the divine bird

Today I saw a crow settled on top of a wire. it was sunset and the light was brilliant. Whenever the bird moved to prune his feathers or take a look around, the light would hit his feathers and make them dazzle vividly of all might. A brief second the vagabond lit up and altered into a divine being. Then it got back into its original posture, and the bird was a bird again. He didn't seem to notice, he was simply enjoying the view.

The Swan

//flickr

Jeg leser en bok av Roald Dahl (alltid vært, og vil alltid være en av mine yndlingsforfattere) for øyeblikket. Den inneholder sju små historier. En av dem heter "The Swan", og den traff meg så hardt på en trist, vakker, grusom og sint måte. Jeg fant den igjen på nettet. Den bør virkelig leses.

The Swan by Roald Dahl

Også kan jeg samtidig anbefale en fin sang å høre på samtidig. Gjerne på repeat. Den er altfor kort.

Jeg liker ikke at så fine sanger er så altfor korte.

"Moon Pulls" - Múm

ulvehodet og den filippinske mannen

Aaaah! I dag tidlig våknet jeg opp sint. Skal jeg forklare hvorfor?

Jeg drømte.

Noen detaljer er litt tåkete, men jeg skal prøve å forklare.

Det var i nabolaget mitt. To ulver. Jeg stod og stirret tanketomt ut mot et hus, da den ene kom luskende. Så var det også plutselig en annen der. Den ene ulven virket gammel, skjør og snill. Den andre derimot virket mer truende og farlig. Så åpenbarte plutselig en sau seg (kanskje den hoppet ut fra en busk eller noe, jeg husker ikke). Den ene ulven, antageligvis den 'slemme' (det er det som gir mest mening), gikk bort til sauen som stod helt stille, og begynte å dytte og gnage litt på den. Ulven begynte så fingerferdig å klore av centimeterlange hudstrimler av sauen, som den spiste. Den stirret på meg og smilte, og sa ikke et ord. Så sa noe stopp hos meg, og jeg bestemte meg for at nok var nok. Jeg dro med meg ett stykk slem ulv og opprevet sau bort til huset og satte dem fra meg på gårdsplassen. Skulle visst ringe veterinæren.

Da jeg kom ut igjen, var de ikke der. Jeg snudde hodet og så et avrevet ulvehode med gapende øyne falle ned i søppeldunken oppå resten av kroppen. Jeg vet at sauen også var død, men så den aldri igjen. Det stod en mann med filipinske trekk i oppkjørselen ved en truck og smilte. Han så veldig fornøyd ut med hva han hadde gjort. Jeg var helt forvirret.

Nå husker jeg ikke om det var den slemme eller gode ulven som var i søppelkassen, men jeg tror det var den gode.

Så braste det helt for meg, og jeg skrek med lungenes kraft mot mannen og skjelte ham til de grader ut. Jeg tror jeg kalte ham for "et forferdelig menneske" o.l. Mens jeg vellet ut med negativ fråding, krympet mannen seg mer og mer, og så til slutt riktig trist og lei seg ut.

Også våknet jeg. Sint.

Jeg tror. Jeg tror at... mannen trodde han gjorde meg en stor tjeneste. Han drepte ulven, dyret som spiser og skader alt budskap. Ulven er alltid den store slemme, det er det vi har vokst opp med å høre. Men jeg vet ikke om det var den gode eller onde ulven han drepte. Men jeg er veldig sikker på at det var den gode, og at det var derfor jeg ble så ekstra sint. (I etterkant har jeg blitt litt flau over hvordan jeg skjelte ut mannen. Jeg leser nemlig "To Kill A Mockingbird" for øyeblikket. De som har lest den vil skjønne hvorfor)

Kanskje har disse karakterene i drømmen min også symboliske betydninger? Er det slik at jeg prøver og prøver å ordne opp i ting som gjør uskyldige urett (ulven tar sauen), men mislykkes, fordi meningene mine strider mot det andre mener? Eller at jeg rett og slett ikke har kontroll over det som skjer? Det hele endte jo også med at feil ulv ble tatt.

Så er det også en mulighet at drømmen har oppstått av små ting fra de siste dagene. I naturfagen diskuterte vi om ulveproblemene til sauebøndene, og den filippinske mannen kommer fra et bilde i en presentasjon jeg lagde i fjor.

Å, jeg vet ikke. Jeg prøver å se etter tegn som kanskje bare er vissvass uansett. Men jeg er så interessert i de drømmene jeg husker.

Visste du forresten at de personene vi ser i drømmene våre, alltid er personer vi har sett før? Det kan være alt fra ansikter på tv eller som vi har sett på gata. Hjernen har gjemt disse ansiktene dypt nedi et sted der sola aldri skinner. Jeg husker jeg leste det et sted. Jeg husker også denne historien om en drømmemann som har invadert mange tusen folk sine drømmer:

This Man

Jakta på guten med munnspelet

Klatsj, klatsj, klatsj.

