Swan Lake

Illustration: dearcatherina / etsy

Illustration: dearcatherina / etsy

I had two dreams the other night. The first one was a war. Almost everyone were gone after we had turned on each other. The horror, the aggression, the blood thirst – the entire human species lost to a massive wave of ... what, excactly? I woke up with the worst feeling in my body, crying for the loss of my children and loved ones. I felt afraid, I felt so afraid. But what scared me the most was how real it all seemed. How... logical. 

And then I slept on. The second dream was different. I met a swan. She came towards me, almost like she was asking for my permission, or I was asking for hers. She wanted me to lift her up, and so I did. Her long neck curled up on mine, her infinite whiteness pressed against my chest. And so I started walking. With this warm, big creature in my arms I walked and I walked, I walked us both into a rhythm where swans and humans were no longer important, where eons of separation fell to the ground behind us like fallen soldiers, where the intimate communion we once knew could take its first yearning breath after a long, long winter sleep. I felt her breath. She felt mine. I felt her heart. She felt mine. 

At the end, I watched her go. But I feel her breath. I feel her heart. And I hope she still feels mine.


Falling in Love: A Love Letter to Humanity

Foto Andre Kuipers

Foto Andre Kuipers

 

You’ve been on my mind for a long, long time.

You. And me. Us.

Is there an “us”, or am I alone here?

My feelings for you are getting increasingly stronger. Yet strongly, I’ve kept them hidden away, unable to trust. But now, now I have faith. There is no turning back, there is only you and me, for ever. I can’t keep it inside any longer. It’s time.

I love you.

My dear friend. There is nothing compared to your beauty. The way you smile, the way your eyes meet the world, meet life. Your laughter. Your body. Your entire being. There is something remarkable about you. Something unique. Unlike anyone I’ve ever met, or ever will meet. You shine. You simply shine.

I love you when you get up in the morning. When you can’t sleep at night. I love you when you haven’t yet had your coffee; I love you when you’re a grumpy old fart; I love your temper. I love the stormy winds. And I love your calm.

When you don’t see me seeing you.

I love your scars and your story. I fall and I fall for you, for your way of getting up again and again. And yet again.

It is rough, I know it is. I don’t take you for granted. Life does sometimes feel like a battle. Being human is not always a graceful dance, and still your very steps are the ones bringing you to where you are today. Full of experience, of value. I love you for who you are.

You are the one I love! When you overachieve to prove your self-worth — I love you.

When you’re filled with shame and you try to hide it — I love you.

When you’re beaten down and have nothing left to give, least of all to yourself — I love you.

When you hit all your chords and break through the box you thought you were in — I love you.

When you go to bed after an ordinary, unsensational day — I love you.

It’s time, and it most likely always was. It was just me. I tend to forget what matters. I looked at everything else as important, and I started running, and I ran and ran and ran. But I never won. And now, when nothing is left to lose, nothing is neither left to win.

There is only you and me. There is no turning back.

My dear friend. There is nothing compared to your beauty. Thank you for being you. I love you.


--
(Published first on Elephant Journal)

Day 100 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

Photo: Birgitta Eva Hollander

Photo: Birgitta Eva Hollander

The strangest thing is to open a door you did not know existed, into a home you did not know you had, only to notice how everything seems to be so, so familiar. Imagine for instance you sit down next to a stranger on the bus, someone you have never seen before, and of some reason you start talking. The more you talk, the more your feeling grows of knowing this person, of having known her for a long, long time, of having an almost eerie premonition of what she is going to say next, how she will look like when she says it, how she sometimes gets insecure in the middle of a sentence and looks at you, as if she is asking if you are still there.

Of course you are. You would not miss this conversation for the world, this magnetic field of recognition you find yourself in, drawn to this woman as was it somehow planned, part of something larger, something huge enough to influence the universe and its bewildering expansion, too big to hold in two hands, but perfectly fit for four. 

