Winters in the World

 

And so I cannot think, for the world,
why my spirit does not grow dark
when I consider all the life of men:
how they suddenly left the hall,
brave young warriors. Just so this earth
every day declines and decays,
and so a man cannot grow wise before he has had
his share of winters in the world.

(The Wanderer)

The year revolves again and again, round and round we come back to the seasons with a year in between another transition, visiting that somehow familiar feeling yet maybe something is different this time around. The years turn and they bring us into wisdom as we live in the world, and therefore live through winters in the world. Seasons help us recognize the differences of our lives - the cycle, the repetition is welcome to our souls. That slow unfolding ability to see our lives. We are able to (hopefully) pay attention to see each turn of the calendar with new eyes in the world which we have lived in for many years. 

The four seasons we are familiar with, but this book brings them all to new light from the perspective of the Anglo-Saxon time - winter, lencten, sumor, haerfest. It has been a delight to read, especiallly as it starts in Winter, and we are in the depths of Winter now. 

Maybe sorrow clings to the heart in this season. Perhaps truth remains elusive.

Time keeps gliding onward in one direction. We can look backward to gain wisdom and look hopeful into the road ahead.

Deeper we go into Winter now. Christmas is just days away. My heart softens and quiets and I pray for  refection time to rest and focus on the gift of Christmas coming. In a season we moderns have made to be so busy and hectic, I find my soul longing for retreat and delight in this darkest season where the light of Christ should become what we see everything else in the world by.

Bless you this Christmas - may it bring you tidings of deep joy. Joy beyond what we could ever ask for.

Christ was born, glory of kings,
at Midwinter, marvellous prince,
eternal Almighty, and on the eighth day
named 'Healer', heaven's guardian.

(The Menologium, an Anglo-Saxon poem about the cycle of the year)

Cosy with a Dash of Christmas

 

Wintry tales and dashes of Christmas. Short stories. Poems. Scripture. So many wonderful words to set the mind in a place of the coming of Christmas. Festive and beautiful Christmas carols fill my head all day long these days.

The First Noel the Angels did say 
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep
On a cold winter's night that was so deep
Noel Noel Noel Noel
Born is the King of Israel!

I just recently heard a lovely insight about the incarnation which set my thoughts to pondering, from Athanasius - He became what we are, so we can become what He is. 

Hark! The herald angels sing 
"Glory to the new-born king
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled"
Joyful all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With angelic host proclaim
"Christ is born in Bethlehem"
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the new-born king"

The coming of Christ is a shocking event that happened in our world, in history, tied to a time and place. And yet it holds everything together even deeper than we can understand. It is the thread that weaves into every aspect of history. Do you notice how in many of the carols there are words about peace and reconciliation? Our broken world needs that hope of peace and true reconciliation, which is what God offers to us in Jesus. 

Oh holy night, the stars are brightly shining
It is the night of the dear Savior's birth
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
'Til he appeared and the soul felt its worth

What a beautiful, festive week and weekend - reading Christmas stories, watching Christmasy videos, my office Christmas dinner, my niece performed in her piano recital, and my church had its annual Christmas concert (full orchestra and several choirs). Lovely and festive, cheerful and hopeful. I have been feeling the spirit of Christmas and I hope you are, too - the Light of the world shines through the darkness, and the darkness cannot and does not overcome it.

Moving Into Advent

 

As the calendar moves us into a new season, now in the second week of Advent, so I move into a new cosy home (and little by little getting organized). Bookshelves are stacked haphazardly instead of thoughtfully, I am learning where things are and where to store items, and I am getting accustomed to sounds and the environment of a new place. We have journeyed through the first week of advent. A period starting in darkness leading into the weeks of waiting for the gift of Jesus.

The days continue to grow shorter. Dawn rises later and later as I am sipping coffee by the window, I start in dim light and watch the gentle glow begin to cast itself over the land. The sun sets before the end of the work day, and we need the warm lights to glow for us early in the evening.

