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and I hope you do, will.

The honest truth is that I don’t understand it and more so took it as a slap in the face – spiritually. This what not supposed to happen. Everything was laid out perfectly; the land was a treasure, I took it, I considered it mine. I DESERVED it.

I see now what I did wrong.

Kind of like that pioneer way´s original sin, isn’t it?


This has been a humbling experience and it bothered me because I truly, honestly, wholeheartedly believe that I have been humbled enough. It´s enough now. I can’t take anymore.
I gave gifts to the land, I spoke to it, I did everything I have learned how to do during these last 10 years as a seidr-worker (nordic shamanism)
I took omens. I sacrificed.
– but you can’t make land yours if it is not-

We went to the frontier not having any choices, we didn’t have choices, we didn´t. We CREATED the choices we have now. And so we decided that it was our choice now to relocate to an area that would feel more natural to us- not out of lack of love for the Vármland forest, no, no, no, no. The forest has given us so much, it´s been good to us. So no. It was because if we could CHOOSE we would choose a frontier a little closer to home.
Elderberry trees and oak trees, blackthorn, rose hips and rolling hills. It´s in the marrow/memory of my bone, it’s where I belong.
But I did it wrong. I must have done it wrong.


Processed with Snapseed.

“Go back to your own country” is a sentence shaping my culture right now, it´s been shouting at people fleeing war, refugee camps are being burned down to the ground – but everybody´s forgetting that we too, our ancestors, travelled to a new land (America) even if it didn’t belong to them, even if somebody else lived there, they took it.
We wanted to be a new kind of pioneers.
We wanted to travel to our OWN land, we wanted take our OWN land (back)- not be white colonizers, not be missionaries.

But then we were, weren’t we?

You asked me “how does one do it?” and I said yadi yadi and then something about my own personal feelings.
How does one rewild? How does one leave, how does one settle? What is the pioneer life like?
I´d say:
It´s hard, lonely and filled with fear, it is not something you do BAM and then succes, eternal bliss, done.
It is beauty. It is meaning. It is whole.

… but truth be told: I don’t know.

The only thing I know is, that there is something about the land, something I don’t understand, something I need to understand. A lost knowledge. A cut thread.

It begins with the land.
It has to do with the land.

Processed with Snapseed.


This entry was posted in Blog.

7 comments on “The pioneer way

  1. Allan Vinje says:

    Thank you for your honesty and for your words about the need to be humble. Humble doesn’t go very well with modern society. But it’s a necessity to be level with yourself.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yeah. I need to work on that. I´ve come to some major realizations recently…


  2. Mary says:

    I’ve most recently heard this process described as ‘destructive birth.’ The proverbial archetypal hero’s journey, the wayfarer, the wanderer…leaves her tribe to seek truth, to grow, to mature, to come back strong enough to contribute meaningfully, to protect and preserve the health and wellbeing of the people, as warrior mother and elder. and on that journey, into the woods, there are challenges, obstacles, lessons, and magic wands acquired along the way. all in the name of reaching the magical mythical mouth of the cave, in which awaits that which she is meant to ultimately face, stand before, do battle with, defeat. but wait, upon arrival at the mouth of the cave, she finds herself emptyhanded, naked and alone, all that she had achieved and acquired along the way no longer with her, for it had all served it’s purposes, to get her there, but then no further, for all that she had learned and acquired along the way, useful on the journey, is not going to be of any use inside the cave. for that, new things must take their places…and she must stop and wait, for those new things/people/learnings to fill the spaces in her hands and upon her back that have been emptied by her previous tools disappearing. wait. listen. watch. be still. things for which she is not prepared or trained for…for we are told to go, do, accomplish…not wait. and so the most humbling of human experiences is that of destructive birth, of paths coming to ends and of new ones not yet revealing themselves…that space in between here and there, where we simply wait. to be born into the next. naked. alone. empty handed. for now. not always. but for now. “finnisterre” – land’s end – where the path comes to beach and meets water, and where you take off your pack, slip off your boots, sit on the sand, and contemplate how it is that you are going to learn to continue on and “walk that water”. you are warrior mother elder at the end of one path, at the beginning of another. and I am grateful to you for your words that speak a truth I share and struggle with understanding accepting embracing. eternally grateful, and in awe. much peace andrea. fare thee well.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. This touched me so deeply, Mary, thank you!


      1. Mary says:

        A David Whyte poem for you, below…and a link to a treasure of an interview with him. You may know of him already, but if not, he is a modern mystic, of Irish descent, steeped in naturalism and Druidism, with a touch of Catholic, and a weird corporate involvement…?!? (don’t let that put you off…while I take note of these two things, I look past the imperfections of the man, remembering my own, and listen to how his words speak to me…my grandmother, a perfectly imperfect Irish woman, was an interesting combination of practical surface Catholic and a deep-in-her-bones Druid. I learned how to recognise each and weed through her modern layers and down into her ancient knowings). for what it’s worth, and not to put labels to you…but you are a shaman guide mystic naturalist spiritualist wild woman yourself, and if there might be anything to learn from David Whyte, it might for sure involve, if I may be so bold, and imperfect myself, learning how he makes his money being those things for people. one thing he does is week long walking tours through his personal sacred grounds in the west of Ireland, mentoring people’s journeys through their own inner landscapes, via both pub and pasture, people and place. outta my price range, those walks are, but i’ve curated my own extended walks/treks for myself, and the idea, and the process of self excavation and discovery and birth, is a good one, me thinks. like you say about land ownership being about the relationship between peoples, money, while deeply abused and misused in similar ways, can facilitate legitimate and meaningful transactions and exchanges between peoples as well. the key is in maintaining the intention, and the guarding of that intention through all transactions. easy to say, and something I have been reckoning with along time and will continue to for a long time more i’m sure. Money, the need for it in our current world, the compromises it causes, the potential it has, it’s simplicity and it’s complexity, are boggling and ever present. (Margaret Atwood’s book Payback is a very interesting and thought-provoking exploration of debt, to each other, as the essential glue that holds people together in one another’s lives…not necessarily monetary debt, but owe-ance nonetheless…what you speak of in your current search for land through long-term trust relationship etc.) anyway, enough, maybe too much, said. the link and the poem. your thoughts on them both, as always, would be illuminating enriching and very appreciated.

        Above the mountains
        the geese turn into
        the light again
        painting their
        black silhouettes
        on an open sky.
        Sometimes everything
        has to be
        enscribed across
        the heavens
        so you can find
        the one line
        already written
        inside you.
        Sometimes it takes
        a great sky
        to find that
        first, bright
        and indescribable
        wedge of freedom
        in your own heart.
        Sometimes with
        the bones of the black
        sticks left when the fire
        has gone out
        someone has written
        something new
        in the ashes
        of your life.
        You are not leaving.
        Even as the light
        fades quickly now,
        you are arriving.

        The Journey: from
        ‘The House of Belonging’
        Poems by David Whyte
        ©David Whyte and Many Rivers Press

        Liked by 1 person

        1. Oh mary… thank you!


  3. anon anon says:

    Before we came up north, we lived down south. Much south. We had to escape for some reason, and we did not want anything to do with the Romans. It was a long journey over turkey, balkans, caucasia, russia, to – finally – Scandinvia. We lived here for long. We had neighbours, we traded long distance as well as short. We thrived. Then came the church, and we had to flee again. That, convert, or die. Emigration to America was in hope. Former emigrations was by need. Force, even. Refugees we were.

    As for the land, it drew mme here. It made me post this. Be patient. The land is not yours. It is not theirs. But, it certainly is.

    I choose anonymity. Mt name is not important.

    One last word: Thanks.


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