It is time

Photo: Deviantart/floppyalex

Photo: Deviantart/floppyalex

Well, here’s the thing: It’s easy to write about shit. This is not true, of course, it’s programming, it’s software. I learned this once, that shit’s better than gold, that shame’s better than joy, that the best way to be a human being is to be well hidden underneath fallen branches and wet moss. 

And I wasn’t the only one. The story we’ve told ourselves and our kids and our grandkids has been a struggling, fighting, shitty story. Scarcity. Austerity. Shut up and produce. But I don’t want that story anymore, I’m full of it, I’m sick of it. 

Because, here’s the thing: My body. Your body. The pattern of migrating birds. Oak leaves turning yellow. People facing reality, facing pain, facing whatever is right in front of their feet. People reaching out for help. And people helping.

I don’t think the universe wants shit. I know the universe wants flow. And balance. And compassion and love and expansion and friendship and children who get to grow and grow and grow until they’re as big as their dreaming souls. No, bigger. I know the universe wants life. And what is life? 

Life is here. 

(ah, how I love you when I write this) 

Here. Reaching out through our bodies, our actions, our songs. Saying loudly and clearly that the time for every kind of system that constrains life’s own movement is over. It’s done. It’s done. It’s time.

Time to let life in. 



This Monday I'm co-organizing (and performing with Marianne) Kampenhjelpen's charity concert for the refugees in the Kampen church in Oslo, along with the greatest organizers and the most amazing line-up. All the money goes directly to Red Cross Oslo's work with our new arriving friends from Syria. I would love to see all of you there – and to share with you this feeling I walk around with: That everything is possible. Whoever we talk to, the answer, the attitude, the movement is "YES". What a blessing. Come.

To grain your own flour

We were gifted a grain mill last week, my in-laws brought it from Germany. Such a wonderful surprise, after we've spent weeks of cleaning and getting rid of much of the stuff our modern lives have accumulated. I’m only just realizing the difference between meaningless crap and a delightful materialism. I can grind my own flour! I can bake my own bread! All I really want, besides writing and performing my poetry, is life. You know? Life. Not the abstract, meaningless repetition we call society. Life. To use the body I’ve been given, to relearn curiosity from my children. To pick them berries and grow them potatoes. And grind my own flour! Revolution, of the slow and beautiful kind.

But here I am, in front of my computer. Elia, my oldest, has his second day at school today. Lean is in kindergarten. I’m grateful, so grateful, for the Steiner schools where we live, for the amazing teachers and their warm, warm hearts. We need them, and their hearts.

And yet, something in me growls and aches, something wants soil and trees and joy and roots, something wants hard, hard work, something wants the village and the fire and the sore back you only get from chopping wood. Something in me is tired of talk. And ready to ... walk. 

It’s almost like my intellect has come to an understanding with its own uselessness. Sure, it can be fun to be a really good thinker. But as a strategy for life? For a family? For society? Isn’t that what we’ve tried for the last millenia?

Life, not the abstract, meaningless repetition we call society. Life. With bodies and nature. Rhythmic movements. Blueberry fingers, fresh goat milk, the sound of a morning sun rising. Children laughing. 

I say yes to this and I say yes to that. Step by sweet, present step. Here we are, and a loaf of  bread with freshly ground buckwheat, emmer and spelt.

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