black and blue and bob dylan

Images of snow and the memory of biting cold spraying in my face choking the little air inhaled between fits of laughter. Sunshine and tired smiles exploring the structures of snow on branches and partly iced black water. Paths by mice popping up to see the day light before disappearing down into the secret underworld of snow.

The setting sun over miles of forests after a day of snow fights and "semlor" and Swedish "fika" at Caffe Latte. The pink reddish light reflecting on the roofs of my home town as I approach possible sudden death by bum-bumping down ski hills in a bin bag.

I should have understood that war is always wrong. At least if you are shorter, slower and weaker than the man you are trying to fight. I should have learnt from the first time I tried, that starting snow fights just would get me wetter. Or at least the second. Or the fith...

Time after time the challenge of learning from monasticism, obedience, Catholicism, munks and Church Fathers reaches in to my heart and provokes me by waking dreams and longings and questions I don't want to ask nor answer. Time after time I learn new things about tea; who could have thought warming the tea pot and making sure the water's exactly a hundred degrees could make such a huge difference?

/I could be learning
you could be yearning
to see behind closed doors/

bob dylan

Some days the world is a closed door that suddenly opened and you find that following the hidden path by the flowing water actually leads you to the same bridge as your normal route... But that sometimes beauty hides in the paths unseen, and in it: life.