Hooked up to the grid, too.
No wonder Icelanders write so many novels. It appears to be a shepherd’s residence, in decay, for the sheepfold I showed you before:
Everything catches your eye. The world is not what we expect but what we answer when it calls to us. The two gestures are the same. Preparation is all, even if you don’t know the preparation you have done. When I first travelled to Iceland, we were given an itinerary and sent on our way, and, being curious and easily wowed, kept stopping the car and being late for dinner.
Now I understand that if we hadn’t wanted to be caught, and if we hadn’t been ready to be caught, we would have driven on, and made dinner. Because we stopped, I saw into the heart of the world, and have written two books and am deep into two other manuscripts. And still that lamb dinner calls!
A troll, like an elf, is not a species of creature, but a description of a relationship to power. There’s lots of it now, as the year rises from a tiny hole in the darkness and begins, slowly, to catch the sun again.
I hope the year to come brings you to Iceland. I hope you find something there you never expected but recognize as something you have been seeking for years.
Here’s one of the Trolls of Harnarfjall, on its annual pilgrimage to feed on the sea.
Slathering at the mouth in a field of old bones, as trolls will. There’s a whole herd of then where the foot of this fell turns into the flat of the sea. You can find them on cold days this time of year. In the summer they’ve gone to ground in the hills.
Iceland is a “settlement” culture, not a “colonial” culture. This orientation continues today. There are times the Earth reminds the human body of its own birth.
At those moments, the human mind and body unite to give birth to a new self at one with the earth. That is settlement. It’s like taming a horse.
Sticking out its tongue and everything.
A troll is what your mind looks like at root level. You can walk through it and tell stories. If you look closely, there are dozens of trolls here, not just the one at the centre left, with two eyes and the broad, down-turned mouth. Look at the white, ghost-image of one at centre right. The stories are consciousness; you are more than that.
The sea is cold up north on the Öxarfjörður.I suggest sticking in your toe before committing yourself completely. Even if your horse has gone ahead. It can wait.