Those are the adventures of Mr. Fimbulmyrk, in bushcraft and blacksmithing, mountainbiking and hiking, reenactment, writing, singing, dancing, stargazing and having a piece of cake and a coffee. Pray have a seat and look around you, but be warned - the forest´s twilight is ferocious at times.
It´s been a while, on a day when the sun was shining so vibrantly, that I felt that urge again. I had to get outside, and so I packed my foraging gear and a cuppa and saddled my not-so-trusty steed (for it is crumbling at the moment and I lack the money to fix it) to get out into the woods. I am very glad that I have managed to ride more frequently this year. I even commute to work again, which amasses to a bargain of about 100€ per month! Plus, it makes me fitter. I also have started the year by drinking up to 1.5 l of birch sap per day, which made me do at least a 20km ride each day on top, for the sap does not collect itself;-). Also it makes me wonder what crap we normally drink. When drinking unprocessed birch sap I have the impression that it takes an immediate positive effect on my metabolism, and, comparing it to soft drinks and alcohol I wonder how much crap we normally drink... but I am realistic enough to know that I will continue to drink my beer and my coke from time to time. It´s just that the effect is that cool, and that there is actually something about that myth of the "tree of rejuvenation", aka the birch that´s not entirely... erm ... mythological ;-), or better, that indeed is mytho-logical.
Anyway;-), I rode out to the hills, and really basked in the warm sun. Spinning my cranks in slow circles, just breathing and climbing above the valley, away from the exhaust fumes and the ruckus and the noise, it felt as if a weight had dropped from my shoulders, just like it has felt again and again.
We tend to forget that in our world. We are all bombarded with the latest bad news, with greed and hate and lust and violence, with need and want and whatnot, that we forget that somewhere birds still twitter and don´t preach hate with it, so to say, but just sing, because they feel like singing or because it´s what birds do in spring. And trees just grow, with no meaning needed apart from that. It´s all still there, and we are the ones that have alienated themselves from tree and bird and fox and hare.
Sometimes I tend to think that the bicycle is the last sensible machine that man has invented. You push the cranks, it lurches forward, it´s simple and has little ecological footprint when compared to a car (ANY car, even a modern electric engine), a plane or rocketship. Even a mountainbike for all its hardcore image is a humble means of transportation. It does you good and takes you places, full stop. Of course, if you do skids down an alpine slope, chance is, you will have some more or less grave ecological impact, but so will a caribou sliding down that same slope. Compared to a V-8 engine this impact is outright ridiculously small, even if you consider the production. But it´s not about ecological calculations. It´s just the good feeling I had. Take out the old warhorse, and ride to the hills where things still make some sense or do not even need to make sense.
Now I think long and hard about the current political situation in the world, and I do this far too often for my own good. But let us be honest. We all know we are preparing for our death. Mankind will be extinguished, maybe even as early as next year. The American and North Korean dictators as well as the one in Russia, the one in Turkey and the lunatics in the Middle East are all playing with the fuse and will light the fire soon (and mind you, I do not exclude our own local and political German dictators), because their tiny egos demand for a nuclear war to feel as if they had a huge genital. It´s that simple. It´s not about any God or Allah or what is right or wrong. It´s about who has the power, and who has the least of a conscience to blow us all into oblivion. And we have reached a point where a simple mechanism of nature is taking effect. Mankind is reaching the verge of overpopulation and has routed a good part of the ecosystem, and so the population is to be reduced by the simple failsafe of a nuclear world war. Most of us will die soon, and I daresay I won´t survive, too. There is nothing I could do to prevent this. There is no election I could attend, no measure of protest that will stop this failsafe. And it is right that we will be extinguished (for the most part). Why then should I make plans for the future? Why should I bother to buy a load of shite that will be useless? If I will survive, fine, but why should I care? The world will be a shitty place for the rest of my life any which way. I will always have a hard time living. There will be no children, no family for me. And no happiness.
Except for something very, very simple. There will always be a view from a hilltop. Maybe you will look down into a valley of ruins and shacks and desolation, and maybe not, but you will always be able to stand upon a hilltop (provided you survive). There maybe even will be birds singing, and maybe some trees still standing. Hope dies last, one says, but as long as one human being still lives, he or she will hope. And what I know for sure is that I always had a hard time living. It´s not that this will change for the better, but if it will change for the worse, I am well accustomed to that. What I want to say is that there will always be things that count. And these things will always count.
