Eight points, eight paths
It was warm that day when I locked the door behind me for the last time and turned away from the house where I had so desperately wanted to belong in so many ways.
Now that I left it I let all of the resentment that I had nurtured stay behind. All of the envy and ill will that I had carried with
me and I told myself that I was free and they were not.
Insisting that they were all still trapped in that world of theirs, held down by history and traditions, by their belongings and
all that they owned. Unable to break free without loosing themselves together with the loss of their possessions, all those little things whose only purpose was to be owned.
We parted ways more estranged now than when I had first trespassed all those months ago, now that I left them behind
and set out to chase fragments of white clouds that sped across the sky.
I found myself walking down the same streets that I had once driven up. Passing locals on my way who were patiently waiting for the grocery store to open, giving them a nod as I went by only to be stared at in return.
I paused for a moment by the statue of the waving bear who stood at the end of the street.
It had seemed as if it was trying to scare us off when we first came here, standing on his hind legs with his teeth bared.
Now that I could see him up close, partly covered in moss with heather crawling up his legs it looked as if he was slowly drowning at his post.
As I stood before him I imagined that he offered me his blessings, that he wanted to follow me back into the wild and I bowed my head in silence before I started climbing up towards the house on top of the hill, hoping that the bear would follow me.
At least for a little while.
It was empty now as well, the house on the hill, as it had been for years. No sign of life to be seen from the outside except for two bottles of wine on one of the benches, empty as well, telling the world that someone had been sitting there on the outside looking in for the last time.
As I walked past the house the road changed from tarmac to gravel accompanied by potholes and deep sunk tracks from the logging machinery that travelled these roads from time
to time. The ones that made their mark on the world both on and off the road.
I followed them for a while. Jumping between the potholes and balancing on the edge of the tracks. Kicking up dust
and small rocks that would keep me company as I chased after them until they disappeared into the ditches with all
the other little rocks that had ended up down there, somehow. Eventually I got of the road myself, to look for trails to follow instead, the paths that would lead me to
whatever it was that I hoped to find.
Something that lay hidden in the shadows. Somewhere, between the trees, where the dry, stagnant air gave the impression of entering a room that had been closed for
generations. Like a place in time that had stayed unchanged beneath a dome while its surroundings had relentlessly moved on, just inches away, on the other side of the glass. Something that had earned its peace in the darkness, sheltered by the roof of the forest where the sun now had started to break through. A single ray of sunlight at first, then another as she continued to climb, higher and higher until she reached her apex high above us.
I slowed down when I entered, fearfull that I would disturb something best left alone and when the sun finally breached
the dome, when she broke through the canopy and chased away the darkness, she revealed a veil of particles that hung there motionless between the trees untill I passed
through and caused disruption in this undisturbed room where I felt the need to hold my breath, scared that the dust
would fill my lungs and suffocate me, putting an end to my journey before it had begun.
The forest opened up again, for a while at least, letting the old air out as well as inviting fresh air in. So that I could
cleanse my lungs and myself before diving back into the unknown.
I held my breath as I walked past familiar signs, large trees with hands and faces and geometric figures carved into them. I knew what they meant now or at least I thought I did but I could not feel their protection nor their threats.
Some of them gave away secret hideouts and some of them warned me against crossing the invisible spells. Some
places where not mine to enter, not yet. Still there were many to choose from. Abandoned huts and cabins and shelters that where blessed and protected and those were all mine, or so it felt like, as if I was the proprietor of great wealth, to pick and choose and drift between, to discover
their value or imagine the secrets they kept. Searching for treasures and rejoicing when finding a pack of nails and a hammer in one of them or a poem carved into the windowsill of another and then carrying all of these little treasures with me until I found a small hut that spoke to me in a way. With an eight pointed star painted above the door it welcomed me in and wanted me to stay as if it needed me in the same
way that I needed it.
