Spring in times of Corona

This was January, 2020

After a year of radio silence, I feel it is time to start posting some of life’s little wonders on this  blog once again. For the year 2020 I have decided to document life with a different theme colour in mind each month. This month’s theme: black and white.

January 2020

The start of a new year. The first careful lines on that intimidating blank paper. The writing of lists, the determination to stick to carefully crafted resolutions & the knowledge that you probably never will. Leaving the old behind, while bravely trying to take in all that is to come. Savouring the briefness of winter days, watching birds travel further south while wondering down familiar paths leading you home before darkness falls.

January 2020, with its world on fire in a place far from mine. January, with its loss of an old British friend & its panic over a new, aggressive nemesis. January, with its winter that felt like autumn, its pulling winds & its impatient spring crocuses.

Thank you, January, for your insight & your newness. Thank you for allowing me to take a moment to reflect & reconsider, before stepping into the rest of year…

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This was January, 2018

This was January.

This was searching for sunlight. This was discovering plenty of silver linings at the crack of dawn.

This was tracing & retracing familiar routes. This was regrouping & rediscovering.

January; it was breathing life into fresh resolutions; picking a way through old & new habits. It was weighing the good & the bad. It was being hopeful & determined, but also being kind & gentle, patient & realistic.
This was not reading that one book a month, but it was properly breaking in that new journal. This was not sending everyone a card, but it was sending some postcards with care.

This was January.
Stormy, yet mild January, with golden sunrises, with flocks of birds being propelled through grey, cloudy skies. This was January with the heartbreak of others that quietly turned into heartache of my own. January, with stories from the outside seeping through to the inside. January, with brilliant new tunes, with the distraction of pure poetry that insisted on settling between the collections of beauty that had already gathered in my wandering mind.

This was January.
This was the absence of light. And the abundance of glorious beginnings. This was hardly picking up my camera, this was constantly seeking out the right moment & not always finding it.

This was a gentle start.
A new year.
This was January.

(to be in love with a song 🙂
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vla7SgocBwQ

Note to self

Photo by the wonderful, beautiful, sweet & incredible Saraï Jansen

Message to humanity – Wubbo Ockels

‘We, humanity, are so strong, that we can save the earth.
But we also can destroy it.’

-Wubbo Ockels-

I shared this video on Facebook about 3 years ago. Today it popped up as a reminder on my personal Facebook account & I knew I had to share it here with you all. At the time, this man & his urgent message touched me deeply & made me cry. Three years later, it still does.

This is a beautiful, enormously touching speech by Dutch astronaut Professor Wubbo Ockels, addressed to us all. In short, it is a powerful reminder of what we have, what we are about to lose, but also the good we can do as people. It is a warning, a heartfelt plea to do right by this planet, to fight for what we have been given & to never give up on what we’ve got.
Here is a dying man’s final wish; his final gift to those of us who have the luxury of time on our hands. And I’m so glad I fell into these words again today, at the start of this beautifully, untouched New Year. Because every single word he is saying fills me with strong resolve to always keep looking out for this unique, single planet that we find ourselves upon; to do right by her, to learn more & strive for better.

Those of you who know me, know I am not one to get onto the barricades to address large audiences or put my personal opinion on display. In the ‘real’ world & on this blog, I like to share my view on the world, but always try to stay clear off forcing that same view on anybody else. And that is how I would still like things to be. But every now and then, I suppose, it also feels like taking the easy way out when keeping my humble beliefs, on the larger issues this world is facing, safely tucked inside. By not sharing my true opinion on certain matters, it might feel like I never really take sides. Never really dare to say; ‘this is what I think is right, this is what I feel is wrong & this is what I think we could do about it.’ And I guess, as long as all of us with the same ideas, yet humble disposition, decide never to speak up, change is not very likely to ever come about.

And so here I am; sharing the words and thoughts of someone whose final views on the world, humanity & Climate change deeply touch me & whose wise words I want to stand behind & share with you. By sharing this video here, Ockels’ message may touch someone else out there too, the way it touched and touches me; maybe it will alter something, bring about the smallest of change. And those little changes are all we need. Because we are in this together, we really are. And that’s a good thing, as far as I am concerned.

In 2018, I am going to take even better care of this beautiful place we call Earth. And I am kind of hoping you are with me on this….

The Cutting Room Floor, 2017

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Browsing thought this years pictures, I cannot help but feel slightly overwhelmed & immensely thankful for the lovely year I’ve been given. A year filled with moments of light, love & my favorite silent moments of quiet reflection. The world, with all its gracious beauty & all its brutal violence can be a complicated place to be part of. Yet most days, not all days, I feel I have somehow been able to find that all important fragile balance between being part of everything without getting lost in it all. Living with eyes & mind wide open, but also giving myself time and space to recharge and readjust when necessary.
And more than anything, I have reminded myself over & over to keep an eye on life’s beautiful details; all the hidden beauty in everyday life, all the tiny presents nature presents to us as long as we chose to see them & all the unexpected treasures that can be found between one moment and the next.

On this blog, I have attempted to share exactly those valuable moments, those details, with you, to make sure none of the beauty would have to be lost on you…

Dear All, thank you for following along in 2017 & of course, I hope we’ll meet again here in the year to come. Because I intend to find new & old ways to share my little, large, perfectly imperfect life with you in 2018 and it would be great if you’d be there to witness it!

Love and take care, Naomi

For Anne…

A couple of weeks ago, Anne went cycling on her own. Twenty-five years old,
she was just a young woman, right at the start of her life, going on an ordinary, little adventure at the end of the day. A young woman, much like myself, much like many of us. A young woman, who never returned home that night & whose body was found dead and discarded in the forest 2 weeks later.

