On new years eve every person present melts some tin in a spoon and then throw the tin in a bucket of water. The tin will take on different shapes and forms and the collective mind is then to read the figure as an omen of sorts about the coming year.
This is an old Finnish tradition, a stubborn quiet and beautiful Finn taught us how to do it the first winter we lived here, he got a broken heart that year, this is what I got this year:
I think it looks like a wing from one side and as dead leaf from the other.
Meaning: this year some things will fly- and this year some things will slowly whiter but that’s all right, it’s the circle of life. All of it. To fly. To fall. To launch. To let go.
I’m going to need the strength from an extra wing. This year.
I’m going to let lousy defence mechanism die. This year.
I spend these days moving furniture, cooking broth from the roast we ate on new years eve. I spend these days making plans with my husband, having intense conversations with my son, staring at sunrises and sunsets, slowly I prepare. I know the work I have to do. I know exactly what I need to do.
You leave the loop and enter bush school, you think everything is about the practical but really it isn’t, it’s about the emotional and you go through stages.
1. Intense. Wild. Exiting. 2. The hard long road. Loosing heart. Hope. Extreme internal disintegration. Hurt. 3. A new beginning. Wiser. You integrate that which you now know into action. Change.
It’s just like in the fairy tales. Maybe it’s a human blue print: You leave your home. You wander in the wild (fight some dragons or witches). You go back home. Different. Initiated.
You are now relieved. You are now stronger. You now own a treasure.
I’m pissed that (some) people wanted me to be wiser and holier than thou just from the beginning. As if the very act of leaving society would be an instant fix. It’s not. And there are no instant fixes.
I’m pissed that you can’t leave society. Society is in your knee jerk reactions, society is in your values, in your head. The option that remains: negotiation. I’m pissed that I had to go through all of that moral scruples because I was a WOMAN. Because I shared. Public. Insisting on my story. Would have been better if I were a poet prince with a hipster beard but I’m not.
These are the things I will leave behind. Or maybe they are the things I will elaborate upon.
I’m grateful that the parallel world exists. I’m grateful that we made it. I’m grateful that the world tribe is emerging.
Maybe this will give me strength. Maybe I’ll just nod at it and move on.
I don’t believe in black and white, good and evil, I don’t because the warriors I’ ve met, the dragons and the witches were not good or evil per se. None of them. None of it. The golden law is pragmatism. Always pragmatism. What works and what doesn’t work. What gets the work done. What keeps you speculating and apathetic in your hell hole of doubt? What moves you?
This blog entry has no point. I’m not going to arrive at some point that will tie everything up nicely.
This blog is both my own private inwards diary and my public face outwards, this blog is both process and product. I love it because it is the free space that I need. I hate it because it obliges me (to finish this sentence…) With this blog I insist. With this blog I give up.
Blabber. Blabber. Blabber.
Isn’t it funny how blabber and determination can coexist? Side by side?
Maybe that’s some kind of advice for you. Right there. Maybe it’s a point.