The light is gentle and it is growing as we inch our ways toward Christmas. 

O come O come, Emmanuel...

It's the season of light dawning. Doesn't it seem even more significant when the world is dark, both metaphorically and naturally (seasonally)? That light you see cresting over the horizon is hopeful and lovely. It awakens our senses to a fresh day with all the possibilities open to us.

Like a new journal full of pages, each new page is a clean start. Our imaginations can get a grip onto something in the open space of a new day, to land somewhere wonder-filled.

These approaching Winter days are full of ways to see the world with fresh eyes of a new day.

It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain and of Plain -
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again.

(Emily Dickinson)

People look East, as the hymn says, because the dawn is coming. Look to the hope of what is to come. The Light is coming, and this is the time in Advent where we look East and prepare for the Love, Light, Goodness, as the Lord is coming.

People look East and sing today, Love the Lord is on the way.

Dreich and Grey

 

Dreich and grey
Straight away
Sets my day
Into beautiful sway

The sky hangs low on this weekend day, settling a misty cold over the land. I hold my mug of coffee in my hands to warm them. The chill is wonderfully seasonal. Autumnal atmosphere is perfection of the comforts we have inside our cosy homes.

This kind of day embodies the perfect time to be tucked away at home packing packing packing. Except when I make a sandwich, and when I write this. Maybe I will even grab my book later to read. But first I must pack my teacups. The weather is too perfect not to take a few minutes to write. I can't help it. Weather inspires me. The cold, grey, misty day gives me the mental energy to feel like I could write a novel.

Today has been a perfectly lovely British weather day. Grey, but gentle. Chilly and drizzly. Dreich (a Scottish word meaning dull, dreary, gloomy, rainy) all day. It's a special treat for me, and I feel like I should indulge in the rarity of it, as much as I can in between boxes. If I disappear for awhile, come check on me. I might have fallen into a big box and into another realm.

I am moving in a little over a week. Not far, just a few minutes down the road, but it's a fresh start that will be inspiring. It's just this in-between bit that is difficult. Distractions come in all kinds of shapes and deadlines loom without wavering. I am focused on the packing so I can move as planned. It pains me to put other creative and reading things on hold, but I shall get back to those deeper creative things once I move and unpack. I know I need to give the space these days need to get organized and ready. Fit in the reading and writing in short snippets.

It is very chilly in here. Of course I don't turn on the unit with heat. I will pack instead and quickly forget that I am chilly. I made a cup of jasmine green tea, added some oat milk, and sipping on it now is bliss.

I rest in thankfulness I feel about each day and its gifts. In the week of Thanksgiving the opportunity to reflect is abundant, even amidst other things. Unexpected, unasked for things come that grace my life and I wonder how and why I should ever deserve it. I don't. It's humbling because I know this is the kind of love and grace the Lord shows us everyday. We don't deserve that love. Yet we have it and can accept it, or reject it. I dwell in the thankfulness that arises within me, and thank the Lord for that which is beyond me, which graces me, and offers me the reminder of God's goodness and love.

A Certain Truth in Uncertain Times

 

...the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. 

John 3.19

Each day we are given the gift of a sunrise and a fresh start to awaken in the world. We might make some coffee with the hope and prayer that the day might bring joy. We remember what struggle yesterday might have brought. It comes wafting back to us with the rising steam of coffee. 

We have the choices before us every day, whether we work, volunteer, meet with others, or travel. Each day presents us with hours of time that we get to choose how each minute is used. Are we making the choice to do something good in each minute of the day?

We might feel inundated by constant reminders of disarray and suffering. Of division and selfishness. One cannot turn to any website or social media platform and not see it. We might feel it personally in different ways too. A disconnected feeling from what is true and good.

