I had some thoughts on my long and difficult travel from Oslo to Las Vegas, Nevada, the trip that normally takes less than 24 hours that lasted five days, including three snowed in at Frankfurt International Airport. The experiences are recorded in an earlier post, but I had some afterthoughts.  I met and spoke with a lot of people on this journey and upon reflection I realized that all the people I met on my airport experiences were connected to a university in one way or another. Either they were American exchange students or professors – all interesting and wonderful people. I failed to write about the people I met on the bus from Las Vegas to Flagstaff, one reason for this is that I had already written so much about the trip that I was sick of it, the bus ride being the very last leg of it. Another reason might actually have been that the people on the bus were not in any way boasting or telling me about their lives, I sort of had to pick up on it myself – by listening to what they did not share.

When the bus driver took pity on me and let me on the bus as the last passenger there was only one place for me to sit, it was right behind the driver next to an African-American man.  The man moved his case so  that I could sit and then he stretched out his hand and said “Hi, my name is Eric”.  As the bus started moving he told me that he thought it was amazing how I could still be smiling after such a long and difficult journey. He said that as I was telling my story to everyone around me at the bus station he was silently praying that I would get a seat on the bus and that it would be next to him!  I thanked him for his prayers and then we were suddenly friends. He made jokes about his name being Eric, not Eric the Red (playing on the Norwegian connection) but Erick the Black as was his color. We had a nice time chatting as the ride went on. After driving through the very beautiful Golden Valley, Nevada we were slowly making our way up the hill towards Kingman when the driver suddenly pulled the bus over to the side of the road. He quietly and quickly got out of the bus and was “messing” around with the engine in the back.  After about five minutes he came back inside and very, very slowly continued the drive up the steep hill.  When we arrived in Kingman the bus pulled into a truck stop, he drove to the far end of it, backed the bus into a parking slot and turned off the engine.  Sitting right behind the driver I could hear him take a deep breath and then he picked up his microphone and let us all know that the bus was going no further as it had broken down. The driver was sort of a hero because he got us to the truck stop where there was a fast food restaurant. We all piled out of the bus and went to order some chicken or other lunch items. My new friend Eric lent me his phone so that I could call Janis in Flagstaff and let her know about the delay. The driver had announced that he would telephone Las Vegas so that they could send a replacement bus for us and that this would probably take up to three hours as they would first need to get hold of a replacement driver as well.

In the bus station I had noticed a very shy and quiet man standing right behind me in the line. I told him that I really had no business being in the line at all as I only had a stand by ticket, but that it made me feel good to pretend that I was actually going to get on the bus. He nodded his head in understanding and gave me a very slight smile. I noticed how soft his blue eyes were and how humble his mannerism.  At the truck stop when I was standing away from the others he came up to me and softly asked if he may borrow my cell phone to make a call for a pick up as his destination was Kingman, but the bus stop was further on.  I apologized and said that I had myself borrowed a phone, and suggested that he go ask Eric.  Later when I saw this shy man again standing on the curb as if waiting for something, I went to him and asked if he had been able to make his call. He nodded his head and said that his mother-in-law was on her way to pick him up. Eric later told me that he was on a parole Christmas visit and would be going back to jail after the holidays.  The wait for my ride to Flagstaff was a little longer than this mans wait, so I want back to the bus to wait it out in my comfortable seat.  Across the aisle was a woman in her 60′s. She asked me about my travels and we began a conversation. When I asked her about her being on the bus, she said she is traveling all over the country on Greyhound busses looking for elderly people to interview and then she hoped to publish a book on the stories they told.  I wished her good luck and offered her a ride to Flagstaff with Janis and I, but she declined saying it would be unfair to the other passengers. There were a couple of native men on the bus and as I was speaking with them my friend Janis arrived and we could continue on to Flagstaff. Before I left I filled in the driver on all my trials and tribulations and experiences traveling, he was amazed that I would end up on a bus breaking down in Kingman!

