I can't tell you how much I love to fly. To trip into a flow and stay there, like swimming under water, perpetually fascinated by the light and how it plays with its wet brother, the dance of the seaweed, the gracious back and forth, the predictable randomness, the feeling of being soaked into a world previously unknown, like a visitor, a tourist, like a child would wake up late at night, rub its eyes and stumble out the door, only to find itself immersed in a parallel universe, a rabbit hole of reversed rules, a paradise for the curious and so I swim and I swim and I love swimming, especially under water, as long as I can and much longer, until, regardless what the light thinks of it, I remember that I forgot how much I also need air, yes, I do need air and I already did quite a while ago, but the light, you know, the light is so beautiful, and I love swimming, so I swim and I swim. And then.
This is a calling to slow down and listen. To take a deep breath and explore our personal connection with Mother Earth. The feminine and masculine, the beautiful and dirty, the real, the messy, the sacred. Once it was natural. Today it feels crucial.
For the next 100 Days I will write a book to the Earth. For the Earth. With the Earth. The book, and the journey, is also to you. For you. And with you. Together, we are everything.
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(Photo: Helene Habberstad)