Føttane mine dansa over den gloheite stranda. Sanden knasa og knurra. Det skulle godt gjeres å ikkje bli brent på slik ein kvelandes sommardag. Eg stoppa opp og tok eit djupt andedrag. Fora meg spreidde den grøne flekken av minnar seg ut som fuglar, den dreg havet til seg og smilte lunt. Hjartet mitt hoppa – det var så lenge sia. Det vesle sommarhuset låg gøymd i famnen til det rufsete landskapet, det såg ut som om det klynga seg til graset som bølgja seg etter vindens pust. Eg vinka, sjølv om eg visste at dei einaste som kunne sjå meg no var trøtte måker og fisk som bobla under vatnet. Det føltes riktig. Det var som om skuggen hans fortsett satt der.

Eg børsta bort sanden eg hadde mellom tærne og gjekk nærmare det kvite huset. Taket var morkent og heldt på å falle saman, og når vinden blåste langs ryggen av landskapet, gav huset frå seg eit høgt og trøtt stønn. Fingrane mine greip om det lause handtaket og eg pressa ned, blodet i henda mine strøyma til og sveitten klistra til då dei slapp grepet. Døra stod stille eit augeblikk føyr vinden hylte og smelte den inn i veggen. Det var kaldt der inne, det føltes heilt gjenglemt. Men det var det ikkje, eg hugsa jo alt no. Det var som om varmen slo ut mot veggane og fargane kom tilbake. Alt stod slik det pleidde å stå. Ikkje ein identisk stol, enkle bokhyllar, ei lekekiste og eit svært frynsete teppe. Til høgre var kjøkkenet, med blå og kvite porselenstallerkenar, eit loslite raudt trebord med alt for mange skuffar på, blomstermønster på titt og tatt og eit par fotografiar på veggane. Eg lukta pannekaker og frukt med melis.

Men eg sprang mot den smale trappa som mangla steg. Opp og opp og opp, heilt til eg såg sollyset kime melodiøst ut frå ein sprekk i taket. Eg bøygde meg ned under den senga hans, og lausna den hullete planken. Der låg dei.

Sommar, lik denne dag.

Vi rodde ilag

Munnsmil. Smilemunn. Munnspel.

Laust og latterleg, vi var berre barn.

Årane plaska

Og som du veit, skulle jo sommarferien berre fortsette og fortsette og fortsette heilt til livet var snudd opp ned. Kvardagen var glømt for lengst. Det var berre oss og dom.

Minna gnistra stolt mot meg. Eg pusta bort støvet og dei gispa etter luft og skreik av glede. Så lirka eg planken tilbake på plass og fløyg ned, og ut døra. Den blå himmelen bretta seg atter ein gong ut for meg. Eg pusta, eg hugsa, eg tenkte:

Været er som deg, eit søndagssmil med lange dykk og jordbær.

Hadde berre ikkje tida gått så fort som regnet, hadde berre du ikkje løypt dei slitne bena dine av deg, hadde berre ikkje du rodd så langt. Då skulle eg ha tatt deg igjen.

Kanskje eg fortsett kunne klare det. Eg håpet at vinden ikkje hadde stålet deg. For det ville vore svært. Kanskje eg kunne sende deg eit brev. Kanskje eg berre skulle fly. Det syntes eg var ein god idé.

bilde av: http://alandarocks.deviantart.com/art/Summer-94390801

The White Wave

The White Wave

“Chappa chappa chap”

The strange sound rushed through the dark forest.

“Chappa chappa CHAP!”

In the distant a hypnotic drumming noise called. Something hissed.

“CHAP CHAP CHAP!”

The animals started growling their lungs out as the fireflies lighted up their tails. It was as if the whole forest stood on fire. Foots in search for shelter trampled upwards the hills, the wind howled and lifted them up, as the stars communicated with the fireflies. The trees squeaked and shook of their leaves. With a wheezing breath they stopped on top of the hill. Then suddenly, it all stopped. The animals held their breath and let their bright eyes glide over the sight of the dark forest. They sharpened their ears, in search for the rushing sound that grew louder and louder. It made such a terrifying sound, they thought. Then they saw the top of the raging wave. It came towards them like a hoard of angry mustangs, white, shiny and foaming with arousal. It engulfed the whole forest in one big embrace, squeezed in through the trees who simply could not get away. The animals felt nothing. They all thought to themselves - “These nightmares are so realistic and awkward nowadays”. The waves effervesced up towards the air.

So they fell asleep again.

This nightmare was a strange cause. It was not dreamt by just one of the animals, but all of them, united.

