There is wild magic here. The dreamworld is very close. Everything raw and numinous lives here, and I feel magic in everything.
The wildness in everything is dangerous and thrilling, and this feeling of being completely alive seems somehow close to death. As I clamber around, I find myself breathing gratitude with every step. Thanks to the seaweed, to every rock I touch, the grass, the rain, the wind, to the spirit or life in it all for supporting my feet and my life, when everything could turn with one trip or a stumble or a moment’s loss of balance. Balance, in fact, feels like it’s always hovering on the edge of a blade in Iceland.
I feel this sense of peace and belonging that I’ve rarely felt. I did in the Yukon as well, but I’m reluctant to say that it’s the almost-Arctic north that does it. Perhaps it’s the space- there’s so much of it, not enough people to fill it with energy and thought-noise. Maybe there’s still room here for the spirit world. Perhaps it’s the youth of the landscape. The earth is literally still creating itself here.
There is so much elemental power and energy flowing around, it’s no surprise that the locals accept the existence of “hidden people” as obvious. I regularly get my hair raised and that “walked over my grave” feeling. Oddly, today I felt as if I’d walked over my own grave.