A place that would keep the rain and the wind out whilst keeping the warmth in but here the dome had already been breached. Here the sun broke through the roof together with a wind felled tree, still attached to its roots it threatened to
regain its upright position if ever given the chance.
I would have to tie it down somehow I thought as I stood inside looking up at the sun still hovering above us. Secure
it so that it wouldn’t fall over me if I was going to cut into it.
But for now this was all I needed. I could stay here while mending the roof and finding whatever I needed to live in
the surrounding cabins. Knowing that there where more to be searched over in the neighbouring valley, the valley of
the dams, where they had been logging back since before the first dam had been built.
Back when we first came here we worked our way up past the dams and the lakes that lay behind them. Following the dirt road that crawled its way up between the lakes on one side and the houses and the cabins on the other, mimicking the movements of a gigantic serpent that moved between
the houses as if it had come to call on each and every one of them. Revealing that there still were people coming here from time to time. And on the other side of the lake, in the shadows of the old growth forest that spilled over from my valley, there were
huts and shelters that were abandoned and left to themselves when the loggers had moved on.
But for now I was content with my life in the eight starred cabin where I spent my days patiently collecting every twig
and branch that I could find so that I could build the largest fires I dared to light only to watch them burn throughout the
night, adding to the fire to keep it alive as long as possible, finally falling asleep in the early hours of the next day.
It became a ritual that I would spend my days preparing before setting it a blaze in the evening. Carefully lighting it in
the same way every time, rhythmically hitting the striker with my knife until the kindling caught fire, adding more and more
wood to the flame as it grew ever larger eventually allowing me to sit back and drift away to the sounds and the heat, letting the light block out the forest and the night and the world.
I woke one morning beside the remnants of the fire.
Surprised that it was colder than the day before I headed indoors and lit a fire in the kitchen stove before I was fully awake. Then I brewed a pot of coffee that I drank on the
porch as I ate my breakfast, wrapped up in a blanket that I had found somewhere whilst staring into the steam that rose
from my cup.
As the coffee cooled off I lifted my eyes and looked up at the only possible route from this valley over to the next and I wondered if I should go looking for a decent length of rope before attempting the ascent. I could head both down and up my valley and cross over but it would take me half a day
in either direction and even there I would have to get down on my hands and knees and climb most of the way and I
would have to go even further to find a good rope.
And in the end I knew very well that all these little thoughts were just myself trying to raise the bar, hoping to find a way
to opt out. For a while I kept telling myself that I was content with living in the kitchen. I didn’t need much and I had made a place to sleep beneath the window and close to the stove so that I could get the fire going without getting out of bed while controlling the draft at the same time. After that I had gone over the walls and filled every crack and gap in the lumber with moss to keep the chill out and the heat in. I kept making up things to do, pushing the trip over to the next valley in front of me. Putting it off as long as I could and before I ran out of made up tasks and excuses I had collected every dry twig and branch I could find yet I found new ones now as I walked towards the point where the floor of the valley and the foot of the hillside met, where it looked as if someone had taken the bottom of the valley and stood it upright,
making the trees lean over in the process, stretching towards the sky as if they worshipped whatever it was that lay above.
I paused as I came closer to look up at the climb that lay ahead of me. Every part of it was steep and soon enough I would have to climb and crawl and cling on to the heather,
praying that it would hold, continuously shifting between walking, climbing and crawling, until there was nothing but crawling for a long while before I reached the summit.
On the top of the ridge I paused again, trying to catch my breath as sweat trickled down both my face and the length of my back, and let my eyes sweep across the valley of the dams. I could see all three of them laid out one above the other and as well as the road that navigated between the
cabins and the boathouses that were lined up in rows of ten or more wherever there were room for them. I could see boats as well, tugging on their ropes as they moved back and forth, floating on the darkest of waters.
