Text and images Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland
I am giving myself more time for silence this Lent. Silence for a busy mind, silence for a tired body.
I am trying not to fill every minute of the day with activities, not to put a cd on as soon as silence is here, not to pick up a book at every spare minute.
In the silence I try to welcome all feelings. God has created me with them all.
Silence often stir up the suppressed. Automatically I cover unwanted feelings with a quilt of many colours.
Now I strive to meet the unwanted. To hold it up, "look God, this is also part my me", to let go.
My seeking of silence took me down to the canal yesterday. A favorite place of walking.
I guess it has something with a deep need for travelling. Trondhaim railway station on one side, the canal with its old boats filled with memories on the other.
A deep need of travelling. East of the sun, west of the moon. But also travelling through life on the path made for me. Through every day. On my way.
After my walk I found a cafe where I sat down - with a cafee latte, a blueberry muffin.....and my diary.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Travel memories - the olive season in Spain
I travelled to Spain with a group, and we had work to do together. I missed being there alone, being able to travel around, to meet locals, to get new friends. We drove from El Campanario to Granada, and passed thousands of olive trees. I saw the trees, and my inner eye imagined the people harvesting the olives, their labour, their costumes, their fiestas, their singing and their dancing when the night came. I forgot the long drive, the hot sun making the inside of the bus an oven.......
On the four hours' flight back home to Norway, I read Gerald Brenan's story "The Village Calendar" from 1957, and I know that even on a plane I can armchair travel, and I can time travel.
The year began with olive picking and, as this was mainly a woman's task, the olive groves were invaded by gay parties of matrons and girls, wearing white head-handkerchiefs and brightly coloured dresses and accompanies by younger chidren.
The girl climbed the trees, and if any man approached too close there would be screams and a scuttle to descend, because none of them wore drawers.....
I don't know if I will ever come back to Spain, but a dream of going there again, visiting remote places, living the Spanish life, breating the Spanish air, is born in me.
***************************
I wish I had more photos of olives and village life to show you. But we never stopped, only at a restaurant along the road for coffee......and olive oil, and olive hand cream, and honey. No olive honey though, I wonder how that would taste.
***************
One day I would love to call myself Olive, take part in the olive season and dance barefeeted under the stars.
Will you join me?
