dream/plan/reality

Slow mornings, with birds following my walk to the bus stop.

Giving my attention to the world, not the screen. 

Booking a trip, walking a dog, living in love and trust.

she walks ancient paths

A woman sparkles. She's not young, she's gorgeous. She's not lonely, she's praying.

Her past is filled with adventures like novels crammed onto overflowing bookshelves. Her time is spent studying how to grow beauty in a wintry city, like a lantern, like joy in darkened eyes. Her neighbour is the sea, glittering with marvels, and the forest, lush with birch trees and stars and howling wolves. Her nights are dreams, her days are birdsong and tears. 

She walks ancient paths towards a garden of delight. When she falls and breaks, she takes the hand that pulls her up. She loses herself in a fantasy where she dances on the edge of the atmosphere, wrapped in soft scarves. 

She throws parties with wine and chocolate. She cooks weird dishes from her youth in a tiny kitchen. She overflows. She goes missing. She shows up to help. She asks for help.

She's an explorer, a listener, a story collector and a story. 

She rewrites her life with a miraculous, courageous pen. And it's all true, because love has extinguished fear.

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it." (Isaiah 30:21)

Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. (Jeremiah 6:16)

what is required in compensation for January

This month has heaped miseries upon me. What I long for right now:

Joy, peace, Christmas, chocolate, the good old days when I curled up on the couch and wrote, my father, dinner with friends, dogs, childhood, weeks of rest surrounded by books, easy health, a feeling of invincibility, God, my university days, fastlagsbullar with lots of cream, the feeling of falling in love, the smell of turf smoke in an Irish village on a winter's day, birdsong.

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.

in the Savoie, at last

Many, many years ago, when I was young and travelling but not always free to travel exactly where and when I wanted, I spent a few summer weeks working in Switzerland. 

I partly enjoyed it, partly felt insecure and stuck in a boring job. I dreamed of running away. Getting on a train, taking off for the mountains I saw from my window. I longed to explore, to go and see what's behind that mountain ridge, to wander in complete freedom to the ends of the earth.

The mountains I saw from my window were the Alps of Savoie, white and wild and mysterious, a wilderness in the heart of Europe. During thunderstorms you could hear them boom, like the galaxy's largest drum being struck. It reverbated in me.

Now I'm in Savoie at last. Not quite in the wilderness of those highest summits. But close enough. There are immense mountains and clear, blue lakes and a chill in the evening air.

We shiver with cold as we get out of the car. After two weeks in summer-hot France, it's a delicious feeling. The car engine ticks in exhaustion after a long trek on steep roads with hairpin turns. The cheap hotel, clearly meant for skiers, is quiet in off-season and smells of pine wood and adventures. As we splash happily in the outdoor pool, there is a sound of sonorous bells. A herd of cows is returning home from their grazing in mountain meadows. 

Wrapped in scarves we spend a long, happy evening in the restaurant around the blue flame of a fondue pot, sharing Savoyard wine and giggles. The food is hot and heavy, the comfort food of a chilly mountain night.

the Jura surprise

Sometime last winter, I was browsing through Google maps and happened upon the Jura Mountains, for no obvious reason except that I love mountains and Central Europe. I dove into Street View and followed a few mountain roads, sighing in pandemic isolation over views I would probably never see in real life.

This summer, I found myself in the passenger seat of a car at the foot of these mountains, near the French/Swiss border. The driver programmed the navigator with our destination - the Loire Valley in the middle of France. I peered at the suggested route, winding back and forth across the navigator screen. "Looks like it's taking us across the mountains." I'm a little nervous about driving in mountains. I  don't have much experience - Finland is pretty flat.

So we drove across the Juras. It was beautiful - steep, wooded slopes, valleys with cute villages. Good roads. A very surprising hilltop fortification (Forte l'Écluse) looming over the road. As surprising as my dream coming true - diving into a map and surfacing in France.

planning a medieval route

Planning a medieval route through Poitou, Périgord, Languedoc ... Have lovelier words ever been written? 

France is my dream country. It has all the history, all the castles, all the wine. It's almost unfair.

recurring dream #7

I had that dream again. The one where I go back to work in the Magic Valley, which I sometimes, but not very seriously, daydream about doing. It's almost twenty years since I left now.

The dream is always filled with people, sometimes a few well-known faces but often strangers. I'm usually running around trying to perform a lot of tasks in the lounge/bar and the kitchen, only occasionally going back to my real workplace behind the reception desk.

Sometimes the important people are there as well, the ones I long for and never will see again.

glamour stopped me in the street

I'm back in the city of my wide-eyed youth. On this very path I walked home after my first day at university, thinking I had taken on something impossible. I hid nervously behind my only two friends in the world as a handsome man, an older student, stopped us with a bright smile and suggested we join him and his friends for a beer. We nearly fainted. Many years later, we still laugh at how we stuttered an excuse and ran off like the scared little girls we were. 

