself with little time left on my hands to devote to my precious blog.

Ahh..but I am not complaining. If I am too tired out by night time to type some trivial nuggets of blah blahs and more blahs, it generally means that I have had an interesting and productive day.

Although I find great release and pride in this blog, there are certain happenings in my life that I want to keep private. Well at least for now. What I would share with you my faithful readers, is this; I am very much in Bo-Land right now. Yes, you guessed it. I am totally infected by the Bice Virus and I am fighting against a cure.

Toodle loo everyone! LIVE MUSIC MATTERS!

Chef: Barry Clarke

This week’s fish cooking tip is a simple Beer Batter coating. The secret to any good batter is to have the batter mix cold prior to shallow or deep frying, as well as having the oil hot enough to seal the batter and use good quality fresh oil.

You need:

1 1/2 cups Plain Flour, preferably sifted.
1 can/bottle (375ml) Cold Beer.
½ tsp Freshly Ground Black Pepper.
¼ tsp Paprika.

Method:

Combine 1 cup of flour and all of the other ingredients, mix well and keep cold.
Add the remaining flour to a plastic bag. Place fillets or whole fish into the bag, seal and shake well to evenly coat the fish.

Remove the fish from the bag, shake off excess flour and then dip into the batter and coat evenly and fry in the hot oil.

To test the oil, drop a small amount of the batter, about a ¼ teaspoon, and the oil is sufficiently hot if it seals immediately.

Cooking time will vary upon the thickness of the fish and the temperature of the oil.

Cook until golden brown then remove the fish and test it by pulling a small area apart with a fork, do not over cook.

Drain on absorbent paper and serve with steamed vegetables in winter and salad in summer.

For a thicker batter, add more flour or use less beer.

It is of no surprise to anyone that I love to cook. Ever since I was nine years old, I knew my way round the kitchen, thanks to my parents. I was trained as a Commis chef from a very young age and I lapped up the experience hungrily.

I have to thank my dad for teaching me the finer points in the basics like peeling onions and garlic. And my mom for a wonderful sense of stretching ingredients to create a variety of mouth-watering dishes. Thanks to my mixed parentage, cooking in my home was never a routine thing. Our daily home-cooked food consisted of a fusion of Thai, Sinhalese, Nyonya, Western & Indian influences.

Somehow, through the generations of my nyonya & thai heritage, lots of "traditional" food were given a new twist by my grand mother & great -grand mother. So much so, that many of our family recipes are unique to our family alone.

In fact, I have even done my own versions of popular family recipes and much to the surprise of my grandmother, my version received rave reviews. Anyhow, there really is no greater feeling of accomplishment when a young novice cook gets a call from her grandmother asking for a particular recipe. It really gives you a sense of pride that you have contributed to the culinary heritage of the family.

Anyway, in this category, I will include not only my favourite recipes from chefs worldwide but also some family recipes as well. Follow them at your own risk though because I cannot guarantee that the amount of ingredients used would be accurate!

This is it. Its time now. The babies, or rather the little ones; Princess Podgie & Earl Grey are exploring the great unknown with their grandma, MeowMeow and mum, Annie.

Will this knot in my stomach ever go?

Earlier, Earl Grey went missing and was duly searched for and retrieved by its mama. Now as I post this at 3:43am, Princess Podgie is no where to be found. If only dogs didn’t kill kittens and cars were made of marshmallows then I would be ok.

Yes, I have to let go I know. But the pain of loss which I repeatedly have to bear has ravaged me beyond words.

But I have to be prepared.

Is there really such a thing when you love someone? To be prepared to lose them in the worst way possible?

All I can do is hope and pray that the angels will keep them safe under their wings.

"There are only two positions you can take," Albert Einstein once said. "Either you believe nothing in life is a miracle, or you believe that everything in life is a miracle."

I have taken a long hard look at my life, specifically the people that have been in it. Have you ever done that? Wonder why certain people come into your life just at the right time and then fade away slowly? These are good people, and you of course promised to keep in touch but never did. However, if you were to take a look at your past, like what I have been doing, these faded people play an important role in shaping who you are today.

Why then have we lost touch? Friends forever and all that schmazz. Nothing but a distant memory now. But yet they played a pivotal role in your life. Then you have the forever life-changing friends who just scorch themselves to your heart and there is no way they can fade away because you will always need them.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I got a blast from the past. Interestingly enough, this "blast" didn’t figure in my past while I was living it. Fast forward 25 years and you have two 30 something women wondering how freaky it is to meet someone all these years later who is beyond exaggeration, literally your character twin?

It goes beyond knowing the same people or attending the same preschool. We had similar childhoods, we battled similar demons and we emerged from our own personal war almost brand new. We live our lives now with a similar zeal and our passions are eerily similar.

I have yet to see her face nor even touch her. But she has seen my soul and I recognise hers.

Even now, our lives have found a parallel that goes beyond coincidence. How do you explain the bond we felt even before we got to know each other? It was practically instantaneous. The only other time I experienced this immediate bonding was with my other half.

The only explaination I can find is that the people who walk into our lives are driven by some greater force than we can imagine. As how we are driven to certain people or places, we don’t question it, it just happens. There has to be a purpose to be fulfilled that is yet unseen. All I know is that when I look at when these special people appeared in my life, it happened when I was at a crossroad or had given up hope in some area of my life.

The right person than came along to walk with me. Until I was able to walk alone. Yet, some have been chosen to walk all the way with me.

To me these are beyond coincidences, it is a random act within a great design that we may never fully understand. Why I say it is random, is that so many things could have been done differently and I would not have had the opportunity to cross paths with these people. Yet it happened even within the narrowest window of possibility.

My precious other half, I met him during the first week of my new job that I actually turned down twice but reconsidered. And I left the company within a month due to unforeseen circumstances. Imagine if my boss did not pursue me with such fervour and I didn’t get the job? The chances of meeting my sweetheart would have been less than slim considering that he is based in a another country! Yet he appeared just in the nick of time to save me from entering a relationship I didn’t care for just because I was tired of being single and wanted to settle down.

And as for her, my character twin, if my neighbour didn’t do what he did, I would have had nothing to vent about in the forum and would have remained anonymous. And we probably would never have chatted with each other.

So many ifs, yet, SOMETHING took us beyond all those Ifs and we found each other. Its funny how we recognised how special our getting to know each other was. Its almost like we instinctively knew that something special worked its magic to bring us together.

Yes, I do believe my LIFE is nothing short of a miracle. How can I not? There is too much beauty and grace in it from the most wonderful people for it NOT to be a miracle!