I followed the road with my eyes from where I stood. Tracing it through all the little turns and bends down to the lake in
the middle where the water had been drained far enough to reveal a chaos of old roots and logs that had been hidden
beneath the surface. It looked like a recent landslide that had sprung out of nothing and stopped just as it hit the
water.
I walked along the beach when I got down there. Followed a quiet stretch of sand that made up a monotonous border that separated the forest from the lake, disrupted only by a solitary rock or beached piece of driftwood. Then it changed in front of me until I could see that the border united the two.
That it tied them together in a holy bond where the logs and the roots made up a distorted mirror image of the forest that
stood there tall in all of its splendour. Reflected in what little water was left, showing me its secrets from a distance to
great for me to see them clearly, only hinting at what else was hidden down there in the depths.
I dissected the logs and the roots with my eyes, observed the entangled mess of the landslide as I moved on and saw
that there where remnants of past lives out there. There were old boats dissolved by the elements, pieces of the world that had been long lost. I could sense that there were
something of significance hiding out there behind the ruble, something of great beauty that lay there in the open, just out
of reach, something that I could barely sense even now as I stood there with my back against the answer.
I had to sit down for a while, to stare at the chaos, trying to make sense of what I saw. In my minds eye I could see a river down there, waiting to spring back to life again if given half a chance to do so and I could imagine how it would be if it all returned and how it would restore the valley and bring back all of the flowers and the trees and the fauna. Allowing it to nurture its surroundings again as it would finally be
allowed to continue its journey towards the sea, feeding of the forest in a symbiosis where the one was as dependent
as the other.
When I returned home that night I fell a sleep before I got my clothes off and woke up in the middle of the night with
the vision of the river unleashed and the valley and the forest growing back to life playing out before me. Like a scene from a movie that faded out before my eyes as I
came to my senses while rummaging around the little room until I found a few bits of dry kindling that I fed to the embers
that were still left in the stove, relighting the flames so that they could devour the wood and heat the room.
I put the pot on once the stove was warm enough and waited patiently for the water to boil so that the brewing could commence in that dogmatic way I had taken to. As if
brewing coffee was one of the sacraments that brought me closer to the divine, so that I could lose myself in the steam rising from my cup while searching for that sting of pride that I had kept with me this time, reinventing it somewhat so that it would live on and stay with me in the same way that it had followed me from the valley of the dams, over the ridge and down into my very own world where it had acompanied me even in my dreams. It was still here now as I sat by the breakfast table, keeping me company as I finished my coffee and peered through the window at the treasure that I had salvaged the day before.
There was a sense of purpose hanging around me as well, one that didn’t drift away but remained as I unpacked and assessed the gear that I had brought with me from the neighboring valley. It was still there when I laid a set of new found chains around the wind felled tree and attached them to the jack and the pulleys that I had carried with me across the ridge.
They ran smoothly now, the gears on the jack, after I had given them a good dose of oil that I had found on one of my scavenging trips. The clicking built confidence as I tightened the chains until they started to pull on the tree, moving it ever so slightly towards the spruce where it had been anchored.
It looked secure and I crossed my fingers, hoping that it would stay in place as I climbed up on the roof to saw off all of the branches from the tree, covering the room beneath with needles as I cut in to it. I cut my arms and hands on the dried up wood as well before letting the logs roll away down the roof.
In the end only the base of the tree was left. Still attached to its roots and leaning against the hut, having moved ever so
slightly as the center of gravity had been shifted little by little as I shortened the tree. It creaked and moved a little now
and then and I tightened the chains with a great amount of caution before continuing to saw trough it and soon the
weight of the roots and the turf where stronger then the weight of the remainder of the tree and it slid back connecting to the ground again as the trunk was pulled
away from the hut. It whirled up a cloud of dust that made the scene disappear in front of me as I ran off to safety not knowing that the chains held it back and that my precautions for once had worked just the way I planned.
When the dust settled the pride and the purpose was still there together with a feeling of being given eternal life.