Anne has been on my mind a lot lately. Not just because the news has been dominated by her disappearance, but mainly because her story and all the details of her passing have found a way to my heart and won’t let themselves be shaken off. The cycling trip, the numbered tracks, the day drawing to an end, the world around her dripping with her imminent ending.
In this past week, I have found my thoughts drifting to dark places as I thought of her discarded, lonely self left in that, once so innocent ,forest; so far from those she loved & those who loved her. To me, nature has always been a place to feel fully at ease, a place to recharge & come to terms with the bustle of life. The forest in fall has always been my go-to-place, my unquestioned favourite season.
Yet, suddenly, this same place & this same season were dragged into the harsh light of reality & were made to be stained by the vicious act of Anne’s killer. It’s like I just cannot not comprehend how so much natural beauty & so much sickening violence can co-exist in one place at the same time.

Anne, just another story on the news. Anne, the girl that went cycling & never come round again. Anne, who I never met & was never likely to meet. Anne, whose senseless death has settled within me for reasons I might never fully understand.
This is for Anne. This is for me. This is for the forest in fall. This is for the restoring of innocence & beauty in places where it is lost. This is for all of us who might need this right now….

The forest and the girl

The moss and the fungus
the evaporating dew
the endless singing overhead
the smelling and the creaking
the frail, motionless canopy
the breaking and the falling
the inevitable ending;

The forest and the girl.

The Underestimated Importance of Documenting My Days

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Last year, at the end of each month, I would take the time to write a small, or sometimes rather extensive piece, about the month that had just come to pass. This year I decided not to; concluding that it was quite a lot of work & I wasn’t even sure whether many people were actually interested in reading my monthly ramblings. I’m still not sure about the latter, but I do know that I miss it. I miss that moment of reflection, that quiet time to relive, process & give order to the days of my life.

Of course, I still don’t know if anybody wants to read it. But just the other day, I think I realized that all this documenting is not for anyone but myself. I am the one that apparently needs that neat dot behind the days gone by. I am the one that wants to take a little while to look back, learn & understand what’s going on in life. It gives me a sense of order, a sense of completion. It’s like storing away one month to make space for the new. It helps me to live out my days more consciously, more fully in a way. And prevents the days, the months & the seasons from melting into one another, until they become a faceless, nameless mess, called ‘Yet-another-year-gone-by’.

The thing is; I’ve been feeling a little adrift lately, a little uninspired to document anything about my life, whether it be on this blog, in a letter or even in my head. The days of this summer have had the tendency to fall together, blend into a massive whole, instead of the separate moments I would love to take them for. And I’ve been blaming time itself; for moving too rapidly, for not granting me sufficient time to stop & reflect. I have been blaming a lack of good sleep, the weather, the news, & I suppose, I have even blamed life itself.
But yesterday I decided it was time to stop blaming anything or anyone but myself. It isn’t time, nor sleep, nor life that has gotten in the way of things. It is me. I’m the only one preventing myself from living each & every day of this life with eyes & mind wide open. And I’m also the only one stopping myself from making a beautiful whole of all the little priceless moments that make up for my lovely life.

And so, I have decided to stop sulking & start documenting again. At the end of August I will once again collect my photos, my words, my thoughts & I will share them here, like I used to & in a way that works for me. And, of course, you are ever so welcome to come along on this old/new journey with me….

Remembrance Day, 2017

‘This aggrieved time will tell
whether we’ve learned or unlearned
from all that came to pass,

N.J

If you would like to read my Remembrance day – posts from previous years, simply click on the links below.

Remembrance day, 2013
Remembrance day, 2014
Remembrance day, 2015
Remembrance day, 2016

And then it is April

Dutch poem by Jentl

And then it is April. While it’s still new-year’s eve in your mind, the days have already slipped from winter into not winter & then right into spring. You were still binding your time, making plans for the time to come. But as it turns out, time has made plans of its own & has taken off without a word of warning. A quarter of the year gone, while you’re still lingering at the start, wondering what on earth just happened.

And then it is April. The world outside your window suddenly seems too beautiful, too sharp a contrast with the world on the screen of your television set. It is April. Parks turn pink & white with blossom so dazzling that it has you looking up more than you’re looking down. Pollen explode into soft spring air, while toxic gasses explode in a world so far away from you, that it might be a different planet altogether. It is April & bombs are dropped, because bombs are dropped, because bombs are dropped. Children die in the arms of their parents, parents die in the arms of others & others die in the arms of their children. Countries tumble over one another in a hurry to be the first to declare something that is not supposed to be called war, but might as well be given a suitable name for the occasion.

And then it is April. Winter has melted from our minds at rapid speed. It is warm outside. But some of us still insist that climate change is a myth, while elsewhere villages are being washed away by mud, water & ignorance. It is April & once again trucks turn into killing machines, peaceful cities turn into silent seas of flowers. Oh, yes, it is April. Some days the news is so bleak that you cannot bare read it. You find your mind drifting from agony to entertainment in a speed that surprises you; looking for a way out, an excuse to momentarily or permanently look away. You don’t know how to carry it, how to bury it, how to be & not be part of everything all the time or not at all.

It is April & you wonder. You wonder a lot. And it makes your head spin, your eyes water. You are happy. Most days. You can’t help it. There are flowers on your table. There is food on the stove. Your cat sleeps in the sun that so perfectly falls through your windows. You have become an aunt, you have extended your family tree & have experienced a new form of unconditional love.  You are safe & you are loved. You are happy & you are no longer sure whether it is appropriate to embrace it so full-heartedly.

And then it is April. And then it’s not new-year’s eve any longer. It is time to start. Really start. Or time to restart. To try & retry. Despite & because of the world you live in.