so many emotions in a summer

Smiling over cups of sunshine coffee.

Crying over chirping baby birds.

Wrestling with old thundercloud worries.

Suffocating of rage and shame on on hot, sleepless nights.

Falling into the euphoria of a breeze through flower fields.

There are so many emotions in a summer.

shallow little thoughts I've had lately

Perceived absence of love equals presence of fear. 

Critical thinking, a love of science and facts: these can co-exist peacefully and creatively with a deep fascination for the Bible.

I seem to have outgrown my daddy issues and this is negatively affecting my creativity and sleep.

I have acquired a recent aversion to setting goals.

In every situation: take a deep breath, then listen carefully.

Olives, figs or cashews will energize any boring dish.

When I was younger, I used to wish May 21st was my birthday. I felt that would make me a nearly magical creature. I have no idea why. 

the five decades signpost

I'm loved by God. I don't need additional love.

I carry faith (trust instead of worry), hope (joy and beauty) and love. 

If I lose faith and even hope, love will still be there.

I don't have to live up to any norms and expectations, explain myself or submit to shame.

I will never marry. I'm set apart for something higher.

The kingdom of God is near and I'm bringing friends.

too much heaven on my mind

It's been a long, long day

Are we in heaven, heaven, heaven?

I want a playlist with only songs that mention heaven. Because my body hurts and my mind fears and hope is scarce ... but heaven is heavy with grace.

Every day I know that this might hurt but I don't care

This is heaven, yeah

stand here upon your ground

On my birthday, I sat sulking in a café in Helsinki. I was alone. On my birthday. 

The hotel breakfast had been worse than average, the coffee undrinkable. The sunny weather had turned into icy winds and a little drizzle. My feet and back ached after too much walking the day before - my body felt old. I am old, I thought bitterly. And I have nothing to show for my life so far, and I'm alone. On my birthday. While people I knew were taking holidays in Tuscany or Cape Town and torturing me with sunny pictures on social media. I had gotten no further than Helsinki - cold and not exactly exotic, only a few hours away from home.

My sister had spent a couple of days with me (but had to go home earlier than me), and my friends were gearing up to celebrate me when I got home. But I was forgetting all about that for the bitterness of being alone, right now, on my birthday.

I had a vague plan to catch the ferry to the little castle islands of Suomenlinna, a wonderful place in the summer. Not so wonderful in April, in icy drizzle and high winds. I didn't really want to go.

I went anyway, thinking I would have a quick look around and catch the next ferry back. The islands were still grey, no spring green yet in sight. Thousands of geese had invaded the place, cackling gleefully when I stepped in the poo they left everywhere. A few tourists wandered around, looking lost. I got lost too - it was off-season and signposts were missing. Incredibly annoying.

Finally I found my goal, the King's Gate which I remembered from previous visits, decades ago. Specifically, an old inscription there had stayed in my mind: "Posterity, stand here upon your ground and never rely on outside help". 

There I stood upon my ground, in a beautiful spot normally crowded with tourists. At the Fortress of Finland. All alone (on my birthday) except for a couple of geese. The sun came out.

I found a deserted beach with an incredible view over the Baltic Sea. Sheltered from the wind, warmed by the sun, it was actually enjoyable. I ate the salad I had brought. I swigged Sangre de Toro directly from a (mini) bottle and got pleasantly tipsy. I talked to the sparrows that looked for crumbs around my feet. A friend called to wish me happy birthday, and sweet messages were pouring in on my phone. I looked out over the sea, sun glittering on waves, and suddenly saw adventures and hope and a long summer ahead.

When I caught the ferry back, hours later when the drizzle returned, I had explored the castle and every exciting little footpath on the islands. I had also sat for ages in the sun, writing my journal and making plans for the future and gotten a tan. I had had the absolute pleasure of being alone, on my birthday, and loving it.

jubilee for a warrior queen

This year is supposed to be good. Wine, road trips and roses, strawberries with cream and sun, friends and dogs and feeling loved.

I sink into my sofa to read books, too tired to take on the world. I pick out a journal in soft leather to document my year of jubilee. I read the Book of Job:

Put your ear to the earth - learn  the basics. 

Listen - the fish in the ocean will tell you their stories.

 

I'm missing a part of me and I walk alone like a warrior queen, magnificent and sad, with a diamond core.

