Ryebread. Marinaded herring. Leek salat. Eggs.
Ryebread. Meat balls. Liver paté. Roastbeef. Pork roll. Sausages. Bacon. Hot red kale. Pickled beet root. Remoulade. Fried onions. Roasted mushrooms.
Beer. Mead. Gløgg. Rhubarb juice.
Ris a la mande. Canned forest berries.
Another important ingredient. Fire wood. Excess firewood. All 3 stoves burning hot, candlelights in every window.
And we all nodded to the sunset.
In the old days the foremothers would go the pantry on this night, to check. “Do we have enough?”.
If one had enough one was to shout it into the dark. “WE HAVE ENOUGH”. Halfway through winter it’s important to have enough.
All of the other yule nights I have shouted into the dark. For more than 10 years now I’ve been a conscious heathen (as opposed to an unconscious heathen) and the rituals of my ancestors have been incorporated into our lives and celebrations.
Because I, still, find great inspiration in their world view and practise, because I believe in something bigger, deeper, higher, gods, I do.
It’s just that we didn’t have enough.
Not enough energy. Not enough time. Not enough love. I shouted as if I, by my words, could create reality and change the course of time. I shouted as if I, by my words, could create the world, a coherent narrative, some kind of truth in this post modernistic fragmented hellish house of mirrors. But I couldn’t. At some point I broke. Truth broke. Story broke.
I thought it was to be avoided by all means so I screamed my lungs apart. You cannot surrender to fatigue if things are to change, the paradigm, the system! You cannot surrender to fatigue if you want to be whole and happy, never let apathy win! You cannot surrender to fatigue if you want to run into the wild and build your own log cabin, like pioneers, insisting on a land of milk and honey that doesn’t exist and BAM, hello to you depression only this yule I realised something: you CAN surrender to fatigue. And it’s not the same as depression. Fatigue is different. Fatigue is stillness. Still. Needed.
To fetch firewood and a yule tree
The only yule decoration we have left after all of these years in the wild is the bell of yule. Ring it and yule is here!
And the sun of course. We still have the sun.
The ground is hard as rock now and the frost keeps everything crisp and white. We ran around like headless hens today, fixing all of the last things that needs to be fixed before the world is fixated in it’s winter form, when fixated it does not change… until the ice on the lake begins to melt and oh, the beauty of that friction!
For a while, a winter while, the world stands still. There is movement underneath the frost and the snow and the ice, sure, deep down everything moves. But for a moment, a brief moment in time, everything is quiet and the stars shines uninhibited.
There are many things I don’t tell you, many movements beneath. For the longest while I thought that was wrong, I thought everything needed to be said as if you could somehow purify the world with words but you can’t – only snow can do that.
I am a viking. It’s the gods honest truth. I fight. This is my metaphor. But you know what the old did around yule, what they have done for thousands of years in these parts of the world, all of my ancestors?
They sat down and they ate and drank to fill the hollow hole in themselves and then they shouted “WE HAVE ENOUGH”
They didn’t need more. More. Than what they actually had.
I don’t need more than I actually have.
I have enough.
This is the most important thing to say on the thinnest of all nights.
A couple of minutes past midnight tonight the world will change.
The sun will gain it’s strength, right now it never even rises above the top of the trees but soon it will, soon it will shine again on all that is hard and solid because such is the world: it flexes between hope and despair, love, hate, surrender, victory, it all changes, it flows.
It’s just that we have to recognise it. Observe. Say.
I wish you all a very happy and merry and fairy winter solstice. Thank you for all that you have given me.