This all leads us to feel rather alone in the world. Nobody else could possibly feel the disconnectedness we feel, as our minds swirl into the chaos these are the words we listen to. If we focus on them long enough, they become our reality. We think we are alone with nobody to listen to us or care. We think we have to figure it out ourselves, as we have no one to turn to. Or we turn the wrong way because it seems to fill the need.

We try to fit puzzle pieces together and only feel bereft of any real answer. We seek happiness wherever it feels good for the moment, not thinking about if that's actually what God desires for us. The best goodness might be waiting for us while we busy ourselves with distractions that we cling to to avoid anything real.

I am one tiny person who leads a quiet life, and yet I see this all around me. I hear this. I feel this. 

That must mean I am not the only one. You're not the only one.

In the Gospel of John, the end of chapter 2 says "for he (Jesus) knew what was in man."

How does Jesus know? He was a man - living and breathing. Eating and laughing. Hugging and walking. He knows the heart of man, because he was one. 

God as Creator of the universe might seem elusive sometimes - as Spirit which we cannot see. God is spirit, life, breath, wind. He goes where He pleases because He is everywhere at all times. He is beyond time. There are no restrictions for God. But we humans like tangible things. We like some image or example. God as spirit can be hard to grasp in our earthly limitations.

The dark haired, tanned skin man called Jesus walked the earth in leather sandals. His feet got dusty. He shared meals with people. He told stories. He came down from heaven to draw closer to us. To show us how to live and love. To share examples of what the Kingdom of God is to set our imaginations on fire. We had always resisted. We still do. He was reaching for us then. He still is now. We are never alone.

This is what I cling to. Whether times are calm or uncertain. It's the only thing that was certain then, and will always be certain forever.

Cosy Autumn Mysteries

 

Intuition is like reading a word without having to spell it out. A child can't do that because it has had so little experience. A grown-up person knows the word because they've seen it often before.
- Agatha Christie

It might not feel like Autumn here, with temperatures still climbing into the mid-upper 80s, but it feels very atmospheric in the book world anytime. It is the time of year when I crave the mysteries and Autumnal vibes. With the season sprouting up everywhere around us, apples, pumpkins, leaves, and spices, I pretend we are in a new season with some decor, candles, and books. I buy apples. And I cook some dishes with butternut squash. 

I recently picked up a couple of Agatha Christie mysteries at the library, which were enjoyable reads, doing well to impart those mysterious vibes of solving puzzles. One was a spy thriller (Passenger to Frankfurt) and one was a murder mystery (Sad Cypress). Both were fun, puzzle solving adventures.

Life is full of mystery. We have seen much of these things before in perhaps smaller ways. Mystery seems to be swallowing the time around us, with questions and wonderings. I think part of why some of us enjoy murder mysteries so much is that they are a kind of fantasy, meaning, they are rather dramatic and unrealistic, so it's an escape from our own problems. It's not likely that kind of murder mystery would happen to us. All the while it is a fascinating exploration of human nature, personality, and crime. Why do people do what they do? What are the motives behind crime? Is there some past occurrence that deeply wounded a character? Is there another way to solve the puzzle of the murder? Did you catch that missing piece which broke the alibi? 

Using pieces of clues and observation, one does solve the mystery and/or murder. It's a cosy thing, with these books, that there is a mystery solved, and the reasons are brought to light. It reminds me that sometimes we think we can hide our selfish or bad behavior and it not be found out, it usually comes to light at some point. Not that we are committing crimes, of course, it's usually small things with us in real life. But that's what makes these kinds of golden age mysteries so enjoyable. They are at the same time relatable (we can sometimes put ourselves in the shoes of the characters and either feel the same or feel strongly opposed) and also provide us with an encounter of an outlandish fantasy kind of mystery that won't happen in your life that makes it an exciting read to puzzle the brain around. Don't mind me whilst I dip into many mysteries this season.

A Poem for October

 

Mid-October rises like heat, staying close
To the walls of a late summer sun,
Not wanting to let go to the breeze
Coming from the north, let it come.