I try

Some days I try to write and I scare myself into silence.

surviving a knife on Halloween

November began in the hospital, a major surgery I wasn't at all sure I'd survive. They said it was routine but I wasn't convinced anyone could cut open my stomach without killing me. And it was Halloween after all, when the veil between living and dead is said to be at its thinnest ...

Surprised, I woke up. My body in chaos, missing a piece. Completely dependent on strangers for my continued survival. It was strange and not typical, the deep trust I felt. 

Pain, sometimes unbearable, came and went. I got used to that little hospital room, impersonal and comforting at the same time. Cared for, and alone, at the same time. I liked the metal rails of the hospital bed, so strong and good to hold on to for support, so cool a relief in pain. I listened to the loud beeping that rang through the ward whenever someone pressed a call button. I felt horribly wounded, and safe. Love poured in through my phone.

I was in the maternity ward, not having a baby but having my womb removed. At the other end of the corridor, tiny babies cried. At my end, an old woman cried.

I had an odd insight - I may have been born in this very same building, on an April evening long ago. My mother happy after a miscarriage the previous year, my father receiving a mischievous wink from me the first time he held me.

This time, grey daylight descended quickly into dark November evenings, like a blanket when you're desperate for sleep. 

At the end of nearly a week, I was discharged and expected to be independent again. My exhausted soul was still dependent. Still aching for the fierce, protective love of a father.

spiritual experiences of the traditional kind

I sometimes feel God by my side as I look at a starry sky, walk through a summer forest or hear a particular song just when I'm in need of comfort. 

But sometimes I have spiritual experiences of the traditional kind. Like kneeling at the high altar of a cathedral, crying.

hyacinths and the not-normal existence

I bought a third hyacinth just to make sure the scent stays in my home over Christmas. The pandemic takes another chokehold on society and sometimes I gasp from lack of air, a little. 

Then I remember that a normal life in a normal society never appealed to me that much anyway. As a kid I made up games in the garden or in the woods, sometimes after dark, where I was an outlaw hiding in the wilderness or a rebel spy on an undercover mission. As an idealistic teenager I believed God wanted to send me on an adventure. So I starved in the jungle, viewed instant noodles as the pinnacle of luxury and slept in the company of cockroaches and water buffalos, in order to help God save souls.

Now I'm a settled citizen, with a regular income. I expect lunch to be more than noodles, a generous Christmas gift from my employer, a heated flat with a view, more than one hyacinth on the coffee table.

But I remember that God, probably while rolling his eyes, helped me through those days of lonely games in the woods and heroical starving among the cockroaches. Even my most cynical self suspects he didn't intend me to grow fat in a flat with a view, surrounded by hyacinths, for the rest of my life. Perhaps the uncertainty and frustration will drag me away from Netflix and remind me that I can't save souls but I could at least pay attention to them. There are good news to go tell.

for the straightforward pathway had been lost

I guess it's called middle age. When you realise you're not where you want to be and don't see a way to get there. That you're mediocre at best, and not the star you dreamed to be. That some very important things can't be fixed. That you'll never reach the mountains and have to make a path through the jungle.

On the other hand, I finally realised what The Divine Comedy is all about.

Midway upon the journey of our life

I found myself within a forest dark ...

more savouring, less swearing

The life improvement program I set up for myself after last summer has not been satisfactorily executed.

In fact, it's probably fair to say it's a laughable shambles.

Tiredness have ruined so many attempts at improving myself. Giving up sugar should really be next on my improvement list. 

But perhaps I'm a little more merciful towards myself.

So here's the list of areas where I have improved: walking in twilight, stuttering in two foreign languages, writing unpublishable fiction, enjoying books, making the most of quiet evenings, helping my mother, standing up for myself, loving trees, getting things done, savouring moments, choosing personal protective equipment, not swearing so much in traffic.

colour your world

An online conference, sweeping through the whole world in 24 hours. Starting in Sydney, ending in my lonely living room. 

Women of all ages, beauty and words of comfort. Beautiful daughters, tender and divine and eternal, poets and prophets, radiant ones marked by redeeming grace, warriors. Chatting, singing, praying, loving.

I sink into a world of colour and comfort and find a new spark inside me. God hems me in, behind and before, and lays his hand on me. I can go forward in grace.

on writing, disgust and crawling through the world

I'm reading about writing. It's pissing me off. Everybody says: Just sit down and write.

I should have known this already but I'm not like others, not in my passion for writing either. It's when I sit down and write that I can't write. I have to sneak up on my writing, pounce on it unexpectedly when I pretend to just walk by all uninterested. 

