(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
Av By Ingvar Haukeland
Where was the tree of life? The tree that stood in the middle of our world, like a gigantic thunderstorm on the great mill, the Sky Earth. Well planted in the dark soil gave it roots and feet to everything living. Its branches stretched outward, like the powerful arms of Søndre, Nordre, Vestre and Østre, and held up the vault. The tree was a magical bridge between gods and humans, air and earth, spirit and matter, the invisible and the visible. And what happened to the three seers who guarded the tree? Those who knew the time, of everything that has been, are, and will be. They are neither there nor here anymore. No one hears whispering words about fate or freedom in the rush of the crown, just the whirring of the engine.
Once hit I am the tree of life in a giant fir in the Gamlegrendsåsen outside Kongsberg. I was seven years old and followed my two years older brother, Lars – an old Native American soul in a Norwegian boy's body and the chief of the Kiowa tribe. When we set up camp, he said we had to find the largest tree nearby and humbly ask for permission. This time it was my turn. I had tried it before, without much luck. With bowed head I held my hand on rough bark. Suddenly I felt a very warm flow between my hand and the tree. It scribbled, as if the tree was tickling me inside the hand. I stumbled back in surprise. Lying on my back, I saw the majestic pine moving. It lent its large and strong branches, as if to embrace me, and I could feel it saying, "Thank you for asking, little friend. Welcome and please. ”I quickly got to my feet and ran over to the others, wondering what I was doing. Playing back, I said that the tree had said that we were allowed to camp. "Of course, as long as you ask in a good way," came back a little dry from Lars.
The great pine tree – the tree of life – had opened my eyes to everything living and talking.
The great pine – the tree of life – had opened my eyes to the fact that everything lives and speaks, as long as I am open and listen behind the words. It ignited a spark in me that with several such deep encounters has grown into a flame that burns to preserve the magic between everything that lives. As an adult, after ten years of studying in the US, including in eco-philosophy, I went back to Gamlegrendsåsen to visit the old pine, to thank it for opening my eyes to Heaven. I found the stream we followed as a child. Furua was behind a ridge above the stream, but when I came up on the ridge, I felt a Ragnarok in my heart – the whole area was barren. A new housing estate was going up. I searched between the twig and the twig, finally found the stump of the big pine tree, and sat down and cried. Not because of those who work for cattle, nor for another housing estate – but because this wise, old tree of life could no longer open curious children's eyes. The magic was brutally broken by the power of steel, without the feeling that it is the adventure in our own soul we are chopping down.
Later that fall, my brother and I went for a walk along a beach by the Oslo Fjord. Then we saw something strange. Two branches had been washed up on the beach from the dark sea. They lay there, shining clean, as if they had been cleansed. When I lifted them up, I saw that they looked like two people, and it struck me: The magic may not be broken anyway! A new world is possible. We can enchant the magic where our fellow creatures are allowed to speak again. We can reconnect with the tree of life and renew the sacred covenant between heaven and earth. We can again let small Native American feet run wild and alive between the tree trunks. We can not help it. A large and mighty stump on Gamlegrendsåsen has said so.
Per Ingvar Haukeland is a natural philosopher from Telemark University College.
WE OWN THE FORESTS
Av Liv-K. Name
There it is. Fossen. Beautiful and changeable. Always.
Until January 2014, it was just beautiful and wonderful; a piece of jewelry along the way home. Now I go here all the time, and now it has become something more.
I have found my permanent place; I lean against two slender, good hazel trees by the river. Here I take my pictures and movies. Sometimes just one, other times several. Most often I go here alone, sometimes with my girlfriend, family and friends. Every time I am here, I see something new, hear something new and experience something different than yesterday. For it is true; the forest and the waterfall are constantly changing. They are never the same.
I think I know it now. It is my waterfall, in my forest. I'm engrossed in making music with my band. Waterfall music, and waterfall pictures from a year and a half that will become the film «The waterfall in borderland». I sing David Abram's "Prayer," and I do not feel alone.
The waterfall is my waterfall, in my forest. Of course, someone owns it. Several landowners. A long time ago, they went together and got it protected. The whole river bed, and twenty meters on each side. It was a great job with strong commitment. They did it, together with the ornithologists who in 2006 prepared a complete ornithological report.
The river divides the area into two, one municipality on each side. It is protected because it is so important for the mixed forest, for animal and bird life. For the trout that spawn here every autumn. For the crane couple who lived here one year. For the waterfall call that was here both last year and this year. With its wing noise all the way inside the waterfall, it reminds me of the hummingbird in South America. The river is protected, but we must be careful. I wonder what the water quality is like. The water travels through the Nesoddland's agriculture, it is not organic. Can the waterfall call find enough food? It does not like acidic water, then bones and bones become so fragile – and it does not live that long.
The electricity service cuts down the old trees where there are power lines. They are still lying there, like rotting corpses, by the shore. The road clears for us to arrive with our cars. It is necessary, but we must be careful! It does not take much bouldering and roaring from tree felling and scrub clearing until the breeding season, before the birds feel unsafe and choose other nesting places.
People are so easy to forget. Takes the waterfall for granted. Let it be just a beautiful piece of jewelry along the way home. I hope to remind people of it. I hope to remind people of the protection status. I hope to arouse the desire of other landowners and most people to go in to protect jewelry in their forest. For the State is selling our forest now! We have to be careful!
I take pictures in rain and sun and snow and biting frost. And I learn about life here; and about life here before me. One day I met a man who was born and raised in the area. He told the story of the time they built a gunpowder factory here, in 1867. Right by the waterfall, on the upper side there. You can see the great stone wall they built for the foundation. The power came from the waterfall. But only after a few months it went straight into the air! Ha ha, I can laugh now. It was probably not much fun when it happened. But it is a long time ago now, when there was a cultural landscape here. Sheep walked along the shore. Remains of Stone Age settlements and Vikings have also been found. The waterfall has been important for many, many generations' lives and everyday life.
Now the river is protected, and the forest is allowed to rule. In humid summers, it is almost rainforest here. Steamy green and incredibly lush. Now we can find secret light openings and pools. The forest spreads itself, and the birds love it. People love it. Animals love it. The deer, the badger, the elk, the fox. And some have seen lynx tracks.
In CAN's stand exhibition at the metro station on Tøyen, the waterfall and the forest can join the city, so that everyone can see. And I take the collection of poems by Hans Børli, sit by the waterfall and read "We own the forests", and hope that the State will understand!
