Boulders are everywhere on Nacka. Granite boulders left by retreating glaciers or shaped out of bedrock by wind and rain. Formed out of volcanic activity and millions of years of pressure turning stone into a metamorphic tale out of Ovid. Walking the forest back in August, I come upon them and they come upon me. … Continue reading My Favorite Swedish Boulders, Seeing Faeries, Mycorrhizal Networks, Forests Thinking, And Roasting Pork Belly With Mark Rothko’s Color Fields While Dancing Tango And Listening To Astor Piazolla.
Boulders and lakes and forests, oh my. Långsjön calls me each morning to circle its depth of sky and water and trees. A walk of ritual and greeting with the light ever pouring out green and blue into the air. And in the middle, slowly turns a white platform from which you may dive into the … Continue reading “Ay, There’s The Rub” Or Hamlet Dreams Of Pork Belly, Marinade, Northern Forests And Charles Mingus.
“Through the performance process itself, what is normally sealed up, inaccessible to everyday observation and reasoning, in the depth of sociocultural life, is drawn forth” as Victor Turner writes in From Ritual To Theater. Purchased this particular Laphroaig Càirdeas at the distillery and I’ve been looking forward to opening canister and bottle and exploring its … Continue reading Laphroaig Càirdeas 15 With The Right Amount Of Ritual And Discipline.
You could read the words of Simone Veil from Gravity and Grace, Let the soul of the man take the whole universe for its body. Let its relation to the whole universe be like that of a collector to his collection, or one of the soldiers who died crying out “Long live the Emperor!” to … Continue reading “I/Thou” Walking Into The World As Such With Simone Weil, Aldo Leopold, Wendell Berry And Thales While Listening to Sviatoslav Richter, Jeremy Denk And Igneous Rocks.
A walk up a hill on Islay to the Kilbride Reservoir, the source of water for Laphroaig’s mash tuns and washbacks. Water scooped into a glass that already looks like a pour of Laphroaig with all the light brown sediment and small dark bits and pieces swimming and churning in peat-flavored H2O. But for now … Continue reading Walking Up A Hill On Islay To A Standing Stone With A Requiem On Earth And On The Moon.
As I write this the Stromboli volcano off the coast of Sicily has been spewing smoke, gas, bits of the inner earth, molten material overall into the air and sea. Columns and plumes of smoke, mushrooms and horses’ heads speak primal warnings to us that something from below has risen. Reminders that under the appearances … Continue reading Some Thoughts About Volcanoes, Emily Dickinson, Peat And Burning-Places, Martin Heidegger At Home With Tools, And William Blake’s Marriage While Tool Breathes.
Let’s begin with Andrew Jefford’s words at the opening of his chapter on Laphroaig in his wondrous tome Peat Smoke And Spirit. LAPHROAIG (pronounced ‘La-froig‘) is both savage and pretty. Yes, that’s it. He goes on, of course. Savage, for its malt encapsulates better than any other the aerial boisterousness of this edge of the … Continue reading The Hollow Of Broadbay With Claude Debussy Dreaming About Black Stuff And Marija Gimbutas While Watching Barley Raked Across A Room Dance With Arnold Schoenberg In An Analog World By The Sea. So Let’s Make It Real With A Deep Drink Of Miles Davis’ Sanctuary.