There´s a branch on the birch tree outside my window. It´s broken. Ever since we got here it has been hanging from a single fibre, hanging on with it´s fingertips, clinching to the mother tree.
The birch tree is large and steadfast, the trunk is aged but the branches seems so young. And vibrant.
All of the other branches on the tree gracefully swings upwards.
There is a perfect balance and symmetry in that birch tree and I suspect that it will provide us with nurturing shade come relentless summer sun.
The broken branch havn´t fallen off yet. I watch it every day. I keep an eye on it. I have come to care for the broken branch.
In these last months of hibernation I´ve been trapped in the human bubble. Not this bubble, our bubble, but the worldly bubble, in the news.
Nature has been dead. All cold and inaccessible. She held her distance, Mother Nature, or I did, I don´t know which is to blame. Fact is that I´ve been drifting in the human bubble, far above the skies.
Funny how people seem to hold so many presumptions about our lifestyle. Funny how they think we should live. If we were authentic. If we were true. If we were off grid. If we were nature lovers.
Says a lot about the people to hear them describe their dreams and how they imagine it to be, funny to see them pinpoint what they believe to be flaws in other people’s lives.
As if we had nothing better to do.
All the rules, all the regulations.
So what if I want to be online even though I´m off grid?
So fucking what, actually!?
And what if we drive a car or what if we eat junk food once in a while?
Still not your business.
I can´t help but think that it´s really counterproductive, may I even dare say counterrevolutionary to set up strict checklist to what if means to be a
Maybe this whole business of setting up standards and definitions is what is wrong, precisely what is wrong. What if this need to measure, to dissect, to define and articulate really keeps us from… changing our ways?
We are so preoccupied by what it means to be into permaculture, be a vegetarian or one of these green consumers that we totally forget…. to listen to the subjective experience of being alive.
I´ve been in the human bubble for way too long now. I lose my perspective when that happens.
There´s a whole other world, you see, a far more forgiving, a far more tolerant, a far more multifaceted world where words are not used to describe and inhibit, a place where words come alive.
She´s coming alive and she saves me.
Just as she does every year.
I walk down through our plot, cross the creek. It´s a glacier right now. “Our own private glacier” Silas says. He likes to go there and skate on the uneven ice.
I follow the path that follows the lake, I follow the animal traces, I get to the big red rock, I sit down, I close my eyes, I let her comfort me.
I am at peace.
I am at home.
I am safe.
In my own space.
In my skin.
I walk home. I like to walk home. I always anticipate coming home.
The dry smell of wood in the cabin, the smell of boiling tomato soup, the smell of sprouting seedlings.
I guess it really does matter how much effort you put into things. We build this house with our hands, we cried, bled, screamed at it, for it. The more we stray from the norm the bigger the insecurities, the scope of the fear, oh, but that cannot even be described.
We EARNED this.
No one can ever take that away from us. Maybe that´s home?
While at home no one has the right to tell you what you should do or how you should behave or what you should aspire t to and how.
(Especially not if those people sit there in their comfort and never really risk anything. Listen and learn from those that has proven themselves.)
Space, private space has nothing to do with square meters you know.
It´s a feeling.
A woman asked me what it feels like to downsize and downscale and move into a tiny house.
It´s easy. It´s hard.
There are no golden rules or standards and that´s the very point.
To me it has been liberating to get rid of all that surplus space. Empty space cries, in the human bubble so we buy stuff to fill in the spaces and the cracks and into the fractures in the pavement.
My experience of space has changed during this time in the wild.
Sometimes it sucks to live on little space, I get tired of all the clutter so I move the furniture around and think to myself “this is very feng sui”
At other times it feels poetic, magical, straight out right.
It turns us into a clan, a clan of cave bears to live like this.
That´s what it does.
Cave bears with computers and connections out in the world. And so with tweaked eyes, in the springtime, I crawl outside to sit in this endless space and be one with it.
Yeah. That´s right. I do that.
I go outside and “am one with nature”
We don´t have to objectify the subjective experience.
We really don´t.
Sometimes we can sit in the midst of it all and not be defined.
You can claim your own existence. No matter what they say.
They say so much. In the human bubble.
Right now there´s a million stars glittering, I see them through the window.
Tonight is the first night this season where we havn´t turned on the generator. The sun power we harvested through the day has proven to be enough.
This makes me utterly content.
I see a very bright star just behind the broken branch of the birch tree.
I see the full moon. It is so quiet out there.
It is endless.
The broken branch dissolves into the darkness.
( I took some pictures of some of my favorite indoor spaces today, they´re on the facebookpage