Tag: Sessions

Joys of gardening


In the garden of the Prophet I was not safe, in the garden of the Prophet I was not wrapped in cotton wool, in the garden of the Prophet my life was worth more than the clothing label I wore. In the garden of the Prophet I was alive. And in the garden of the Prophet vague murmurings I’d been feeling crystallised into something solid. Something powerful, something called hate. Hate of the little piece of the world that we live in. Hate of what we have done to it and a fear for its future. For in the garden of the Prophet I thought the unthinkable and spoke the unspeakable. I realised that I hate surfing. I hate the surf world. I hate the image of surfing. I hate all that it has become. I hate Hossegor, Newquay and Tavarua.
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