Archive of ‘Uncategorized’ category

The old gods

Artist – carl emil doepler

There is something about Fridays, isn’t there? The day of the Goddess. It’s a bit more gentle, golden, like Freya herself. And maybe there’s a lightness spreading across the land, a looking forward to the weekend. A deep exhale.

Yesterday I watched this interview, and felt such a longing for the old gods, and remembered stories my mom told me. About Thor riding across the sky making thunder, and I could see it in my mind’s eye, making me shiver with the wild poetry of it. There is something about the old religion that sings to my bones, that makes me see mystery in the mountains, in the cold dark lakes of my homeland. Perhaps one day I will read the Poetic Edda myself. I want to. 


And I’ve been reflecting on beauty, how feeling it deep inside of me can make me dream beautiful things at night. Flying above lush landscapes. What hurts me the most is when beauty, nature is being destroyed. It feels like we’re destroying our own soul along with the landscape around us. When instead we should be growing trees, flowers, gardens inside and out. 

I’ve gone for long walks among pale yellow fields, among wildflowers gathered beneath trees, along fences. It was beautiful, except for the heavy metal music being played somewhere below, reaching me no matter how far I went. I wanted to be in silence. I reached for the mountains, the sky, wanted to hear bird song only. Oh well. This is what happens when you move back to civilization 🙂 

I sat down on the ground, pulling off my shoes, breathing, breathing. I always feel slightly frayed at the end of the day, tired perhaps of fighting a battle with myself. I’m trying to understand it, a guilt about something, always something. And I want to be strong and clear on my path, knowing for sure that the gods are with me. 

Now I will dream of flowers to plant together with a beautiful friend. 

Wishing you a magical Friday and weekend. 

May she look kindly upon you.

Prisms of Light

Yemaya. The white goddess of the sea

Yemaya. The white goddess of the sea

There are prisms of light in the trees today, drops of rain that fell at night, and now the sun sparkles through them, making me catch my breath, making me pause what I’m doing and lean a little closer, holding my cup of tea, sipping it slowly, drinking in rays of beauty.

I feel a well opening up inside of me, that I can drink from, that somehow is the Goddess, love everlasting. Sometimes when the day has waned a bit, and I’m getting tired, and I’m alone with myself, I get anxious, feeling there is something inside of me that I want to hide from. But my mind is too tired to hold onto words on screens or in books, and I grow restless, afraid of myself, and I reach for her. If only I could be with her always.

I’ve felt alone a lot in my life, and now I wonder if that void was formed inside of me so that I could fill it with her, her light, her love, so that I would search for the God and Goddess.  

I’ve had moments when all I felt was her presence, wrapping itself around me in love, in rose colored light, that made everything around me seem like rose and beauty, and the simplest of things spoke to me because she was in it. I remember staying at a friend’s place, and lying down on the bed, just staring at the fluttering curtains, the night deepening around me, and being lost in the simple beauty of the wind and dancing fabric, feeling so close to her that my heart swelled and almost hurt to the point of breaking.

It felt like a held a secret, a precious gem inside of me, that I needed to protect. But then it faded, the outside world seeping in, or rather it grew more important than her. I wanted to please people, make them like me, and I felt what they felt, and read them like an open book and I didn’t know how to shield myself, protect what was growing in my heart. But I’m learning still, how to walk with her, how to place at the center of my day, my life.

There is a quote from Jesus, from The Book of Thomas the Contender that touches me, makes me yearn for a place of strength and rest and truth.

And the savior answered, saying, “Blessed is the wise man who sought after the truth, and when he found it, he rested upon it forever and was unafraid of those who wanted to disturb him.”

My book – From Darkness to Light

Video on the Goddess 

Glimpses of a Story

Snow Queen • artist- Christian Birmingham

Snow Queen • artist- Christian Birmingham

The evening had fallen, draping itself in blue and white, the trees frosted over with newly fallen snow, a touch of ice at the edge of spring. She gazed out into the dying day, seeing a dim light fading just beyond the mountains. She sighed, dreamily hugging her knees in her ivory gown, feeling the cold of the window pane as she rested her head against it. It felt as though the long stillness of winter was passing into spring, but the light was shy, and pale, unsure of herself, – a white lady at the edge of the world, gazing longingly in, afraid to come closer. And yet everyone looked for her, any sign of her in the air, the ground, the budding trees. She did not know how much she was wanted.