Immortalized through my own two hands I held my own faith in my arms, wielding it and making it work for me, momentarily fending of the uncertainties that haunted me, knowing that I would not die here in these woods before I knew my purpose.
And then the wind rustled through the canopy again. Making the trees move back and forth with the warm gusts telling
me that I was not safe yet, that I still needed protection from the elements. A shelter that would keep me alive and extend my life past my limitations, that would allow me to live and not just survive.
When the winds calmed down and released me from its grip I turned towards the highlands and to the lakes that I knew
lay waiting for me. Some were close enough to be sought out during the winter when the days grew shorter and the ice would creep across the surface, allowing me to fish the
shallows that were out of reach during the summer. When the cold air would make the trout fall into a slumber only to
come back to life again once thawed up in my kitchen sink.
Then there were others, further off, that I should seek out now when the weather was warm. When I could still sleep outside in the open air and wade across the knee deep
creeks and the shallow canals that connected the lakes.
Where I could set my nets and watch them through the clear blue water as they filled with fish.
So I waited for the winds to pick up. Waited for the early morning breeze to reappear with the sun as she started to rise anew after barely touching down on the horizon, making the day just a little bit warmer than the night that she had left behind so that the warm air would push up through the
valley, passing me on the way and pointing me towards the mountain where these well known paths would take me. I moved silently between the trees hoping that I would not disturb the quiet grace of the realm as I set out to harvest from her immeasurable wealth, flushing a pair of roes despite my efforts of passing through unnoticed as well as a pair of birds that I did not see yet the sound of their wings cutting through the air told me who they were. They followed the wind as well and I followed them as we were headed the
same way, towards the end of the valley where the mountainside weren’t as steep as the one to the south.
I sat down when I reached the boulders that lay perched high up on the the side of the mountain, leaning against them to cool off in their shade.They had been thrown there by the giants of the mountains ages ago, when the sound of church bells and the smell of christian blood had disturbed
them and their kin and sent them into a frenzy.
They were gone now, the trolls, or maybe they were just slumbering as well, sleeping through the centuries, forgotten as new rites wiped away our fear of them and shielded us from the unknown that came to life in the night. Maybe my presence here would disturb them now so that they would come back to life again. Back to throwing rocks at a world that had come a lot closer, one that would be a lot easier to hit.
I had left my doubts and my compass as I went looking for my way in this world and I left the boulders and their legends as well. Continuing towards the top of the mountain
instead, finally reaching the summit high above the tree-line where I could see all the way to the end of the world. Where the grayish hues that would have made me lose track of time and place just a little while ago anchored me in the moment instead of letting me drift away. The winds lifted me up and carried me down towards the lakes that were lined up like a set of stairs, carved out by the inland ice that had dragged its way across this land all those
years ago before finally melting away to let the land rise and the oceans reside, leaving the rivers and the lakes filled with fish and amphibians.
Higher up the lakes had been left empty, cut off from the ocean since before the end of the ice age they were barren and lifeless untill the first people came in their boats made of hides and wood and bone. They travelled along the coastline as they went from one new hunting ground to the next. Preying on wildlife that had yet to develop a natural fear of humans, preying on an uneven balance that let them thrive as the world slowly adapted to their presence and made their lives harder again, forcing them to turn their attention towards the land and following the waterways up into the mountains, carrying fish with them as they climbed higher and setting them free to multiply in the empty lakes so that they could be harvested later.
So that I could live off them now, thousands of years after they had made these paths.
I followed in their footsteps untill I reached the water and left them there for a while as I went looking for the places I had found on my map. Downstream of the little creek that connected the two lakes in the middle of the descent where I could secure one end of a fishing net before wading across and drag it through the cold and clear water, where it was easy to navigate over the round and slippery rocks, where I sprained my ankle none the less, injuring myself without knowing it untill the chill had left my bones and the warmth was followed by the pain. The terrain lead me further on, funneling me down towards the canal and the lake below it, passing another old cabin on the way, perfect in all its simplicity where it lay waiting to shelter anyone who needed a roof above their heads. Where I could return to light a fire later, after I had crossed the depths of the canal where the water seemed colder and clearer, that would leave me cleansed and reawakened after I climbed out again.