Let the orange hues emerge to light
The paths of Autumn treads, fading
Leaves decorate the ground, confetti
Of a season, muted beauty abating.

Here at last, a taste of Autumn -
Butternut, acorn, pumpkin, spices
Invigorate and encapsulate a season
Of harvest and plenty of nature's devices.

For the Love of Libraries

 

Then dead souls woke; the thoughts of men
Whose bones were dust revived again;
The cloister's silence found a tongue,
Old prophets spake, old poets sung.

And here, to-day, the dead look down,
The kings of mind again we crown;
We hear the voices lost so long,
The sage's words, the sibyl's song.

Here Greek and Roman find themselves
Alive along these crowded shelves;
And Shakespeare treads again his stage,
And Chaucer paints anew his age.

As if some Pantheon's marbles broke
Their stony trance, and lived and spoke,
Life thrills along the alcoved hall,
The lords of thought await our call!

(from "The Library" by John Greenleaf Whittier)

I will always contend that libraries are magical places. What other place can offer thousands of worlds to explore? Thousands of different eyes to see through. In our world so inundated in tech where everything is about the newest devices and apps are required for everything, I feel myself going the opposite way to the tangible and lasting things that won't run out of battery, won't rely on anything else to work, or won't track our every move. 

My local library just re-opened, after a couple years of construction updating and upgrading. They also added an area that is a local history/cultural museum, which tells the story of our city. I was delighted to visit recently, and I won't be a stranger as I have been over the construction period. I will get back into a routine of going on a regular basis for lunch or just tea in the café (Black & Brew), having a browse on the shelves of the books for sale, and enjoying a wander through the fiction/non-fiction/poetry/mystery/etc shelves for a few reads to check-out. This time, I picked up two Agatha Christie mysteries and a book of Jorge Luis Borges' poems. 

Literary experience heals the wound, without undermining the privilege, of individuality. There are mass emotions which heal the wound; but they destroy the privilege. In them our separate selves are pooled and we sink back into sub-individuality. But in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do. 

(C.S. Lewis)

My visit re-ignited my love for libraries, which has always been there and always will be. They are wonder-filled places. You never know what you are going to find. Kind of like a used bookstore. Except it's free. In a time where the costs of everything has risen, and continues to rise, the library is still free. Thousands of books at your fingertips. A place to relax and browse. A place to meet up with others. A place to study and think. A place to warm up during cold days, or cool down during long summer days. A place to greet the books and let a few find their way into your hands.

And now I commend you again to your books. Books are delightful society. If you go into a room and find it full of books - and without even taking them down from their shelves - they seem to speak to you, to bid you welcome.

( W.E. Gladstone)

So, welcome the the library. Go check it out and see what grabs you. And enjoy learning amazing things.

Visiting Rodin

 

I recently visited with the Rodin sculpture collection on display right now at the Polk Museum of Art, something I have wanted to do for a few months when it first opened. It closes at the end of October.

I sometimes forget how much I enjoy a good visit to an art museum until I go and engage with the artist, the work, and the stories. I am always up for some art and history (the two usually go together), but Auguste Rodin also touches a note of the familiar (many of these sculptures are so well known). Another artist I have deeply appreciated for years is the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke, who worked for Rodin in the early 1900's. So, I have known of Rodin, but never known his works in real life in an up-close way. So, I was very much looking forward to a little visit when I heard of this exhibit opening.

I picked a good time to go on a Sunday afternoon. It was not very busy and I could take my time walking around, reading all the info provided. I really didn't know much about Rodin, except his connection with Rilke, so it was enjoyable to learn about his life and work. "The Gates of Hell" was a piece modelled after Dante's The Divine Comedy, so naturally that drew my attention and interest. "The Benedictions" was kind of angelic and mythical. The story of the "Burghers of Calais" was a moving tale (with accompanying sculptures of the individual persons) of a siege during the Hundred Years' War when the French town of Calais was taken by the English and the town's supplies was completely cut off so the people starved for 11 months. Until 6 people offered themselves as sacrifices to the Lords of England in exchange for relief to the town. Rodin sculpted each of the 6 people, most were on display, but apparently they were never executed as the King's wife changed his mind in the end, but that willingness to walk into certain death to relieve the siege of the town is memorialized in these bronze figures.