I did finally reach my destination and here I am in front of Bell Rock in Sedona

There is a fire in our house, a very small fire so Kristian (my youngest son) and I decide to go in and get some stuff out of there. His computer is on his mind and I’m wanting to get out some 60′s furniture. When we enter the house to get these things there are some men inside cataloging all our possessions and placing a price on them. They are going to sell all our stuff. I tell him to get out, it’s my things. He says someone in my family gave him permission to do this, I told him again to get out. So they left. Kristian got his computer and I carried a couple of chairs out.

I have a new job, first day at work is quiet, no one is showing me what I’m supposed to be doing, I’m sort of bored, but spend my time walking around the office building getting to know the business place. The next day when I arrive at work I enter the elevator and there is a man there with me, he says a Buddhist prayer, a short chant, I put my hands together and say Namaste as I exit on my floor. I few steps in and I see my boss sitting at a table with many others, it looks like a board meeting or something. When he sees me he jumps out of his chair and quickly comes towards me, he hands me a box and says it’s my Christmas present. I lift the lid off and the box is empty. He says “come here”, when I follow we arrive at a table of gifts. He shows me that I can pick one out of four that are bunched together at the other end of the table. The choices were all something crystal, a tulip vase, candle holders and some other such things. I pick the vase.

I find myself in an airplane with soothed windows. The lamps in the plane are coming out of their sockets and we realize the machine is really old and suddenly we don’t feel as lucky to be on this trip as we initially did. I find a seat and put on my seat belt which is very, very tight. Janis is next to me, when she discovers her seat belt it is way too big, so we switch seats. Some people have to move to other seats to find seat belts. Later I’m walking through the plane and I see all my stuff from my house there, boxes and my furniture. My boss shows up and I say “My stuff was not supposed to come on this trip!” I’m not paying for it, you have to make sure it gets back to where it belongs.

I hear the ever so slight tremble in the Captains voice as he gives this announcement, I know that he knows that this very same thing also happened yesterday. As he continues I hear the contradictions in his message as he announces that he hopes we can fly in two hours. He knows that we all got out of bed at around 2 AM to be able to be at the gate in time for take off at 6 AM. The airport in question is Oslo Airport and flying time to Frankfurt is only two hours or so. I am only one of many passengers hoping to get somewhere before Christmas. My destination is Flagstaff, AZ where I will celebrate the holidays with close friends and spend time on my writing.

I hear a moan from the man in the chair next to me, I look at him and he tells me his story. He drove five hours from his home to the airport yesterday, sat at the gate for the Frankfurt flight and was told the flight would not happen for hours. He stuck around for five or six hours and then drove the five hours back home. This morning he drove the same five hours, got to the gate and was now receiving the same information. He tells me that he is a journalist for a small local newspaper in his town. He is a big man, about 50, dark hair, and he speaks Norwegian with an accent. He’s on his way to Baghdad to spend time with family and then to Jordan where he will have a job interview for a newspaper job in London. With pride he tells me about his grandfather who was a Kurd from the north of Iran, he tells me that even though he is born in Baghdad he is a Kurd.

Seven hours pass and we are herded into the airplane, there is a quality of quiet excitement within the body of the machine on the runway. We take off and land in Frankfurt only one hour and forty minutes later. My connecting flight is scheduled to leave three hours after my arrival in Frankfurt so I’m not worried. If the airport has been closed for seven hours, well then my connecting flight has also been delayed seven hours. Wrong, it left thirty minutes before we landed at about 2:30 PM.

