Cuppa tree and new knives.

 Phew. Long time, no post. I won´t bore you out with all the details, but the meantime has been both a huge pile of shite and a "what a ball" experience, a rollercoaster ride of feelings up and down. I reaalized what an insane pile of shite humanity actually is in general and learned to love some few chosen people even more for it. The shitty fuckers will be shitty fucker no less, if I rant about them or not. So let´s just say there´s a reason why I did not post this long. Then there were these privacy law novelties I had to adapt to... and I had better things to do than sit in front of a screen and write. Ride my bike, and get my soul back from the swamp others put me in. Fly again. "Scream with force into the driving wind and listen to the echoes in your mind" (VVA). And invent myself anew.

As a result, I forged again some new stuff. I forged it for myself, and myself alone.  This, for instance, is ÌsentandR (iron tooth), which I forged from a bit of crucible steel I found in the woods and which was loosely inspired by a knife by Petr Florianek, I hope, with my own spice and style on it.

 The inscription says Ìsentandr on one side and "Ubilowari" (I fend off Evil, or so it is commonly read. It is loosely inspired by a runic inscription from the migration era of European history. Consequentially, the runes are written in the elder Futhark, also from that period). The knife is a bit anachronistic in style, taking early modern age and late medieval all - steel peasant utility knives and adorning it with a rather syncretistic mishmash of Celtic and Mammen style and late medieval ornamentation. There is a dragon´s head on it to add fierceness against Evil and a fox´head which stands for stealth, hunting by night, cunning and the killing out of lust (Don´t blame me for this violence, it is what a fox is-a hound with a cat´s software... :-) ) Also, the fox is the psychopomp in a local legend, the legend of the giant´s causeway.

 Foraging for steel is  sort of a high quest for me. People tend to make fun of me because I keep finding steel and make knives out of "crap". It is not efficient in their mindset. But it is not about the steel. It is about the other world made flesh. This is a steel that had legendary qualities even in its time. People have died in making it. It is the Valyrian steel of reality. I found it by following a story. I hunted it down. It hid in the woods, until I came and found it. No, it is not out of efficiency calculations that I made this knife. Best not try to understand the story behind it- it might drive you insane.

 An altogether different thing is this one: A bushcraft knife that I built to the limit from some mystery stainless steel with a hardness of about 58 HRC and a very fine grain. I assume it might be either 440C or Niolox (1.4153.03), but fact is, I just cannot tell. Pardon me? A stainless steel which this madman does not know, selectively quenched and tempered with an open coal forge?

Yes, you CAN do it.

THis is what foraging for steel and hunting down stories can teach you: It can teach you to FEEL what is right. 

 The handle is birchwood burr with mosaic pins. Nothing fancy, and a lot of room for improvement... and I will actually even use it (I do use all of my knives)

 But the culprit is not about the knives. It is about feeling what is right, what is the graceful way to move amongst the tides ad flow of the law of the universe. It can be addictive, but this is just right. It is not about what people want to make you think, or do, or believe. Most people these days are raptuoulsy mad. This might sound a bit mad in itself, but don´t make too much contact with people. Most of them do things in a rabid manner. Do not commune with them, or you will lose the integrity and the peace of your soul. Their soul is black, and ill, and infectuous. They will want to corrupt you for no reason but that they want to.

Solution:

 Just a snack in the woods gives me back what "they" have laboured to take from me in arduous months. Just half an hour in the sun, sipping good tea, having a slice of good cheese and some tasty dark fruit bread and a sausage, using the knife from steel I foraged for amd my trusty kuksa will render all of their schemes and hatred futile. Breathing slowly, intently, and savouring each drop of milk in the cheese and each second of life in the meat, and the sun in the barley and the fruit gives me back what they think I had lost for good.

And I laugh at the prospect of them screaming in the black void where they are emprisoned for good-that once was their soul.

As long as there are woods, and the red merlin crying, as long as there is life...

 ...and death...

 The well will spring up and renew itself as long as I live.

