REFLECTIONS

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Looking out over the lake, we three, once strangers, now felt the invisible bonds that tie us.

I thought once again about the strange strings of coincidences that weave my life into the lives of others, and the wider fabric of the world. 

It was tempting to think about the unpleasant discussions of the previous day, but I was making a conscious effort to see past my own grievances and petty hang-ups, and look out into the world as it is: filled with the light of incredible beings. I would not and will not give up my faith in humanity. Period. 

. . . 

This faith is fueled by people like Francine - a French lady from Lyon. We met Francine while helping at an organic farm. Some would say she is tough, abrupt, tells it like she sees it. They would be right. But it would be only one part of the picture… Francine could make you laugh till you cry, she makes heavenly crepes, and she has a way with words - always saying certain catchphrases that stick in my mind even now:

It’s not possible! For me, it’s not possible!

It’s just amaaa-zsssing!

The dog looks so desesperate. [extra s intended].

Francine cares with all her heart, and she is not the only one. In Norway, I was reminded again and again of the kindness of people. Bente - an Airbnb host who, upon overhearing that it was my birthday, presented me with a hand-knitted gift and a hug. We hardly knew each other. Then there was Sanya, the manager of a visitor’s center, who sat with us a long while, telling us all manner of Norwegian folk tales, and giving us spiced cookies. These are just two of the incredible people we have met and connected with so far on our journey - if I were to tell the tales of each one, it might take me till dinner. 

Some people say that they are ‘world-weary,’ cynical and beaten back by reality. Instead I feel the opposite! Each new day on the road gives me a new reason to believe in the goodness, no, the greatness of people!
 

. . . 
 

And so we come to it: the crux of this story, and the gnarled little walnut at the center of my ponderings: namely, my uneasy interactions with people who tick me off. Sometimes I think that I am meant to like all people, and surely they should all like me. Then it becomes difficult, because there are some people who just don’t vibe with me. Take, for instance, our Help-X hosts in Norway. Nice people, good hosts, generous and kindly (most of the time). And yet, our personalities did not match even for a second. It was hard going, those three weeks - trying not to get annoyed, and trying not to take things personally felt like a mission to mars. At first I was determined to make it work. Then I gave up and got pissed off. I entertained the notion that ‘maybe these people are crazy!’ and began to count up every crazy thing they did. 

Then, finally, the magic happened… I realized that these people did not have to like me, nor I them, but I could still choose to see their humanity. I could choose to see that they were, in fact, JUST LIKE ME! There they were: living, breathing, suffering and searching for happiness just as I am. All their annoying quirks could be mine too - I will admit that I, too, do not listen properly on occasion, and I, too, have been known to act erratically or get emotional. In fact, all those things I was so annoyed about were things I knew I was capable of. In the past I would also hoard enormous amounts of stuff and let it sit collecting dust. I am sometimes a bit of a recluse, wishing to spend time alone each day. I get people’s names wrong, or forget them altogether.

When I saw this I laughed. It seemed that my impressions were coming from a place of judgement, and judgements are often made when a person is made uncomfortable by their own reflection. Someone may judge a girl for wearing a tight dress. Does this mean the girl in the tight dress is immoral? Or does it mean the person judging wishes to dissociate themselves from the perceived immorality, whether it be because they were judged similarly in the past, or they fear their own natural feelings of attraction? 

A difficult concept to wrap your head around, maybe, but once learned it becomes quite simple to apply. When I am bothered by someone or something, I try ask myself this simple question:

‘Why?’

Sometimes the answer is easy - as in: I personally think it is wrong to treat animals cruelly. But oftentimes, I am met with my own reflection - my own fears, my own issues. Look past these, and you can find compassion for almost anyone you come across.

My first weeks in Norway were tough, yes. But out of the mud rises the lotus flower, and out of this difficult situation I grew to find the light again.

No, I will never give up my faith in humanity.

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THE HIDDEN FOLK

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"You've heard the stories of the trolls, I am sure!" 

"No." I said, "please tell me one." 

"Well they are here, minding their business and all that, but when they see you coming, they quickly turn to stone."

He was a jolly and fat American on holiday with his wife. Together, they were first place shoo-ins for a Mr. and Mrs. Claus look-alike competition. They had stopped us for directions through the maze of stone pinnacles and pathways that was Dimmuborgir.

He was only joking, but the idea stuck - trolls, I thought. Trolls indeed. Much like the ones Bilbo encounters. I logged the thought into memory, along with my own stories - those few precious encounters I have shared with the Hidden Folk of this world. 

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. . .

When I was thirteen, I had the gift of clear-seeing. I knew there were fairies in the wind that swept over the paddocks outside my house. I could talk with them, without pretension or apprehension. Nobody had told me otherwise. 

When I was fourteen, I undertook to write a song to the Good Folk. Imperfect and heartfelt, I sang this song at times when I felt the presence of the Hidden Folk.

It was this song that I remembered and drew out of the dusty corners of my mind when we visited Iceland. I felt so drawn to discover the sacred spaces of the Huldufólk: the Elves and Dwarves and Trolls and Lovelings, so I wandered here and there, listening always with both ears. 

. . .

