Archive of ‘Reflections’ category

Simple things

Albert Lynch (1861)

Albert Lynch (1861)

I’ve observed simple things today. The eagle going round and round above the treetops, crying out. The light and shadows dancing over my keyboard as I write this. An overgrown forest path and a tiny pond among white birch trees almost dried up in the summer sun. During the winter and fall months, when it’s larger, deeper, it makes me think of stories I’ve heard, dark stories of things living in the water, and something glittering like gold.

But right now everything is bright and shining. I still blink my eyes sometimes in wonder at the transformation outside my window. It seems almost like a dream.

Mr owl has been singing outside my window when I go to bed. I fall asleep listening to his hoots. He reminds me that it is truly night time, even though the sky is pale and white, and there is almost no darkness to speak of. The summer solstice is drawing close. Will you celebrate it?

I wanted to share a video that I fell in love with. It has subtitles. 

Also, I’m working to put my book From Darkness to Light into paperback. Hope to have that happen soon.

When the rain comes

Sometimes I want to kneel in the rain, feel it dripping all over me. It’s coming down outside right now, as I write, and I can see it in the birch leaves that sprung out overnight, see it turn the lake silver and dark behind me. I’ve watched the clouds all day, the sun coming and going. I saw them steel grey above the pine trees with tips like shining gold. There’s a chill again, in the air. 

There is something about Fridays that gentles me, softens me. Maybe it’s the fall into weekend, or maybe it’s because it’s Her day, the day of the Goddess, and I imagine the golden hair of Freya trailing all the way through it.

And there is chocolate…

Earlier I sat by the lake, caught my breath because there wasn’t even a ripple in it, and it was like a great big mirror. It had clouds and trees and mountains in it. And yesterday there was thunder, hail, lightning. I watched that too, from my rocks, while it was still just a gathering storm. 

I’ve been writing every day on my novel. It’s a bit difficult sometimes because I have to try to stay with myself and not run away from everything that comes. I write what I feel and read beautiful books to inspire me. 

I’ve been wanting to share more of it with you, little pieces of it, but it still feels too scattered, too fragile, though it’s taking shape. I spent one night dreaming myself into it, keeping myself awake. 

I hear the birds now, the rain has eased up a little.  I’m wishing you a beautiful weekend. 

And if you love beautiful words, especially on a Friday, may I suggest you sign up for a bag of seeds and stars. 

Reflections

This is one of those posts I wrote but never shared. Sometimes I write things and then walk away from them, afraid to look at my own words and what I felt. It’s been a strange couple of weeks. I’ve been working on my novel, through the help of Camp Nanowrimo. And when May came things kind of slowed down and the words left for a while. But they’re coming back now. I had long stretches of silence yesterday, that I dared to be in, to immerse myself in nothingness, and I walked in the forest too, sat by the lake.

I want to feel small and unimportant. I feel there would be freedom in that, to just share things without worry, to just be a voice in the world without needing to make anything more out of it.

***

I listen to my soul today, and everything is quiet around me. I hear the wind knocking on my door, and see it move the trees, the light coming and going, washing over the pale green fields.

I think I see now, that listening was at the heart of me, even as a child, but I did not know it. No one did. I wanted to watch the sky and speak to God and hear things inside of me. But there was no name for this. There were only school and classes and tests, and quizzes that had answers, and no space for dreaming. Though of course I did dream, like all children do, are allowed to do, until they have to grow up.

I think I wanted room for magic, and I watched the stars at night looking for it, walked through the thick pine forest next to our house, climbed the hills. I wanted to follow the guidance of my heart, and let wonder grow within me, but again I did not know that’s what I wanted. No one spoke of these things. Slowly I felt guidance being crushed out of me, the little magic I had as a dreaming child, and I gave up. I just gave up and felt numb and proud, and confused.

