This Wolf has returned to the Land of the Evening Sun, be it called Thule or the land of Fire and Ice as well by the common folk. A new circuit has connected, and the circle has started over. A tall blond Icelander friend of mine, (actually, not a woman this time) had joined me last week for some rambling excursions in the outskirts of Reykjavik, the Utgard of Iceland’s tourist trap. We had both just come out from a Rainbow gathering, the weather was gentle to us, the country was covered in moss as usual, so we stepped out of his apartment barefoot, stocked with sulfur smelling water, some potent icelandic weed, bee pollen, some magic mushrooms and a few biscuits, and decided to take an adventure or two, spacing them out for the course of a week or so before I went further into elf country.
At Þingvellir we strode skin foot on old lichens, and freaked out a few foreigners walking the edge of the ‘hvammur’ vertical cliff edges, while they stood behind the ropes compromising the entire view. Gravel slopes took us down into the crevasse between the two walls of rock. The ancient law givings of the pirate Vikings were made here, Here in this place of perfect freedom, paradox? The loa bird made ovate flight patterns above us, as it’s youngen scampered through grasses three times it’s height. My friend, who I will refer to as lightelf, picked it up, and the mother above exhibited some of the most interested croons and songs of safety, a chant a protection that certainly lightened my heart. Said friend stayed behind while I stripped off a few layers, well almost all excepts the pants and meditatively walked the flat brown earth in the gully, worn from many a hoof and foot before me. Attending to no council but my own, no schedule but the Æsirs master plan, all the way alone, and happy. A couple of rather beautiful women were lounging on the moss covered boulders some ways ahead making photographs of each other, we greeted rather passively, but the magnetism of eyes don’t lie. Still further then, finding my way through more densely grown icelandic bush, and crawling up to meet the edge of the volcanic wall once more, afforded a perfect view over Þingvallavatn and the Öxará river. I passed down over some sharp rocks towards the waters edge and would have been in my skin suit under the water if it weren’t for some young kayakers setting out on their journey. So I sat, and thought about things, how it was complete ecstasy to be back in Iceland, and from where I sat, the country is said to be ‘founded’, a place where everyone had a say, and it was not so far for the heathen priest (goði) to travel, lest his feet or his horse get tired. Although in those times, 3 weeks was not ‘too long’. Well, I sat there until my attention diverted enough, and hoofed it back on the trail, and started running, the girls were gone, the loa bird had flown, just me and the earth this time, hair free and flowing. Lightelf called me, and we set back to high ground, while the sounds of shuffling feet of tourists up and down the gravel path made a mesmerizing note.
At Heiðmörk, I found a haven for nature freaks like myself, over sixty bird species near Elliðavatn and Myllulækjartjörn, 26 species of trees which is quite rare for Iceland, 150 wildflower species, but those are just the numbers and in my opinion, a limited way of describing this place. The Rauðhólar craters, though they are not ‘real’ are far older than many of the worlds islands, these are the first sanctums that naturally called me through the land. Once again with my elfish friend, walking barefoot through floral grasses, we forded a river where small trout made their hideaways in yellow shadows. A walk in a nature reserve changes it’s entire character when one goes barefoot, every surface of the earth allows for new sensation, mood, and feeling. It seemed that every fifty paces, the ground underneath our skins was altered, bent stalks gave walk to soft mosses, when then yielded to roughed lava stone, flower fields climbs to black grit, and we rise from the marsh to the red dust of the craters inner edges. A place that, if reaped of it’s last petal and lichen, could easily resemble mars, a wonder of the imagination. We gathered our strengths resting inside the lee of a smallish cave, then enjoyed the views over the Elliðavatn lake. Two gorgeous Icelandic horses came stamping up the trail, as we lingered in and around the craters, then watched the gray rains approach from a distance, like a gentle lover, as we couched underneath the shelter of one of the lava formations and breathed in the petrychor. An odd piece of broken mirror, here in the red rocks of the craters was found, a strange symbolism accompanied it when looked into, but it was left for the next person to find. I nearly fell asleep on the mossy bed atop the cold lava hills. We made our way down to the waters edge, the bugs left us alone, a strange house with a cresent moon antenna on top of it aroused my interest. My friend mentioned how the Vikings could have just slept out here in the open, on the mosses with their horses, perfectly in comfort, bearing it wasn’t storming. I cherished being here, the sights, the freedom, the smells, the perfect bliss of nature. After what seemed like only minutes, which was actually nearly seven hours, we decided to return to the city, slowly making our way back on a different route, following the Loa, then crossing the river upstream, where we were met with three other horses, they ate our carrots and we were pleased to part with them. Such intelligent beings they are, I shared a certain consciousness with their wildness. Wending out way out of the park, carrying a few medicinal teas for later… a day well spent. A few photos from my camera below, I must say in advance it was probably a strange sight for some of the locals as I walked amongst them in cloak and sun sand with a rather Lokean appearance. All in good faith, my friends.
Though not in the utgard of Reykjavik, it deserves a mention, for it is nearly in the middle of the city. I watched a river salmon jump through the waterfall, and it is a small sanctuary in a country that does not have that many trees, one can still experience the feeling of being ‘in the Icelandic woods’. Feral rabbits also live here, and there are some interesting pools with multi-colored water, looking quite psychedelic in the right light. Though, a few pieces of trash linger here and there, I thought I would like to return here another time and clean it up, for it is not so big to manage by one person. The river winds on both sides, and is a quiet retreat from the busy hive of downtown.
I am a lover of non-shod rambling too. You feel the earth, her stories, mysteries, moods: vibration.
A am definitely a fan of the black Icelandic sand trails. Modir Jord carry me.