Sometimes you glimpse your eye deep within the mind of the world.
For that, you have to go on a journey to the centre of the earth.
And there you are.
These are my secret Icelandic falls. I’m not telling you where to find them, because it does not matter. What matters is the finding. If I told you, you wouldn’t find them, and finding is such a pleasure.
And the leaving again. Even if I came back, I’d find something else.
No, what you need to find lies somewhere else, but I promise it’s there. This one, maybe?
Or this one?
Look at that hill. If you’d come in the right season, you’d find 50 of them, and leave each one to find it in your heart again. Off you go!
Because waterfalls in basalt are the shape of skulls, the shallow bowls that catch the energy of life that is the world, they are great places to think.
It’s a good thing you don’t have to translate those thoughts into words.
To walk into these canyons is to walk away from story into poetry.
Note the “field” on the upper right.
People used to live here. This was the boundary of a house field.
You didn’t look out. You looked in.