Dissolution – Rehabilitation.

THE STORY – When you embark to new shores, and your sense of self dissolves – from dissolution to rehabilitation.

With THE STORY I’m sharing words from my soul, stories from my life, and the myth of my experience. Today I am sharing a journal entry from the days after coming home from my soul home, Sweden, this summer, and settling back into my for-now home.

“I am sitting at my desk at home, the window open to keep the airflow going and me from sweating all too much. Cars are passing by outside, and some housekeeping firm has had several leaf blowers going for hours now. I am trying to tune out the noise, and the heat, and I feel my belly cramp up in a tangle of questions, desires, and longings.”

Coming home from Sweden has not been easy.

It was meant to be a holiday, a time of true rehabilitation, of returning to a balanced homeostasis in my body, mind and soul.

And it was that. Just that it was also so much more.

When I set foot on Swedish ground, smelling the salty air of Stockholm, the sun still shining brightly at 9 pm, I felt a rush of energy. Like a lightning bolt of recognition and homecoming, I anchored into the land, like magnets finding each other – naturally, easily, swiftly and powerfully. This happens every time I land in the North. As though my soul says: I’m home.

The melody of the Swedish language around me sent goosebumps down my spine, and when I was finally on the road, driving past forests and lakes bathed in the warm, evening sun, I felt a sense of peace and joy that seemed to touch the very core of my being.

The next morning, I sat in my favourite café, sipping coffee, remembering the last time I was there. I couldn’t help but cry tears of joy back then, I remember. Something touched me so deeply that I couldn’t but cry, and smile.

What followed were long days by the lake. I still worked – the “curse” of being self-employed – but it hardly drained me. Every morning I jumped into the freezing water, washing away any dark dreams and nightly rumination. Every day I walked in the woods, taking in the deep, nourishing silence. I picked blueberries, and wild raspberries. I sat by the lake and listened to the gentle gurgling of water below the jetty. I took my iPad outside, captured the colours of lakeside plants, drew and designed brands. It felt effortless. I hardly felt overwhelm during these days. Somehow the weight of my to do list couldn’t get a hold of me. I felt free.

And with that freedom came dissolution. I was finding back home to myself, and yet I was falling apart. I still am. Illusions began to crack. Dreams that weren’t mine started to crumble. I started to see what I was not willing to look at for a long time. There was no way of hiding anymore. The truth couldn’t be unseen.

When the plane lifted off again, I cried. I was grateful for the window seat I had, that little private space, just me and the view out there, slowly watching the trees grow smaller, the lakes disappearing behind the clouds.

The reconfiguration is in progress.

While everything dissolves, everything becomes clear. While I am being undone, I become who I really am.

Nothing goes unseen, unnoticed anymore: the compromises, the false realities, the fears and worries. Pretending is impossible. There is only raw truth left. Raw truth that dissolves my world, just like it reassembles it.

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