How can I make you understand the next two days, it’s too surreal to describe. When I enter the terminal there are no signs or indications as to which way I should go, left or right. I do not yet know that I have lost my connecting flight, so I’m rushing to find the information I need to be in the right place at the right time for it. I stop a person in uniform and am told to go to the Lufthansa Information desk, well yes, but where is it? After running three miles in the long terminals of Frankfurt I’m shown a very long line of people waiting to rebook their flight. Two and a half hours of standing in line led me to an enclosed area with a number in my hand, 706. I look at the digital counter on the wall and they are serving people with numbers in the 530′s. Not too bad is what I’m thinking and so is the young American student named Rick that I met in the line. He had just flown in from Paris where he is studying architecture and is on his way home to Virginia to celebrate Christmas with his family. As I grew up in the county next to Ricks in Virginia we actually had things to talk about even though there are almost 40 years that separate us in age. We agree to find seats near each other so that we can look after each others bags when we need to go somewhere or just move around. Soon after I sit down a young woman arrives and sits next to me, we introduce ourselves and I can hear that she too is American. When I ask what she’s doing in Europe she tells me that she is an exchange student in Italy and is flying home for Christmas, I think she’s from New Jersey. I decide to move so that these two beautiful young people can talk to each other without me as a barrier between them. When I move I notice two Arabic looking gentlemen across from where I was sitting, we smile at each other. I sit down on the floor because it’s close the an electrical outlet and watch a movie on my laptop. I’m watching “The Proposal” with Sandra Bulloc and I notice that the Arab gentlemen are noticing it every time I laugh, and I laugh a lot when I watch that flick. Before long the Arabs are laughing because I’m laughing and then we all laugh together. An older woman a couple of seats over asks me what I’m watching and then she laughs too, pretty soon nine or twelve people are laughing, communicating and the terrible situation doesn’t seem so terrible any longer. All of us get up and move around, some come back and some don’t, maybe they found a better seat further down or they just needed to be in a different spot. Restless legs are a sure thing when you’re an international traveler so some people just pace the floor, back and forth again and again. The place where we are is a closed off area on a balcony over the main hall of the airport. There are locked, frosted glass doors at either end of the space that we are in. We came in through the doors to the left where the Lufthansa counters for re-booking tickets are, outside there is still an incredibly long line of people who have either flown in too late to make their overseas connecting flight or their flight has been canceled. At a central location in the space they have brought in pallets of cases of water and pallets of plastic wrapped sandwiches. Happily people traveling with children, pregnant women and elderly are given a priority in the line. I don’t know how all those hours passed by, but at 2 AM I finally find myself on my way to a hotel in the center of Frankfurt. Lufthansa is paying for it, for the taxi and for a meal that I can’t get at the hotel restaurant because it’s the middle of the night. I notice the street sign on the main avenue that we are traveling to get to the hotel, Kennedy Alleen and I remember the words that JFK spoke while visiting the Berlin Wall so many years ago “Ich bin ein Berliner”. Sitting in the taxi I look at the airline ticket in my hand, it says stand by, destination Phoenix. My body is aching from 24 hours of sitting and walking, I long to stretch and sleep in a bed and when I do place my head on the pillow in the large, clean room I instantly fall into a deep sleep.

In the morning I’m surprised to find the hotel breakfast buffet offering Japanese breakfast, I love Japanese breakfast and throw myself over the miso soup, sea weed and other goodies. I have coffee and juice and can feel that this day is going to be just fine. I get a taxi and head out to the airport to be at my gate at least two hours before take off, I’m not taking any chances. Frankfurt international airport is big and when I finally make to my gate C15 I’m told that the gate has been changed to A65! This is far, far, far away from C15. They tell me to go as fast as I can because I also need to go through security once more for the terminal A, the one I had just passed through was for terminal C. I did make it on time and was happy and relieved as I sat down next to a lovely young blond American lady living in London who was on her way home for Christmas. She told me that her flight out of Heathrow Airport had been allowed out on runway and they were ready to take off when the tower announced that all flight were grounded as of then. The airplane was stuck out there with all of its passengers for eight hours. Finally they’re starting to board our flight, the blond woman goes to the line and I stay seated. She has a confirmed ticket, I don’t. We notice a screen and on it are the names of all the stand by passengers, there are 39! I’m number 25, my heart sinks and with good reason, four of five of the stand by passengers were seated on that flight.

