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.
