I used to write here so much, and now I don’t. I guess things change, and maybe they will change again. And maybe I will find a way not to worry about what people might think, or if what I write is good enough, stupid, worth sharing. I’m always afraid to say the wrong thing, and I’m also afraid to look at my own writing, which is something I’m working on. It feels like a process in forgiving myself, my mistakes, who I am. In being open to the world and to learning. I guess I compare myself too much to others. And look too much to what others are thinking, doing, instead of finding a center to rest in, within myself. I would like to make a temple that I can walk into, light a candle, be safe, within my own heart. To make it strong enough so it won’t crumble at the smallest look, thought, word. I want to conserve my energy for the things that truly matter.
I went for a walk today and asked the land what it had to teach me. Quiet it said. And I knew I needed to be here. There are so many times I have ideas about what I want, where I should be. When I returned from the US to Norway, I first wanted to live in a city that I have many happy memories from. But after looking at a few places, I turned to my husband saying; “I just want nature. Silence.” So we searched elsewhere instead. In the western part of Norway at first, where there are steep mountains that I find very beautiful. But something was steering me towards the south, to gentler landscapes, more open sky, more sunlight. And we ended up in a lovely place, where I found silence, people, healing.
Also when I walked today I felt autumn in the air. An early darkness because the sun was already behind the mountains. There were storm clouds, rain. I walked and felt the flashes of lightning right above me, one after another. I swear I felt the heat of that lightning, and I turned around quickly, rushing home.
I’ve learned that no matter where I go, I will miss something about the places I’ve been. I think it will always be like this. Wishing you a beautiful September.
I’ve written several posts that I left in drafts. I don’t think I will publish them because they were too full of hurt and anger, grief. But it is better now. It always gets better. Just have to stand in the fire for a while.
I feel very blessed living in the place I live. So full of beauty. To go for morning walks and see the light in the trees, in the beautiful gardens, overflowing with flowers. I like to walk by the river especially. There is something about the water that calms me, soothes me. Without it, I feel parched. The other day I watched a small bird dancing on a rock. It was all black with a white chest. It flew into the water, diving, swimming around. I didn’t know it could do that. It seemed so full of joy.
The days have been less hot, and I welcome the cool air, the mist on the mountains, the wild thunderstorms. I hide away when it gets too hot. I’ve been circling by the butcher shop to get raw goat milk, raw butter. It’s amazing to find such things. Treasures really.
I have my desk where I can sit and write, my own little place finally. And I can see the mountains from my window. All blessings.
In the afternoon I curl up on my bed with a good book and my notepad. Sometimes I need a day when I can fill myself to the brim with writing. To step into the world of dreaming and stay for a while because it’s so easy to be shaken out of it.
She is perfume. She is rose sweet. She is love. The most sacred flower in the depth of your heart. Fragile petals opening in darkness. Strength confused as weakness. She is life, beauty. Love.
Sometimes I fall asleep to the scent of roses (or the feeling of that scent.)
I draw closer to her like this. My Divine Mother. I listen more. And I feel her showing me something that I can’t fully grasp because it goes so much against my stern ideas about life and love. But I want to believe what I start to glimpse inside of me. A truth I didn’t dare to believe in.
I feel letting in love takes courage. To be open and vulnerable. And being so loved, so near my Divine Mother makes me feel unworthy, very small, and yet deeply loved. It’s a strange combination, and it’s easy to run away.
I was reading a book about a girl who lost her parents and sister. And I felt myself in her. It made me feel how great my loss really is. How deep it goes. Deeper than I knew. I still think of my family with a pang of longing, that sense of being a tree in a winter forest, just starting to gather leaves. We can not turn away and forget. We have to walk through things, so I write. My main character goes through a great loss, but it’s easier to write about someone else. To look at things from a distance. And make her learn courage, faith, love, all the things I wish for.
The novel I’m working on is me piecing my soul back together, putting words and understand to my grief loss, without feeling too scared or overwhelmed.
This seems to happen so much. I write something and then I never post it. I’ve been wanting to blog more but I always feel too tired to do so. Many things have happened, but I’m starting to feel the ground beneath me again. I’m trying to love summer and not to wait wistfully for autumn. Anyway, here are some words I wrote a while ago:
The sun is fading from the mountains now, and so much has happened. A whirlwind of events, both magic and pain put together. I feel tired out and can only lie and look at the mountains outside my window, the deep emerald forests, the pale green fields between them. I’ve moved apartments again, and I love this new view from my bedroom window. From the right angle, I can pretend there’s only mountains and sky and me.