From Álfaborg I heard her soft voice
Saw the sun in her spun gold hair
The Queen under the (tiny) mountain.
And a few of her entourage
Living in the hollows
among the purple heather flowers

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MY SONG TO THE FAERIES

sung in a tune
not unlike the old carol
We Three Kings

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“Strange music floats
Within the glade
From reedy pipes
That Pan has made

Long long ago we lived with the Fae
Harmony and peace ruled in that day

Man became strong
Took over the land
The faeries left
Not seen by man

Gone out of sight
Into the Earth
Gone with them is
Their joy
And their mirth

Now if you’re quiet
Patient and strong
You may hear
The tree dryad’s song
Cross the threshold of time
A ring
And hear the Fae laugh
Dance proudly and sing

As the wind whispers
Hear the laughs of the sylph
And look through the waters
Where mermaids still live
They are not gone
The Fae are still here
Just out of sight
To untrained minds

Now listen quietly
As Pan plays his pipes
And the Fae laugh
and dance through this still night”

LAND OF ICE

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“Nothing endures but change”

- HERACLITUS

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This world is dying.  

I was greatly touched by the recent writings of the herbalist and folk healer Sophia Rose. She told a tale of driving through a cloud of monarch butterflies, thousands of their bodies scattering the road after being hit by vehicles as they tried to follow their ancient migration pathways. 

Sophia's voice is joined by another in my mind: Snorri, an Icelandic ice cave explorer. He pointed to bare ground and told us, "...this is where it used to lay, the glacier was here only a few years ago, when those pictures you saw were taken. We would be standing in the middle of that cave now." We looked to our left where the glacier now sat far off and drip . drip . dripping in October sunlight. She recedes by over 1km every year.

Their voices echo in vast caves, joined by a chorus of others. We are the witnesses to the many thousand deaths of our own world. 

...

I lived for five days on the edge of the Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon. The weather was melancholy, clouds and mists hung about so that, at times, the glacier was shrouded and the bergs of the lagoon could be seen appearing and disappearing in the low fog. Ever were they moving. In the night I could hear the glacier breaking far off, cracks and rumbles that thundered over the stillness. The pieces scattered till they caught at the mouth, jostling to make it to the sea where they would be washed up and smashed upon the shore into a thousand glistening shards, all the while being worshipped by photographers bent at the knees on the black sands. Some are blue, airless, a thousand years old. Some shards are white or clear. Others are threaded with volcanic ash. Over the five days, I watched each individual iceberg make its way to this Valhalla, and the cycle continued, and continues. 
 

 Nothing endures but change. 

...
 

Watching was so sad, and yet it was a lesson too - the slow lesson, constantly revised, about impermanence on this Earth. 

I have made my study in the humanities - and it seems my study has focused on just that: humanity; from their very beginnings {Archaeology}  to their most beautiful creations {History} to their changing ways {Anthropology}. It is only recently that I have begun to weave their tale into the fabric of all time, all history, all change. 

Once, my mother asked me to make her a calendar for Christmas, but what she described was something quite special: 

"Make me a calendar of all time, from beginning to end."

I did my utmost, but of course there were gaps and guesses. The results, though, were phenomenal. The calendar stretched across two walls, was threaded together with ribbons, and visually indicated the length of the scientifically named geological Earth eras through bigger or smaller sections. The section that contained our own era was quite small, the section that contained our species history - from beginning to end, was minuscule. One would not even be able to see it, if I had not exaggerated it a little. 

And now we come to the crux of it all. Things are heating up, excuse the pun, and there seems to be no end to the suffering, the disasters, the speculation and intrigue, the political mess, the many solutions offered. I have heard a quiet voice or two say, in this dark night, that we have very limited time left on this Earth. And I think of that calendar I made, of the many extinctions I had to scribe onto paper, and I know that eventually, yes, we will all die. As will all things, because that is the way of it. 
 

 Nothing endures but change. 

...

If we are to avoid total nihilism, and to avoid the kind of panic that harms others, we can look instead to the wisdom of Sophia Rose:

If you found out that someone you loved dearly had only six months to live, the irreplaceable nature and incredible treasure of that connection would surely come into clear focus. I imagine that you would go far out of your way to see them, and do all that you knew how, to honor the kinship that shared. You’d notice every detail about them, savoring the sound of their voice, and the way their eyes crinkled each time they smiled. You would soften into an acknowledgement of your own ephemeral nature, and each moment of life would become more potent for its rarity.

- Sophia Rose - La Abeja Herbs Newsletter

Perhaps the thousand deaths we see are a thousand reminders to live so fully, to not turn away in fear but to look all life in the face and see the miracle that brought us here to feel, to hear, to see, to touch and taste and love and suffer in the first place.  

...
 

We may act surprised - when we learn that this world is dying, but the concept is an old one, and we are simply realising its many applications.

To act surprised and angry when learning that all things shall fade, whether in 100 or 1 billion years, is to be like the old man who witnesses a hundred deaths but is surprised to learn he himself is dying also. It is written, it has always been written.

Has this foreknowledge destroyed the beauty of life while it lingers? Has it already ended all the wonder and miracle that is life itself? Clouds pass, spring comes to the land still, and a bird sits in the cherry tree outside. I cannot help but love this Earth, surround myself with it. I will not push it out, but will cherish it the more.