 So, a little art date to the museum to see the Rodin sculptures was a great way to spend a little time. Something about sculptures fascinates me. How they are molded and formed into a new creation is a wonder to my non-artistic mind. An art filled visit engages my senses and words with a bit of history brought to my doorstep, so close by at the Polk Museum of Art.

Melancholy, The Anatomy of

 

We love the world too much; God too little; our neighbor not at all, or for our own ends.

I didn't mean to read The Anatomy of Melancholy all the way through at once. I was going to dip in and out of topics and just kind of meander through some pages like a dictionary or encyclopedia. But I accidently read the whole thing. It was that enjoyable I started and just kept reading. 

Every morning with my coffee and journal, I would read just a couple pages. I would follow the tangents that Robert Burton would go on, which would last for pages, and sometimes the next day I would continue on that same tangent. I try to put my finger on what this book is to describe it: is it a dictionary? A journal? A research project on love, morals, and ethics? Inspirational and motivational reminders of Biblical truths? A book of quotes and poetry from ancient wisdom? Tales of woe from those who stray? Thoughts and musings from the author on various topics of health, food, exercise, reading, studying, and magic? A big book of lists?

Well, it's all of the above. Mashed into one giant book weighing in at about 1,080 pages. It's a mammoth collection of Robert Burton's thoughts and quotes from ancient sources that I often wondered how he had access to. Was he making some of this up? Latin quotes fill some of the paragraphs, which thankfully he almost always translates. 

In avoiding errors, fools rush to the opposite extremes.

Whether he was making some of this stuff up, it doesn't really matter. In one tale he tells he actually states at the end that it doesn't matter whether the story is true, it plays the role to tell a truth he wanted to tell. I laughed often whilst reading passages, sometimes because of archaic language not used anymore, sometimes situations are just humorous. It was not only entertaining and informative, it was interesting to read from the perspective of his time in Oxford (he lived there all his life). Published in 1621 (400 years ago!), there are bits of history and politics mixed into his perspective. And indeed, his religious life is the undertone of the whole book.

The chief thing we respect is our commodity: and what we do, is for fear of worldly punishment, for vainglory, praise of men, fashion, and such by-respects, not for God's sake. We neither know God aright, nor seek, love, or worship him as we should. And for these defects, we involve ourselves into a multitude of errors, we swerve from this true love and worship of God: which is a cause unto us of unspeakable miseries; running into both extremes, we become fools, madmen, without sense, as now in the next place I will show you.

I think Robert Burton would have been a hoot to hang out with and talk to. Historic notes from people he associated with noted how friendly and pleasant he was to be around. While he says he wrote this book to keep himself out of despair and melancholy, he states very simply that the solution for melancholy is "be not solitary, by not idle". Writing this book was his way of fulfilling those pieces of advice. I imagine he walked around Oxford conversing with all kinds of people gathering stories and ideas for entering into his book later, because he kept adding to this book once it was published.

He who blends the useful with the charming wins every vote.

He offers sections that are symptoms of melancholy, showing us that we all have the tendency to fall into such a state. He has subsections and tangents. Then, he has a cures section that attempts to encourage ways to resolve the issue at hand - 

For if thou dost not ply thy book,
By candlelight to study bent,
Employ'd about some honest thing,
Envy or Love shall thee torment.

In other words, stay busy, keep focused, work on something that is worth paying attention to. This is a cure for love melancholy, which comprises a whole section in the book. The spiritual battle that we all deal with on different levels. 