Right there and then, the whole wide world threw open its portals and let us glimpse a future filled with unknown phenomena and exciting people. Glamour and adventure beckoned alluringly as the cathedral bell tolled the hour above our heads.

So I set off, running across the cobble-stoned streets with never-ending energy, entertaining dreams of interrail in Europe and beautiful men. I was surrounded by people who knew impossible stuff and appreciated ancient books as much as I did. People who were nothing at all like me. And people who were as hellbent on having adventures as I was, but without my fear. Sometimes I was desperate and lost. Then I sneaked into the ancient cathedral to stand beneath vaults as high as the sky and wander around decaying tombstones, to be comforted by the air of centuries past and the quiet of many prayers. 

That world pulled me in, molded and strengthened me, then shot me off into the universe.

As I walk the same streets now, I'm there and here simultaneously. That long-lost excitement and hope whisper to me again and yet I've seen so much, good and bad. 

Be inspired by the nostalgia or choke on it? I can't decide.

just wanna find an empty road

Today I'm dreaming of: taking off in the car, going north to Kalajoki with the sandy dunes, staying in a pretty cabin, eating croissants with wine, exploring cold beaches and miles of blue sky, being free.

Dreaming of anywhere but here.

the unprecedentedness is unprecedented

For such an exciting time, with a pandemic locking down the entire world, bodies piling up and economies crashing left and right, life is really quite boring.

Thank God for that.

I work, eat, sleep, take walks or bike rides while socially distancing myself, watch Netflix. I read in the news that the use of the word 'unprecedented' in news reports is in itself unprecedented, and find it mildly funny.

I like: dozing on the couch and not feeling like a failure for it, reading more, taking slow walks with my mother, never knowing what's going to happen, seeing people help each other, connecting more deeply than before, learning new things, planning picnics.

I dream of: hugging my mother, sitting idle in a café, travelling to Venice, feeling less lonely, mocking life with friends over Mexican food and wine, dancing with other people than myself, browsing second-hand shops, playing volleyball, GETTING OUT OF HERE, renewing my life completely, kissing someone.

still lost in the Delta Quadrant

The pandemic drove me to go on a retro-trip on Netflix. I binge-watch Star Trek: Voyager, the series I loved madly twenty years ago.

I've had no interest in the show since then, but I've fallen right back in now and can't stop. What a dream it would have been twenty years ago, to have access to a series streamed on demand, or even DVD boxes! Back then I was limited to one episode a week, broadcasted on TV (and if my VHS recorder or TV malfunctioned I only got to see it once or missed it completely), a few pages of fanfiction on the brand new Internet, and a couple of paperback fandom novels I found in a sci-fi bookstore on a dodgy backstreet.

(But if Netflix had existed, I would never have got a stitch of work done, or managed to find my way out into the world.)

Filming and acting were different in the 90s. Now the acting looks clumsy, the dialogues sound clichéd. But were they clichéd back then or do they seem so now because I recognise every line, from that show or any of a thousand others I've watched since?

Oh the nostalgia! Twenty years ago I was graduating and gearing up to go see the world for real. April then was like April now, minus pandemics and lockdowns: the golden light returning, seagulls, wild spring in the air, exuberance, promises of happiness. I threw open my windows to dark, crisp evenings and watched Voyager's crazy adventures while I secretly, desperately wished for adventures of my own.

And yes, I got them. I got on a plane, almost on a whim, and ended up in a mad place where I sometimes thought of myself as part of a starship crew in a universe of impossible adventures. Because it was actually a bit like that. I ran around putting out fires, fighting monsters (sometimes almost literally) and kissing aliens (really literally). I wore a uniform, screamed for backup in threatening situations, tried to communicate with hostile entities and ate things I probably shouldn't in the mess hall. I couldn't have found more drama and weirdness if I had gone looking for it in outer space.

Still, did Star Trek: Voyager set me up for disappointment? I mean, what normal life could continue to provide such a maelstrom of mad happenings and tightly-knit teams of friends? Yet somehow I think I expected it to.

I watch episode after episode and find myself back in that stormy spring world of the year 2000. It was a magic idea, such unlimited freedom, to end up 70 000 lightyears from Earth like the starship did - but the other day I saw a picture on the news of a black hole 5.5 billion lightyears from here and that adjusted my perspective a little.

But I still wonder why my life has so few space/time rifts, hull breaches, aliens wielding flashy weapons and chatty Talaxians cooking leola-root soup.

no way to Venice

I binge-watched Marco Polo, the TV series, on Netflix recently and dreamed myself away to the steppes of Central Asia.