What changed was that new books came into my life, and a nudge whispering, what if there is magic? What if there is more? And I learned about dreams, astral projection, the Goddess. I learned to listen, slowly, painfully. Perhaps I could sit with my heart and hear what it was telling me. And it was like learning an old language all over again. My mind did not like it, rebelled against it, and now I’m learning faith.

I’ve been writing quite a bit on my novel. Lately, the day has been in the way, and I wait for darkness, like my soul sighs in relief when it wraps its cloak around me, and there are bits of magic that I can more easily reach, bits of starlight, moonlight to spin into story. 

I feel writing is courage, because I put my heart out there for people to read, for people to turn away if they want to. And yet now I feel I have no choice. I have to write because I started and now I cannot stop. I’ve been very silent for a long time, and now I have to speak what I can, through writing.

I’ve been looking at the guilt I feel when I share something. And I see that I was taught to be very small, quiet, like a mouse. But mostly just a good girl. I was taught not to ask for what I wanted, but to be sweet and kind, and secretly hope that it would be given to me. Being loud and wild was met with frowns and a steel like quiet.

My childhood home was bright and happy, but quiet. We shared love, but not tears or anger, and never raised voices. Though this has changed a bit over the years.

We all have things to remember from our childhood, beautiful things, and things to learn from. It’s just interesting to look back and see how it shaped me, and that there is a reason for the way I am now, and that often how we act on the outside is not what we are on the inside. And being married to someone quite opposite to myself in many ways, has taught me a lot too.

Just reflections this morning, pouring things out onto paper as I drink my tea now grown cold, watch the bright birch trees and dark pine forest, seeing the light changing from one second to the next.

I would love to know your thoughts. What have you learned from looking back at your childhood? What comes to you now? 

Beautiful Dreams

Sometimes I have dreams that feel like a gift.

Last night I was in a beautiful landscape, and my spirit soaked it up like rain water. I remember simply watching the clouds, feeling the wind in my hair, thinking, I’m gathering jewels in my soul because it was all so beautiful. I thought of the Goddess as I fell asleep, and maybe she brought me a moment of magic, of beauty. 

The dream world tends to be even more vibrant and colorful than this one, those moments when it shows up crystal clear. 

And then I woke up and heard the morning birds, the ones calling out the time before sunrise. The world was a soft, dark blue and they must be different birds than the ones singing during the day because they sound different, mystical, magical. I listened for a while and then got up, crawled into bed, because I had fallen asleep on the couch. I’ve been sick with a stomach virus, but I feel a bit better today, on the inside as well. Maybe my dreams revived me a little. I feel I can write again. 

I stood by the window, in my chilled, almost frozen bedroom, and watched the moon. A winter cold moon I thought, even though it’s spring. It was round and full and the world had fallen silent around it. 

I feel I live for drops of beauty in my life, moments I can tuck away somewhere inside of me. And they are everywhere, especially in spring when the world is ready to burst forth with color, and yet is taking its time doing it. In a way, I’m glad because then there is time to watch it happen. Yesterday my husband and I drove to look for something he lost while stopping along the road a few days ago. We ended up wading through a hill full of windflower, which made me want to lie down among them and feel their voices. We didn’t find what we came for, but we got to be in an ocean of white for a while. 

I also wanted to share some videos with you. There’s a series of them, where myself and others are talking about astral projection, dreams etc. You can also see my husband there, a guy with dark curly hair and a friendly face. I feel a bit shy sharing, just because it’s hard to see myself on video, but maybe you’d like to watch them. 

Songs of the Past

The-Sleeping-Beauty-by-John-Collier

The-Sleeping-Beauty-by-John-Collier

I want to share tender heart songs from the past. Songs that was once my life, that I still carry inside of me, but that I want to let go of, to be carried away by the wind into the open air, finally touched by the sky, the sun. I don’t want to forget, but instead, bring life to old feelings that I hid from the world, to not hurt myself and others. I was afraid to take up space, to speak of what happened. Even glimpses of what I had gone through seemed to release a great wave, a shadow that felt too big, too uncomfortable to share. An elephant in a small room.

