My other me,
who I carry with me under my skin
although distances might be far.
And we laugh, and dream and cry and feel and hug.
And we are, of the same brick, with the same veins,
with the same movements, with the same desires.
I thank you for loving me, but most of all for loving the people who I love
despite everything else that happens under the sun.
I think of you, and pray for you, and love you. Always.
All the way from Spanish eco-villages and boats in the Mediterranean sea
to Swedish forests and German Christmas markets.
A thousand laughs,
and thoughts yet so different
were carried through the meadows.
And endless meals were eaten,
Cooked with community and culture.
By hands from flags of all colours.
Freckles, beautiful beautiful freckles,
were once ten years old and told me:
‘Meine Lieblingsfarbe ist Grün,
Weil Grün ist die Hoffnung und das Leben.’
Now, my favourite colour in reality is also green.
Maybe it’s because of this person.
With the same veins as mine,
which belong to our common arms.
So let’s carry our lovely family.
Sustaining little lives with smiles
and ugali that grows forever after
in mouths that despite all
never run dry
Jokers from the same magnetic field stick together, so do we.
How glorious is it to see your energy pouring out in all sorts of directions, like mine.
How glorious is it to see God in your eyes.
How glorious is it to feel that we belong in the same quarters.
How glorious is it to see you grow from far far away.
How glorious it is to think with you.
How glorious are you, my glorious gloria of glory.
My victim for secret notes of encouragement,
which may have encouraged a centimeter further towards HongKong.
Towards encouraging others.
Towards encouraging me.
Towards encouraging yourself.
Just encouraging really.
Actually just courage.
A person who still believes in the optical illusions of stars and magic.
Who smiles at life in happiness and misery.
Who gives to others, and also treats herself well.
Who is proud and patient with a strong personality.
Who is curious about what is strange, and sees nothing but fascination.
She is magic. And she made me believe in it first.
Empersonification of the invisible movement of goodhearted intellectual Swedish christians.
The impersonal discussions on spaghetti monsters instead of God, the existence of evil or Augustine’s city of God made me smile in a year of heart driven discussions. A necessary academic bubble in our heartfelt bubble of retreat-feelings.
My beautiful mirror, with the same warm blue eyes.
My constant provider of necessities, my understanding force of love,
My positive side embodied in happy limbs, my image of Christ,
My knitted hoodies of coziness, and my crazy humble nights of community,
My adventures packed with spontaneity, my singer in all weathers,
My memories of youth in circles and my forever lasting bond.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Just for existing, really.
Cracked hands in cracked crags show me the world of smiles and ease and community.
Once, and every day since, chalky holds and persons like James teach me how to make problems into your own opportunity.
How to carry other people on your shoulders and still be light.
How to see possibilities everywhere and to be generous.
How rich is the easy and problematic life of a climber.
Veins filled with past and present adventures, and shares drawing books with stories of a hitchhikers guide to crossing Canada. Creating footprints to walk in. And a heart filled with kindness whilst she in the middle of the night saves a bumblebee in her sock.
When you look into my smiling eyes I just can’t help but thinking that this will pass.
This will pass and we will fall into a sleep with silent breaths and then I will hope that this moment keeps pulsating. Even when we seize to exist, when we no longer breath this air of ours. To infinity. And I want to let everybody know, I want to shout it from the mountain tops.