A favorite place and cosmic mirror

WHEN THE LAND RESONATES BACK

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It's been too long, since I wrote you (at least I think so).

Much has happened and is happening, globally and personally. Fear, violence and war further separate humans and peoples. The natural world is suffering, and here in Denmark, our once abundant sea is dying, devoid of fish. The news is devastating. There is so much to grieve for and be deeply frustrated about.

How do we keep rooted in times like these?

I find hope and joy in relationships with humans and non-humans. I find support in literature, music, and visual art. I meditate. I look for simple solutions in complex situations. I see horses, standing sturdy and together in the storm that just swept by with their asses up against it, as if to say: "You may be fierce, but we're heavy beings of the soil (and this is what we think of you)." My favorite tree, an old plum cherry (I call her "Fru Mirabelle") in the garden of our cottage on the island Moen, seemed to whisper to me when I hugged her goodbye and cried (we've sold the house): "Look at me, I am rooted and deeply local, yet feel how my branches, leaves and stem move with the wind. You should do the same."

Fru Mirabelle, who's offered me shelter on many occasions

Autumn is upon us. It is the season of letting go. The cottage has now been handed over to new owners, and we're settling into our new home, a farm, called Stengården (The Stone Farm). There is much to learn and relationships to be built. I don't have any human friends in the neighborhood, at least not yet. But I doubt that I'll feel lonely here. I hear owls hooting and loud pheasants, buzzards (musvåger) calling, the gentle sound of running hares in high grass, and a majestic stag (kronhjort) roaring in the woods. The quiet beings of bats and deer move swiftly and elegantly. They all bring me joy. Hope is joy's companion, and whenever she turns up, hope follows. This is my medicine for troubled times.

There is an old saying: "We are all ghosts, as we carry those with us who've been here before." Angharad Wynne tells me this, in an online course. On the threshold of truly dark times here in the north, we celebrate the thin veil between the living and the dead at Samhain, Halloween, All Saints Day and Eve. It is time to honor ancestors and re-member all those family members that came before us. If we look at these patterns of interconnectedness from far above, we are entangled with each other and with our non-human kin, all the way back to that first living cell in the tide pool, everybody's oldest ancestor. I lean back and take Angharad's words to heart. In the great mycelium of interwoven beings, it is not possible to feel alone, separated, nor individualistic.

So, as the season of the dark is rapidly approaching, may you find light in unexpected places to guide you, when needed. May you receive and hear the answers, resonating back from where ever you put your questions and longings. May they be meaningful, these answers, and keep you moving, yet rooted.

With love,

Birgitte

- and here's the immediate response, I received from the Moen landscape on our last day there, when I sent out my deep gratitude for being part of it. Minutes after this response was given, the new owners arrived, and the tides had turned: