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This morning, I hiked with Santie — The Fynbos Whisperer   — on the lower slopes of Table Mountain and Devil’s Peak. She had invited us to witness something rare: the first spring after a fire. In March, a massive blaze tore through this part of the mountain. Flames, helicopters, thick smoke. I remember how we could barely breathe being outdoors and we were a few kilometres away.  It was a destruction. But nature, in her quiet wisdom, had been preparing. Santie explained that

This isn’t a blog in the usual sense.It ’s a living record — fragments of thought, prayer, and practice written in the pauses of everyday life. What began as pages in The Path I Didn’t Plan  continues here as reflection. You’ll find notes born from reflection , insights , breathwork sessions , and encounters with the ordinary  — each one an echo of awakening. “I write not because I’ve arrived, but because I am still remembering.”