A bicycle is but one means to experience these things, but one it is.
And I am fighting to get this resolve, over and over again, as you well know from reading my blog. Often I think it´s just superficial and superfluous to just have some careless, plain old fun. Mountainbike riding as I often practice it is a surrogate activity not meaning a thing, but then, why should it mean a thing? I watched a buzzard some days ago. Okay, so he was circling for prey, but why did he go into seemingly unmotivated dives and rolls? Doves to that, as well as ravens, bluetits and sparrows and swallows. They play in the air. Their need for sustenance is far more dire than ours can ever be, and yet they play. Wild cats, foxes, deer - they all play.
Yeah, the situation we are faced with, is no reason to be glad and cheerful. But there´s nothing we can do now to prevent the rout of mankind.
So I figured I´d rather have some fond memories of sunlight and trailriding and playing on my bike and drinking spring in a mug of birch sap when sitting in the dark of a bunker or waiting for the cancer to kill me slowly. At least then I will have the notion, however ridiculous it may be, however worthless is may seem at first glance, that even when I am dying in torment, there once was a time when I lived, and really felt alive.
And, yeah, spring is on the way, and there will be spring, or seasons, at least after a period of time. When the nuclear winter will be over, nature will reclaim what was lost. As it is the case even after the most hopeless winter of all, after every winter there will be a new spring.
Maybe the lake, a jewel now that mirrors the sky under a vibrant sun, will be a dried-out ditch, rock-strewn and full of debris. But that ditch will remember the time when it was a lake.
And even after the desolation, something will sprout. And after the rout of mankind, nature will prosper again, prosper and will be left to itself to grow as it was intended to be.
But what is most important: It is NOW that everything basks in a vibrant sun. It is NOW that the birds are singing. It is NOW that the sap rises and the trees sprout and blossom. It is not tomorrow that you can take out your bike to go on a beautiful ride in the sunshine. It is not tomorrow that you will have fun, but NOW. We are still alive. We might not be able to do anything against what will happen soon. So why the fuck should we listen to all the bad news and the next moron telling us not to do this or that? Of course that does not tell you should go out and kill your little sister and eat her shanks seasoned with thyme just because someone told you not to.
But their entire system of morale and value has brought us into this fix. It is not competent to bind us, for its moral integrity is non-existent and therefore non-contiguous. Meaning, those that forged their swords to ploughshares now plough for those that did not. Yap, violence still is not an option. I despise it for the stress that it will give me afterwards. It always comes full - circle, that´s what I am still saying. Some things will always make sense. If you whack someone, chance is, he will strike you back. If you kill someone´s brother, chance is, he will kill you for it, law or justice or not. They tell us (and keep telling us) that man is more than an animal while they act like predators upon us. Yap, man is more than an animal, for no degree of violence such as the one man employs against even his loved ones is known in nature. Foxes kill out of lust, that´s true, but never so much that one endangers an entire local ecosystem. Owls keep mice alive as a food storage and even mast them, but with little impact on the local ecosystem, too. Animals never go that far as man does. We are an abomination, born naked, with no scales to protect us, no bristles to fend off animals, not even fur or pelt, with no fangs nor beak nor claws, and traumatized by it, so much in fact that we are not content in making our own fangs and beaks and claws, but throwing them around the world and making them explode, so that one claw can kill hundreds and hundreds of thousands and millions and our entire species. It is out of fear that we do this.
And now they tell us to fear. They thrive on besting the latest bad news. And they tell us to be prepared when there can be no means of preparation adequate. And they tell us lies that the guy next door, the people in the country some 3000km away are responsible for all that shite. They keep us in fear in order to make us hate and in order to support their own fear and hate.
But it is NOW that the sun is shining. It is NOW that the swallows and bluetits play in the air. It is NOW that the sap is rising and the trees are in blossom. I am content with making my own claws, so that I am up to par with the other animals. I am content with my bike, and I love to play. And, that´s the culprit, why should I not?
I am extremely grateful for the birch providing its sap, for the warm sun.
For the vista down that tricky trail, down to a lake that´s still a lake and not a dried-out crater.