Following Plato, calls these two loves, two Devils, or good and bad Angels according to us, which are still hovering about our souls. The one rears to heaven, the other depresseth us to hell; the one good, which stirs us up to the contemplation of that divine beauty, for whose sake we perform Justice, and all godly offices, study Philosophy, &c., the other base, and through bad, yet to be respected; for indeed both are good in their own natures...

It was a pleasure to accidentally read the whole of The Anatomy of Melancholy. I will revisit this book very often. I underlined so many passages and made notes everywhere.  It is most certainly a top favourite book of mine, and sits at a ready stance on my shelf; easy to grab and linger over. 

Komdu blessaður

 

Komdu blessaður

Come, and be blessed.

When I travel, I have the profound feeling of being blessed. Visiting churches in foreign countries helps to bring that to the forefront on my mind. I love to go into a church and experience the quiet, beauty, and calm of the place, and take a few moments if possible. All the elements of travel have their uncertainty, and I experience and reflect in a mode of deep thanksgiving that I get to see some places of the world that God has so creatively set in motion. To me, it is truly a gift to get to travel (and I say "get to" because I feel it's such a special thing).

When I get to travel, I feel immensely blessed because I know it's not the norm, especially to places I love to go to, like Iceland and the UK. These are not cheap, quick flights and journeys. Because travel is important to me, I save up my money for a long time, and then take one amazing trip. 

For me, these big trips to my favourite places provide years of inspiration and reflection after the trip. I still reflect on my first trips to the UK (2009, 2010), those first sights of Oxford, the days all to myself exploring Newcastle, England, the epic road trip around Scotland with my brother, and if I go back these kinds of memories go back even farther to my childhood/teens. Travel became a priority for my parents to let us four children experience the U.S. as we never had before. This, I think, installed in me a love for exploring places from an early age that are full of stories, histories, and much different landscapes than I am used to. It awakened in me a resource of inspiration and way to write about things I never would have thought of before.

Reflecting on this kind of lifelong thankfulness as we pass the 13 year mark of losing Dad, I think about how he loved to explore and learn the history of places. He never pushed that on any of us (we were usually impatient for the next thing), but he was the one in every museum and at every historical site reading every plaque and looking slowly at every artifact or monument. He didn't care about the touristy things or the busy-ness of cities. He was there to experience the place and learn about it. He was a great example of what we now might call a "slow traveler". This is how I have adapted my way of travel as I grew up to adulthood, very much modelled after Dad's way of travel. He paid attention to the history and meaning of a place, as I seek to do. 

My family would travel mostly in the Winter (usually around Christmas time when all us kids were on holiday break and Dad could leave because the lawns he mowed weren't growing). So, I have this deep sense of love for all things Winter. That's when I got to travel growing up. That's when I would get to see the amazing Western U.S. played in snow, skied, hiked mountains, gazed at towering waterfalls, and explored the Northeast. I am so deeply thankful to my parents for saving up and taking us four children on such adventures, as I still reflect on those many trips.

The simple act of reflecting in thankfulness can make us feel the blessing that has been present all along life's journey. Sometimes we see the darkness growing, we feel the suffering that comes with being human, and we get lost in a feeling of despair. If you get caught in the spiral of despair, turn your inward eyes toward God, and focus on what you are thankful for now and in the past, knowing it came from Him and He doesn't change. He still wants to bless you. Let the blessing of your past remind you of the blessing that is still present within you now and lighting the way for your future.

Middle-earth in Iceland

 

Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away ere break of day
Far over wood and mountain tall.

To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell
In glades beneath the misty fell,
Through moor and waste we ride in haste,
And wither then we cannot tell.

With foes ahead, behind us dread,
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,
Until at last our toil be passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped.

We must away! We must away!
We ride before the break of day!

- From The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

There are certain places that capture a sense of something else. Something told before. Some bigger story. Occasionally I find myself caught in a scene from such a big story. Usually this happens when I travel and my eyes are open to the different tune of landscape and place. My imagination is an open book, and stories fall into the pages.