And so you and your body and her and her body all turn into a resounding YES, a movement forward, a leap into total weightlessness, into vast nothingness and complete fulfillment. In the glimpse of a second before you melt together, just like the brief moment of naked clarity right before you fall asleep, you see the white, yellow light shining between you, shining through you, from you, around you, and, since there is no time for questions, you simply feel the light, you simply become the light, you are the light and the light is you and so is she. 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

(Photo: Birgitta Eva Hollander)

Day 99 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

I have spent so much of my life feeling afraid. Afraid of the dark, afraid of being teased, afraid of not being good enough. I have felt afraid of children, of grown ups, of teachers and bosses. Of girlfriends. Of heights. Of death. And of life. I used to have a long routine of things I needed to do before I could go to sleep, just to make it right and not die. Shakingly, I would lay down all covered up by my blanket, but still with a hole for fresh air since I was also afraid of being suffocated, with my head next to my pillow and resting exclusively on the right side, facing the wall. I was convinced I needed to breathe in a correct pattern, and hold my breath every time darkness passed by my bedroom door. Exhausted, and quite sweaty, I would finally fall asleep. 

As a grown man I still notice my fears every day. In myself, and in my children. In the mailbox, as letters from the government. In my meetings with rules and structures, with entrenched conceptions of social order and frozen ideologies. A fear of people with authority, men especially, with strong opinions, with a potential for violence. I carry with me a deep-rooted fear of being wrong, so strong that I sometimes wonder if this is what our modern societies are constructed from. Shame and fear, shame and fear. 

At the same time, I am slowly learning how to listen to a different authority. Only, this time, it is no authority, not in that way. It does not need to induce fear to achieve anything at all. It needs nothing, demands nothing, expects nothing. It is life. Flowing through me, in me, around me and everywhere I close my eyes. 

Every time I feel my fears coming I try to stay with them. To follow them through my body, to give them my full attention, to love them to bits. Not to get rid of them, not to be right. To move closer in on life itself. To embrace my helplessness, my human condition, my dark spots, and to experience myself as something more. I may be afraid. It is a natural, logic reflection of where I am and where we are. But most of all where we were. Because we are moving. We are more. We are opening. Sensing life. Flowing through us, in us, around us and everywhere we close our eyes. 

I have spent so much of my life feeling afraid. I am fine with that. And now, let us feel a whole lot more


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

(Photo: Flickr/CC/seantoyer)

Day 98 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

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Yes, we have been laughed at. Yes, we have learned to suppress. Yes, we are wounded. But I am here to tell you this: You were always right. What you felt burning inside of you, the itch, the longing, the river pushing on—it is excactly what you are here for. What you think of as your weak spot is what the world yearns to taste, it is what we need. We want you, every living part of you, we love you, we tremendously need you to show us who you are. Who you always were. Because you were always right. And you are not alone. 

I often feel alone. But I am not alone. We are many, so many people who, right at this very moment, stand next to eachother in an ever-expanding circle. We have room for you. We have room for everyone who wants to step forward and take their birthright, their own place. We do not expect you to be perfect. We expect you to be you. Perfectly strange and strangely perfect, a human with a story, a life, a childhood, a series of broken dreams and bleeding knees. A human with a desire to not only live a life, but even more to be alive. Our circle holds all shame, all stumbling moments of insecurity and triggered bodies of pain, we hold you as we are all being held. We are in this circle because we choose to be fully human. Together. This is what we ask from you, too, no less and no more.

And then, together, we wait. We turn to silence, the knowing space between us. We know that we do not know and so we trust the larger body, the larger heart. And then, together, we act. 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

(Photo: Flickr/CC/darkday)

Day 97 - 100 Days #FortheEarth


I am the 4-year old girl. Shot in my head, I fall down in the grass, briefly sensing how soft it all feels, before the sunshine and the crawling ant on a yellow straw and the quivering feeling of fear slowly become blurry, and I take what is to become my very last breath.

I am the receiving earth. The soil stained with blood. I hold you when you stand as I hold you when you fall, I am the soft grass and the forgiving wind. I am alive. Living. Holding.

I am the young soldier. I take the shot, I watch her fall, I close my eyes, but open them as quickly. Something wants to be said, something in me wants to express itself. I do not, do not, do not want to hear it. I take a deep breath to find focus, in a short glimpse I remember my grandmother, her songs, the wrinkles on her hands, I swallow. My throat is dry.

