February 2016 archive

Songs of the Past



I want to share tender heart songs from the past. Songs that was once my life, that I still carry inside of me, but that I want to let go of, to be carried away by the wind into the open air, finally touched by the sky, the sun. I don’t want to forget, but instead, bring life to old feelings that I hid from the world, to not hurt myself and others. I was afraid to take up space, to speak of what happened. Even glimpses of what I had gone through seemed to release a great wave, a shadow that felt too big, too uncomfortable to share. An elephant in a small room.

But it’s like walking among trees, thinking of winter in spring. Seeing the frost-touched the ground, that will soon be full of flowers. Noticing that there are shapes in the ice, like roses, that grabs your heart. And you kneel down to touch them, winter flowers among the dead grass.

I feel I’m doing the same inside of me, going through memories, pain and shadow. Gathering moments of beauty among them. I’m looking at the tapestry of my past, seeing the colors, the threads of gold that gleam the brightest, but also the darkness, the gray and red and black. I look at it all, knowing I’ll find stars in the night.

Living with Grief

I understand now that my grief will always be part of me, that I’ll always love and miss my family. Still, what I want is to walk deeper into my pain, and no longer hide from my feelings. Let them make me stronger, help me appreciate life more fully, all the little joys that it brings. I think sorrow can be turned into beauty, into strength. 

I never truly digested what happened, all the losses that tore me apart. I put a time limit on my healing, and then stuffed everything away into a tight hard knot inside of me, that swelled and hurt until I could no longer ignore it.

But I also feel that things happened as they were supposed to. I moved away, found love with my husband in California, and when I had grown stronger, and gathered new lessons, new life experiences, the Goddess whispered it was time to return to Norway, and face my past.

Writing has been a huge gift, one that I did not have before. It’s like I’m slowly unraveling old feelings, word by word.

Outside my Window

I see a patch of blue sky, white clouds swirling above dark trees. There is a slight wind today, and softness to the air that makes me step outside my door, taking deep breaths, feeling an ache, a longing for spring. I know the sun, the light will return once more as it always does. For now, I watch the gray, overcast sky, with glimpses of gold in between, drops of snow sometimes falling, the wind coming and going. The birch trees are smiling at me, waving their bare, dark branches, whispering of beauty yet to unfold. 



A Sapphire Day

Artist - Arthur Hughes

Artist – Arthur Hughes

Two swans in a black, ice touched lake. The last of the sunlight sparkling around them, like tiny glittering diamonds. Silver and white.

The silence of nature was wrapping itself around me like a cloak, as I walked on the frozen ground. Slipping in among the trees, wanting to sit on the steps of that empty, forlorn house, say a little greeting.

A bright sapphire day, so rare now in the dark of winter. The sun warmed me, and I closed my eyes, feeling almost drowsy. I heard a lonely bird singing in the birch trees, singing about spring I thought, and it was like a tendril of golden light spilling over me. I stopped what I was doing, listening.

In the morning, the light played over my hands as I made tea, but only for a moment, for my apartment is quite dark most of the time. I bought red tulips, overpriced because of valentine’s day, but I just had to have them.

I brushed my fingers against them as I put them in a frosted vase, and spoke to them, asking them to drink, to be happy. I felt almost giddy looking at them, or maybe it was the sun that made me feel that way with its burst of brilliance, almost blinding after a string of gray, dimly lit days.

I feel everyone is looking for spring, longing for it. But there is little sign of it yet, no green buds or flowers, but the sun is here, and people were outside in their yards, working.

The moon was a sliver in the sky last night, and I sat for a long time watching one large star between the branches of the pine tree outside my window. She is my favorite star because I can see her from my bed, and it feels like I’m whispering prayers into the sky, and there are only me and the darkness, and that one pinpoint of light in the night. 


I opened my door to let the night in and glinting white star trails, frostbitten silence, black velvet air.

I saw the moon slowly dip behind the mountain, tilted in the sky, as though asleep, or resting in the frozen night. I looked down and saw a star mirrored in the black water, and realized I didn’t want to go to sleep, but to stay awake in the magic of candles, and secrets whispered to me. Perhaps I could walk in spirit form tonight, and visit new places, walk across the lake to the other side.

I came across this late in my evening. A moment so simple, so incredibly beautiful. All her videos are stunning. 

Sharing also, people gathering for the Spring Equinox all across the world. 

A Rose Opening

I lay in my bed, golden light streaming in, dancing behind my closed eyelids. I smiled, snuggled deeper into my covers for a moment, feeling I was afloat on a cloud, thinking “I will remember this.”

