Hello, and good morning. I suppose it might not be morning where and when you are. I’ve been meaning to write you for a while, but since I don’t know who you are, and was unsure whether you had time to read this, I’ve been pushing it off.
How are you? Obviously you can’t answer straight away, this is more of a letter situation so you’ll have to read mine first. I’m doing confusingly well. By that I mean that things are going objectively well, but I am haunted by a sense of distance to the world and frankly I’m not doing well at all. Sorry, is that too much straight away? We’re just getting to know each other after all. I am at a friends cabin, its the early hours in the morning and I have a mild cold. It’s a really beautiful place, and my first meeting with a compostable toilet. It makes me nervous and I’m hoping to make it back home before I have to properly use it. Don’t get me wrong, I admire compost. In fact, I just got into composting as a hobby, and started a bin for weeds and a bokashi bin for food waste as well. But a toilet – that’s very weird. I suppose we should get used to it, it would have been for the better with a few more compostable toilets in the world. Not that these people are doing it for the world; they just inherited a cabin where there’s no plumbing.
Some years ago, I visited an anthroposophically designed park that was actually a sewage system. The local waste was filtered through a bog, before running through a series of small creaks and lakes with added beneficial bacteria. It was a surprisingly beautiful park, considering its job. I was told that the twists and turns of the creaks had been mathematically calculated to be most efficient at cleaning the water. Living sustainably, closer to nature, has some filthy sides to it. Some uncomfortable details. When made beautiful, such as in this biodynamic sewage park, I am made quite hopeful that we are heading in the right direction. Even the compostable toilet doesn’t smell, but still I have to admit that I’ll need some adjusting.
I wanted to tell you that you might feel guilty sometimes, not managing all the things you know to be good; food and materials tainted with all kinds of cruelty, and the world is, from some perspectives, a horrible place. The very best of us feel responsible, guilty even, when we can’t fix it. I want you to remember that you deserve comfort and safety and I hope we can accommodate for that in a respectful manner. Please take care of yourself, and branch out to taking care of other as you find the means to do so. None of us can do everything right. I think that what you are doing, is valuable.I have taken a new goddess, I hope you don’t judge me of my heathenry. I assure you that I believe in what is good. Uksáhkká, the Great woman of the door, has been my most important goddess for several years, but lately Máhtaráhkká has approached me in thoughts. Máhtaráhkká means Great Grandmother, or Great woman of the roots. They are both goddesses inherited from my indigenous sámi background. Perhaps this sounds odd, but don’t take it too literally. The goddesses are as real as any idea is, a sort of realness that is under-appreciated in modern thought. An action may cause direct reaction in the material world, but an idea can spark waves of action, which is what I’m hoping that the Great woman of the roots will do for me. Shorten the distance I mentioned, the distance I’m feeling towards the world.
These goddesses have led me on a journey, a sort of project really, that I want to share with you. I don’t know what it is yet, contemplations maybe. I hope you’ll join me, as I look into it; into the House of Wild Water.