What is the true interest in making the invisible, the visible? Usually this comes at the slow-rate of disclosing the truth in plein-air, or making an obvious fact of life hidden by social rhetoric (often referred to as a construct) exposed to the grounding, undeniable qualities of life. That is not ideological life, but the actual means in which each of us got to be here, and that which can be observed and documented. Yet, in these documentations, entirely different subjective experiences are not only plausible but to be expected- for within each of us contains a multiverse of experiences that ricochet off of today, the past, and slingshot into ideas launched into the future.

In the searching for possibility, invention, discovery…the notion of something new under the sun, I beg each of your minds to consider that which could be to today or within the next year, to consider a reality remaining in wait.

The unknowns are often created in mythologized spaces. These are the spaces of the mind, dreams, darkness or in light such as an effervescent rainbow. These are not lasting but transitory, meaning they are contingent upon rare circumstances that may arrive but a few times in an entire life, and rely upon factors of predictable or serendipitous means.

Leaving life and the future up to such circumstantial randomness-could be seen as constellation points echoing that of astrological mysticism and not the heightened technological capacities for choice we have today. The reduction of reality combined with the heightening of ideological means has not removed humans propensity for error, but seems to have expanded the fallacious follies in which we permit adolescent behavior further into adulthood, pointing at each politician or media outlet we gave our personal choice to all along.

I am not outside such follies, for over 12 years I took the advice of experts about my body to find out they were dead wrong, and I had paid for that with time and reproducing years…but this is not an article about that- this is an article about the ocean, 100 year tides, and whether or not personal stories have any value in a society expecting everything for free.

The cost (and pain) of such chasms can be felt in our generational bereavements. The decline of populations for a moralistic, globalism, gives rise to a populace that has no regards for such ideological constraints. Life based on moral or intellectual means is not supposed to be black and white, dualism or overtly simplistic, and yet in the Sci-Fi 0 and 1 times there seems to be sadly no end to measuring through numerical value instead of a closer to the earth perspective-perhaps even a from the sea-bottom up perspective….

These de-facto concerns afflict each and every one of the bodies on the planet today. So when it comes to the rights of human life, and to how many choices each body, gender or identity are permitted, I always must ask: what is the result?

Because the results of choices are not necessarily flags of virtue or wisdom if they result in the decimation of life. Choices made ad-hoc, are not the same as those thoroughly undertaken with considerable thought to responsibility.

And so this post, while seemingly topological until now will become a bit more personal for the paid viewers. I have invited you all to be, because the cost of my life is not to be strewn about in a sadomasochistic way. Yes, that is how I view Social Media is…it is someone’s free time cost to the vulnerability of making a personal life experience free entertainment. Nothing is free.

All forms of life have costs: monetary or otherwise. That is why kindness can be such a sincere or volatile tool: either someone subjectively regards soft-internal choices with reverence or drinks them as plentiful, unending waters. Alas, even in death, water flow becomes meaningful to decomposition, to the awareness and considering mind, all sediments bear weight.

For a long time I debated sharing this story: for one I consider it embarrassing, and for another, in its humiliation was baked in humility and a type of parental friendship that I deeply value. I know not what to do with it alone but share it to the minds of those who value rabbit holes that seek truth…so for those who do, thank you for your support. And for those who do yet not, you can subscribe or send me a note to work out a legal and moral exchange…because no, I will not send you my feet, body parts or selfies at your beck and call…such cultural contempt for life itself holds no ground nor space here.

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The story is simple enough: I decided to visit my friend and mentor, John, where he decided to retire from his construction work in Norway, to paint in Denmark. He has looked out for me during my years in Norway. To me, he has and remains my Nordic father, and to my spirit, the critical and kind voice that undid my cultural programming or belief systems in the kindest way possible. To he, he said I am always giving and gave some kind of meaning and purpose. To this I never fully understand because our relationship was purely platonic and of this kind of mentor-friendship dynamic, alas, I can understand a need to share and give, and as life has been entirely different for him, he could see some naivete’s or deficiencies in me that could grow with learning, or as I prefer to call them, lessonings, meaning the diminishment of ideas, and the embracing of more realness.