But it’s like walking among trees, thinking of winter in spring. Seeing the frost-touched the ground, that will soon be full of flowers. Noticing that there are shapes in the ice, like roses, that grabs your heart. And you kneel down to touch them, winter flowers among the dead grass.

I feel I’m doing the same inside of me, going through memories, pain and shadow. Gathering moments of beauty among them. I’m looking at the tapestry of my past, seeing the colors, the threads of gold that gleam the brightest, but also the darkness, the gray and red and black. I look at it all, knowing I’ll find stars in the night.

Living with Grief

I understand now that my grief will always be part of me, that I’ll always love and miss my family. Still, what I want is to walk deeper into my pain, and no longer hide from my feelings. Let them make me stronger, help me appreciate life more fully, all the little joys that it brings. I think sorrow can be turned into beauty, into strength. 

I never truly digested what happened, all the losses that tore me apart. I put a time limit on my healing, and then stuffed everything away into a tight hard knot inside of me, that swelled and hurt until I could no longer ignore it.

But I also feel that things happened as they were supposed to. I moved away, found love with my husband in California, and when I had grown stronger, and gathered new lessons, new life experiences, the Goddess whispered it was time to return to Norway, and face my past.

Writing has been a huge gift, one that I did not have before. It’s like I’m slowly unraveling old feelings, word by word.

Outside my Window

I see a patch of blue sky, white clouds swirling above dark trees. There is a slight wind today, and softness to the air that makes me step outside my door, taking deep breaths, feeling an ache, a longing for spring. I know the sun, the light will return once more as it always does. For now, I watch the gray, overcast sky, with glimpses of gold in between, drops of snow sometimes falling, the wind coming and going. The birch trees are smiling at me, waving their bare, dark branches, whispering of beauty yet to unfold. 

 

 

A Sapphire Day

Artist - Arthur Hughes

Artist – Arthur Hughes

Two swans in a black, ice touched lake. The last of the sunlight sparkling around them, like tiny glittering diamonds. Silver and white.

The silence of nature was wrapping itself around me like a cloak, as I walked on the frozen ground. Slipping in among the trees, wanting to sit on the steps of that empty, forlorn house, say a little greeting.

A bright sapphire day, so rare now in the dark of winter. The sun warmed me, and I closed my eyes, feeling almost drowsy. I heard a lonely bird singing in the birch trees, singing about spring I thought, and it was like a tendril of golden light spilling over me. I stopped what I was doing, listening.

In the morning, the light played over my hands as I made tea, but only for a moment, for my apartment is quite dark most of the time. I bought red tulips, overpriced because of valentine’s day, but I just had to have them.

I brushed my fingers against them as I put them in a frosted vase, and spoke to them, asking them to drink, to be happy. I felt almost giddy looking at them, or maybe it was the sun that made me feel that way with its burst of brilliance, almost blinding after a string of gray, dimly lit days.

I feel everyone is looking for spring, longing for it. But there is little sign of it yet, no green buds or flowers, but the sun is here, and people were outside in their yards, working.

The moon was a sliver in the sky last night, and I sat for a long time watching one large star between the branches of the pine tree outside my window. She is my favorite star because I can see her from my bed, and it feels like I’m whispering prayers into the sky, and there are only me and the darkness, and that one pinpoint of light in the night. 

Later

I opened my door to let the night in and glinting white star trails, frostbitten silence, black velvet air.

I saw the moon slowly dip behind the mountain, tilted in the sky, as though asleep, or resting in the frozen night. I looked down and saw a star mirrored in the black water, and realized I didn’t want to go to sleep, but to stay awake in the magic of candles, and secrets whispered to me. Perhaps I could walk in spirit form tonight, and visit new places, walk across the lake to the other side.

I came across this late in my evening. A moment so simple, so incredibly beautiful. All her videos are stunning. 