I’m in the middle of unpacking. Making a new home. A nicer home, hopefully. I’m also unpacking everything that has happened, holding the events in front of me, turning them over, looking at them. It feels like a breath out, these last few days. I want to close my eyes and rest and let go of the things that hurt me and hold onto those little gems hidden in everything that I went through.
And I’m a year older. I felt pampered on the evening of my birthday, after spending the day packing and carrying boxes up four flights of stairs. Luckily friends came to help. I feel very blessed to have beautiful friends around me. After sunset I unwrapped presents and ate a divine raw chocolate rose cake, with rose petals on top. And the sky was a delicate pink. A lonely star shone through it. A new year has begun.
That night my husband and I also moved into our new home, slept in our new bed for the first time. The next day it rained heavily. There were claps of thunder, streaks of lightning and rain that poured down heavily. I loved it. Loved how the sky darkened with clouds, and how the heat broke for a little bit. We watched it all from the verandah, with flashes of lightning around us, eating leftover cake.
The Summer Solstice
And the Solstice has come and gone. There was magic in it that I’m still unraveling inside of me. A group of us walked up the mountain to do a ceremony at the sunrise. The moon was a sickle in the sky, with Venus right beside it. The girls stopped beneath it, and washed our faces in the morning dew. We did the ceremony in white robes with golden sashes, wearing flowers in our hair, walking into a pink sunrise.
In the evening we gathered again, sang songs inside as it was thundering outside, and breathed the beautiful scent of calendula, the golden flower.
Hope you had a beautiful Solstice. Wishing you bright blessings onwards.
There is something about Fridays, isn’t there? The day of the Goddess. It’s a bit more gentle, golden, like Freya herself. And maybe there’s a lightness spreading across the land, a looking forward to the weekend. A deep exhale.
Yesterday I watched this interview, and felt such a longing for the old gods, and remembered stories my mom told me. About Thor riding across the sky making thunder, and I could see it in my mind’s eye, making me shiver with the wild poetry of it. There is something about the old religion that sings to my bones, that makes me see mystery in the mountains, in the cold dark lakes of my homeland. Perhaps one day I will read the Poetic Edda myself. I want to.
And I’ve been reflecting on beauty, how feeling it deep inside of me can make me dream beautiful things at night. Flying above lush landscapes. What hurts me the most is when beauty, nature is being destroyed. It feels like we’re destroying our own soul along with the landscape around us. When instead we should be growing trees, flowers, gardens inside and out.
I’ve gone for long walks among pale yellow fields, among wildflowers gathered beneath trees, along fences. It was beautiful, except for the heavy metal music being played somewhere below, reaching me no matter how far I went. I wanted to be in silence. I reached for the mountains, the sky, wanted to hear bird song only. Oh well. This is what happens when you move back to civilization 🙂
I sat down on the ground, pulling off my shoes, breathing, breathing. I always feel slightly frayed at the end of the day, tired perhaps of fighting a battle with myself. I’m trying to understand it, a guilt about something, always something. And I want to be strong and clear on my path, knowing for sure that the gods are with me.
Now I will dream of flowers to plant together with a beautiful friend.
There are prisms of light in the trees today, drops of rain that fell at night, and now the sun sparkles through them, making me catch my breath, making me pause what I’m doing and lean a little closer, holding my cup of tea, sipping it slowly, drinking in rays of beauty.
I feel a well opening up inside of me, that I can drink from, that somehow is the Goddess, love everlasting. Sometimes when the day has waned a bit, and I’m getting tired, and I’m alone with myself, I get anxious, feeling there is something inside of me that I want to hide from. But my mind is too tired to hold onto words on screens or in books, and I grow restless, afraid of myself, and I reach for her. If only I could be with her always.
I’ve felt alone a lot in my life, and now I wonder if that void was formed inside of me so that I could fill it with her, her light, her love, so that I would search for the God and Goddess.