I know the drill now so I race back to the line that will bring be back inside the frosted doors and feel optimistic because the line is shorter than it was the day before, it still took a good two or three hours before I was given a number and allowed into the compound – my number is 607, the previous day my number was 706. I go to the seating area that is quite full and find an empty seat near the center, I glance over my left shoulder and notice the two Arabs from the day before. I smile and wave and ask what number they have (this the culture here now) they show med their little slip of paper with the number 443, they ask to see my number and when I show it to them they wave me over. I get up and go to where they are sitting and one of them pulls a number slip out of his pocket, it says 449. I almost cry, I’m so grateful. They smile and wish me luck on my travels as I do them. In the line outside I had been behind a lovely American family from the state of Washington. They, a couple with their 21 year old daughter were traveling from Italy where they had spent time at a university. He had been teaching and the girl had taken a course or two. Turns out this family has a Norwegian last name and they have spent six months in the city of Bergen where I was born. I feel a nice connection with the family and I hope we will see each other again at some point. When I told them that I had “cheated” and received a much earlier number they cheered me on and said the same thing has happened to them the day before, so I took my number with a clear conscience. My number is called after only three hours or so, I ask the young man at the ticket counter if he can please find me a confirmed ticket, I really don’t want another stand by experience. He looks sad as he scans his screen for vacant seats to Phoenix, I get the picture and tell him that if he wants he can fly me to Las Vegas and I’ll find a way to get to Flagstaff from there. Hi face lights up and he says he can get me to Vegas via Washington Dulles Airport. Wow, my home town airport, the one I’ve been traveling through every time we flew back to Norway for a summer vacation during all my growing up years in Arlington, Virginia. I’m more than pleased and grateful when he sends me to the Holiday Inn North not far from the airport as my flight leaves at 9 the next morning. Holiday Inns in Europe are quite nice, like they were in the US in the beginning. I had a nice buffet dinner on Lufthansa again and the breakfast the next morning was fine. A woman from India who was also booked on the Washington flight and I decided to share a taxi to the airport as the hotel shuttle was already full. The woman now lives in Phoenix with her husband, her children are grown and she is enjoying the dry climate of the South West. We agreed that she probably got the last vacant seat on the Phoenix flight and that’s why I’m being sent to Vegas, we had a laugh about it and agreed to stick together while finding our way to the correct gate (which is not so easy in Frankfurt). When we are seated at a nice window table at the gate I notice the Washington state family are also at this gate. I’m so pleased and when we compare notes I learn that they were among the last to be booked on this Washington DC flight which was set up extra for all of us left behind passengers. This family had actually arrived at Frankfurt on Monday, a day earlier than I had so they got upgraded to first class on this DC flight! It works out, I got my early number, they got first class for waiting so terribly long – all is as it should be.