For the wonderful, beautiful stems of the birchwood grove.
For my beaten and battered bike, so simple and yet so complex.
For a cuppa tea in the warm sun.
For the ants that show me that it is okay to take advantage of the good that nature has to offer.
Even for that little bug.
For dry leaves that rustle in the wind.
...and a Chinese ************ of a ladybug.
For beech sprouts, so delicious in a salad....
...sprouting their living green...
from something moulded and dry.
This is spring. This is the wonder of spring.
Bad news today?
Rise like the birch sap. It is spring, the sun is warm. Get out and play in the leaves and scream your joy at the trees!
So, long time, no post, I know. It´s just that I am a bit undermotivated to date for blogging, what with no real camera, no ressources whatsoever and working hard and most of the time for next to nothing. It just seems I always struggle the best I can (and get a lot of positive input for my work), but the money seems to avoid me as if I had the plague. I am to date thinking about starting a business with knifemaking and blacksmithing tutorials for children. But the market is definitely down to next to nothing for knives. I could sell a handmade knife with a spring steel blade that cuts mild iron and chops antler, complete with stag handle and sheath for 35 €. We´re talking handforged here, and that´s not a price at all. When I sell knives at all, I just make blades to be finished with a Paracord wrapping and no sheath. My day job´s stuck at a dead end of course, no career in sight. My mother wanted to sell my property flat while I looked away just once to an estate speculant at a ridiculous price. So, not exactly an easy life at the moment, but now everything´s under control (as far one could say that for any life) again, and I can concentrate on the nice experiences again. And at the beginning of June I stayed at my love´s for holiday, and while there were a lot of beautiful days spent together, here´s just a short account of the highlights. Hikes into the hills, getting up late, having fun, meeting, friends, having great food and some greater music, great weather, and a beautiful city. Oh, and "ain´t she sweet?"...
... The hills above Marburg...
One day Daniela, a friend of ours, the magic troll and myself drove out towards the Goldborn spring. We went there for meditation and spiritual practice. A local legend says that he who sits by the spring for three fullmoon nights in a row without speaking, will find a golden treasure. We did not stay for three months;-), but we spoke little. It was a very peaceful atmosphere with the creeks singing and golden light seeping through the leaves. We first went on our respective ways, and it was great to be with people, regardless of our way of acquaintance, with whom this is possible.
The song of the creek and the trees merged into each other, and there were voices from the deep sounding up into the world of man and beast and tree. It is difficult to describe, but if you are still enough, you might be able to relate to the experience. If you don´t, there´s no way I can make this plausible to you.
When I returned from my solitary journey, I found the magic troll sitting with her feet in the water and chanting a gentle song, so low I could not hear much. She has a lovely voice, sure, but most impressively was the voices that rose from the creek and that blended into her singing. It was certainly one of the most beautiful things I have heard in my whole life.
Then Daniela returned and took to playing the flute sitting on a rock in the creek, and that was another very beautiful and touching thing. In the meantime, the magic troll and myself prepared some food and we said our thanks and had a feast on handmade cheese and bread and cake and water melon and a cuppa tea.
Suddenly all was over and we drove home with a heart full of peace and joy. On Friday then Erich came, the magic troll´s father, and a great guy to have around. Especially when some beer is involved. And, no, I am NOT ashamed ;-)
We prepared for combat with a black beer helmet, for it was Münzenberg reenactment fair ahead, and we had still to train for full contact martial arts. We chose an enemy of mankind to be fought. Alcohol. I am glad to say that the enemy was utterly defeated!
The magic troll in assault mode...*ggg*
Off to Münzenberg.
I could rant on endlessly how great it was, how friendly the people. It was great to meet with Jonny again, and talk away the hours with Lotte, his wife, to trade weird jokes with Heika and André, and Steffen and Dipali, and Meggy and Peter and all those other great people on the fair. Erich bought himself half a ton of bronze axes;-), and some pretty Birka jewellry for the girls. I also had the privilege to meet with Danuta, his new companion girlfriend, another great person I was glad to meet. We enjoyed this quality time together.
Oh, and the fights? Look here to see some real fighting, no sword ballet:
Kidding aside, when I got home I took out Íshakùthr, ye olde viking swordie and gave it some polishing up. Blimey, I have to forge some armour...;-) some real armour, that is.