I’ve had moments when all I felt was her presence, wrapping itself around me in love, in rose colored light, that made everything around me seem like rose and beauty, and the simplest of things spoke to me because she was in it. I remember staying at a friend’s place, and lying down on the bed, just staring at the fluttering curtains, the night deepening around me, and being lost in the simple beauty of the wind and dancing fabric, feeling so close to her that my heart swelled and almost hurt to the point of breaking.
It felt like a held a secret, a precious gem inside of me, that I needed to protect. But then it faded, the outside world seeping in, or rather it grew more important than her. I wanted to please people, make them like me, and I felt what they felt, and read them like an open book and I didn’t know how to shield myself, protect what was growing in my heart. But I’m learning still, how to walk with her, how to place at the center of my day, my life.
There is a quote from Jesus, from The Book of Thomas the Contender that touches me, makes me yearn for a place of strength and rest and truth.
And the savior answered, saying, “Blessed is the wise man who sought after the truth, and when he found it, he rested upon it forever and was unafraid of those who wanted to disturb him.”
The evening had fallen, draping itself in blue and white, the trees frosted over with newly fallen snow, a touch of ice at the edge of spring. She gazed out into the dying day, seeing a dim light fading just beyond the mountains. She sighed, dreamily hugging her knees in her ivory gown, feeling the cold of the window pane as she rested her head against it. It felt as though the long stillness of winter was passing into spring, but the light was shy, and pale, unsure of herself, – a white lady at the edge of the world, gazing longingly in, afraid to come closer. And yet everyone looked for her, any sign of her in the air, the ground, the budding trees. She did not know how much she was wanted.
But slowly she would know herself better. And her step would grow surer, her dress changing to pale green, and then violet as she sprinkled wild seeds and flowers from her hands. A soft wind would blow, her laughter warm and golden, releasing the streams, the ice-covered lake, and river. The birds would return, once more filling the world with song.
I feel a bit like the winter outside my window, hovering just before the first touch of spring. There’s an ache in it, even though the snow that fell last night brightens something in me, makes me feel white clad and shiny on the inside.
I lit candles last night and started writing in the beautiful book I received for Christmas, with the golden cover. I’m still figuring out my new story. It keeps slipping from me when I try to grasp it. It needs a plot, an ending, but all that comes to me are little moments like the one above. So I write what comes, and hopefully, it will lead me somewhere.
My book is out on amazon. I’d love for you to check it out, and share it with someone you think might like it. Thank you!
I hope you’re dreaming beautiful dreams for the new week.
The world is afloat on a cloud, a cold breath over everything, icing the trees, the ground, the grass. I lay in my bed and saw a white, glowing blanket outside my window, the moon coming through it.
I saw the sun for a moment, touching the mountains, but then it was gone, everything lost again to the mist, everything silent, everything frozen. Even the birds have no strength to sing now. They just stay among their branches, huddling in the winter chill.
There is magic in the mist. I saw it drifting across the forest yesterday, and thought of all the stories about it, about creatures appearing and disappearing in it. That it’s an entrance to a different time, a different world.
I’m in a calm place, I read calming things, but I’m rarely calm myself. Perhaps that’s why I’ve come here, to see if some of the earth, the air can seep into me, give me some of that quiet frost. I’m learning to trust. That’s what I call it. I imagine what it would be like to walk through my day in trust, knowing I’m safe. Or at least feeling I’m safe, that there is nothing to worry about, to be agitated about, as though something might strike me at any moment. Maybe I felt that life betrayed me, fell out from under my feet, that the gods betrayed me, somehow. That I can’t trust them now, even though I want to.
I walked in the forest, in the early evening, when everything was a breath of blue and the sky had lines of gold in it. As I walked, I observed a joy inside of me that I feared, that I had hidden away. I hadn’t allowed myself to feel it because it might go away, might anger the gods, anger destiny if I allowed it to bubble up inside of me. Maybe I would set myself up to being hurt.
I thought also of my mom, then my sisters, how I felt I shouldn’t laugh and be happy when they were sick. No one told me I couldn’t be, but somehow it felt wrong. I suppose children learn things that are hidden beneath the surface, things left unsaid.
I thought of the Goddess and wondered if perhaps she was light and joy, and beautiful things and that maybe it would make her happy if I dared to step into it. For some reason, it wasn’t something I had considered she’d want for me. But sometimes I feel her laughing, shaking her head, as though I’m taking things too seriously.
