to mean something. to exist.

I haven't written anything here for over a week. I have been busy with the course I'm participating in and the thoughts it's provoking. This past week has been about trying to name and challenge your fears. One of the fears I have is of being completely insignificant to the world and the people in it and that because of it I'll end up isolated and my art and work ignored by everyone. When you face such fears it is so good to be surrounded by people you love. I have P and the beautiful children of ours and I know in my heart how significant I am to them. And loved. I wish for everyone to experience this - to feel truly loved. I know that for many that isn't always obvious. It's so important that we look after eachother, and not just our closest ones, but the stranger in the street as well. And the many persons suffering for different reasons in countries such as Kongo, Afghanistan or Eritrea. I continue trying to think of how I can be of service to the world.


I also remembered a poem I wrote about feeling isolated, about longing for another person to see you and calling you into existence. I wrote it in swedish, but will attempt a translation (follows the swedish version below):


Kvinna 1:
Tala. Det är så tyst här.
Tala. Du måste tala.
Jag måste få höra din röst.
För att kunna orientera mig.
I detta mörker finns inget syd.
Inget nord.
Ingen riktning.
Ingen känsla för rymd.
Bara avstånd.

Kvinna 2:
Jag formar mina läppar i vokaler och konsonanter.
Inga vågor går från min mun.
Stranden är torrlagd,
snäckorna tunna och sköra.
Spricker i skärvor och ramlar som damm
från mitt ansikte.
Jag är gammal.
Jag blev aldrig ens född.



Kvinna 1:
Är detta land eller hav?
Är jag i rörelse eller är jag stilla?
Jag kan inte längre minnas.
Fyrtornets mjölkiga ljus
som hälls ut över himlen i rytmiska kaskader.
Vibrerande vågor genom luften
laddar min kropp med riktning. Då.
Membranen har stannat.
Stillnat in i intet.
En lystran som aldrig möts.
Jag har glömt.
Jag har fallit i glömska.

Kvinna 2:
Jag vill kalla.
Jag vill mana.
Jag vill så frön av ord i luften.
Se dem segla iväg
och sätta fäste.
I något.
I någon.
Jag vill få betydelse.
Jag vill genljuda i någon,
och skapa klang!

Kvinna 1:
Jag vill bli förankrad.
Jag vill bli kallad.
Mitt namn skulle vara ett ankare,
att förtöja mig, att fästa mig vid livet.
Att visa mig vad som är djup
och vad som är oändlig höjd.


First woman:

Speak. It is so silent here.
Speak. You have to speak.
I need to hear your voice.
To orient myself.
In this darkness there is no south.
No north.
No direction.
No sence of space.
Only distance.

Second woman:
I shape my lips into consonants and vowels.
No ways leave my mouth.
The beach is dried up,
the shells thin and frail.
Crumble inte rubbles falling like dust
from my face.
I am old.
I was never even born.

First woman:

Is this land or ocean?
Am I moving or am I still?
I can no longer remember.
The milky light from the lighthouse
poured out over the sky in rythmic cascades.
Vibrating waves through the air
charges my body with direction. Then.
The membrance have stopped.
Becalmed into nothing.
A hearkening left unmet.
I have forgotten.
I have fallen into oblivion.

Second woman:
I want to call.
I want to exhort.
I want to sow seeds of words into the air.
Watch them sail away
and attach.
Into something.
Into someone.
I want to have meaning.
I want to resonate in someone
and create clang!

First woman:
I want to be anchored.
I want to be called.
My name would be an anchor
to moor me, to berth me in life.
To show me what is depth
and what is infinite high.