But slowly she would know herself better. And her step would grow surer, her dress changing to pale green, and then violet as she sprinkled wild seeds and flowers from her hands. A soft wind would blow, her laughter warm and golden, releasing the streams, the ice-covered lake, and river. The birds would return, once more filling the world with song. 



I feel a bit like the winter outside my window, hovering just before the first touch of spring. There’s an ache in it, even though the snow that fell last night brightens something in me, makes me feel white clad and shiny on the inside.

I lit candles last night and started writing in the beautiful book I received for Christmas, with the golden cover. I’m still figuring out my new story. It keeps slipping from me when I try to grasp it. It needs a plot, an ending, but all that comes to me are little moments like the one above. So I write what comes, and hopefully, it will lead me somewhere.

My book is out on amazon. I’d love for you to check it out, and share it with someone you think might like it. Thank you!

I hope you’re dreaming beautiful dreams for the new week. 

A Lost World

marianne stokes

Artist – Marianne Stokes

The world is afloat on a cloud, a cold breath over everything, icing the trees, the ground, the grass. I lay in my bed and saw a white, glowing blanket outside my window, the moon coming through it.

I saw the sun for a moment, touching the mountains, but then it was gone, everything lost again to the mist, everything silent, everything frozen. Even the birds have no strength to sing now. They just stay among their branches, huddling in the winter chill.

There is magic in the mist. I saw it drifting across the forest yesterday, and thought of all the stories about it, about creatures appearing and disappearing in it. That it’s an entrance to a different time, a different world. 

I’m in a calm place, I read calming things, but I’m rarely calm myself. Perhaps that’s why I’ve come here, to see if some of the earth, the air can seep into me, give me some of that quiet frost. I’m learning to trust. That’s what I call it. I imagine what it would be like to walk through my day in trust, knowing I’m safe. Or at least feeling I’m safe, that there is nothing to worry about, to be agitated about, as though something might strike me at any moment. Maybe I felt that life betrayed me, fell out from under my feet, that the gods betrayed me, somehow. That I can’t trust them now, even though I want to.


I walked in the forest, in the early evening, when everything was a breath of blue and the sky had lines of gold in it. As I walked, I observed a joy inside of me that I feared, that I had hidden away. I hadn’t allowed myself to feel it because it might go away, might anger the gods, anger destiny if I allowed it to bubble up inside of me. Maybe I would set myself up to being hurt.

I thought also of my mom, then my sisters, how I felt I shouldn’t laugh and be happy when they were sick. No one told me I couldn’t be, but somehow it felt wrong. I suppose children learn things that are hidden beneath the surface, things left unsaid.

I thought of the Goddess and wondered if perhaps she was light and joy, and beautiful things and that maybe it would make her happy if I dared to step into it. For some reason, it wasn’t something I had considered she’d want for me. But sometimes I feel her laughing, shaking her head, as though I’m taking things too seriously.

I would like to walk with lightness in my steps, and not be afraid of trying, of failing. I would like a deep calm to enter me, deep in my bones, like that blue air that was all around in the forest, silvering the branches. I wanted to kneel and stay there, on the frozen ground, by the waterfall, like white lace down the mountain. I wanted to listen, for the earth to teach me something, but I wasn’t alone in the forest, and we had to get home in time for something. But that’s what I felt then. It’s what I still feel when I remember walking in that new winter world. I’m happy it’s here. 

A Strange Darkness

Eowyn the shieldmaidenIt’s funny how I say I have nothing to write, and then the words suddenly spill out of me.

I feel the greatest wound left in me came after my dad died. It was just him and me for a time. My mom and sister had passed away, and my two much older brothers lived elsewhere. So it was just him and me, and it was nice. I’ve always felt really close to my dad, as though we shared a special spirit bond, and I loved to spend time with him. We had many talks just the two of us, about God, about death, about life.