J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis were extremely fond of the old Sagas from Iceland, Norway, and Finland. They both were part of a society that would meet in their early days of Oxford called the Kolbitars. Or "coal biters", which comes from the Icelandic notion of telling stories/sagas around the fire and sitting so close (because it's so cold) to the fire they could literally nibble on the coals. In this group during their early years of teaching at Oxford, Tolkien and Lewis became close friends, in their shared loved of Icelandic and Norse Sagas. If you read any of Tolkien's writings from Middle-earth you will find bits of such Sagas steeped in, along with images of the landscapes and ancient feeling of the places and the legends. Everything feels old, and part of something bigger than the moment being described.

It's no wonder that when I am in Iceland, I see glimpses of Middle-earth almost everywhere. I hear the words of the books in my head in certain places - the Fellowship travelling on the Great River seeing the grand old statues of the kings of Númenor; the visits into Lothlorien - a wooded realm of the Elves with trees and ancient woods adorned with round staircases and glowing lamps; the grand stone buildings and kingly places of Rivendell, Gondor, and Númenor clothed in white. All the atmospheric locations along the way. Paths into the mountains, leading around kingdoms, venturing into the mist and fog. 

As Frodo was borne towards them the great pillars rose like towers to meet him. Giants they seemed to him, vast grey figures silent but threatening. Then he saw that they were indeed shaped and fashioned: the craft and power of old had wrought upon them, and still they preserved through the suns and rains of forgotten years the mighty likenesses in which they had been hewn. Upon great pedestals founded in the deep waters stood two great kings of stone: still with blurred eyes and crannied brows they frowned upon the North. The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning; in each right hand there was an axe; upon each head there was a crumbling helm and crown. Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished kingdom.

- From The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

In these places I pause and look around me, feeling as if I have fallen into the story and suddenly something is going to happen as we enter the next chapter. I memorize the space with my eyes, ears, and feeling. I hear the story in my head. I take a deep breath realizing and appreciating that I am in such a place. 

I could go on and on with examples of this in Iceland (and other places I travel to and have written about). Perhaps if you are more curious to read Tolkien you might catch some more glimpses of this sense of the long-vanished kingdom. My journey to Iceland has refreshed my desire to re-read The Lord of the Rings. It might have to happen soon.

Adventures to Snæfellsnes Peninsula, Iceland

 

Snæfellsnes Peninsula, Iceland

The drive to the northwest of Iceland was an adventure so much like travelling to another planet. We took a small group tour which picked us up at 9 am. From there, we were no longer in the familiar world.

Travel by way of fjords northwest. A long tunnel dips below the water of a fjord to emerge on the other side - the area of the Snæfellsnes peninsula felt like prehistoric Iceland: whale bones on the beach, chunky grey-blue rocks, and tiptoe grass layering above the sands, all set against the backdrop of the darkest mountains I have seen. Black and imposing, even in the midst of layers of cloud and fog. My imagination sparks alive in this atmosphere. Pausing for the most delicious home cooked lunch at a horse farm, with breathtaking views out the window of said dark mountains. It was here the rain started but there were more dramatic locations to experience. For in Iceland the saying goes that there is no bad weather, just wrong clothing.

The moody, misty atmosphere accompanied the rain and with a bend in the road the sea and dramatic coast came into view. One can not neglect to stand in awe of such scenery, even amidst raindrops.

The famous black church standing firm on the unprotected hillside, exposed to the winds coming off the crashing sea. Huge, mossy boulders broke away from the coast now seem to be frozen in a poetic stance. Protector of the region, statue of Bárður Snæfellsás watches over the paths along the cliff side, ready to help a lost or troubled hiker. I just read/listened to his saga before leaving for Iceland, so it was particularly enjoyable to see the place connected with the saga literature. And the dramatic cliffs rise high above the tumultuous sea. One can just stand there windswept and wet, not wanting to leave that spot too soon.