I am the father. I am the father with no words. A dark hole in my chest, my soul blackened into the longest of nights. I told her to come, we needed water, needed to move, needed something more, something better, something else, I thought it was safe. What is safe, what am I, where is she, where is she. I am the screaming father, on my knees, out of air.

I am the river running. The blackbird, the seagull, the moth looking for light. I am the shining stars, the universe expanding, the neverending space between space between space. I am the witness, the cracks in the whole, I am love, patiently looking forward to be expressed through you. And I am grateful, so grateful, for I may be everything, but without you I am nothing. I am the river running. The little girl. The sun shining and the ant crawling.
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

Day 96 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

Photo: Birgitta Eva Hollander

Photo: Birgitta Eva Hollander


The burning desire, the deep longing, the signs and the vague dream. The restlessness, the anxiety, the running and hiding and shaking and hurting. The overwhelming feeling of being drawn towards something bigger, something powerful and beautiful, something that feels alive, so, so alive. All of them, every last one of them, are asking you to stop. Just for a second, or a minute, or a day, or a year. For the time it takes. And then to listen. Carefully, thoroughly, to listen as have you never listened before. To your body as was it the most precious temple. To your emotions as were they the finest songs of praise. To your soul as was it the space in between that holds it all in its soft arms of air. And then, allow the sea to wash over you. Drink and swim and let your tears flow, and know the river for how it always finds its way. Your way.  That is all. Now. Amen.
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

Day 95 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

I hugged a tree today. We embraced eachother, listening to eachother's pulse. As I was breathing in every nuance of tree life, I suddenly became self-aware and afraid of being seen. What would they think? A grown man hugging a tree? 

This morning I got up from bed, grabbed a towel and stumbled down to the sea. Without a fiber of clothing on my body I dove down into the salty waters, and for a couple of seconds I could feel the element surrounding me completely, touching every last bit of the part of me I call my body without any shyness whatsoever. Ah, the sea. Ah, my body. What a delight, what an experience! Have you ever had an orgasm? And another one? And a different one? Have you ever felt the universe fold itself out inside of your spine, leaving you weightless and shaking from laughter? I feel defenseless against waves of shame and judgement running through me, but why, why would I stop there, when life has so much more on my plate?

To swim, to dance, to fuck, to laugh. To breathe deeply into every movement, every wave, regardless of how it looks. To get enticingly intimate with everything that comes and goes, and the vast fields of gold stretching out beyond my knowing. I love, I love, I love to hug trees. I love, I love, I love my body, all bodies, our softness, our hardness, our boundless learning. Ah, the sea. Ah, my body. 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

Day 94 - 100 Days #FortheEarth


It all begins with where you are. Where you are is here. There is no other place to be than right here, where you are. A seed does not spend energy on its potential of becoming a carrot. It is too busy being what it is, where it is. Here. A seed is a seed because it finds rest in a quiet trust to life, to what wants to unfold and grow through the seed's embodyment of what is right here, where it is. A seed knows that time is all it has, and so it asks itself; why waste it? 

It all begins with where you are. Where you are is here. No real need to run or fight or plan or think. This is where the rainbow starts. This is where the work begins. This is life, unfolding itself in the most ecstatic way. Right here.
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

Day 93 - 100 Days #FortheEarth


Life is so fragile. I look at my two little boys, how they play and grow and how easefully they sleep. Sometimes, when I am alone at home, I go into one of their rooms and my heart just breaks. I look at their beds, their stuffed animals and their toy cars, most of them without tires because they seem to disappear somehow, and my whole body just gives in, all my defences vanish into thin air and I sink down on the floor, sobbing so hard I can barely breathe. The thin veil between life and death, the complete lack of control I really have, the opportunity we humans have to be broken open. I love them so painfully, ridiculously much, I love them as I squeeze a corner of the road rug between my shaking fingers and lament my utter helplessness, I love them as was it the only thing I know and ever knew. Life is so fragile. Eternally significant. Everlasting and unbreakable. And so, so fragile. I look at my two little boys, how they blissfully stretch their beings, every day. I can loose everything and there is nothing I can loose. This is the heaven I am in, this is what I trust. The beautiful fragility, the ever expanding hearts. 
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