Sharing also, people gathering for the Spring Equinox all across the world. 

Gentle February

Arthur Hughes - forget me not

Arthur Hughes – forget me not

I want to start my day writing, in this mystical time between worlds, between light and dark. I’m making my tea, and the sky is a pale steel-gray, the pine forest dark, like a black wall, like a mountain.

I woke up early and sat for a moment in silence, prayed a little. The night, the early morning speaks to me clearly, like a crystal stream singing, without the noise of the road, of people talking and shouting.

I went for a walk with my husband yesterday, along the raging river. The sky kept breaking open, letting through rain, or hail, sometimes sunlight. The road was bare, sometimes icy, the trees silent, without the wind to move them, to make them speak. I sense February is teaching me patience. I want to rush forward towards spring, for it can hurt to see the world so dull and without color, without light. It hurts to know that warmer weather is still months away and that there will still be many days of slush, of cold biting air. 

But February is full of gentle hope. It feels like a white blanket of snow, with the sun coming through above me, whispering of the beginning of spring, a step towards lighter days, of the first flowers coming soon, soon.

It’s also a time to dig in, use the last of the darkness, when it’s still deep and stays late, shows up early. It’s still a time to move slowly, to rest, to follow the cycles of the moon and sun, and watch the world slowly transform once again.

Hope

Something I wrote when the moon was just beginning to wane in the sky, but that I forgot to publish.

***

The wind is in the trees today, and I welcome it, like an old friend. It was playing outside my window last night, making the great pine sway in a dance, and I heard the rain too, drumming on my roof.

I feel restless, the moon still bright in the night, making the world silver and white and shining as I try to go to sleep. It draws me out of myself, making me want to get up and dance, twirl a bit along cold floors, feel the slight chill in the air. 

Everything feels new and sparkling, like spring, but I know winter will return soon enough. At least, I can leave my window open for a little bit, without getting too cold, let a bit of air drift in, scented with rain, bark and old leaves. 

I look at the pine forest and the little white house across from me, its windows dark and empty. I think it longs for summer when roses will be in its garden again, and the little old lady who owns it will sit on the stairs, gazing out on the road, the lake.

Something is just starting to stir in the earth, new beginning perhaps, buds waiting to bloom.

Looking for God

David Joaquin

Artist – David Joaquin

I think I’ve always been looking for God, ever since I heard about Him. Growing up I had many interests, but several I developed because I felt I should have them, when in reality I wanted to explore magic, mysteries, God.

Religion was at times my favorite topic in school because we could discuss things then, philosophize and wonder a bit. But my craving for something deeper wasn’t fulfilled, and I had no one to turn to. My family wasn’t religious, and the church didn’t call to me. I couldn’t get interested in what the Minister said, but I remember very vividly looking at the light streaming through the windows and wanting it to reach me. Somehow I felt I could get closer to God through that light, through the sky and trees outside.

I prayed at night because I wanted to be good, and I had many fears that worried me. Sometimes when I asked for help, little problems that I had would go away.

I wanted to talk to him, but maybe I didn’t know how to listen. I didn’t know how to trust what I felt. I thought he didn’t answer me back. Maybe I wanted something grand and spectacular, like an angel appearing in the corner of my room, but of course, that didn’t happen.

In the evenings I would sometimes climb onto a pile of wood below our house, covered by a tarp and flat rocks, and sit there, gazing at the sunset. I felt I was reaching for something then, something beautiful and sacred, and hidden. My heart longed for this something, called out to it though I didn’t know what it was.

It’s interesting to look back and see how my heart has led me, and where I went astray. When I stopped asking for help, my life felt murky, dark, but perhaps that was part of the guidance also. I had developed a belief, a deep fear that I wasn’t loved, so I turned away from him. My life had cracked around me, and I lost hope, lost the little bit of faith I had.