The atmosphere was mystical and otherworldly and as my nose was glued to the window I could easily see the stories of old running across the lava fields, dancing along these crevices. I could feel the words forming into story - if I had my book out to write I could have started my next tale, but I couldn't take my eyes off the landscape. Still rainy, we drove along the thin roads to the black sand beach Djúpalónssandur, which is like a scene from a mystical epic. Strange rock formations and lush green moss growing on them leads down the path to the black sands. Scattered remnants of a shipwreck from 1948 dotted the wide beach down to the rough waves. It was very mysterious standing there amidst waves and wind, sweeping the past into present.

Icelandic Fog

Foul and dull you dismiss

the fog of our fatherland -

don’t you realize it is

the creator changing his mind?

Like you, he wants the weather

to bear a fitting name,

yet he demurs at either

the sunshine or the rain.

(Stephan Stephansson)

Coffee in Reykjavik

 

Coffee in Reykjavik

The fire and ice sit atop water
smooth like glass on days of grey.
Ragged and wild every other day.
Travelling over mountain and volcano
winds flow across the land and sea
to breeze up the Kárastígur to me.

I order cappuccino and say takk.
A staple order for a coffee stop.
I gently clang my cup back into saucer,
and write more pages to an empty cup.

It's calm for a moment, the steamer heats
the milk for cappuccino to guests
who glide in with loud voices
American sound rises above the rest.

I take the quiet route and slide back
in my notebook, jotting words in mind.
Observing and enjoying the coffee vibe
and hurried figures passing to find.

(At Reykjavik Roasters on Kárastígur)

Nordic Summer in Reykjavik

 

Reykjavik, Iceland
End of August 2022

The sky is still light at 10 pm (last photo). Sunsets are something so dramatic and beautiful, changing every minute, we watched the sky as an evening show from our room each night.

It's still Summer in Iceland, in fact, they only have two seasons - Winter and Summer. Summer, with temperatures from 45-58 degrees Fahrenheit, is like the Winter I know in my Florida life. This air is refreshing. The windswept landscapes seems otherworldly, but I will get to that soon. For now, we are in Reykjavik, the capital city, population just over 200,000.

 We arrive in Iceland at 6 am, after an overnight flight through NYC - JFK airport. A long day of travel and overnight (with no sleep) is always a challenge, but when time is limited, you seize every moment you can and hit the ground running. Or, at least, keep going all day and then crash early that first night.

Mum and I were eager to get out into the city to re-familiarize ourselves with Reykjavik. Our last visit was March 2018 and I think we have been dreaming about it since. We ended up walking around all morning, afternoon, and then crashed at 7:30 pm into our beds. The sun was still up. 

First, coffee. Actually, first, breakfast at our hotel. Then, off to the favourite coffee shop (with several locations around the city, Reykjavik Roasters. Good quality coffee is something I keep coming back to.

We stopped into the lovely Hallgrimskirkja Church where the organist was putting on some practice/composing that drew quite a crowd. We sat to listen for a bit. We took the elevator to the top for the amazing 360 degree views of the city. One of my favourite things in a city is to get up above it to gaze out and get the scope of the layout. I love studying maps and this is kind of like a live version of a map looking down on it all.

Lunchtime called us over to a new location of Reykjavik Roasters (part of an art gallery) where we got a quinoa bowl before touring the museum around the corner of Iceland's first sculptor, The Einar Jónsson Museum. This was a very interesting museum me to me, and it only made me want to research the pieces more, as they were all symbolic and full of imagery. A lot of the pieces reminded me very much of William Blake's artwork.

We walked down to the waterfront for the views of the city and mountains across the water. We stopped in a bookshop to browse. Yes, it was a busy day and we didn't stop. After some dinner at an Italian spot on the way back to the hotel, we crashed, because the next day would be a fun adventure around the city. I was filled with thanks to be there.