I follow a woman on social media, Roka, who lives on a boat, grows flowers and shares vlogs filled with poetry, vulnerability, crafting, honesty and penchant for harmonious slow living. She calls each portion of her life a journey, each one a discovery and even though I'm sure it doesn't always feel so, it's comforting watching another creature in this strange species of ours approach life in this way. She said recently, that while she's discovered that she can do so much on her own that we are a social species and need the company of others. To grow with and learn from and share our experiences.
This resonated with me so fiercely.... so much of my life experiences have left me believing it's better to isolate, holding my dark parts close. Even told myself scary bedtime stories to romanticize my life or to keep me living a certain way. These fables we tell ourselves over and over.
What happens when you break the fourth wall? What then?
Another fun word I've been touretting is maladaptive. Mala, in Sanskrit, means garland or rosary... a string of beads used in meditation, in prayer. With that in mind, in the psyche, what prayers do our maladaptive parts speak to? They were born for a reason, they helped us to survive at some point in our lives so for that alone, they deserve praise and admiration. In tantra, 108 beads constitute a mala which equates to the 108 energetic lines in the body all converging in the heart chakra. There's a beautiful symmetry to this thought loop in my mind.
A strange sensation, feeling an emotional wound closing within yourself. So much like the stretching tautness of a physical wound, the flesh tender and new but persistent in its fight for renewal. If I breathe a certain way, I can feel its borders, tenuous and flexible. It's a time of gentleness and patience... don't breathe too hard, don't push too much. Savor this anticipation of joy without tethering. In parts work, each voice is valuable and deserves the space to feel and be heard, so we sit with it all. Even the discomfort of being a quixotic paradoxical creature with all our two thousand parts.
The other day, I caught myself singing a Beatles' song, which is weird for me, only because they're not a band I normally gravitate towards. Like most, I was indoctrinated by their pop hoodoo in childhood. But this other morning, the jingle jangle intro to Here Comes the Sun doodoo-dee-dooo as I made my morning milky tea, waking up the house, speaking gently with my kittens, greeting the day. CORNY but so sweet and lovely and warm and the opposite of dark. And if that wasn't saccharine enough, I bought clothes for the first time in I can't remember how long and they weren't even black (well not ONLY black). Shocking, I know. Bright ass kelly green striped pajamas. So blissfully normal and just because I wanted to. x
Bjergtaget in Danish or bergtatt in Swedish... Both essentially meaning the same thing. Taken by the mountain people or mountain-taken, it describes the peculiar feeling one experiences when surrounded by peaks and valleys of mountain ranges. In Norwegian folklore, being bergtatt means to be lured by the sub terrestrial spirits of the mountains, into the very rock itself, to the halls of the mountain king. Essentially, being spellbound by the mountains themselves.
As a verified flatlander, I really feel that. I came across the Danish word on a post written by Myrkur years ago and knew that meaning in my flatland bones. The call of the mountain people. I've always known my destiny lies in the peaks. Knew it when I first read Heidi and then saw a German adaptation in the 80s, knew it when we all were subjected to the Sound of Music, knew it when I first walked through the foothills of the Austrian Alps, knew it when flying over the Rockies, the first time seeing Mount Rainier and Mount Hood. Leaf peeping in Stowe Vermont where the hills are alive with the sound of whatchamacallit came to retire and one wild 24 hour road trip through the Blue Ridge on the way to D.C.
I used to even startle myself when looking out at the flat sprawling freeways at distant cumulus clouds on the horizon and think I was seeing mountain ranges. And yet their heights electrify and terrify me too which, in the end I suppose, all the worthwhile things do.
I didn't realize I was collecting mountain songs until kind of recently. It all started ages ago with Goldfrapp's album Felt Mountain (released TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO stop it!) and later Les Discrets Song for Mountains.
Here are a few in the collection. I'm feeling kind of basic today so it's just songs with Mountain in the title. No different really than Track Ones, Side Ones.
Funny also that my natal moon is in Capricorn, the little capricious tenacious deeply feeling earth moon represented by the sea-goat but that's a winding tale for another day. [insert cheeky winky smirk]
Foals - Mountain at my Gates
Oh give me some time, show me the foothold from which I can climb
I see a mountain at my gates
I see it more and more each day
And my desire wears a dark dress
Ah, each day, I see you less
Austra - Mountain Baby (ft. Cecile Believe)
If I lose my way, I don't care
I got someone like you with me, my mountain baby
Love of Diagrams - Mountain
Go tell it to the mountain, go tell it to the sea.
Are you in the sunshine or are you in the moonlight?
The Warlocks - Moving Mountains
This album, Heavy Deavy Skull Lover is one of my favorites to make art to.... scummy psych guitars tickle my ears in the best way.
