September 25, 2017
Tuesday, 29 August, half past ten. We are sitting, enjoying the radiant sunshine, in front of the doll-house-like, yellow wooden railway station of Geilo. In just 25 minutes, the train will leave for Oslo with Jeroen on board. On the way to an annual friends’ weekend and the paid hobbies he is starting to miss.
As my head leans against his shoulder and our hands are tightly intertwined, the sun shines a bright, mean light on all of the wandering thoughts that go through my head in these precious minutes. ‘Hey, you there. Why do you have to stay in Norway again? To explore your creativity and give it space? Yeah, yeah, don’t make me laugh. And goodness, for a whole month? I bet you’re going to feel empty and lonely’. These thoughts almost pull me into a deep, empty well. Almost. Fortunately, my consciousness wakes up. She lets the sun into my heart, which softly whispers: ‘take a deep breath and feel ‘now’ what ‘is’.
Through my lungs, the billions of cells in my body fill with fresh air. I realise that I feel totally full. Not just with air, but also with love. And with all the fairytale-like stories we were able to create together in the past 2 weeks. All my cells are cheering. Can you imagine what it feels like when that many cells are celebrating together? Well, that’s how I feel. I want to cherish this feeling. I remain silent as I lean against Jeroen. The only movements I make are for intense kisses. These minutes seem to last an eternity.
Ruminating and digesting
Until the train comes rolling into the station and Jeroen gets on it. One fat tear slides across my cheek like a slow slug. I wave until he is out of sight. I almost break Floyd’s paws with hugs. I take another deep breath and get into the camper to continue my on my lonesome road. Toward Frank and Rinie from Camping Birkelund. In their quiet, rural meadow, I recover from the events for three days. Very slow and cautiously, I ruminate and digest. Each devastated effort I take to translate our experiences into a blog seems feels like a tilting pinball machine.
A cry for attention
The five-day hike through the Rondane National Park. The two-day Besseggen hike, which they say every Norwegian should walk at least once in their lives. And we now understand why. Breath-taking views. Jeroen’s birthday, which we celebrate for three days. Cosily in our tent. With candlelight in the Tuva Hytte. And smouldering hot in a luxurious spa. The in-depth and funny conversations with our fellow travellers during the cabin dinners. The hours of silence that nature gives us. The digital detox. The hours and hours of hiking, skipping, and jumping in storms, rain, and fortunately, lots of sun. The made up songs we sing along the way, knowing that nobody can hear us. Everything is a cry for attention, which short-circuits my brain.
Perhaps each experience deserves its own story. As long as my hand cannot wield the golden pencil to give them the attention they deserve, I let them ripen to perfection, cautiously and at the right temperature. Until… who knows? Tomorrow, ever, or never? And is it not so that four pictures say more than a thousand words? The spiders regularly try to create a misty web in my mind. Patiently, even if it is a hundred times a day, my consciousness allows me to breathe again. My anchor. It shows me time and time again that there is a loving space. Space where I am allowed! to be creative. Something I have secretly desired all my life. Something I now dare to give in to.