And I feel a deep disgust for myself if I detect any desire to be published (a blog doesn't count, nobody reads those anyway). The world is full of words being screamed, of attention being craved. I don't want to be a part of that.

And despite my idealistic longing to do something good, I'm too broken and alone to do more than occasionally smile at someone as I crawl through this world on my way to the next.

i'm salt liquorice and vanilla sugar

I love the different and surprising. I'm bored.

I make my friends laugh, I'm tired of people. I want to be alone and I'm lonely. I cannot understand the need to share anything at all on social media. I cannot understand the human race.

My hair is a mess of  colours - salt liquorice, chocolate, caramel and vanilla sugar. I'm infinitely curious.

"I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself." (Warsan Shire)

not somewhere else

I have a sore throat and should isolate myself. So I fight a sudden urge to go absolutely everywhere just to see people.

In cutoff denim shorts and woollen socks, I bring my laptop out on the balcony and proofread rainwear labels in the company of sea and sky.

I asked God why I'm not somewhere else. He said, "Because you don't really want to be."

can't see a marvellous comet

I'm in the middle of summer, in a canary-yellow sun hat and bare feet. I'm in sadness and happiness.

I breathe in pines, a thousand flowers, a quiet sea with thunder on the horizon. I cook dishes my mother has never tasted. I cut firewood for other people's children. I take my grandmother's ancient bike to the village and listen to the silence of the barley fields. I dip my toes in salt water and speak gently to someone who needs it. I drink coffee and lick chocolate off my fingers.

There is peace on the wind and restlessness in a hot sun. I want to see the world and learn. I'm wild with envy towards those who make their dreams come true, because I don't know how.

I want to be anywhere else. I want to stay here, watch the flowers grow, sing with the blackbird and the rosefinch.

I'm one of those who can't see a marvellous comet pass by because their sky is too bright.

the ice cannot fix this

I went down to the bay, with its ice like a mirror all the way to the horizon, and sat on a sun-warmed rock. The ice was singing.

It has not been a good winter. It has not been a winter at all, in some respects. Just a dark wetness, bringing dark thoughts.

It went well for a while. I savoured each month carefully, deliberately. The swirling grey mists of November, the spicy candles of December. Then came the discordant threats of January, the midwinter demons that play tricks on body and mind. I have been so busy fighting them that I hardly even noticed this bland February.

The last two months, and probably for a few more to come, I wake early in the mornings to the sound of drilling in the walls around me. Instead of working from home, I'm forced to take my laptop to noisy cafés, chilly libraries and my mother's quiet flat. It has its charms - sipping smoothies or my mother's strong coffee while I work - but hunching on uncomfortable chairs over a small laptop twists my body into seizures and aches.

I didn't sign up for any evening classes or courses last autumn, as I usually do. I was tired and needed my evenings for myself. I couldn't even find any fun dance classes at the gym, only boring workouts alone.

I may be more rested now. Or more stressed out, from the drilling. My mind wanders only around the same, small circles - my flat, the grey streets where nothing ever happens. My creativity has dried up. Love is still not a reality. Only my friends and family keep me afloat on this dull ocean.

I used to be the traveller, the explorer, the curious one. How did I become this dazed and lonely shadow?

The ice sang its song to me today, with cracks and soft hoots.

dust and a smell of copper

The sun is so far away, there is dust and a smell of copper, builders are ringing my doorbell at 7 AM, my brain zaps me at night, I still haven't found true love, every little thing scares me, and I sit alone in my house on a Saturday night.

But God will command his angels regarding me, I will not fear the terror of night nor the plague that destroys at midday, and I will dwell in the shelter of the Most High.

God and the July sun

It's on the loveliest days of summer that I plan my life.

When my bare skin is heated by a July sun and chilled by blue waters, when the vista around me is sky and sea and forest, when I'm deeply immersed in nature, when I feel safely at home and excited about new adventures at the same time. Then I dream and plan for the year ahead.

This year, my plans were modest and extravagant: I would learn what it is to be loved by God. To really feel it. How free and fearless I would be when that love was literal truth to me!

But in the icy winds of October, I go looking for that love and it's as far away as the July sun.

In theory, I know it's there. Sometimes I feel it - when I allow myself to feel it instead of try to earn it.

But I need to have it deep inside my body, immerse myself in sky and sea and forest.

The world is too cold for that.

I read and I pray, and maybe I'm inching closer, but my skin is still cold to the touch.