It’s not just birds and turtles that do it.
Up on Vörsluvik, the sea gets into it too.
Here are some in the very process of being washed from the land. 
Perhaps you can see a clutch lying in a young sea in the middle of the image? 
Of course, the sea’s eggs are the land’s eggs, too. 
They do it together! 
Above Hrafragilsfoss
Nerve tissue is everywhere, lying around on the sand. If you lose your mind in Iceland, there’s always another one to take its place. Good to know!
This is Iceland. It’s not so friendly to human life, really, but it is sold to tourists, who want “real experience.”
The image below, made out of the experience above, is “art” in Reykjavik. It is sold to tourists, who want to be warmly received (and want to stay warm in a place not so friendly to human life.)
That’s the art of Iceland: remaining hospitable. It is a kind of mercy. Art and beauty are reduced to a line of thought here, in a language of “eye” and “body” but not so much of mind, and that line is reduced to gentle gestures, lest the bodies of visitors scare.
The language of mind (below) might just scare them off.
I’d love to see Iceland market it. Such beauty lies there.
Why aren’t shipping containers, repurposed as homes, sold in souvenir shops in Reykjavik? I think it’s because Icelanders want to give people the experience they came for. They’re generous like that.
Not that there are polar bears in Iceland, but what the heck. The practice speaks to a tremendous self confidence, and the secrecy of all islanders: everyone is the island.
All who come remain within the gesture of arrival, until they choose to either leave or stay. Everyone gets to decide for themselves. No one will help you… unless you get lost. Then you will be brought back and warmed up, and will be once again within the gesture of the island itself. It’s the same if you try to leave. You might find yourself leaving and staying all at the same time.
The island is the one doing the speaking here. Humans are almost speechless in its face.
On an island in the sky, everything is shore.
On an island in the sea, it’s the same. For humans, too, in their tides.
Oðin, the wanderer, threw his eye into the pool at the root of the world tree, to gain wisdom.
The Icelandic Green Party Reassembles the World Tree in the Election of 2013
The nature of the wisdom a supplicant received was determined by the quality of the gift. For an eye, he got two ravens, Thought and Memory, and what else is consciousness? That’s it, for sure. Here are a few pictures of Thought and Memory in Iceland, to show you how it works.
Church, Battery, and Water for Horses.
Sheep and World War II US Army Surplus
Abandoned Cruise Ship and Fish Bins, Lagarfljót
Thought and a Door… Or is That Memory and a Mouth? 
Window Remembering the Sky and Thinking of the Wind
Forest, Remembering, in Front of a House Thinking of a Waterfall
The Cow at the Hamburger Factory, Remembering Its Days as a Reality TV Show
Pretty cool, for sure, but here’s the haunting thing: what is the other eye doing? The one that is not consciousness? This?
This? 
Not at all. If it’s a human image, it’s conscious. The other must have been the eye of vision. The one that doesn’t stop and notice, but flows on.
There is, at any rate, something that’s not conscious, that is aware. So often, thought speaks of the Huldufolk, the elves and trolls that “live within the rock.” Are they the other eye? Are they us?
What are we looking at?
Gunnar Gunnarsson described Iceland to the Germans in 1940 as “Our Land.” This land:
Not Exactly Germany
It was a typical game for this sly trickster.
Gunnar Even Conned Me Out of My Hat
Doesn’t he look pleased!
Did he mean, “Your land and mine,” after his novel Blood Brothers?
From the German Book Club Edition of 1933.
Or did he mean “The land of all Icelanders and no one else,” after his 1933 novel Vikivaki?
The 2011 German Edition
A ghost story combining The Little Prince, a Dance of the Dead, and Jacob’s Ladder.
Well, he was playing it both ways, as usual. But then, he was a poet.
And to poets, answers lie in the water, the sky and the land. He meant one thing only:
Bring no war to this place. It is who we are and all we are. No argument.
You can read the heart here, if you’re a poet. If you’re not, isn’t it about time?
There is no answer. Just know that be small…
… to be big.
There’s the Iceland of high drama
and there’s the subtle Iceland.
and they’re the same.
Iceland is alive.
Look at her body. If you walk there, you are walking through a space that only your body can speak, because these are its forms.
And so you are your body. By walking here you speak within a conversation.
Beautiful talk.
Beautiful you.
You are alive here, or rather…
… life is you. Here:
And here:
And here:
A Farm in Iceland 