For the wicked there can be no victory, only the silent and painful rotting of their flesh and soul. For the one who tries to walk the path along the tides and flow of the universe, there can be no defeat. No triumph, either, for a wind feels no triumph, nor does the fox... or the dragon who spans the void on iron wings... ;-)

Thanks for turning in again!

An early spring foraging hike

 These days I am not overly fond of my "fellow" human beings, to be frank. I did a lot of work for others, and of course charity bears its reward in itself, but if you ALWAYS get mobbed and deadbashed and sabotaged in the process, you get some different ideas how you want to spend your life, or rather, what you´d rather not want. I would gladly work for free for someone or something worth it... but alas-those few that would be worth it, are spread thin.But then ...alas... I do not care that much any more :-). having a bout of the flu and not feeling like doing a 85k ride with some 1500 vertical metres at all, but still feeling the need to get WWWAAAAAAYYY out there, I hitched the bus to the mountains... more the foothills of the Sauerland, but still. Arriving at the trailhead and climbing the first 100 m of rather steep incline I realized I should have rather taken it a bit slower ;-). But, not that much harm done, I did my huffing and puffing while enjoying the scenerey...

Then I climbed on at a more flu-compatible pace...

Through the thicket I scrambled, quite literally, sometimes on all fours. The Sauerland mountains might not be that huge, but steep they are well enough... ;-). I relished in the silence and solitude, with the ruckus of the valley subsiding with every step I made. You might know this feeling; I always thought there is a subtle threshold, not necessarily a geographical one, while geographics matter in this, but something more subtle. There is not anything huge that will happen, no dramatic light effects or a bombastic portal standing there.

But still, at that point, the world changes, and you change. Your mind gets another perspective, and the vibrations of your soul thrum louder than they do in the everyday mayhem, hum in harmony with the rustling of leaves and the sound of the oncoming breeze.

Then I came to a fireroad, broad, but solitary, and I followed it for  awhile.

The hills in the distance summoned me on... I must admit i followed a trail I did not know. I did not know where the trail might lead me, but everything is better than the city and its madness on som days. This was one of those days, where even lying in bed curing a flu was less of an alternative.

Even better yet: There was a cure waiting for me just by the roadside: Balsamic fir resin.

I harvested some of it. At home I took three peanut-sized grains resin with a tablespoon of coconut oil and three tablespoons honey, heated the coconut oil (you can also take whatever is at hand, but coconut oil is slightly antiseptic in itself) and dissolved the resin in it, put the honey in and per three teaspoons of the stuff took three finger´s breadth of cheap whiskey (I am talking whiskey still, not glass cleaner, mind you ... ;-) ) in a pint and filled up with boiling water, constantly stirring. Don´t overdo this, you might get stomach problems if you drink too much of the unprocessed resin!

Anyway, I climbed on, and still the vistas became more wonderful... somehow my spirit always lifts at that place, and it is as if a heavy load is taken from my shoulders. The air was fresh, but not cold, and felt clean and refreshing to me.

On the top of things, I met this not so little fella. I really like this guy and I must admit I have developed sort of a bromance with him.

I like his cloak... and the owl...

And the way he looks...

And Mr. Fluffkins at his feet... ;-)

Quite spontaneously I decided to visit the villag, Nachrodt-Wiblingwerde. This village is how a village should be, in my opinion. You can simply tell it works by how the inhabitants greet each other, and kids and elderly people interact on the street. It always warms my heart. Of course, there might be  a lot going on behind the scenes that does not necessarily looks so pretty in broad daylight, but having sat in the café at the marketplace and having involuntarily overheard one or a hundred conversations ;-) I would guess life is a bit better on the heights, at least than it is in the city.  

It started to rain, and when the cold drizzle subsided...

I was rewarded with this beautiful rainbow...

And could not resist shooting this photo... :-P

At first I had contemplated taking the bus, but then it would have meant waiting for two hours in the cold, so I decided to walk.

And, of course, I was rewarded again with murky woods.

...and mist rising from the dale.

