My oldest son walk pass the window and I’m watching him. He is wearing the thermo suit, boots, scarf up around the lower part of his face.
All of a sudden it is minus 20 and this is the diamond world.
He is carrying four wooden boards on his shoulders. Typical us. It’s so cold now that we decide to fix the loft. We could have fixed the loft earlier but we didn’t – there were so many other important things to do. Everything is so important. Sometimes everything is so important that I just sit down and drink coffee while I contemplate the importance…ness.
He likes to travel home, I know, I know he likes the life in the forest.
“Every time I visit you guys something has changed” he says, with a smile
“Every time I come home you have fixed something or done something, everything just gets better and better here”
Perspective is a good thing.
Me. I can’t see the forest from all of these trees standing in the way.
One needs to be taken down. Another needs to be pruned. Those over there just needs to be left alone.
I walk alone. I want to walk alone. I need time to walk alone.
Now that my whole family has exploded, supernova, shooting stars into the world, now that I’m old, now that I’ ve done what I wanted to, proven what I had to… there is silence. And walking.
I am drawn to the lake. The lake has begun its song of friction, fiction, whatever, the thunder from beneath, the ufo rave, a strange bass rhythm, these songs from the deep.
Water freezes. When water freezes the whole structure is changed. When the structure change the world sings.
The lake is murmuring, complaining, celebrating. Tales from another time, stories from the past and some golden glimpses of golden futures, I don’t know, I am just drawn towards it, I want to stand on the middle of the lake as an antenna, I want to be part of the big freeze.
In the big freeze things crystallizes. For instance: I have been too keen to please, I have wanted acceptance from the wrong crowd, those bastards are stone cold, not in movement, like ice. I might just stop wanting acceptance, attention, love. I might embrace being a pissed off lady of the logs, sometimes she has things to say, sometimes she is silent but even when she’s silent or I try to ignore her then her bones squeak, creak, rumble, roar, never silent, she wants to be heard.
As if life wants to live. This is new to me. I wrote from another standpoint before, I wrote to survive, but I don’t think I do anymore.
This is huge! This is colossal! This is enormous! And a lot of other synonyms!
What brand new world.
I told you, didn’t I, that in norse mythology – the lore of my ancestors, these stories told for generations, down through the ages- the world was created by a giant named Ymir. The trees are said to be his eyelashes, the rivers his blood veins, the mountains, you see, they are his skeleton.
Ymir literally means: unarticulated sound.
Not a ready-made world, no, not like that, but a world we constantly create.
Give it words. Rhythm.
In the beginning there was sound…
I stand by the lake and I listen to some kind of birth. I think.
I want to leave the lakeshore and disappear into the diamond world, as if fairies sing from there, as if elfs and trolls dance around out there in the circle of the sun.
… but I walk home. To my house. To my loved ones. To my duty. To my wood burning stove and my broken loft. You can’t crawl back into the womb, you have to proceed, onwards, onwards, we go!
Besides I can’t really breathe in the big freeze, ice crystallizes around my mouth and on my chin. Skin.
Fire and ice.
I’m ready for the new world. I heard it. I’m telling you.