One of the great pleasures of Iceland is to walk up a remote canyon, followed by ravens hoping you will slip and break a leg, and to know that they are your thoughts.
These thoughts.
It’s a northern thing. Of course, a country where a bell rope can serve as an improvised noose is a fine place to wander, too.
Darkness is everywhere, but it’s not black. It’s red or something, like blood.
The eye touches the earth as a bodily organ, as much as it does as the hand of the mind.
The mind is as much a heart as it is a muscle. It swims in blood.
Humans can’t see darkness, I read all the time. In Iceland, this illusion just doesn’t wash.
Maybe you can’t see it, but you can touch it, and enter through it the world behind the world.
And what is there?
Why, you are.
This doesn’t work in Reykjavik.
There, under the effect of the outside world, this sense of presence is called art.
One can live there, too. Between worlds.
Trying to catch the attention of passersby. 
Don’t worry. The world still sees you.
And you still see past it.
The old paths still wait.
Then a reinforcing lesson in applying foreign tools as training mechanisms.
And some of the cut-and-paste consequences.
And again, this time in downtown Reykjavik.
A closer view of early art education is shown below. Please compare it to the image above. Note how the colours are used to train young minds into cut-and-paste and construction techniques. The stuff is even called “construction paper.” Keep your eye on the black stuff. An adult helped with that!
And, finally, an image of that black diamond above, when written out on the land.
In Iceland, children are herded, and in their herds they are free. 1100 years of herding culture drove this lesson home.
A Farm in Iceland 