11-27-18
“To find peace is to take solace in knowing actions are permanent and feelings are temporal.” -Memoirs of the Mad 2010
This project was birthed from the concepts of several other projects. I have been creating my whole life, and it wasn’t until about ten years ago did, I realize that I created work within the same projects… just rarely at the same time. So, I here I sit, ten years after first conceiving of this project and now it has turned into the combined efforts of mixing all my free-form creative desires into one “cleaner” outlet.
The first practice that I was involved in was one in which I would set my old iPod onto shuffle; I would listen to whatever played first and within the timeframe of that song I would create a short story or journal post. There were over 20,000 songs from all bands, genres, and global influences.
Recently I went back through the nearly 300 posts I created almost ten years ago. The one at the top of the list was Svefn-g-Englar. Even now as I read the words, the memory that is attached to them is still easily within me. Needless to say, I was working on some things. I don’t know if I’m still working on them, but whether I am or not they and my responses to them have shaped me greatly.
I never denied that those short stories were methods of journaling. I know some part of me wanted to believe they were something more, sparks of genius maybe, but ultimately, they weren’t any better than your typical Live Journal entry. From the June 2010 Svefn-g-Englar entry:
- “I’m a child of great fortune. I’m a soldier in my own great war. I’m a victim to no one that I didn’t give power to first. I’ve forged an existence of perpetual bliss and consistent turmoil, and I bask in the greatness they make as the two entwined. Though I have escaped the forked tongue, I am still a victim to its daftness; I’m no longer in that state or denial or recovery. I’ve done what I’ve done, and I’ve acknowledged it, I’ve accepted it… but I haven’t learned to move on. Still, I hope for more, but at least that hope doesn’t spring forth from places I’ve been, people I’ve known, people I’ve wronged, people who’ve wronged me—now it comes from the hereafter.” -Memoirs of the Mad 2010
I always wanted to keep a journal. Something traditional. Something that would remind how I felt on a specific day, or what it was that made me happy, or sad. Something simple. Instead, I’ve realized that I’ve encapsulated eras of my life within the confines of a few lines. A journal post of fewer than 750 words can accurately summarize my main struggles and victories that would otherwise take endless pages to read.
These posts continue to act as a portal to the person that brought me here. It’s empowering and humbling to see how much and simultaneously how little progress I have made.
When listening to this song I am reminded about traveling through Sigur Ros’ homeland of Iceland. In the often barren landscapes of ice and snow, I found a comfort and familiarity that reminded me of my own desert home. There is a sereneness and an element of quietude that both share. Having listened to Svefn-g-Englar through every variation of desert landscape, I suppose it was inevitable for me to forge a familial connection between my desert home, and the seemingly arctic north, hence the image of the portal stepping from the desert canyon into the arctic north.
Time and our connection to it are a construct created by our own limited understanding. Our corporeal bodies may be subjected to its limitations, but I believe our energy and our spirit are connected to all points. This mystifying connection allows us to heal past wounds and strengthen our spirits for future trials. Now as I look back at what this song represents, at yet another pivotal moment of my life, I can reach through that portal tenderly and finally with compassion, sending out support for the me that felt such sorrow, and lending the strength for the me in the future that could certainly use some of that young, brash idealism.
Lyrics (in Icelandic/Hopelandic):
(Ég) er kominn aftur (á ný)
Inn í þig
(Það er) svo gott að vera (hér)
En stoppa stutt við
Ég flýt um í neðarsjávar hýði
(á hóteli)
Beintengdur við rafmagnstöfluna
(og nærist)
Tjú, tjú
Tjú, tjú
En biðin gerir mig (leiðan)
Brot (hættan) sparka frá mér (og kall á)
Ég verð að fara (hjálp)
Tjú, tjú, tjú
Tjú, tjú, tjú
Tjú, tjú, tjú, tjú, tjú
Ég spring út og friðurinn í loft upp
(Baðaður nýju ljósi
Ég græt og ég græt, aftengdur)
Ónýttur heili settur á brjóst og mataður af svefn
Svefn-g-englum
Tjú, tjú, tjú
Tjú, tjú, tjú
Tjú