I like walking like this. When twilight falls and embraces you like a harsh, unforgiving blanket, and still, you feel snug and huddled in the dark.

When the owls cry and foxes bark and deer are shying in the distance, then my lifeblood becomes warm and strong.

Then stars come out you cannot see in the valley, and the moon is a haunted spectre hunting in the woods, setting beings dancing around rotten stumps...

And while I might be ostracized in the world of man, still I walk trails at moonlight they would not dare walk in broad daylight.

The hooting of owls and the fighting and hunting and living of little and large critter and predator and the badger bear no terror for me... not as much as the ugly nocturnal predators that have designed the world of man...and if you fear not the twilight, the twilight will become you, it will never be your friend, but you will not need for anything else.

And then, suddenly, it was over. In stealth I trod on an empty road.

But, waiting for the bus, a car just stopped. I was a bit alerted, for you never know in the city of Hagen, but there was someone with a smile and a good face OFFERING me a ride to the centre of Hohenlimburg, if I agreed (!).

Maybe all´s not lost... and knowharramean? :-P

That twilight green

 Sometimes the voice inside is crying. It is crying madly. It is screaming and writhing and yelling "Enough!"

Lost in a world gone mad, I sometimes need to see something that is cruel, but true, wild, but sane. It is the forest that calls me. There is a lot to say, and to sing, and to think, and yet words seldom do it justice. Either you can feel it, and then my words or songs would be futile, or you cannot feel it, and it would be even more futile to rant about it. It is the forest that calls me, in its wintery desolation, in spring and in summer, but in the cold autumn rain no less. Maybe the voice is even stronger then, and autumn is the season where I want to wander, and wander alone.

 Those ancient hills lay unfathomed even under a leaden sky, and even if there are fireroads hacking through its landscape, and harvester vehicles spill their noise and poison through the open forest... alone at last, and free from the ruckus and gibberish that man makes to date, all crying and howling "I AM! LOOK! I AM!" at no one and nothing in particular, getting into a mad frenzy. Sometimes I think that they all at once realized that no Mammonism can buy them out of their mortality and that they, looking at their own, ugly souls in all their naked distortion, simply got mad.

Now I am not saying that I am not mad. But I, for one, know that as a fact. I am a lunatic and far from sanity. I am broken, but I believe that there also is some beauty to it. I am no better than average Joe, but I have learned to pick up the fairy gold. You need an open hand for that, a hand that does not want to close over a sunbeam, and you need a bit of craziness to use it to sew yourself a cloak of golden light-or of twilight.

For I am a wanderer on dangerous paths, and I need  a cloak of murk to hide beneath... I need moonbeams and shadow, I need green and the colour and scent of the autumn soil to clothe myself in winter.

 Over the hills I went, and strolled through silent, murky forests, along those roads, towards the hilltop. I met no one but my soul, I heard no voice but silence.

 Like a crevice the spruce and fir, swaying in a gentle breeze, led me further up the hill and deep, deep down into the secret.

 The birch, finest hair and grey skin, stood there, breathing slower, and the floor was trimmed with sparkling gold. They say there´s a bucket of elf shit at the end of the rainbow... but the trees tell me otherwise.

 The oak, still bearing its golden leaves, was standing guard at the gates of the secret.

 Query: What is it, that secret of twigs and branches intertwined? What is it that is hemmed with twilight?

 It is a feeling hovering, not intelligible in an everyday mindset, hovering above the crumbling ruins of the haughtiness of man, ivy-strangled, and moss-entangled. It is a feeling alien to man, or even beast, while beasts still live closer to it.

 To the ruin on top of the hill I came and explored the shadows of rock and moss, of rotten timber and fallen tiles. To the top of the hill I came and explored that feeling of rock and rotten timber and twilight and moss and strangling ivy. There is a secret hidden inside that feeling. There is that cloak of twilight hidden inside the secret.

 There is a tree that forever grows and prospers, a tree of light, a vision of white and green. A tree.

 There is a tree, and its leaves are lights and moonbeams. A tree there is that forever shall sprout.

"Lachel calad - drego morn!"