big sister

big sister is always in charge, taking care of the little ones
taking care of all people around her
trying to manifest their wishes even before they are spoken
caring nothing for herself

big sister is left in chaos and confusion
when she has no answers, when she has no help to offer
she tries hard to find solutions, ideas, something to do
something that is comforting, healing, changing the state

she has not yet learnt to only be herself
not yet learnt to let go of expectations to outcome
because she wants this special outcome to arrive now
she does not want to stand by the side and see her love struggle

while the storm clutters the garden with the fallen yellow leaves
while the sun shines on birds looking for seeds in the birdfeeder
while the fall is putting everything outside to rest for the winter
big sister tries to calm her inside storm and eagerness,
so she can help others by being

big sister is weaving a rug
turning forgotten fabric
into a whole new design
of what she has become

Quiet time of fall

Fall - is the quiet time for reflection and wonder
the smell of newly made bread in the kitchen
while tomatoes ripen, taken inside away from the frost
leaves still on the trees, slowly swaying in the wind
the beautiful colors, so many different yellow, brown, orange, red
the master painter has a joyful time playing with his palette
time to think, to come together, to seek the warmth of the fire
inside the house, cosy, time for books that are longing to be read,
for allowing the adventure of being alive
be the centerpiece in your awareness
making your dreams come back
connecting you to the angels, to the spirits, to all that is
this is the quiet time of fall
where you can find that place in the forest
that can only be found by those who are lost
the place where you meet yourself, your heart
and all those who are searching

what it takes to live

today nazi boots will march through gothenburg to make us tremble of fear for what they can do to us
they have only one language, that of fear and scarcity
in a country that is among the wealthiest in the world
where most people have a roof over their head, most people get some food each day, where people are not searched for by mobs from different thribes and violent war masters

i don´t believe in their language, so today i have chosen to do as usual
to do what i have planned, to not allow their attempt to create fearfulness find me

i will talk to everyone i meet about the beauty of being human, of living an ordinary life
i will talk about all those people whose only wish is to have a usual day
who have risked their lives so that their children could have a usual ordinary dull life
go to school, complain about homework, run to catch a bus, get an ordinary dinner

i will talk about our ancestors who went to america to get away from starvation and oppression because they wanted to live an ordinary life, they wanted to live
i will talk about all those people who build the wellth of the country we live in, the finns, the dutch, the english, the polish, the norwegians, all those who build gothenburg, the canals, the railways, the iron industry, the forest industry that we thrive from today

i will talk about what it takes to live

i wish i could paint

i wish i could paint in a way so that the big artist´s colors were flowing through my fingers and out onto the paper

i wish i could paint all the picture i have in my mind on pieces of paper and give them to all those people who can only see grey

to those people marching with big boots who forget to see the fall colors red and orange foliage, who are to far away from the forest to be mesmerized by a diamond dewdrop on a lingonberry bunch deeply embedded in the dark green moss

to those people who have hopelessly sank down in their muddy black holes until they no longer see the the gold in the sunrise, the hope when the glittering threads rain down on the tree tops

to all children that have been so frightened that they forget to smell the roses and chase Peter Rabbit

i wish i could paint so the grey fog lifted and they could all bow their heads before the Great Artist  and his manifold color palette 

another pearl on the memory string

For Chris Weaver

I am putting another pearl on my string of memories
the string that i keep in the deepest chamber of my heart
there are too many pearls on that string already
one rose colored for my little sister who left at nineteen
one dark green for my father who loved the forest
a couple of multicolored for my grandmothers and ancestors
an orange for my fun loving mother-in-law
and now i have to add this light blue, almost translucent pearl
for my friend, the poet, the teacher, the visionary
who was so sure about the road to heaven that he got lost in this world
grateful for those memories, those beautiful colorful pearls
and still - there are too many.

my string of pearl of forever loved and cherished people
leaving us behind in this world
leaving us on the bank of the river at Olivette
searching for meaning and trying to remember that you taught us
to not forget the most important
the children