At Dulles Airport I had a three hour layover and the time passed quite quickly. I called my friends in Flagstaff and let them know that I would be flying into Las Vegas and not Phoenix and told them I would take the bus from there to Flag. They offered to book a hotel room for me and I was happy to let them but said I would get my bus ticket myself. Late evening on December 23 I stepped out of the airplane and entered an airport filled with slot machines, well this is Vegas so why not was my thought. I hurried to the baggage claim and was not surprised to not find my suitcase. I reported it missing, was given a receipt and then I headed out the doors to find a shuttle to take me to my hotel near the bus station. People turn and look at me here as they did in Washington because I’m still wearing the snow boots and winter clothes that I had on when I left my home in freezing Norway three days earlier. I headed straight for a shuttle, waited ten minutes and we were on our way. It took some time to get to the other side of town but I was relieved to get off the shuttle and to enter my hotel. The first thing that meets me there is a sign that says “This hotel is being renovated and we are not offering rooms at this time”. Shocked I back out the doors, look at the signs on the building and when they show that I’m in the right place I’m completely confused. I start to walk towards the street still wondering what I should do and there to my left is a shuttle for the elderly parked with the driver inside. I ask him if he has any information about this hotel and he suggests that I go ask the Hotel Las Vegas Casino across the street. When I get to the reception area they tell me that they are taking care of the business for the closed hotel. I get a room after giving them a fifty dollar down payment (?!) and sleep until 4 AM when I get up, shower, eat some nuts that I always have in my bag when traveling (no matter where I go) and head for the bus station. I’m there at five, the bus is supposed to leave at 6:15. They won’t sell me a ticket because the bus is overbooked! Speechless and dumbfounded I stand there with a confused and shocked expression on my face, I’m sure. This is turning into an unbelievable nightmare of a trip, what else can go wrong? She gives me a stand by ticket for the bus to Flagstaff, I get in line almost in tears from exhaustion but am able to keep my calm. I hear others complain about the bus being full the night before, about the nuisance of it and how it will delay them. I tell them that I’ve been traveling since Monday trying to get to Flagstaff, it’s now Friday, the morning of Christmas Eve. Most of the people in the waiting area hear my story and they say that if I can smile about then they can too about their predicament. When the bus is loading I pray to God that there will be a seat for me, the drives asks me to wait at the door while he is counting the tickets that he has collected. He looks at me, smiles and says – OK, go buy your ticket. Oh joy! I run to the counter, ask if I can cut in line, – yes, and I buy my ticket to Flagstaff. Everyoneis seated when I enter the bus, the only vacant seat that I can see is the one right behind the driver. I’m seated next to an African-American man named Eric. We have a nice time talking while the bus is taking me through the beautiful mountains and the Golden Valley towards Flagstaff. On a hill coming into Kingman we notice the bus slowing down and finally the driver pulls off the road and stops on the shoulder. He gets out of the bus, walks back to the engine and we hear the doors open. A few minutes later the engine stops, everyone is quiet while awaiting information of what is happening. The engine comes back on, the driver returns to his seat and ever so slowly we crawl up the hill and into the TA Truck stop on the outskirts of Kingman. The driver turns on his PA system and informs us that the transmission is broken at we can’t continue. He is calling for a new bus but it will probably be three or four hours before it arrives. At this point I’m numb to any problems that arise. I really don’t care any longer. I’m just going to go with the flow and see what happens. I borrow a cell phone from my travel mate Eric and call my friends Janis and Greg in Flag to inform them not to meet me in Flag at 1:15 PM because I’m going to be much delayed. I hang up the phone and go inside to get myself some chicken for lunch. Janis calls back on Eric’s cell and let’s me know that she has decided to come and pick me up. Two hours later she is there and we speed on to Flagstaff where I have a date to attend a sweat lodge at 5 PM. We arrive at the house at 4:30. I have 15 minutes to get my stuff and drive out to the site of the sweat lodge. At 4:55 I get there and am able to join my wonderful sweat lodge community in this sacred Christmas Eve event. Joyful, thankful and blessed.

Jeg bar på en bekymring da jeg gikk inn i skogen, den var blitt litt mindre når jeg låste meg inn hjemme. Jeg bestemmer meg for å gå til eikeplassen neste dag, bare for å være sikker på at jeg finner lett frem og for å hente mer av den gode følelsen jeg fikk når jeg sto der. Idet jeg finner frem til stedet hvor jeg går inn i skogen legger jeg merke til et sett med dyrespor i snøen. Sporene følger min vei et stykke, men så skrår de litt mer mot venstre og jeg fortsetter rett frem. Når jeg er fremme ved Mor Eik går jeg litt bortenfor den største steinen slik at det blir lettere for meg å klatre opp fra den andre siden. Og der, akkurat der kommer sporene jeg tidligere hadde hatt følge av inn mot meg der jeg står. De  kommer inn i lysningen fra en annen kant og går rett foran meg og stopper oppå en mindre stein. Nå først begynner jeg å lure på om dette kan være ulvespor, de er for store til å være rev tenker jeg. Jeg har aldri sett ulvespor og vet egentlig ikke hvordan de ser ut, men på en eller annen måte vet jeg at dette er ulv.  Jeg vet også at ulver ikke oppløses til intet og derfor begynner jeg å lete etter fortsettelsen av sporene. Jeg finner dem oppe på en av de store steinene, ikke bare finner jeg spor men også merker etter pels der hvor Ulvegutten har ligget. Som sagt, jeg er ingen sporfinner men jeg skjønner nok til å se at denne ulven nylig hadde ligget der. Det er ikke veldig vanskelig å skille nye og eldre spor i snø. Jeg blir merkelig glad over at ulven hadde ligget akkurat der hvor jeg hadde stått og sett på Mor Eik dagen i forveien. Jeg blir rørt og kjenner meg enda mer som en del av naturen på lik linje med alt levende på jord. Indianernes måte å tenke på har smittet over etter tre overvintringer i Arizona blant Navajo og Hopi .Jeg kjenner takknemlighet, en merkelig form for takknemlighet midt i det vanskelige.