Yesterday I simply wanted to get out of the city, and thus I took the bus to the hills. When I was just seated, someone called my name, and who stood there? Harald, the guy who taught me the very beginnings of the real side of the craft. He corrected my scrollwork, showed me many projects, and last but not least showed me how to forge-weld the steel. Once we worked together in a museum, where we both fared not too well. I was mobbed out, and he was kept low. An accomplished craftsman, all he was told to do was ridiculous work. If he did a good job, he was yelled at. It´s not my opinion alone, it was also stated in an article in the Hephaistos, a blacksmith´s magazine where the museum was called the "Phantasialand der geknechteten Handwerker" (event park of enslaved craftsmen). Anyway, Harald had a hard time, and was sick for a long time, and I put a lot of energy into him which ultimately lead to a break in our relationship, for I could not help him in any other way. I respect him, for he managed to get a hold on his problems. We had a chat of old times together and a cuppa coffee, and he showed me a striker knife he made from chainsaw chain damascus after a drawing I made long ago. By the way, the writing are hieratic runes I developed long ago... as a writing version of the carved Futhark rune forms. The knife he made is not exactly the one on the sketch, but I like it nonetheless. have to do it myself soemtime soon! We talked a bit longer about this and that, about dreams and pains and plans on life, and then I went on my merry way. I hope Harald will continue on the great path he is on, and I hope we can do this again sometime. Maybe we will meet in the smithy, where this guy simply belongs, and it´s my turn now to give something back.
The hills called loudly. Winter is still restinging heavily upon the snow-ravaged-land, but spring is already on the way. The sun shone, not warm yet, but sun it was.
Into those snowy woods I went, still in winterly, deadly silence... but this silence was broken by the tweeting of some birds already fluttering around and calling to the sky for spring to come.
Dark it rests still, the cloak of the ancient, ice-cold lord, but the golden bough is sprouting already. Everywhere plant´s hips were sprouting, and there was an atmosphere of a violent breakthrough in spite of all the ice.
The creek was singing aloud under the veil of ice that still covers its waters.
Towards the lake I came, that lake I passed along so many times, where I passed my childhood and the days of my youth, and as often as I have seen it, so many faces did it bear. Never did it look the same, and the older I get, the more I see it with a sense of awe. I have never travelled far, have not seen many countries, but I have seen the worlds within the world, the multiplying faces of nature that never get to any end, that spring forth with violent vigour...;-)(alliteration is fun).
...
And as I walked on, the trail besides the lake, I came to the hillside of the birch grove I like so much, deep in thought and in a sense of wonder, and I bowed towards the four places of the wind and the law of the universe, and to the spirits, and the forces of the land, when in the distance I heard two raven croak, and it was a hair-rousing experience, in a good sense of the word. Oh, I remember, and I think, and thus Huginn and Muninn might fly within my soul...
I sat there, on top of the hill, and time passed, or not, and I meditated on past and the flow of time, on the burden of the years and the dance of youth within my step that´s springy still, but nearing old age with every stride.
I drank a cuppa tea, and let the sun sink, sink lower still...
On a drive towards Prichsenstadt we stopped at the spring of the Fulda, which at that point is but a tiny creek, but becomes a prominent river later on. The spring is situated in the Rhön region of Germany, a volcanic geological formation in the middle of our country. It is a beautiful landscape with rolling hills, the highest of which is the "Wasserkuppe" with a height of approx. 950 m. That we visited also, of course, and the reason was not entirely all a laughing matter, more of a smile with some tears in it. It was a great sunny day, bright and warm, with birds singing, and we finally stopped by the spring.
Can´t remember this picture, (Drui took it;-)), but it shows the atmosphere of that day.
Near the spring there grew a big and ancient tree, an ash spreading its prominent branches over the peaceful place near the spring, which was set in rock. We took in the atmosphere in deep breaths... and we had a laugh and a smile. I collected some rocks, and we "sat by the spring on a fallen log";-) and had a delicious snack of bread and smoked sausage.
