Beauty, power, grace

“Come,” the old woman said. “I’m going to show you something. Show you someone.”

I was not afraid. Not even when the colours of the world faded and everything seemed to shrink. No, I realized. It wasn’t the world shrinking, it was me. Slowly falling back, collapsing with my back against the wall and my hands still firmly clasped by the old woman.

We were dead.

“Now we can go and see her.”

Her. I never was told her name. The priestess of Death. Priestess? No, when I laid eyes on her I knew she was more than that. She was the Goddess herself. Hair as black as charcoal reached just below her shoulders. Sunkissed skin was soft and healthy. The grace and seduction of a dancer oozed from her every motion. The authority of a Queen shone from her eyes. Clad in gold and clad in blue, the most royal of colours.

She was beautiful. Painfully beautiful. 

Our spirits like forgettable mice scuttled around the corners of the building. Not to be noticed, not to be seen, just to witness. It was a dangerous game, getting this close. But I was not afraid, only fascinated by the beauty, power, and grace which was hers.

Simple reassurance

I sat down to meditate last night, shortly after writing this post here. It struck me then that seen together with previous blog posts about depression and childlessness it might seem as though I am nearing suicidal ground.

So now, I just wish to reassure anyone reading that I am not!

No thankfully, I do not feel a need to seek death. Never have, apart from possibly in my very worst fits of panic and anxiety.

So do not worry. If I die an early death it will not be by my own hand!

The Year to Come

The year 2016 is almost over, and 2017 is just around the corner.

It has been a year of change on several levels, from the personal to the international.

I have grown in more ways than one – though also in the less desired way.

A year ago I thought that 2016, this would finally be the year of getting pregnant.

A year ago I thought I’d never manage to get back to full time work.

And now? Full time work, by the skin of my teeth but still, I manage.

Still no pregnancy.


It has been a year of learning.

Of searching and finding.

Of understanding.

A good year.


It has been a year of loss as well,

loss of guiding stars and memorable voices.

“Imagine,” people said laughing, “if next year

the UK will leave the EU and Trump will be the next

president of the US!”




So that happened.


As 2017 looms near I dearly hope to be

wrong of what’s to come.

It is strange.

Though I suspect 2017 might be

a bad year,

a year of death, war, and pain,

I am not afraid.




Honouring the dead

This blog post is a bit late, it should really have come already at the start of November, but for reasons it has taken far too long to finish. Never mind, what better way to utilize your coffee break at work than to do a final read-through of a blog draft and finally push the “publish” button?

It is about the day us Swedes refer to as Alla Helgons Dag, often confused and combined with Halloween. Or rather, it is about what this day means to me.


Through childhood and the teenage years the tradition in our family was as it is for many Swedish families. On Alla helgons dag us relatives got together for a calm and pleasant meal or fika (typical Swedish concept, look it up!), and once the day had grown dark we wandered together to the cemetery. There we located the graves of relatives who were no longer with us, we lit candles and spent a few minutes contemplating those who had gone before.

It was beautiful and solemn. Sometimes a little spooky, but mostly just peaceful.

That was then, before I had any idea of where my own path lie, before my spiritual needs had surfaced and the point of such traditions seemed to only be about giving relatives a reason to meet up.

And now? Alla helgons is one of my favourite days of the year, in all its simplicity and depth.

It is a day, and night, that anchors us in the flow of time. For a moment we lift our heads out of the blurred passing of days to see how we are links in a far longer chain. We honour those who went before us, become aware of the people who were just as us – living, breathing, real. They are us and we are them, separate but always connected.

In practical terms, what has changed since I was a child? Surprisingly little. Me, my husband and my mother met, had a good meal and looked a bit at old photographs. Then as darkness fell we ventured into the old cemetery in the middle of town, made our way on paths lit by flaming lanterns and candles, joined the hundreds of people who were also out on the same mission, trickling through the burial grounds. We lit candles and placed flowers, talked about the dead, talked to the dead. It was beautiful, as always.

Once we got home me and the husband continued on our own, simple time of relaxation, family time. Before night was over we ventured out into the dark to honour the ancestors, not only those we still remember by name, those whose graves we still find, but also all the others. By word and intent connecting with them across the flow of time.

This is what this holy day means to me. A day to honour those who came before us. A day to connect with those we can no longer touch. A day to anchor us in the greater existence.

Whoever said it was about death?

It’s about existence.

And then I awoke

It was a day like no other. She had known that her husband would perish, that one day his time would be up and there would be no stopping it. That terrible gift of glimpsing the future had never been worse a burden. Their children were still young, there was a daughter, still just a toddler and a son who was… five, six?

Today was that day. His time was up. She didn’t know how it would happen, but there were only hours left. The last frail hope, that she was somehow wrong, quickly turned into an acute sense of fear and grief.

Reality shuddered and she saw her son. The blonde boy came wandering down the mountain, towards her. It wasn’t real, just a vision. Again, the mountain, the boy.

Terror struck hard. She knew what such a vision meant. Her son was going to die as well, and soon. Today.

In a state of panic she started looking for them, husband and son both. She hadn’t expected to loose them both, not now, not yet! Where were they?

The memory of the vision flickered through her mind. The mountain. The boy.

No, this couldn’t be. But it was. Desperately she went outside to search. Their home was by the edge of a forest with great big trees, just beneath the mountain. Wrapped up in anxiety she noticed the neighbouring farmers were busy taking down the trees just outside their garden, several towering trees were already down and another was on the way. Suddenly she knew how it was going to happen, how her husband would die. Crushed under a falling tree. It was happening, any moment now.

Terrified she went towards the forest, trying to get a glimpse of her husband. Where was he? She didn’t want to lose him, not yet.


And then I awoke. Sadness and grief burned inside me, I was close to tears. I told you that my dreams are back, didn’t I? It’s not only pleasant, I’m afraid.

A scream

016 Lillis was the sweetest little cat. She was with me from childhood, like a catty sister, bright and loving. At birth she had been the smallest and weakest of the litter, so frail and reluctant to even eat that we were afraid she’d die. That was why we kept her, we simply didn’t think she’d make it if we gave her away.

Three years ago Lillis passed away after having struggled with failing health for a long time. She was old, it was her time, but that didn’t lessen the pain. On the same day that me and Marcus got the keys to our new house, Lillis died peacefully at the vet.

Mother brought the body to be buried here, on this little plot of land we were settling in. The mood was solemn, we were grieving but at the same time everything was strangely beautiful. It was time for a new era.

Me and my mother stood in the kitchen, waiting for Marcus to come home as well. With an odd look on her face mother glanced out into the bright livingroom. It wasn’t yet properly furnished, in fact it was almost empty. She touched my arm and nodded towards to the side. I looked, and flinched so badly I almost dropped what was in my hands. I screamed, loudly, in pure shock.

I saw Lillis, sittin017g on top of a cabinet. Still I don’t quite know what made me scream, the sight wasn’t scary in any way, but, considering that Lillis in fact was laying dead in a cat cage outside the door, it’s perhaps not so strange.

The moment passed. It wasn’t Lillis any more. There was nothing there but a paper bag.

“I saw her too,” mother said quietly. “Not any more but, you saw her up there too, didn’t you?”

I don’t miss Lillis, because it feels like she is still with us. She’s here, somehow. A part of our family and of this land. Little cat-sister, always loved.