Vel hjemme leter jeg etter ulvespor på datamaskinen min for å bekrefte det jeg allerede vet. I tillegg til spor viser siden jeg finner også et kart over hvor ulvene nå er å finne i Norge. Jo da, Nordre Frogn er en del av området. Neste dag har jeg annet å gjøre og kommer meg ikke ut i skogen, men dagen deretter skynder jeg meg til eikeplassen for å undersøke om ulven har sovet der igjen. Nei, ingen nye spor. Litt skuffet, men likevel glad for å ha denne flotte plassen å gå til. Jeg snakker litt med Mor Eik og bestemmer meg for å gå helt ned til veien for å sjekke postkassen før jeg går hjem igjen. Og der, på veien ned mot postkassene ser jeg spor. De kommer nedenfra og går oppover i en helt rett linje, den ene foten rett foran den andre og den tredje og fjerde. Elegante og målbevisste virker sporene, ingen vimsing her og der som man ofte ser når en hund har gått i snø. Jeg henter posten og passer på å legge merke til hvert eneste spor når jeg går opp igjen. Og der, cirka fem meter før det stedet hvor jeg pleier å gå inn i skogen skrår Bror Ulv sine fotavtrykk innover og forsvinner. Jeg vet allerede at han ikke gikk til eikeplassen så jeg følger ikke etter. Oppe igjen ved hytten min ser jeg plutselig spor som går inn i oppkjørselen til naboen og ved nærmere undersøkelse ser jeg at Bror Ulv har vært på besøk. Naboen min bruker ikke hytten om vinteren så der er ingen andre spor fra før. Jeg følger sporene og etter en stund skrår de fra naboens tomt og over til min. De går og opp mot treet der jeg mater fuglene ved vestveggen, så hopper de ned igjen og forsvinner inn i skogen på den andre siden. Jeg lar den gå i fred nå. Den har vært oppe og hilst på meg, den var kommet helt inntil husveggen min for å si at nå stikker jeg. Det er på tide å gå videre og det tenker jeg at jeg også må gjøre, det er bare å gå videre og ikke dvele ved det vanskelige slik som Bror Ulv gjør.

“Pain in life is especially insidious because it can block the healing power of our souls, especially if we have not accepted what is happening to us as a preordained trial.”  Journey of Souls by Michael Newton, PhD, page 275,

After attending the Alternative Lifestyle Fair in Bergen I headed to Hardanger to visit with my younger brother and his family in their second home.  Also, my birthday was coming up and I thought it would be nice to celebrate it with family that I don’t see often.  An added bonus was disclosed when I telephoned my dear old aunt Kari in the same village and she said my cousin Helga was visiting that week.  Fall break brings happy surprises.  Helga and I go back a long way and I think she will have her story at some point.

At a reunion that I had attended in August I learned that my former elementary school teacher was still living.  Now that I was back home in the village where I attended the first two or was it three years of my schooling I wanted to go and see her.  I told my aunt and cousin about my wish and Kari said that they already had plans of visiting with her on October the 14th her 104th birthday.  My aunt knew of course that this is also my birthday.  I was moved by the knowledge of our shared birthdays  and decided to bring her a single red rose as she was my first love.  What a powerful impact the first teacher can have on a child, I would not have imagined that she would stay with me in my heart for 50 years.