Later, while I sat there staring into the flames thinking about all the people that had been sitting here like this before me,
fishing in the lakes, cleaning their nets and finding their peace, I remembered all the people that would come here after me and that I owed them something, that I had to pass on the favour that had been handed down through the ages until finally reaching me and making it possible for me to live here and now.
To live like I wanted, trying to find the same
peace that they might have found.
That night I dreamed of dancing with the ancients and feasting on the fish they had carried with them into the mountains and in the end of the dream I saw myself,
childlike and burning in a sacrificial fire with my arms raised towards the night sky in worship, unscathed by the flames.
In the distance the crackling from the stove died out as the darkness loosened its grip, and in the abscence of the sounds that had accompanied me through the night I woke
up so that I could feed the flames again, relighting the fire just as the first streams of sunlight found their way through the walls.
Eagerly yet reluctantly I waited outside. Feeling the heat of the sun as she passed behind the mountain tops, climbing towards her descent. I could see a pair of ravens working their way down through the valley, clucking in that metallic way that they do as they passed overhead, they pulled me out of the moment and guided me down to where I had waded across. Then they waited in the crag above as I cleaned my nets and my catch, hoping for a treat and an easy meal.
Content with the leftovers they followed me back to the cabin, watching and wondering as I carried the yield inside where I hung it up under the ceiling. Then I pulled of the
stovepipe and lit a fire which I fed with elderberry twigs while they waited above and screamed as the smoke streamed
out of the many holes where the morning light had streamed in, some pouring out through the door, making it look as if
the hut was about to burn down.
It hung there over night as I waited outside in the cold mountain air, waiting for the fire to extinguish so that I could carry it with me, back to the eight starred cabin before
returning to the lakes so that I could do it all over again.
The ravens followed me as I moved between the lakes, flying high above me or hiding in the crag, letting me now their presence and mimicking the sounds that I made.
Letting me know that they where expecting to be fed, that they expected a meal whenever I drew a net.
And I would feed them, not just scraps, but whole fish fresh from the water. Hoping they would tell their master and that I
would have his favour as I continued fishing beneath a sun that never seemed to set, fishing and carrying my catch down to the eight starred cabin. I often wondered if it was still night or noon, pausing only when exhaustion or hunger made me slow down or when my throat dried up reminding me that I had gone without drink for far too long.
I dreamed one night after passing out that I was dancing around a fire with the shadows of the petroglyphs coming alive and spinning around me until they dissolved and I appeared in the middle of the fire in front of myself again and the music that reverberated through my spine made me call out to myself but I did not reply. I just stood there staring until a blinding light led me back into a bright, white world that slowly revealed a carpet of pollen and dust hanging between the trees outside my cabin. Like a grey veil it covered the valley beneath me and in front of the eight starred cabin sat a familiar old man with his back against me.
The sharp cold air of the mountains pulled me out of the sun-heated room I had been sleeping in and back into the
world.
«I thought you left with the others»he said as I came out to join him, still confused and disoriented as to where I was.
«No, I said, I didn ́t belong with them»
«So where do you belong then?»
«I dont know, here?»
«You think so?»
«I might.»
«And when do you suppose you will know for certain?»
«I might never know for certain, do you think I will?»
«You might», he said, while giving me that peculiar look again.
«How did you understand that you belonged here?» I asked, hoping that he might provided another piece of the puzzle
instead of adding to my confusion.
«When I understood that it had belonged to me since before my people came here and that I had belonged to it since long before I was born.»
He looked up at me and chuckled, and then he laughed when he saw the look on my face and I would have laughed myself had I only understood what he meant.