But then he got sick. Some strange darkness came over him and I could not make him smile. He would lie in his chair and stare into space, and sometimes he would look at me, and I could almost read the thoughts passing through his mind, the guilt and shame he felt about many things. I would tell him it did not matter, but nothing could reach him.

He was put in a mental hospital and I lived alone for a time, in that big house, leaving the lights on at night because I was afraid. But I got used to it, buying food and making easy dinners, going to school.

I remember him showing up one day as I was resting after school, and I looked up to see him standing in my doorway. I was so happy to see him, but he seemed so dark, so cold, like there was no life in him. Whenever I hugged him he barely hugged back, and I’d look at him and ask him to smile, and he would, but it never reached his eyes.

It was heartbreaking to see him fall away from me, and that I could do nothing to catch him, to make it better.

I remember sitting on the floor, rubbing his feet because they were always freezing cold. I rubbed them warm, but they got cold again right away. He had come home to pick up some things, before they drove him back to the hospital.

Shield Maiden

I remember watching the Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers and wishing the spell over my dad could be broken, the way it was for Theoden of Rohan. I fell in love with Eowyn, and felt with her as she held her uncle’s hand, speaking to him, and yet he did not hear her, being all withered, aged and grey from a dark spell put on him. But then it was broken, and he turned young again, was once more himself. He remembered who she was. I yearned for that so much.

I loved Eowyn. Watching her journey gave me a sense of strength, of purpose. I wanted to be strong and brave and to ride through my own darkness, break through it. She is still my favorite character of all time.

Drifting Away

My very last memory of him was as I was getting in the car one evening, and turning around to see him looking back at me from the ferry that was taking him back to the hospital. He was drifting away and we looked at each other, and that’s the last thing I remember of him, how he slowly drifted away from me.

I got a phone call from my brother a while after, saying my dad had taken his own life at the hospital. I remember sitting down, my whole world crumbling.

I feel like crying as I write this, but no tears come. They never seem to come anymore, but instead they are stuck inside, like my insides are made up of tears. I miss him so much. I miss my family and the warmth we had between us.

But by writing this I feel something letting go, something releasing and I pray for it to be carried away and healed, because deep down I feel things are ok now. I feel he is ok, that he is happy. I feel we will meet again, that we’re still connected.

As the years passed it became harder to remember his face in detail, but I could always recall the feeling of his hand in mine, how callused it was from all the work he did outdoors. I remember slipping my hand in his as we walked up the dirt path to our house, talking, laughing about something.  

Eowyn. I love her spirit.

Snow Falling

Christian Schloe- Moth Princess.

Christian Schloe- Moth Princess.

I sat quietly, feeling, listening, but all I could feel was snow silently falling all around me, as I walked a winter landscape, cold and glittering. Snow floating, soft like feathers upon the air.

And then a distant summer, fields of green, of color, flowers in the grass. A glimmering light just out of reach.

And silky petals of rose, swirling inside of me, in my heart, as I knelt before the altar in the still of night, whispering thanks.

I prayed to her, to the goddess I long for, but whom I forget to trust as I walk through my day, my life, and then wonder why I feel empty, alone. I always want to be filled with something, with rose, with love, and I forget it’s possible to go there, to step into that softly colored light. I look for her, hoping for her touch, her kiss, petals of rose swirling. 



I’ve been away on a trip to Bulgaria, to the beautiful wedding of two dear friends, so that’s why the blog has been a little quiet. I’ve seen, felt and experienced a lot, and I hope to write about it. For now I found this little entry in my draft folder. 



I sat in the forest and spoke with the rose. I saw the light between the trees, and remembered myself, the path I was threading.

I saw the sun in the still water, and felt I was never to leave myself to worry about others, but to do everything from my center, and to walk quietly, touching the earth.

The Language of the World

AL RITORNO DI TEMPI PERDUTI Charles Amable Lenoir (1860–1926)

AL RITORNO DI TEMPI PERDUTI Charles Amable Lenoir (1860–1926)

A post from my draft folder, dated May 6


I stand by the open window, listening to the birds of the evening, the world painted blue.

Today I’ve been walking from one thing to the next, writing in-between. I’m not sure where all the hours went, the day already gone, slipping behind the mountains.

