Jeg

Havet bryter overflaten

Det er det hav gjør

Havsalt, ikke nå

men hele tiden

Omniscience

Who are you, she said.

I don’t know, I said.

That doesn’t compute, she said.

I know, I said.

You should get yourself together, she said.

No, I said.

(Photo: Birgitta Hollander)

A good heart will find you, just be ready then

The first time I heard Lisa Hannigan sing, was the first time I took Birgitta to a concert. She was so young. I was so young. Berlin was new to both of us, we were all new to eachother. Damien Rice was playing, but it’s Lisa Hannigan I remember, she was shining, she still is. We still are.

Then there’s Glen Hansard. I’ve never seen him live. But it feels like I have. It feels like I know him better than most of my friends, and, better yet, it feels like he knows me.

And what do you know, the two of them playing together, in my number one reason for going to Paris: Shakespeare and Company. Beautiful music, surrounded by books and people. Life at its best. It is good. And it is true.

Til kjærligheten

Man kan si at det er like verdifullt å være menneske som å være arbeidstaker, men det er det ikke. For meg handler ikke dette om likestilling. Ikke om barn, kvinner, menn, ikke om pensjonspoeng og heller ikke om politikk. For meg handler dette om det å være menneske i et land og i et system som ikke handler om å være menneske. 

Siden jeg først leste Inga-Marte Thorkildsens utspill i Aftenposten på fredag har jeg vært sint. Ikke på barne- og likestillingsministeren selv, men på følelsen av å være malt inne i et hjørne, på følelsen av avmakt og hjelpeløshet. Hun sier at det ikke er like verdifullt å gå hjemme med barn som å jobbe. Jeg forstår hva hun mener med det, og at hun i en gitt kontekst har helt rett. Og det er det jeg blir sint av. At det finnes en kontekst – at vi har skapt en kontekst – hvor det ikke er like verdifullt å gå hjemme med barn som å jobbe. 

Følelsen av hjelpeløshet har vært der lenge, den har gnaget og gnisset, blitt sterkere hvert fjerde år, men også gjemt seg godt bort mellom alt jeg tror jeg må bevise for å være verdt noe. Jeg kan godt synes noe om kontantstøtte og pensjon og makt og status, jeg kan godt si at det er så mye jeg er uenig i, så mye jeg føler ikke stemmer, så mange prinsipper og lover og byråkratiske irrganger jeg tror er unaturlige. Men det jeg vil si noe om er denne konteksten, denne helheten av et system som i det hele tatt muliggjør deltidsdebatten, den vil jeg si noe om. 

Det er ikke slik at jeg er uenig i systemet, i politikken og måten vi former samfunnet vårt på. Det er slik at jeg opplever at den nesten ikke har noen verdens ting med meg å gjøre. Hvis jeg forsøker å være ærlig, helt nede fra magen og hjertet, da opplever jeg ikke at Norge har noe med meg å gjøre. Det gir ingen mening. Og hva skal jeg med et barne- og familiedepartement, en politikk, et system, et land som ikke gir meg noe mening? 

Ja, jeg blir sint fordi jeg er uenig. Fordi jeg finner verdi i å gå hjemme med barn, ta vare på gamle og syke, tenke tanker som ikke kan måles, stå opp om morgenen, drikke en kopp kaffe. Jeg finner verdi i å sitte helt stille og kjenne pusten gå inn og ut, uten at jeg behøver å gjøre noe for å få det til. Jeg finner verdi i å ha tid til å lytte til barna mine når de spør, og sammen gå ut på leting etter svar. 

Ja, jeg blir sint fordi jeg føler avmakt og hjelpeløshet. Fordi det føles som en nær umulig oppgave å beskrive hva jeg mener, presist nok. For det handler jo ikke om deltidsdebatten. Den er bare ett av mange eksempler på en gammel historie. Historien om det gamle systemet, historien om hvordan verden så ut da vi trodde at makt, jobb, status og penger var viktige. Den gangen vi ikke helt turte å se hverandre inn i øynene. 

Og så er det ikke bare sinne jeg føler. Jeg føler også entusiasme og raushet og inspirasjon. Jeg føler en enorm kraft fra alle de menneskene, i Norge og i verden, som allerede skaper en ny historie, en ny politikk, en ny måte å bygge samfunn på. De som gir, de som tar sjansen på å gjøre det magen og hjertet sier er riktig, de som ser barna og hverandre inn i øynene. De som vet at vi slett ikke er hjelpeløse. 

Jeg drømmer om en politikk, et samfunn og et land som bygges på og av kjærlighet og medmenneskelighet. Et samfunn som føles naturlig, som har plass for alle mennesker med alle sine forskjellige behov. Ikke fordi det er regulert inn – fordi det er en selvfølge. 

Hjelpeløsheten finnes bare innenfor en gitt kontekst. Og jeg tror det som trengs er å skape en ny. En ny kontekst, og en ny historie. Jeg vet heldigvis ikke nøyaktig hvordan, men jeg vet at det er dit jeg skal. Til kjærligheten.