I’ m not sure how I can convey what happened in that meeting, because it was on a very subtle level.  Although no word was spoken from the lips of my teacher, her eyes said more than I can express.  I entered her room and found her in bed in semi darkness as she was getting ready for her nap.  My aunt beckoned me to go talk to her and when I came close I could see that she knew who I was.  She pulled her hand out from under the covers and towards me, I held it with love as I laid my other hand on her shoulder.  I asked the angels to assist in giving her strength and healing and I conveyed my gratitude to her.  Tears filled my eyes, I was deeply moved as my soul recognized her as an important influence in my life.  I quietly stepped out of the room as I knew she needed to get some rest.  Outside we met one of the staff who said that my teacher was going to be picked up later in the day for a grand birthday celebration where the Mayor would attend and also the local newspaper would be there.  The staff person suggested that we come back later to take pictures of the two of us together.  When we came back my teacher was beautifully dressed in a white blouse and black skirt, she had a jacket on and her hair was done nicely for her big day.  In her hand she was holding a birthday card from her niece who was also my classmate 50 years ago and who ended up marrying another classmate of mine from a very different school in a location many miles away.  Life truly is an adventure.  I walked over  to her knowing that this would be our last meeting in this world and as I kneeled by her chair she moved her ear close to my mouth to hear my words.  Gratitude.

On October 22nd I was driving my Hyundai van to get to the Alternative Fair in Haugesund, Norway. The first real snow of the season was falling and as I was winding slowly along on the curvy roads in the west, I started slipping and lost control of the vehicle.  As I sat there helpless watching and feeling the car do as it pleased, I was struck with disbelief.  Somehow I thought I would never ever experience what was happening to me at that moment!  Somehow I thought I was exempt from a car accident!  “This is unbelievable” is what went through my head, I may actually have said it out loud as the car skidded sideways, left the road and landed in the worst possible place, as it tucked itself deeply into a creek on its side.  My experience of the fall is blank, or black.  When I came back into my body and mind, I found myself getting wet and instinctively unfastened my seat belt and got to my feet.  Something was unnatural and wrong, I was standing on the door and my boots were filled with ice cold water and it was rising.  In a moment of panic I could see myself drowning and alone in icy water while stuck inside the car.  I frantically tried to open the window, but either I couldn’t find the button for it or it didn’t work, anyway it was just plain wrong to try to make sense of a door that’s above your head, a door that’s supposed to be next to you.  Suddenly I fully  realized that I was in a state of panic and that I was stuck inside of the car.  “BREATHE!”  I heard my own command and took a deep breath, looked down and noticed that the water had stopped rising just above my knees  so now I knew that my brain was working again and that I would not drown.  After several unsuccessful tries I was finally able to push the door above my head open enough to get a foot in the crack and then pull myself out.

So why am I writing about this now?  Well, I guess it’s because the degree of my self loathing has reached a point where it can get no worse and this is the only way I know of to release it.  The self loathing has to do with not facing or doing what I think I need to or should do.  By the way, when my friend Paul Rademacher the author of “A Spiritual Hitchhikers Guide to the Universe” and a man that I deeply respect wrote of his self loathing in the forward of his book, well then I figured, so can I in my blog.

There are two tasks at hand:

1.  Fill in the insurance claim to get some money to replace all the electronic equipment and  other items that were either ruined or lost in the water. (Travel insurance only, no car insurance.)

2.  Write something really smart so that it can be published so that I can start having an income.  (I’m supposed to be a writer, it’s what I do.)

So what am I doing while not doing these two important tasks?  Let’s see, I drink coffee and then I read.  After reading I go outside and work with the wood, cutting down spruce trees and clearing up.  Back inside, cook a meal and eat.  I look at my computer and do everything possible to avoid turning it on and getting to work.   To alleviate the pain of my avoidance, I do a different “should ” task  that I’ve been avoiding;  yoga.  Ok, so I do some simple yoga exercises and feel better, but I know that I’m still not filling in my insurance claim and I know that I’m not writing anything at all, let alone anything  worthy of publishing.  So what am I afraid of?

Instead of writing, I’m blogging.  While listening to one of the Norwegian Broadcasting radio  stations yesterday I was reminded of all the people who blog. The topic was on what subject matter should not be shared in a blog. They were referring to certain people who share about their personal problems.  One of them, Ida Jackson has been awarded the best blogger award three times.  She blogs about her experiences as a patient in a psychiatric ward.  Through the interview we understand that Ida never expected such a huge response to her blog, she just needed an outlet for her experiences and thoughts.  Ida said she hoped the positive response meant that our society was getting “warmer”, that there is no shame in sharing problems.

