There was a thunderstorm the other day. I was sitting in my chair liveblogging about it. I was not “present” in the “moment”, I was not “taking it in” or “being one with nature”- the way that I am expected to. I AM expected to.
See, I have chosen the path of the weaver, I weave stories and realities, I communicate my experience to broaden the horizons but I didn´t realize the rigid boundaries nor the limited space surrounding, suffocating, stories from the wilderness. People NEED us to be happy, shiny, pure, whole.
We live the life of the contrast. Says a lot that the contrast HAS to be happy, shiny, pure, whole.
There was a guy visiting us a while ago. I cared about him a lot. One evening we were talking about spirituality and he said “But you and Jeppe, you are like gurus to a lot of people”. We laughed real hard, none of us noticed the flickering of his eyes. “No!” “Yes! You are enlightened!”, “NO!”
Right now, right this MOMENT the must splendid sunset is taking place just outside my window. The bed is aligned with the window, I´m laying on my stomach writing this. Black little letters, white screen. A mild evening breeze in the top of the birch trees. The sound they make, those leaves, it sounds like a thousand sails on a ship. I can´t hear it though, the window blocks the sound, I know this from experience.
I still battle with the programing. I have been programmed to look out on nature, being “apart” from nature and then, in golden (happy, shiny, pure, whole) moments, feel this “unity”.
And then grateful. Don´t forget the grateful. So very grateful.
This is how my society views nature. This is what I have been brought up to believe. It is somehow “wrong” (or unenlightened) not to be emerged in nature. Out there. Or, at least, endlessly enlightened by the sunset.
But nature just IS. I don´t have to have an opinion.
It took me 3 years to regain control over my own experience and allow myself to express my own nature. THIS is nature. I am nature. This is not wrong. I am not wrong.
The other night, after the thunderstorm, I went for an evening walk with Sigurd. He was naked and the heavy raindrops in the long grass splashed on his skin so he was running, constantly laughing. We went down to check on the tipi, to see if it had held off the waters. It had.
Standing there for a while, looking around. To my right the deep green of the forest on the other side of the creek, the mist… I must have stood there for minutes, drawn towards it, an ancient longing, a motherly voice calling on me, I could hardly resist… the deep green. Resistance.
Then, walking home, this hysterical neongreen of the spruce sprouts, the contrasts of the colors was almost too much for me to bear.
( I look out the other window now, my back leaning on timberlogs, the sunset sunlight catches the lower leaves of the old birch, they look like golden coins, a treasure, I hear the thousand sails)
Next morning each straw of grass had grown a meter, the wild raspberries had become giant bushes, forest strawberry, sorrel, apples and flowers without name were in bloom, the willow had become dense, the juniper was insistingly sprouting, I am telling you, the land had been dry for so long, I was witnessing an explosion before my very eyes and it dawned on me…
Nature is manic right now.
So am I.
But for the first time in 3 years I have the luxury of control. I don´t HAVE to be manic.
Or happy, or shiny or pure or whole.
I can just lay here. Look at it. It´s allright.
Pictures from the thunderstorm