(Photo: Birgitta Eva Hollander)

Day 92 - 100 Days #FortheEarth


The shadows, the light, the moment when the moon arrives at a complete acceptance of every phase, every shade, every unfolding movement life has to offer. The breath, the beauty, the balance. Love. Alive.
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

(Photo: Filiz Telek - http://filiztelek.wordpress.com)

Day 91 - 100 Days #FortheEarth


                   to leave home
                   to venture out, to search and search and
                   loose everything, to witness 
                   everything turn into nothing turn into 
                   a love for all things
                   to find the greatest space 
                   inside and growing
                   a readiness, a persistance
                   a careful insistence
                   to fully experience home
                   to leave and search and loose and then, suddenly
                   to stumble into an 
                   unfolding memory of
                   home, you were always
                   home


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

Day 90 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

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The Tantra of Blueberries. The first bite, the hunger, the unstoppable lust for more. There are more, there are many, many, so many blueberries, only for you, and for a second you think that you think no more, what you once thought was you is suddenly gone, like a drop of water in the frying sun, like a drop of sweet sweat falling from your neck down into the green moss, you are nothing, you are everything as you stretch out your hand to reach some more, you wolf them down as have you returned from 40 days in a desert, until you stop, you stop. You sense the blueberries, their willingness to give themselves to you. You stop, you breathe it in, everything, nothing, the leaves, the crawling ants, the tall trees, the color blue. Purple. Dark, almost black, until you squeeze one between your fingers, you lick up every exploding shade of beauty, you give yourself to the juice, the slow song of nectar and roots. The blueberries, the hunger. The unstoppable lust for more.
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

Day 89 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

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Everything feels so complicated and messy and dirty and ugly, my mind a spinning wheel of barbed wire and dust, my body a temple for rats. The world is a junkyard filling up, a horror show, a bloody bare-knuckle fight between naked, sweaty teenage boys with everything to prove, everything to loose, everything at fucking stake. It's a madhouse, it's fallling apart while I'm searching my pockets for change, it's falling apart while I take out the stinking trash, it's falling apart when I'm draped around the toilet, coughing up carcass upon carcass of rotting ideologies. What a malicious work, what an outstanding achievement, this, for humanity to make such a clusterfuck out of gold, to paint ourselves into the corner of goddamn corners, to use the dirtiest needles to screamingly inject the cheapest fucking crack all the way into our bleeding fucking hearts, I mean, what the fuck. All I ever fucking wanted was to kiss you, you know. Hold your hand in mine. I just wanted to kiss you. Walk next to you on the street, share a coffee to go on a green park bench while we make up the weirdest stories of the people passing by. Hold your hand in mine. I just wanted to kiss you.


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

(Photo: Flickr/CC/thart2009)

Day 88 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

If you go into the woods and you go really slow, because all things have its own pace, and this time, the forest sings a really slow song, a hymn of sorts, one you have waited to hear and so you go really, really slow. 

If you go into the woods and you let your familiar ways stay behind as the trees guide you and the wind supports you, soon you will find yourself standing in front of a small pond, a seducing lily pond, surrounded by wooden arms stretching out and holding hands, and yet with enough clearing around it for the sun to fill the entire circle with its promising light. 

If you go into the woods and you stand next to this pond, say, right about now, you also take the time to listen to the impulses of your body. As you and your body slowly tune in to eachother and the mud and the reed and the water and the smell and the air from above and the air from below you sink down on your knees, it is as if your body is called to come closer, to seek a new closeness with a presence you did not know existed, it is as if the earth is calling for you to put your ear down on the ground so you can finally listen, listen, listen to the whispering secrets she so wholeheartedly wants to share with you. "You are…," she says, barely noticeable at first. You try to hold your breath to hear better, but the ground, the birds, the aspen leaves show you a different way, a breath to follow, a rythm to fall into and you fall and you breathe and you hear what she says. "You are…," she says. "You are worthy." "You are enough." "You are worthy." 