What am I so afraid of? (Sorry if I’m skipping all over the place here, but in my mind it makes sense.)  “Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth”  Pema Chödrön opens the first chapter of her book “When Things Fall Apart” with these words.  I have come a little closer to the truth and with the help of Pema I hope to be able to move forward.

I took a break from writing this post, I sorted out some papers and prepared a meal and during the process of these simple tasks it hit me.  Eureka!!   I now  understand why it is so difficult for me to fill out the insurance claim form.  As Pema said, I was getting close to a painful truth and therefore the resistance was massive. Today is the 12th of November, the accident happened on the 22nd of October, that’s a lot of procrastination!  The reason is not a simple one, if it was the task would have been done two weeks ago.  I’ll have to cover it in a new post at a later date.  No, no, no, it has to  be now or never.

As a child of the baby boom generation (late babyboomer) I grew up feeling (and probably acting) different from most of my peers.  I have many memories of not fitting in, of not being of the mold, of being outside of the norm, of being looked at as strange and weird.  Of course, I didn’t understand it at the time and the feeling was still there in my adult life, except that I could pretend it was not.  Today every child born is special, the children of today come to us with a higher frequency and a load of knowledge that only a few of us had when I was growing up.  Indigo children, Star children, Crystal children and many more are coming and will keep coming.  Sometimes I listen to hayhouseradio.com  an online, positive, radio station where many of the wonderful authors published by Hay House Press have their own shows.  Through listening to the different spiritual people I gain a deeper understanding of myself and of others.

Anyhow, back to the solution: it’s as simple as being upset because my accident does not fit the form that needs to be filled in for the insurance company.  The form for travel insurance asks for flight numbers and such, my trip was a road trip by car. The form asks where the items were stolen and did I report it to the police.  No, nothing was stolen and the police were not involved, my stuff just got drowned and most of my electronics like my lap top, camera, iPod, cell phone, electronic gadget to get into my online banking  and so on, is no longer functional .  It’s as simple and complicated as that. Simply that I have difficulties dealing when I don’t fit the form – now that I’ve recognized it – it’s over!

This book has been in my posession for three or four years, but I can not remember reading it until now. Actually it has been in a box in the basement while I’ve been traveling, but now that I’ve moved into my new home it has found a place in my book shelf. I turned to the chapter on Archangels because of my experience of the angel closing its wings around my client and myself in Kristiansand. I was sure it was an Archangel, while I had no knowledge of all the different phylums of Angels that exist. This is what I found in Sylvia Brown’s book  (p. 111): “Like Archangels, the fifth phylum of angels, the Powers, have healing as their primary function. Unlike Archangels, though, the Powers don’t need a scepter or green-orbed baton to facilitate healing. In fact, the Powers don’t use artifacts of any kind; they bring only themselves, using their beautiful wings to form a protective canopy around the person who needs their healing abilities.  What the Archangels can’t do, the Powers can, as they literally surround the person with their wings.”

Then she continues to write:  “Powers are large in size, even to the point of being huge. Some are average to medium, but they all have the capability of becoming enormous.” Naturally I got very excited at this point. It was a Power that surrounded us with its wings, it was enormous and I’m sure that I was given a good dose of healing along with my client. Lucky us!

As I continued reading the Book of Angels I also found reference to a very small and white angel. Sylvia Brown describes it just as I had seen it while working on a female client, also in Kristiansand, Norway.  It was quite small and in her book Brown says that this phylum of angels are the olny ones that show themselves as small as four inches tall.

This weekend I’m attending the Alternative Fair in a small city called Tønsberg. I had expected a larger crowd and more work, but as it turned out Saturday brought only one client my way. I’m not viewing the day as a failure because other meetings brought me great joy and hope for future work.

The front door

The guest house to the left and the shed/outhouse to the right

Dining area

My tiny Stonehenge in the garden

That’s it!