I wish now that I had a proper journal to write in, to gather my words, to care for them, to keep them safe and loved. A large spiral bound journal, that wraps around itself so I can write freely, unconstrained. 

Language of the World

I wonder if there is a language of the world, that the trees speak, the wind and the flowers, birds, every living thing, even people when we remember to watch and listen.

Reading Corrag makes me think of such a language, and perhaps that’s what moves through me when I stand still, watching the sky, listening to the wind in the trees, the little stream I love so much, with its silver song.

Once I looked to the mountains and thought I saw God in them, and that He was in the sky as well, in everything. Perhaps this is how he teaches us, through the natural world he created, the stars, and gathering dusk, the long silent voice of nature, whispering in the wind, in us.

Green Hills

Sometimes I feel asked to remember. What I’m not sure. The place I came from? Those that are with me when I dream, that I can never see?

Sometimes I think I can glimpse a green meadow, and sunlight, a distant memory not from this life. Green hills, a grey stormy ocean. Perhaps it is the afterlife calling, glimmering like white light, that was once home. I was there and now I’m here, and I’m asked to remember, to walk, to search, to be in love.

There are so many things we can learn and do while we are here, this short breath between realms. 

Beautiful things makes me want to write, nature, and the words of others

Knitting the wind

Jodi sky


Finding my way back to myself

Artist - Joan Brull

Artist – Joan Brull

I want to find my way back to myself, so that I may remember who I am. Honor the silent call within me, and see where it leads me.

I want to write whatever comes, without worrying if its good of bad, or feel that I need to prove something, say something wise or beautiful. I just want to string words together because it feels like healing, feels like a release. I’m so good at silencing myself, but it creates pain; – thoughts, feelings staying locked in my body, going deeper until I ache.

I will write what is true, in the moment.

I feel something needs to be expressed, come out, be born, or reborn as I walk this road back to myself, to who I really am.

Thank you for listening.

Fear Not

79aeaaa8c56d3dbb0a7ed5bf6ef34b59This morning

The morning is beautiful. The mountain is all gold behind me, the lake still as glass, the mist hovering close to a pale blue sky. 

I went for a short walk, and experienced the first frost of the season. I could feel the bite in the air, see the faint touch of silver on grass and leaves. I thought I saw the moon in the water, and realized it was still visible in the sky.


I wonder now, how much time can I spend on my writing. It’s a very slow thing. I find myself reading a lot, and just staring out the window.

It was a fight to get here, but at least I showed up, even though it hurts, even though it’s scary and hard, and wonderful, all at the same time. 

These are the moments when I’m slowly opening up like a flower in spring, amazed at what proper nourishment can do. The nourishment being long stretches of time alone, of walking, of writing, of reading, of staring out the window. And allowing it all. Then the sounds and sights enter me in a totally different way, in a new way, deeper way, touching strings of beauty inside of me.

I love being in a place that’s so quiet I can hear the birds clearly. Sometimes one comes and looks at me through the window. I’m not sure he knows I’m here. It’s always the black and yellow ones that come, the small birds who seem to live in the birch trees outside my apartment.

A couple of days ago one flew into my kitchen, and sat at the top of my cabinet, looking at me. I opened up all the doors, letting the place get freezing cold, before he finally realized he could fly out. 


I’m amazed at how quickly the sun sets now. I relaxed yesterday, then did the dishes, and as I put on my jacket to go for a walk, I noticed how close the sun was to the mountains, just about to disappear behind them, and it wasn’t even 6 pm yet.

I went to my little spot overlooking the lake, and looked at the fading light in the water. I couldn’t seem to enjoy it; something in me felt restless, and I soon returned inside. It had been an interesting day. I had started writing again, just for myself, in my journal.

I also explored a new path in a different town. I crossed a bridge over a wide river, and felt fear, though I knew the bridge was safe. I felt so tiny compared to all that water, rushing below me. I realized there was something about that, something about not quite trusting life.

I sat down close to that river, and wrote in my journal. Mostly though I sat with my face to the sun, seeing it between the trees, amazed at all the colors around me. I wrote;

“Thank you divine mother, for this moment”,  and wished it would last for a long time.

Then I read some, and learned that Jesus said “fear not” more than anything else.

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