It is a strange coincidence. It truly is.
The full moon has me sleepless. I know that something is calling on me, I am too lazy to get up.
Birch trees has begun their wonderous magic. From deep below the mine the water and the minerals and the wisdom of, well, the deep below. The water flow in them, fountains of water! You only have to align yourself to that stream, you only have to tap into the trees and there it is, you have access to it. Water of life.
As we do every year we bathe, swim and drink it in. Large mouthfuls. As we could swallow the world.
And then Lulu in the woods sends of one of her letters. This one really got to me. She writes about how we are surrounded by the written letter and how the written letter is actually some sort of magic… so we are surrounded by a absentminded kind of magic all of the time, we are drowning in magic that dosn´t matter. She writes how she is considering never to write again. To never read again. I wonder if my written word is not my liberation- but my entrapment. I wonder if there are too many words in the world.
I want to move like the deer through the forest. I want to hum like a tree.
Drinking my morning coffee alone, everyone still asleep, the forest is alive with sound, nature is never still, it does speak to me. It´s just that I´m often too lazy to listen… but even when I´m too lazy to listen these anti-words, these sounds, will come to me. The sound of pouring birch water into a cup. Stop! THAT sound!
(Working on the barn, he made these boards himself when creating timber for the sauna)
I´m there too. Sawing in sunshine.