If you go into the woods and you go really slow. If you listen to her song, her devotional chant, her whisper in your ear. She will be waiting. She will be waiting.
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

(Photo: Filiz Telek)

Day 87 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

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Dying, I have been dying all day. Shedding skin, letting go, watching lightning strike down from the sky and enter my body at the top of my head, leaving all my glass walls shattered, the ornamented barricades I once built with my blood. Who knew a head could explode in so many ways?

Time for death, time for surrendering my old body to maggots and ants and the deep, silent soil. It is time to live, and so it is time to die. I embrace my old self, I hold me close and listen to my heart's song of respect and trust, before it is time, it is time, it is time. And it is easy and it is hard, but most of all it is time.

To practice, to die, to cry. To open our eyes to a new world. To give birth. To die. To be new, to be renewed. Welcome, death. Thank you, death. I choose life.
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

(Photo: Order of the Good Death)

Day 86 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

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Today the dive underneath

The salt, the water, the dark green, 
the night had already begun
leaving me alone and swimming
almost without air but with a view
of dark sky and dark sky
and dark sea and dark sea
and me
not knowing where or how
but swimming into alignment 
with the great silence

Today the great silence
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

Day 85 - 100 Days #FortheEarth


When you take a delicious apple in your hand. You feel its weight in your palm, how its texture meets your skin and you allow your eyes to be touched by the fresh bursts of red and bright yellow. Slowly, you lead it towards your mouth, but before your teeth can sink into its crispy content, you take a deep, deep breath, noticing how teasing and surprisingly rich an ordinary apple can smell. And then, before you even can consider how nothing really is ordinary and in what only lasts for a split second, a sound breaks the silence, a crunching, quite familiar sound, yet this time it feels like the first time because you pay attention, because you and the sound and the apple transcend into something bigger than the sum of you and that is excactly when the first drops of juice hit your tounge. You taste the apple. It is the first time, it is the only time, it is a unique moment in time that you have been faithfully waiting for since the very moment you came to this earth and you taste the apple like you have never, ever tasted an apple before. Everything, everything has led you up to this apple, this bite, this essence of life running down your neck, and as your jaws fall into their sacred, rhythmical work, you let yourself go, you set your mind free, you melt into a dewy, delicious trust in your body, with your body, for your body, for you know that your body knows all there really is to know and so, now there is peace. Peace. Apples. And your delicious, knowing body.
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

(Photo: Flickr/CC/michaeljohnbutton)

Day 84 - 100 Days #FortheEarth


It is okay to be tired, she says. It is okay to be weary, to feel the broken skin and the aching bones, it is okay to cry. Cry, my sister, cry, my brother, she says, so close I can feel her breath. Cry for the dead, cry for your loss, cry for the unlived dreams and the stinging defeat at your fingertips. Cry, now, for every time you gave up, for every time the mountain grew too big and you did not have what you thought it took. Cry your silent tears for rotting flesh and the time you lost. Cry for your pride, cry for your shame, cry for biting inadequacy and chastening unworthyness. And cry, cry for the unbearable distance to everything you hold dear. It is okay, she says, while she carefully takes my hand in hers. She will never let go, and yet, her hand, so soft, so familiar. It is okay, she says. It is okay.
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.

(Photo: Flickr/CC/jurvetson)

Day 83 - 100 Days #FortheEarth

How does it feel when someone really listens to you? Does it have a name, can it be located in your body? When listening is acknowledged as something valueable in itself, when listening gets its own character, its own purpose. 

The sacred art of listening. I had a conversation with some cows today. The most beautiful cows, young and strong, and curious. Cows are the greatest teachers, the wisest masters. Have you ever rested your head against the side of a cow, sinking into her patient understanding? Have you ever looked deep into her eyes and heard what she had to say? 

The cows I met today told me they miss us. They miss us. That was their simple message. And with that, they reached all the way into my heart, into the bittersweet memories running through my blood, into the stinging sensations of lost oneness in my flesh, while they saw me fall down on my knees. To be separated, to be hurting, alone. They miss us. 

Every day has a thousand possibilities for a heart broken open. 

Break, break, break. I miss you, too.
 


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.

Use #FortheEarth to share and, please, add your story.

Love, Åsmund.