There is just something about cafes. I soften when I’m here. I can just relax and look at things, listen, notice how heavily my body sinks into the chair.
I feel full, full of food, full of heat and impressions. I feel like closing my eyes and resting. I wish for a small lake where we can set up our tent and relax for a day, go swimming, be in nature, though it might be too hot to walk, at least during the day. It feels like I’ve been transported to a different country, one that is a 6 hour plane ride away.
If it was hot like this most of summer, I’m sure peaches would grow in Norway. In summer, what I miss the most is peaches. In California I would pick out the faint pink ones, white peaches, because they reminded me of roses and love.
When I relax like this I can feel a faint touch of love, soft pink, a rose taking shape, a flower about to open. It’s hard to hold onto it, and when I try to, it slips away. I feel trust is key, and that softening – an accepting of how I really feel, even if it’s something I’m ashamed of, something I don’t want.
I keep crying out to her, wanting her to be powerfully present all the time. Sometimes I feel swallowed by my own anxiety, and a deep unease about life, about myself. And I want her to take it away. And then when I sit like this, I get the feeling that she’s always there, loving me, smiling at me, but I forget. I close my heart, and I forget myself, and forget her.
In the morning I sometimes write to her – a prayer, in a need to be near her. On this trip I feel the floor falling away from underneath me. There are no walls to lean against, there is only my own center, and at that center is the goddess.
I want a life of worship. I want to walk with her. I want everything I do to be a prayer. Sometimes I get a strange need to sing, but I never do. My throat closes up before anything comes through, but it feels nice all the same. Love fills me up, and all I can do is to sing. It overflows and I need to sing.
Still it feels faint, and my anxiety is stronger. But it’s there. It’s there.
I yearn for fall. When the nights grow longer and I can sit inside and write to candlelight.
Summer is full of activity, and I’m still getting used to being in the middle of it. This morning I spent hours in a dark room, having slept in a real bed for the first time in a few days. Sometimes the light can be overpowering, and here the sun never seem to set.
But I know I’ll miss it soon enough, and so I love it. It’s hard to think that it could ever be different, that the trees will become bare and covered in frost yet again, and that it will be dark most of the time. 4pm and it will be dark. That’s when I enjoy candlelight and spiced teas.
People come into the cafe, walking slowly, shuffling their feet in the heat, usually ordering a cold beer or something with ice in it. It’s interesting, mostly because it’s so unusual. I want to take it in, because it’s so different and precious. My husband and I are the only ones with laptops; everyone else is relaxing outside, talking. I like being inside. I like the atmosphere of the cafe, even when it’s more quiet like today. I love the old, moss green chair I’m sitting in, and the worn wooden floor, the sound of the cashier working behind the counter, – utensils being sorted, bottles opened.
I’m breathing in this moment.