Can you imagine any other country that would set a beach like this aside for the real people, instead of giving it to humans? There are many countries smaller than this beach.
Gunnar argued for the independence of Iceland during Germany’s military struggles of the 1940s, on the principle that the land is written in the chain-linked patterns of the Icelandic sagas, with the suggestion that the Icelanders wrote the sagas in response to the chain-link rhymes of the land.
His observation is obvious. Equally obvious is how poor a tool such observations are for deflecting a military conqueror. Less obvious is the point that when you are from the land and have nothing and yet have to do something, you use what you have. Still, the approach has its dangers. It might stress one form of pattern, for instance, but it obscures another. So, let’s look at Gunnar’s saga again. This time, note the story of trolls and ogres written in the rock.
Gunnar was a humanist, a twentieth century man. This tale of ogres and epic battles is one he could have told as well, including how it generates the water of life as cold passes into warmth. That he didn’t is an example of how writers adapt to their audience. It is also an example of how we can re-read them, and free them… and us.
What do volcanoes dream of? (Let’s face it, they sure do dream.)
Sometimes you have to wait for the team to come, though. Sidelined on a bench. That’s the danger of being an ogre. Well, you take it in stride, right?
It’s hard for a land to evolve into human society, but it’s inspiring that it’s giving it a good Icelandic try!
Then it reveals another world.
Then it turns blue. The other world is still there, but white now.
Then there are colours, and mountains, as the two worlds join.
When you count the houses built at þingvellir each time Iceland enacts a new constitution, that’s three worlds. Well, four if you count the ice.
There is a special hour on Þingvallavatn. Right after darkness, it is light. Then the light extinguishes and the world begins without illusion: blue.
The soul rises early. Everything that follows is just light.