Fifteen weeks have passed since my arrival in ‘The Land’, it seems like an age. I have not posted in a while because there has been a lot going on. Some things that have been going on I will not share here.
I am pretty well settled in to my new home. I only drive back up to the house when absolutely necessary, to fetch something I need, and to check on the place. I returned there today, after two weeks of being away, I did not stay long. There was a sadness to being there this time, which was something new and unfamiliar.
I miss seeing the mountains towering all around with their green hues and black jagged rockiness . I miss the peacefulness, but it is a peacefulness that comes with a price, the price of isolation. Something which I was no longer willing to pay. I have traded the bench at the end of the road for a rock on the black sand beach. I have traded the still waters of the lake, for the lapping waters of the ocean. However, I have not traded the peace I get from spending time by a body of water.
A short five minute walk gets me to my new sanctuary. It’s close enough that I sometimes go twice in a day. I write in the black sand every time I visit, “Ísland, Ég Elska Þig!” It’s symbolic to me, like a thankyou, something personal between me and The Island. The waves quietly erase it between each visit. I walk along the black sand as far as I can, and clamber over the rocks when they interrupt the smooth passage.
I walk first one way, then the other, towards the statue, Björgun (Rescue) by Ásmundur Sveinsson. It’s a beautiful and melancholic statue. I walk around it taking in its form, and then I climb down to a rock on the beach below and sit. I take out my heart-shaped ‘worry stone’, and I remember the loved ones that I am currently unable to see. I look to the west, where the sun sets, and I think of them. The family I helped make and the family I was invited into so warmly. Sometimes there are tears, sometimes there are not.
I have tried to let it out, … no, force it out, but it only comes out on some occasions. I want to let it all out, and let go of it. I want the pain from the loss I have experienced to pass quickly, but it doesn’t seem to work that way with life.
This evening I went on my almost daily walk down to the beach despite the rain which had arrived earlier. It’s a gentle rain here, persistent, but gentle. Almost comforting in an odd way. The skies were grey and the air wet with tiny rain droplets. I happened upon the landlady on the way out, she was walking their dog. We exchanged pleasantries in the way people do when they happen upon each other on the street. I felt a smile on my face, and I knew I was happy, happy to be out in the rain, walking towards the beach again.
I made my way there and climbed over the rocks until I was upon the black sand once more. I bent down and wrote my thankyou in the sand as I always did. I began my walk to the left as per usual. Slow and deliberate, taking in the scenery, rather than rushing briskly for the sake of walking. The rain blew at some sort of angle less harsh than sideways, and then … and then … and then there were tears, … tears in the rain.
A little unexpected, certainly. For some reason I recalled that scene near the end of the movie Bladerunner where the character Roy Batty, a replicant, is on the rooftop and says “All those moments will be lost in time… like tears in rain…” So the tears flowed, the rain blew, and I walked. I thought about the scene, the Bladerunner scene deals with grief and loss, and the sadness therein, Roy’s short life has come to an end and he is acutely aware of it. He faces reality, accepts it, finally, and let’s go, allowing things to take their course.
Maybe at that moment I was able, briefly, to do the same. Maybe, because the rain streaming down my face hid the tears, I felt able to cry freely. I continued my walk turning around and heading toward the statue. I paused on occasion and looked out to sea, the grey blended the sky with the ocean, making anything in the distance disappear, except for the odd light which broke through the wet haze.
I reached the statue, walked around it, took yet another photo with my iPhone, climbed down to the beach and stood, as the rocks were too wet to sit upon. I took out my ‘worry stone’ looked west and cried some more. I guess it would not be good to feel all the pain at once, so it is felt episodically.
I walked along the beach, up to the path, and then began the walk back, past the statue once more. I walked slowly around it, examining it again. It means something to me, it’s symbolic. Then I let go of it with my gaze and continued homeward. The tears came and went as I walked, but nobody saw them in the rain as it blew past.
Bless Bless og Sjáumst!