The next day, all that could ever be seen was tragedy. Corpses drifted around in the white water surrounding the forest floor. The whole forest was flooded, and that had severe consequences for a lot of the animals. There existed a big problem. Because you see, some of the animals had an ancient casting system, that split them into two. What exactly the difference between those two were, had for most animal been almost washed away as the years had passed by. Now it was up to what kind of ancestors they had that told them if they were in the higher or lower class.

For a couple of years ago, the red coated owls had a big fight. The higher class of owls, those with the most brilliant red shine in their feathers, refused to live with the lower class whose feathers were as bleak as withered cherries anymore, and made them so move down from the bumpy, green hill their houses stood on, to the dark forest floor. The already existing disgust now grew in a tremendous scale. As they were living united, the higher class of owls had made the lower class of owls work for them. They made them collect seeds, nuts, roots, eatable flowers and fruits. After the banishment, the higher class owls contacted the pack of wolves that roamed the darkest part of the forest, and made a deal with them so that the owls could get fresh meat delivered. The lower class had never felt their stomaches cringe more than at the day they saw the sight of the higher class engulfing the bloody meat of their forest companions. The thoughts of perfection had made their hunger grow bloodthirsty.

As the white water clashed through the forest floor, the houses of the lower owls were crushed. They snapped out of their united nightmare and jumped up in the trees, some did not make it. This would not have happened to them if it was not for the banishment. The white liquid swirled around, and took color from the blood. As they looked up to the higher owls, they saw that their houses stood peacefully on the exact same spot as before. The world looked like heaven up there.

“How is it that we have to pay for the sins of those who kicked us in the face?” one of the owls asked that day. No one knew the answer. They kept staring.

As the days passed on, the owls started growing tired of living up in the darkness of the trees. Sure, they were as thankful as they could be to the trees who had to carry their weight. But their hunger and their minds piled up restlessly. The worst thing was that the higher owls never looked at them, not once. It was as if they pretended nothing had happened. At that point they were the most ignorant animals of the woods. About all of the other animals were screaming about this disaster. They had lost someone they cared about, and many had lost their homes. They did not care about the casts anymore. The higher owls just kept their beaks up in the skies, ears closed and eyes shut.

As days turned into weeks, some of the owls got so famished that they simply fell of the trees in exhaustion. Some of the other birds tried to help them, giving them a bit of their sparsely saved food. They had the possibility to get around in the forest. But it was no use for the owls. They could not fly as swiftly as the barn swallows and neither as graceful as the golden eagles. And they could not swim in the water like the ducks either, but that was also out of question. It was at this point of despair, a great idea came up.

The owls built an ark.

With the assistance of the kind trees, who let them cut of their wounded branches, and the flying squirrels who got them what else they needed, they slowly created their floating chance. It was not a sight for the Gods at all, but for the owls it was simply perfect. Yes, almost a wonder. It was large and as dark as the forest itself, and could carry twice as many owls as they were. Some of the owls even decorated it with tiny shells that had drifted with the water. The mood was cheerful amongst them now, and they did not look up to the higher owls as much as before. As they put their last touch on the finely weaved sail made of leaves, a dance broke out. The other animals put interest in this and joined them. They wished them good luck, and were almost as happy as the owls themselves to see that finally something good occurred to them. The dance went on and on, as the owls boarded the ship together with some of the animals that wanted to escape the forest too. The animals breathed and blew air into the sail, and the boat started drifting through the oddly colored water.

Through all the noise, no one heard the surprised screams that came from the hill. The evergreen hill slithered down to the water in a manner like lava. As the weeks since the wave had passed, the white water had soaked up the fine hill till its consistence was like mud. The hill kept fighting as it tried to keep itself in place, but was so tired at this moment that it simply just collapsed. The rich owl's houses fell apart and dived into the water, with the flightless owls trapped in the vortex. They screamed their hearts out, but no one noticed. At their last seconds flew by they could see the ark and the owls and the animals dancing and singing as happy as clams at high tide. The immersed owls then died through submersion in and inhalation of white bloody water. Death by drowning.

The ark floated with a big cheer out through the legs of the trees, out from the blood, out from the dark forest, into the endless ocean. The white water gradually faded away and was replaced by a bright blue ground ocean.The rays of the sun lighted up their ruby red coats. They shone even brighter than the red of the rich owls had. As they looked back towards the island, they saw the destroyed hill, and bowed their heads. That would never happen to them. They were going to find new land.

The End

xenophobia

The farm's three llamas had never been the most outgoing bunch, and neither did they know of any other way to live their life. That's when the dog came up to them, and tried to show them how to dance and run for fun.

Those words sounded strange for the llamas. Fun. They did not like it.

"Come with me, I will show you a new side of life!" the dog barked.

He was a stranger. They spat and gave him mean looks.

"We don't want any of your 'fun' business. Go away, our lives are perfect, we don't need you" they said.

And so they dismissed him.

xenophobia - fear of the unknown