[Foto: Instagram/evabutterfly5]

Life in Death

The greatest thing with winter is to look at all that is dead, lifeless, naked, and to know, and to feel your body connecting deeply, instinctively, with hidden life, with the massive forces of pure and raw and real life power waiting underneath and inside, waiting patiently, because it knows and feels that all things come just as much as all things go.

Thank you.

The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer 

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know 
if you will risk 
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are 
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you 
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know 
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone 
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

-

By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming,
from the book The Invitation
published by HarperONE, San Francisco,
1999 All rights reserved

I’m not leaving

Day 145.

“You know, I won’t feel at home for real before I reach the other side” she said. “It’s a scary thing to say” I thought, but I didn’t say it. It’s like a fragile package, to be handled with care, this side up, but then you miss what’s on the flip side. 

The other flip side, I miss it, too, sometimes. Other times I just don’t recognize one side from the other, don’t see the difference.

My first born child came to life only a couple of days after my grandmother passed away. He was born in the winter, his fourth birthday is in fact just around the corner. The darkest time of the year. Full of light. The morning after he came, all three of us woke up in the hospital, lucky enough to have our own room, with a window, with a view. Not that we needed any, but the window, as I remember it, covered the entire wall and made the graveyard outside come so close. There we were, that crispy clear winter morning, and as the sun crawled up I watched a bunch of magpies play around in the treetops. The magpies, the birds my grandmother cherished so dearly, and she was there, as was there no difference, no sides, no life, and even less a death. I don’t know. My son just came to life, yet he was never not here. It was like meeting an old friend. My grandmother had just passed away, yet she never left. She never left.

The other flip side, I miss it, too, I think. I long for it, my heart sometimes aches for it. Other times my heart is simply filled up from it, from both sides, from no sides, from all sides.

❦

(Thank you, Anna!)
(Photo: Flickr/CreativeCommons/Red Junasun) 

100 Days of Love

Day 144.

After some weeks of nervously biting my nails, I feel proud and humble and ravishingly excited - - my book is here! With the most fantastic photos from my friend, the photographer Camilla Jensen, 100 Days of Love is my very first book, a real book, a beauty printed on awesome and forest friendly paper. What started an early morning in May, as shivering movements over my Mac’s keyboard, as informal efforts of spilling of my heart out on this blog, can now be read in bed and on the toilet, it can be scribbled in and even get dog ears. It is frightening and marvelous. I love it. 

I think it’s too early to say much about what it means. There’s two things I’d like to mention though, two things I tried to speak about on the amazing launch party we had last Thursday. Here they are:

1. Following my heart and doing what I love is the most kick-ass ground-shaking feeling there is!

2. We’re out of excuses. A vast landscape of different platforms, free and open, ready to use. New ways of funding, distributing, marketing and producing are emerging, sometimes free, often open, always available for good content. And most importantly— People! People are great and endlessly supportive! From friends and family to community and people you’ve never met - they’re all there waiting to help and support and cheer, once you stick your neck and your heart out. I feel endlessly grateful after these last weeks—grateful, and eager to kick more ass and shake more ground. 

What I know it means is this:
Following our hearts and doing what we love is possible. 

-

The book is available for sale here: www.asmundseip.com/book
and you can have a sneak peak at some pages here.

Here, there and Banana Village

Day 143.

Every night when I put Lean to bed, he tells me the only thing I think we can know for certain. “I am here”, he says. “I am here”.

(I’m leaving for Banana Village in Morocco this weekend, where I’ll be the co-host and coach of Soulfood & Food for the Soul—seven lush, mindful and creative days, in collaboration with the always inspiring Camilla Jensen. My book 100 Days of Love, featuring the most beautiful pictures from the same Camilla, was sent to print today, and first thing when I’m back from Africa is to set up an online shop for it. But for now, I’ll be blissfully offline for the coming week, taking a deep, deep breath before returning to a cold winter with warm projects and encounters.) 

I wish you a deep, deep breath, filled of awareness that you are here. 

(Photo: Hanne B. Nystrøm)

Lullaby

Day 142.

Leonard Cohen was here four years ago or so. Four years ago or so, Lean wasn’t here at all, and Elia was inside the most beautiful belly known to man. We were there, the three of us, the four of us. We were all there, just in different ways. And Leonard Cohen was there, and if my memory doesn’t cheat on me there was a light drizzle in the air, quite fitting actually. Leonard Cohen sang his songs the way he’s always done it. That’s just a guess, of course, I’d never seen Leonard Cohen perform live before, but this night was special, there was a light drizzle in the air. And I remember singing along, I remember singing for my boys, who probably won’t ever get to see Leonard Cohen perform live, but yet they did, and we sang for them, Leonard and I. We sang for them.

(Photo: Flickr/CreativeCommons/krossbow)