The weather was scheduled to be a storm. He told me a-priori it (the storm and possible sea level rise) was a rare occurrence and that we could stay on land or go for an adventure: a simple this or that choice…and that if I chose the adventure, we could turn around if I felt otherwise.

Knowing that I am not all knowing but intuitive, I went for the adventure. Within hours of arriving to Aarø, I felt it was time to get off the ride. The sense of something that would cause me stress was imminent. He said let’s just relax and see how it goes in the morning, and if it was bad, then we would leave. I insisted I wanted to go then or soon as possible, but the ferries stopped running at this hour (not late mind you, around 7pm) , so to early bed we went to awake to the howling wind. At first I was not scared, even the flooded streets did not scare me. After the life I have experienced, little does frighten me, but I was in for a lesson later. At breakfast, which I usually prefer to avoid, I ate because something inside suggested there might not be food later; and there we learned there was no boat until the storm subsided. Mentally knowing there was no out from this island surrounded by rising sea waters bothered me in a quiet, back of the mind way, but not in a frenzied energy… just yet.

We took a walk around this small island, and I decided to be more present as a means to delay what may or may not come to pass later, the sense of knowing flood waters can contaminate drinking waters, and the fact that these worries indicate a sort of oft-called “white privilege” …something that has nothing to do with the color of my skin but the infrastructure and standard of living I was raised in. I never take a single thing in life for granted, as in-often as people believe that- that’s their problem. What I do know is I have a fear of being trapped because of my recent lived experiences where I felt stuck in an invisible cage…a kind of social, mental and spiritual obligation to look after the sanctuary of the home…at the cost of my ability to fly and field resources beyond the cage. These kinds of symbolic and metaphorical dilemmas woven into the metatarsals of my body….I did a grave mistake: I turned on the news.

On the news, the reporters showed the storm as the worst of over 100 years. Despite having spent all day in the storm, the news created what I have known as an ideological-reality conflict so strong I started texting two of my closest contacts: a former colleague and a new friend and colleague I felt safety with. The former colleague laughed at me and misunderstood why I felt trapped. The new friend and colleague was busy but later stuck to basic facts: in a real emergency we would likely be air lifted to safety…knowing the winds would likely have to subside before such rescue possible be undertaken, I felt frustrated knowing: 1. I had no boating license and 2. I had gotten myself into a situation that had me face the darkness of the prior 8 years before this experience: feeling trapped. I shook. I cried. I wanted to shout but not disturb the peace.

When someone stays in a possibly dangerous situation because no other choice seems plausible or is not conditionally possible, what can anyone do but settle into a situation that is deemed less than desirable. Of course, because I am writing about the experience months later, I survived. And that is all that really matters.

And there I was on an island right in the middle of the “worst” part…and that is the danger of the mind: to transform that which is survivable into something worse (or better) than it is.

I learned in the experience about how I trust, and that my cultural construct to trust a man for my safety is deeply flawed. For one man, an experience can be a novel and exciting endeavor; to my mind focused on finding the healthiest means to create life, my body and ability to provide for that growing life is my #1 priority.

Novelty is second, or last, to what is good for growing life itself. My disappointment in my abilities to look after such responsibilities stung.

Weeks later, I was messaged by the same woman who laughed at me, her own panic at being surrounded by water- her husband saving her from figuring out how to handle the situation: she still laughed and scoffed at me. And the weight of this experience stayed with me with a sense of deeper understanding in my often laughed at choices: I have a responsibility as a woman contingent upon my own choices so weighty, I get why it is called: gravid in Norway: it is a matter of life and death. No wonder I have waited and endured such lessons because it is such a heavy responsibility I naturally sought to share it with a partner…alas such words as man or boy, girl or woman, are too often ascribed constructive signifiers by either vocation or income, but very rarely the ability to do the things that life itself needs most: to be there.

To hold. To comfort. To hold steady. To hold faithful. To weather such a storm. For whether or not the sea levels rose by choice or circumstance, nature herself proved to be a force beyond all technology or mentality…but a physical actuality to be handled with assured grace and patience, for the next day the storm cleared-and while cold, my friend, mentor, and I shivered our way home…he paid for chocolate and the taxi driver…because I was exhausted and sad to realize the time I have that is scarce could be just someone’s good time…when I have a duty to provide for the next generation of life.

Photographs from Aarø, Danmark.

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