I continued searching. The stars seemed to lead me, and I went for many walks alone, looking up up, feeling that perhaps an answer lay in the sky above me. I couldn’t follow any religion, any paved out path when I tried I felt restless, like my spirit wanted to break free and roam the woods. Perhaps I was looking for something that I remember, deep in my bones. When I first read about the Goddess, I felt tears swell inside of me. I wanted to dance for her, the way I read about in the book in my lap. It was my first glimpse of her, but it would take a few years still before I started listening and following her. At first, she seemed cold, distant, and I wasn’t sure how to approach her, bring her into my life.

I learned how the Goddess is in nature, in me. Mother Earth, the Earthly Mother. And Father Sky, our Heavenly Father, that he is always watching over us. I’m exploring this, as I walk through the forest, by the lake. I try to understand what I hear inside of me, what my heart is telling me, what nature is telling me.

I used to feel so sad, depressed even because I thought there was no magic in the world. That it could only be found in stories and on TV. I remember a bleak grayness descending over me as I thought this when I was only a teenager.

I think the magic I was looking for was the voice of my soul. Because it had been speaking to me all this time, trying to guide me, and yet I did not know it, and didn’t know how to listen, that I was allowed to listen. I was so focused on being smart and good and thought that was the only way I could have some value in the world. If I didn’t do well in school, I had no value.

But there was a greater magic too, that I yearned for. A knowing that miracles could happen, that wonderful, unthought things could happen. I think my first stepping stone into this was through astral projection, the awe I felt when I found myself in another world, light as a father, like a ghost, walking through my bedroom door.

I feel we’re being guided all the time, in whispers around us, in the wind, in our soul. Perhaps we’re never alone; maybe someone is always lovingly walking with us. I like to think this. I remember wanting it to be true, especially when I saw pictures of angels, and those drawings of children crossing a bridge, or picking flowers by a cliff’s edge, a white angel behind them, protecting them.

What has your spiritual journey been like?

A glimpse from my past 

My short story on kindle is now free! 

Ghost World

The last of the fairies

The last of the fairies – Ida Rentoul Outhwaite

I felt alone walking in it, this ghostly white world, felt there were no other souls along that dark road, only specters moving in and out between the trees. 

I stood still for a long while, listening to rain singing against the snow, seeing how black and broken everything was, the ice thawing, leaving gaps of gray among the white. It was hard to believe that spring would come, that the world would once again be filled with color. I thought of a great wound tearing, bleeding, being pulled apart, and then put together, more beautiful than before. 

But even this muddy, black world is something I can get lost in. Lost in the beauty of it. I walk very slowly, suddenly seeing the trees, the white veil around me. I realize life is there waiting for me just outside my doorstep, and that it’s speaking to me. The more I stay and listen, the better I hear it, and I realize that life is always speaking to me, but I often don’t hear it. There are too many distractions, too many things to do. 

Once my husband came looking for me when I didn’t come home from my walk. It was already dark, and he found me hunched under a tree, in the snow, listening to the rain. Now he no longer worries. 

Walking outside, I yearn to be more simple. I want to live a simple, gentle life, filled with beauty. I don’t want to make too much of myself, or think I should be something special. I’m tired of it. 

I try to find space to listen even inside my small apartment. I once saw my friend in the early morning, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders as she gazed out the window, a cup of tea in her hand. It was a beautiful, poetic image to me, and I decided I wanted to look like that too.  Somehow, though, the morning often slips away from me, but in the afternoon I find time to stop and look at the blue world outside my window, holding my cup of tea with two hands, sipping it slowly. 

I light a candle too, sometimes incense, and try to listen. I open my door, hoping that I will hear it better, – the voice of the night, wondering what mysteries it brings. 

Tonight is full of rain and ice and crystal. There is music in the world again, no longer complete silence. Spring could be on its way, but I dare not yet hope for it. For now, I’ll walk in this wet, muddy, white world and hear what is has to tell me. 

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