At certain times in life it is important to consolidate oneself to the bare bones of existence and start over, and build upon the human experience with meaning, intentionality, and a hunger for the spirit and joy instilled in the moment of things. This is the meaning of the rune :Wyn: and is closely related to this time of winter when the day is cold and keeps the meek inside, the darkness is complete, and the prospects are few. When the she-bear goes into hibernation, and the thaw makes of the landscape a field of white. Wooden cabin boards creak and groan from the frozen climes, and people seek their comforts in leisure, company and homeliness. We have this concept in the North of Canada, and our Scandinavian cousins have theirs, ‘hyggelig’, ‘koselig’, all the things that make a place comfortable and enjoyable to live or spend time with.
I’m always seeking to find the perfect amount of ‘hygge’ within the morass of rural habitation, and city scape, whether it be a cafe fitted with antique viking skiis on the wall, the perfect brew, amber lights, old furniture and gas fireplace, or a rustic old charm of a cabin in the woods, a natural feature of the nature which surrounds it. If we are going to spend the majority of our waking hours at home, I think we should go to every means to make it comfortable, and from understanding the way it is done in Scandinavia, specifically Danish and Norwegian culture, I’m looking for some of these traces in my own country for the perfect winter dwelling. Choices are limited as a solitary individual living on a budget, and a search in the vastness of the internet will not turn out many optimal situations for one to live. The repeated circumstances of shared dwellings, basement dives, and overpriced rooms are not helpful for those who desire to live a more peaceful, private and connected life, and these are just simply not hygge. What my soul really needs is a dose of the Northern comfort again, the living homestead, with the breath hearth keeping it warm, natural cold winter light and a view of the sun set from the windows, and the unpolluted sky of night, a dwelling as country as its surroundings, but a place for others to gather, to feast, and enjoy different strains of music, drink hot black coffee, to socialize, make story and manifest experience. To wax in all the good things of life; wine, women, wilderness, literature, song, dance, food, and rest. North enough maybe to catch the northern lights, or watch the wildlife play out of doors. My soul seeks the pleasures of solitude, but also the mutual attraction of the other, the presence of the empowered feminine, to both share spirit and nest with. Where one is King in their own home, and no one soul can infringe upon the boundaries of your space. To carry a dream, to make it real, to let ones home be blessed by the Gods, and the ways of Yore. Of tradition within the walls, a handbuilt life, of things that grow, and divine comforts that are known by those people of the North, who must retire, rest, and re-awaken themselves. Gathered by the accoutrement’s that compliment the spirit.
For the now, I am in transit as of writing this, but the wheels are turning in good favor, and a move north into the woods of the Boreal of Ontario is at hand, to overwinter in a Mongolian yurt. I’ll spend some time here working the land for some friends, exploring, building and learning the ways of the hunter. The road always leads North, and this is what is most familiar to me. Yule oaths are renewed and we are made in the birth of the solar year returning as we wax and grow Now I invite the onset of the season to unfurl, and I do my best to accommodate it, with woolen sweaters, and a good book, of course.