I looked at the rose, how it opens to the light, how it’s not afraid to give of everything it is, its whole fragrance and beauty. How it doesn’t hold back, and yet is safe behind its thorns, blossoming quietly in its own time. 

Drops of silver on trees, clouds in the water, a mystical island afloat in the lake, casting shadows, pine trees under white mist. Yesterday it shone up like green fire when the sun came out, but then it rained again, and a rainbow painted the sky for a little while. 

I wanted to work today, but I kept falling silent, my hands dropping to my lap as I stared out the window, again and again. It’s a quiet, soft day. I too feel soft and tired. I’ve been editing my book and getting it ready to be shared with the world. It should be out very soon now. It makes me feel rose-colored on the inside, a little afraid, excited. And then a new story is taking hold of me, whispering to be told. I try to make room for it, and perhaps that’s why the day is asking me to slow down and be quiet.

I created a page for my books. My new story is there, briefly told, still waiting to be completed.

Leaving you with a piece of music, in anticipation of spring.

Earth Magic

Artist - Arthur Hughes

Artist – Arthur Hughes

I sat under a large pine tree, its branches hanging low, like a green veil around me, with drops of rain glittering in the gray light.


A bone white sky, a bone ache inside me. I look out on naked trees, a slate colored lake, and there’s nothing to distract myself from what I feel and think and am. A mirror into myself, this dead, silent world, of rain and drops on black branches. A dark beauty whispering to me, to let go and sleep with the earth. But the air is brimming with hope, with a promise of life returning, of the sun shining once again.


Deep in the night I felt the earth had entered into me, that I had deepened into a place inside myself, that before was walled up by thorns and old pain. I felt one with the Goddess, felt she had made me and was in my flesh and bones. That my heart was a rose slowly opening. That I was pushing through new doors deep inside, into dusty rooms, clearing out cobwebs, gazing out through dirt-streaked windows

Sometimes I feel my body is on fire from the inside, and I’m not sure what to do, though it’s a good kind of burning, like ice cracking open, thawing, giving away to the sun. But it hurts too. I often feel uncomfortable in my own skin, but the Goddess helps me, guides me. I look to her and find my strength, a sense of love, of rose, of sweet colored things. 

Just found this music. Do you like it? 






Gentle February

Arthur Hughes - forget me not

Arthur Hughes – forget me not

I want to start my day writing, in this mystical time between worlds, between light and dark. I’m making my tea, and the sky is a pale steel-gray, the pine forest dark, like a black wall, like a mountain.

I woke up early and sat for a moment in silence, prayed a little. The night, the early morning speaks to me clearly, like a crystal stream singing, without the noise of the road, of people talking and shouting.

I went for a walk with my husband yesterday, along the raging river. The sky kept breaking open, letting through rain, or hail, sometimes sunlight. The road was bare, sometimes icy, the trees silent, without the wind to move them, to make them speak. I sense February is teaching me patience. I want to rush forward towards spring, for it can hurt to see the world so dull and without color, without light. It hurts to know that warmer weather is still months away and that there will still be many days of slush, of cold biting air. 

But February is full of gentle hope. It feels like a white blanket of snow, with the sun coming through above me, whispering of the beginning of spring, a step towards lighter days, of the first flowers coming soon, soon.

It’s also a time to dig in, use the last of the darkness, when it’s still deep and stays late, shows up early. It’s still a time to move slowly, to rest, to follow the cycles of the moon and sun, and watch the world slowly transform once again.


Something I wrote when the moon was just beginning to wane in the sky, but that I forgot to publish.


The wind is in the trees today, and I welcome it, like an old friend. It was playing outside my window last night, making the great pine sway in a dance, and I heard the rain too, drumming on my roof.

I feel restless, the moon still bright in the night, making the world silver and white and shining as I try to go to sleep. It draws me out of myself, making me want to get up and dance, twirl a bit along cold floors, feel the slight chill in the air. 

Everything feels new and sparkling, like spring, but I know winter will return soon enough. At least, I can leave my window open for a little bit, without getting too cold, let a bit of air drift in, scented with rain, bark and old leaves. 

I look at the pine forest and the little white house across from me, its windows dark and empty. I think it longs for summer when roses will be in its garden again, and the little old lady who owns it will sit on the stairs, gazing out on the road, the lake.

Something is just starting to stir in the earth, new beginning perhaps, buds waiting to bloom.