The Marco Polo of this series often looks up at the starry skies. His father, who cruelly left him alone at the mercy of Kublai Khan, told him that the stars of Orion's Belt will lead him back home to Venice.

A month or so ago, I bought a ticket to Venice for a long-planned exploration trip of Italy with friends. Well, that trip has now been cruelly cancelled as all of Europe locks itself away for a while.

Now I look to Orion for guidance. It is no easier for me than for poor Marco to find a way to Venice.

house of candles and cherries

A dark cottage lit by fig and mango candles, a tiled kitchen with a hot scent of cinnamon and honey. A garden of pear and lemon trees, birdsong and the sweetest of cherries. A small creek with a canoe in it, ready for adventures.

whiskey and silver nails

I come armed with whiskey and silver nails.

Autumn has nothing on me as I turn my world into silver and get ready for change. I will go on a quest for love. I will tell shivering secrets and diamond truths to my friends. Let the weak say "I am strong" because grace is sufficient for me.

I will live from day to month and love the chilling skies. There will be music, libraries and the whispering of French words. I will let my voice be heard and laugh without fear of the future. I was born for this and I know how to dress the part.

God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. I will drink lots of water and grow in strength and wisdom.

I will walk down the street like a rock star, but with love.

drop a hornet on my head

It was a day of bright sunshine on snow, a day when I donned my thickest coat and warmest mittens to survive the heart-stopping cold.

The whole city gathered cheerfully to watch a large military parade. Everyone was down at the seafront, many ventured out on the ice. Children were throwing snowballs. People stomped their feet to keep warm, smiled with frost-bitten faces.

Then, time for what everyone was waiting for: The air show performed by a daring pilot in an F/A-18 Hornet fighter jet. The aircraft thundered in. It danced above our heads for ten minutes or more, in and out of loops and dangerous-looking maneuvres. At times, it pointed its nose down and dived straight towards us with a threatening roar, then pulled up and showed us glowing jet exhausts, the noise increasing to a deafening thunder that had us covering our ears. Sometimes it blew past at an impossible speed, sometimes turned or rose so steeply that it seemed to almost come to a stop.

It was unbelievably impressive. And I was paralyzed with fear. This was exactly the nightmare that I often have. In that nightmare, I'm watching an aircraft circle above me, knowing that it will soon crash right where I'm standing, knowing that I have no chance of escape. And here I was, watching that very plane doing impossible maneuvres that surely would make it drop out of the sky. Watching an F/A-18 coming straight at me with terrifying speed. I remembered every video clip I had ever seen of fighter jets plowing straight into the ground, so fast the camera could barely keep up.

Time to face the fear, then. I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. But I wrapped my arms around myself, stood still and forced myself to watch. I can't say that I enjoyed it - but the adrenaline flooding my body surely spiced up the whole experience. I won't forget it.

I have not had the nightmare since then.

recurring dream #6

I am back in my Magic Valley, setting out to explore its wondrous wilderness again. It is beckoning me with its irresistible siren call, this lush and marvellous fairytale forest with hidden brooks, weaving paths and sunlight playing in yet undiscovered glades.

This time, I'm aiming to go further than ever before, beyond the mountains at its far end. I simply must see what lies behind that horizon. I revel in every step of the journey, joyfully discovering new wonders at every turn.

I never get to the mountains. I get held up on the way every time, sometimes by enervating circumstances. Most often by the knowledge that I have to turn back and leave. Because I'm only visiting this, my former home, my paradise lost.

I have to leave, and it's breaking my heart.

recurring dream #5

I'm living in a house on a beautiful beach, not far from the waterline. It's heaven - but with a threatening undertone from the dangerous sea.

I think I'm scared of life itself - my beautiful dream life full of adventures.

being good on Epiphany

"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good." (John Steinbeck)

It is Epiphany today. I dreamed I was being good last night. In some ways, I am. Good at some things. Sometimes a good person.

(In my dream I also executed people, but that only shows I'm good at unusual dreams, right?)

saints and songs and gingerbread

I have watched the Nobel Banquet on TV and found inspiration among princes and sages.

I have loved the darkest time of the year, loved by nobody else, because it is so intense in its darkness. I have walked in rain and snow and eaten too much chocolate and it's not even Christmas yet.

This is December, when memories and a craving for ancient traditions tumble over me. I want to sing of tidings of comfort and joy and wonder as I wander. I want to see a saint with a crown of candles walk into a dark room. I want to hear hymns echo under high vaults and burst into tears. I want the smell of gingerbread and the taste of clementines and the love of people and gods.

I want to sing out loud, courageously as when I was six years old and surprised everyone by singing a solo about lighting a candle in a lonely house. I want to sleep for hours in my mother's house.