Medicine Walk

I was reminded of my connection to the sea today by a stranger. The sea showed up in my work without me knowing so until it was pointed out to me. I thank this fellow poet for their observation as well as holding space for myself and others to break through. More to follow on this experience.

Going Berserk for The Snæfellsnes Peninsula

The Snæfellsnes Peninsula is a region in western Iceland known for its dramatic landscapes.

A break in the clouds at Ytri-Tunga- a seal watching place. I saw no seals!

At its western tip, Snæfellsjökull National Park is dominated by Snæfellsjökull Volcano, which is topped by a glacier. Today this was hidden in cloud.

Arnarstapi

Arnarstapi is a picturesque fishing village on the southern side of the Snaefellsnes peninsula. It’s dominated by a stunning coastline of natural formations.

Arnarstapi

Dramatic coastline, shaped by centuries of volcanic activity and relentless ocean waves, is lined with towering basalt cliffs, natural arches, and sea caves that shelter a variety of seabirds, so says the Guide of Iceland and I cannot disagree. Being here and walking the trail, I finally felt as if I’d arrived. Settled into Iceland, in this body, in this moment.

Arnarstapi

Following the peninsula along we reached through lava fields the black-pebble Djúpalónssandur Beach.

Djúpalónssandur
Djúpalónssandur

The roar of the ocean and the power and the spray. It was magical. It was all consuming and I just wanted more. The rain was battering me on the wind and the water was getting closer to my feet. It was cold and wet and windy and wonderful. It was overpowering and exhilarating.

Kirkjufell

Final major stop was at Kirkjufell. Kirkjufell is a 463 m high hill on the north coast of Iceland’s Snæfellsnes peninsula, near the town of Grundarfjörður. Seen in Game of Thrones and called the “arrowhead mountain”, this was impressive and bold. Especially when playing background to the nearby Kirkjufellsfoss Waterfall. Beautiful.

Berserkjahraun, or the Berserks’ Lava Field, apparently, if you believe the stories.

Berserkjahraun, or the Berserks’ Lava Field, a story from the Eyrbyggja Saga. According to the saga, two Swedish berserkers cleared a path through the lava field, but were later killed by a local leader. He wore them out first in order to kill them. Strategy.

I don’t hold to the negative connotations of going berserk. However, I do lose all control when it comes to the Icelandic landscape. It floors me every time.

A May of Healing

It makes a difference when we’ve got the light. And it’s warm with it.

I’m in a three day streak of getting into the sea, straight after the school run. The tide has been in too. Which I love.

I love it when the bay is full to the brim with sea. I don’t have to walk far before I meet the water.

I give thanks when I greet the sea. Because she’s always there for me. Not judging me. Not rejecting me. Just welcoming me.

In the past, the sea has healed me again and again. The first time of any significance was when I miscarried our second child, back in 2009. We moved to the coast soon after as I needed to heal.

And to be healed is not a one time thing. Healing is a life long process. Sometimes I’m locked into my healing journey and sometimes I veer off course and need something or someone to remind me to get back into the practice. The practice of healing.

So with a new month comes a renewal. And this is the time of year to renew. Spring is well and truly with us now. And the blossom may be receding and just pink petals on the wind, or white even. But I’m catching hints of bluebells.

So my list of habits and actions to lean into for a May of Healing includes:

  1. A high protein breakfast.
  2. Making sure I get 8+ hours of sleep each night. Priority!
  3. Getting lost in a few good books.
  4. Walking each day. Getting outside into the light.
  5. Getting into the sea as often as possible, at home and away.
  6. Visual journaling daily.
  7. Getting back into painting for pleasure. To hell with the results.
  8. Increasing my fruit and veg intake.
  9. Increasing my water intake. At least 2litres a day.
  10. Continue on my strength training journey.
  11. Insight timer daily.
  12. Reconnecting with friends and family I haven’t talked to for a while.
  13. Solo dates like to the cinema or a museum. Or a delicious meal out for one!
  14. Acquire some new plant friends.
  15. Create a zine or two.
  16. Plan the summer holidays for Miss Ella and me. And also solo me!
  17. Keep traveling for pleasure and joy instead of work commitments and responsibilities.
  18. Write someone a letter.
  19. Dance party, music consumption daily.
  20. Rest. Rest. Rest.

The water is ice cold. It’s like being bitten. The natural instinct is to retreat. Drawback. Curl in on self – reducing the amount of surface skin touching the ice cold water.

I do not.

I keep inching forward so more and more skin is exposed to the cold. Now. My toes, the first part of my body to touch the water, are numb. They’ve taken on that false warm feeling as it they’ve warmed up and comfortable. But they are not.

Now. I’ve lost all sensation in them which is good. As if the pain had continued from toes all the way up to my thighs where the ice cold water has now reached, the bites, the incessant biting sensation of short sharp teeth would have taken over my system along with the piercing screams erupting from my lips.

Now. Instead, I continue to wade into the ice cold water. To my core. Now. I breath deeply, and bend at the waist, outstretched my arms, fingers hitting the water first to push back the ice cold water as I take my first breast stroke.

Now. My body is totally submerged and she is screaming out in protest. She is in pain but I do not listen to her. Instead I push further out, making wide sweeping stroke with arms whose elbows are howling in pain. Now. I keep my breathing steady and continue to glide through the water as if my body is not asking for mercy, asking to retreat, asking to exit ice cold water.

Now. It happens. The cold is no longer felt as acutely. No lingering ice cold. Just cold. And numb. Numb and cold. I continue to swim across the bay. And give thanks. Now.