I would like to walk with lightness in my steps, and not be afraid of trying, of failing. I would like a deep calm to enter me, deep in my bones, like that blue air that was all around in the forest, silvering the branches. I wanted to kneel and stay there, on the frozen ground, by the waterfall, like white lace down the mountain. I wanted to listen, for the earth to teach me something, but I wasn’t alone in the forest, and we had to get home in time for something. But that’s what I felt then. It’s what I still feel when I remember walking in that new winter world. I’m happy it’s here.
I feel the greatest wound left in me came after my dad died. It was just him and me for a time. My mom and sister had passed away, and my two much older brothers lived elsewhere. So it was just him and me, and it was nice. I’ve always felt really close to my dad, as though we shared a special spirit bond, and I loved to spend time with him. We had many talks just the two of us, about God, about death, about life.
But then he got sick. Some strange darkness came over him and I could not make him smile. He would lie in his chair and stare into space, and sometimes he would look at me, and I could almost read the thoughts passing through his mind, the guilt and shame he felt about many things. I would tell him it did not matter, but nothing could reach him.
He was put in a mental hospital and I lived alone for a time, in that big house, leaving the lights on at night because I was afraid. But I got used to it, buying food and making easy dinners, going to school.
I remember him showing up one day as I was resting after school, and I looked up to see him standing in my doorway. I was so happy to see him, but he seemed so dark, so cold, like there was no life in him. Whenever I hugged him he barely hugged back, and I’d look at him and ask him to smile, and he would, but it never reached his eyes.
It was heartbreaking to see him fall away from me, and that I could do nothing to catch him, to make it better.
I remember sitting on the floor, rubbing his feet because they were always freezing cold. I rubbed them warm, but they got cold again right away. He had come home to pick up some things, before they drove him back to the hospital.
I remember watching the Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers and wishing the spell over my dad could be broken, the way it was for Theoden of Rohan. I fell in love with Eowyn, and felt with her as she held her uncle’s hand, speaking to him, and yet he did not hear her, being all withered, aged and grey from a dark spell put on him. But then it was broken, and he turned young again, was once more himself. He remembered who she was. I yearned for that so much.
I loved Eowyn. Watching her journey gave me a sense of strength, of purpose. I wanted to be strong and brave and to ride through my own darkness, break through it. She is still my favorite character of all time.
My very last memory of him was as I was getting in the car one evening, and turning around to see him looking back at me from the ferry that was taking him back to the hospital. He was drifting away and we looked at each other, and that’s the last thing I remember of him, how he slowly drifted away from me.
I got a phone call from my brother a while after, saying my dad had taken his own life at the hospital. I remember sitting down, my whole world crumbling.
I feel like crying as I write this, but no tears come. They never seem to come anymore, but instead they are stuck inside, like my insides are made up of tears. I miss him so much. I miss my family and the warmth we had between us.
But by writing this I feel something letting go, something releasing and I pray for it to be carried away and healed, because deep down I feel things are ok now. I feel he is ok, that he is happy. I feel we will meet again, that we’re still connected.
As the years passed it became harder to remember his face in detail, but I could always recall the feeling of his hand in mine, how callused it was from all the work he did outdoors. I remember slipping my hand in his as we walked up the dirt path to our house, talking, laughing about something.
I sat quietly, feeling, listening, but all I could feel was snow silently falling all around me, as I walked a winter landscape, cold and glittering. Snow floating, soft like feathers upon the air.
And then a distant summer, fields of green, of color, flowers in the grass. A glimmering light just out of reach.
And silky petals of rose, swirling inside of me, in my heart, as I knelt before the altar in the still of night, whispering thanks.
I prayed to her, to the goddess I long for, but whom I forget to trust as I walk through my day, my life, and then wonder why I feel empty, alone. I always want to be filled with something, with rose, with love, and I forget it’s possible to go there, to step into that softly colored light. I look for her, hoping for her touch, her kiss, petals of rose swirling.
I’ve been away on a trip to Bulgaria, to the beautiful wedding of two dear friends, so that’s why the blog has been a little quiet. I’ve seen, felt and experienced a lot, and I hope to write about it. For now I found this little entry in my draft folder.
I sat in the forest and spoke with the rose. I saw the light between the trees, and remembered myself, the path I was threading.
I saw the sun in the still water, and felt I was never to leave myself to worry about others, but to do everything from my center, and to walk quietly, touching the earth.