By the spring we met two elderly women filling a truckload of cans with water and having a chat about spiritual ways and natural spirituality in general, ecology and good food. Funny, how places like this attract a certain crop of people... we had a chat, too. They mistook us for "Celtic" souls at first glance... which was a bit of a laughing matter;-). Not that we did not believe in reincarnation, mind you*ggg*, but we are far older than that*ggg*. But no offence taken, and none given*g*. In fact, we had a nice chat together and we learned that they took the mineralic water home for drinking and cooking. We need not be told twice, so we filled up some PET soft drink bottles we had in the car boot, and had a delicious drink of water.
So next time we will bring some larger cans, too. And, I mean it;-): I have never quite tasted a water like this, with a rich flavour to it, iron, salts and other elements, that it made me feel my hair growing (back;-)).
Looking along a hiking trail that passes on the ridge. by that tree. The ground was muddy and swampy even, and the soil was rich and dark.
Twoflowers tourists basking in the sun*ggg* to the mild soundtrack of the gentle water flowing and dancing over ancient stones. There was a certain air of magic around the place. What, magic? Superstition? The devil?*ggg*
I think this is a great example of how that thing works: There were no explosions, nothing falling to the ceiling, no demons or sprites springing up like jack-in-the-box. Nothing especially funny or wonderful, eh?
But there was wonder in the air. The simple silence and the peace of the sun and creation in the whole. It was that ancient tree, which was just a tree. It was that ancient spring, which was just a spring, just water. It were the ancient rocks, which were but humble rocks. It was the warmth, and the beautiful colours of the sunlight, which were no different to ten thousand and more summer days. And yet, there was this magic. It was a magic that told that everything could have its place, that flowers grow, and water flows, that time passes, and while there is nothing one could propably do about it, one must not, in turn.
This magic is subtle. It cannot be felt in a rush. It cannot be made to bend to one´s will. It is the power of nature, of creation, a power that must not bear any name. And if you give in to it, it will heal your soul, and you will find out that this is the power that made your soul in the first place. It is much more than the humble rocks, the water or the tree. They are but part of it all. They have been given names, but do we understand even them? I daresay not.
But we must not understand. If I would want to calculate a simple underhand throw of a ball by physics or mathematics, I will get to the very limit of my capabilities, the forces involved are so complex. But any child can catch a ball thrown at it in play. There is another perspective we tend to forget or glorify: That of love, of play, of the "second sight", which is but another form of seeing things.
We forgot how to see. For seeing with your heart rids you of many fears we are laden with. And there are, let´s call them "forces", in our society not interested in people without those fears. People, and peoples with fear are easier to control, and their power always is a power "over" something, a dominion over something. Even if humans set this spring in rock, they will never fathom it, at least not water in general. We as humans can cut down that tree, we can make something out of it, but even so, we will never fathom it, for we cannot understand it. Due to this lack of understanding, we brought the world into the mess it´s in. And we realize with terror that a sandstorm on the surface of Mars with temperatures of -274 degrees Celsius are nature, too, and that even there bacteria can live-while we can not. Not loving creation will only destroy our species-but not nature in itself. This renders us utterly powerless, and we know it, and this leaves us with a horror vacui we try to fill up with gadgets and gimmicks and overcivilization.
All the while trees grow in the warm sunlight. It is a laughing matter.
I do not want to say we managed to let it all be, but we took in the atmosphere. It is very difficult - and outright ridiculous - to call it anything more than that. We savoured the magic. We drank the water, but only until we were thirsty no more. We sat there, took in the sun and the shade and the song of the water and the peace above the warm rocks. We spared a thought for the spring and those who could not be with us-and it was with love we remembered.
That simple can be natural spirituality. Of course, you can buy big books with fancy embellishments, magic wands and concoctions, you can wear a ton of amulets and pray to a thousand Gods as advertised, and if it does you any good, walk that way. I do not know if what I believe could be called "pagan". I have looked into the abyss, behind the masks. That does not make me a better individual, and it made my life all the more difficult. I treat the Gods-and all of them, mind you, with the respect their worshippers deserve. But I guess I have seen a glimpse, a tiny one, of that what might be the truth. And even that tiny glimpse was far greater than any names could indicate. It does not act or think in human categories, it cannot even be understood.
But it must not, too. It is like the ball being thrown. We want to calculate its flight, but noone has asked us to do so. We simply have to catch it with the joy of a child.
And thus we left, back to the road, and the sun. But a part of us we left sitting by that spring.
