Column: The raven from the future
3. May 2024

Every morning we go for a walk in the woods behind our house. As soon as we’ve climbed the hill, I’m struck with amazement that wild life extends all the way into the city. Here I walk under majestic beech trees as a guest in the wonder of nature. The birds welcome me. A graceful choir. Delightful. Sweet. Beautiful. Until it is suddenly interrupted by a sound that scratches my ear canals. I stand still and listen to the strange sound as I ponder how, in 1898, far-sighted merchants planted a forest on this piece of land and gave it as a gift to the city of Aalborg. It’s now 126 years since they put the little plants in the ground one by one. How far ahead were they thinking? Were they thinking about me and my children and grandchildren? Did they see me standing here in 2024, listening to the sound of one of the most amazing birds there is? A bird so clever and so far up the ladder that just one pair (luckily for us) has chased away a flock of thousands of rooks? A mythological bird. A bird that can speak across time and cultures. Yes, that’s the raven I’m listening to. It’s sitting in one of the few larch trees at the top. I think it’s the male, his voice is deep. In another larch tree is the nest. It must be the pair we know. If he has a notch in his wing, it’s him, but I can’t see him clearly as he starts circling above the treetops. I can hear cars and children in the schoolyard nearby. I can see the water tower and other man-made buildings. But it’s me, the human, who is visiting. This is not my forest. It’s the animals’ and plants’. The merchants must have thought about nature and other generations. They must have seen life ahead of them and wanted to honor it. Pass on the joy to others than themselves. Remind us of creation. Planting a tree is a religious act, I think to myself as I stand in what many call God’s cathedral. I think it’s so simple. Instead of talking about the climate crisis, we can do what the merchants here did 126 years ago: plant a tree that provides bird life so that our great-great-grandchildren can also hear the raven speak. Maybe it’s a thank you speech it’s giving this morning?

The column is published in a longer version in the Swedish newspaper, Sändaren, May 2024.

PS
And the other day we met a pair of cranes in Rold Forest. What gifts!

Læs videre

Opening speech: Kirsten Klein shows us that we are bound to the landscape.

Opening speech: Kirsten Klein shows us that we are bound to the landscape.

When I first met Kirsten Klein, we talked about where her pictures come from."They probably come from somewhere where it hurts," she replied. I didn't know then, but I know now. That's where the recognition takes hold. From that place where life is not only good, but also painful. Back then, I hadn't lost my youngest boy, the pain of my life was milder then, but some was there, and we talked about children coming or not, about being a child myself. About longing and being rootless, being moved around, the roots that were not allowed to take hold. You went out. Out into the wind. Nature became your "ally" you said. Out there you could grow. "I don't pray," she said."It's not like that. My spirituality is tied to the landscape."

Læs mere

Chronicle in Kristeligt Dagblad: The church must talk about experiences

Chronicle in Kristeligt Dagblad: The church must talk about experiences

Without having any church background or the slightest bit of spiritual longing, years ago I suddenly had to learn to live with, among other things, two visions of Jesus standing upside down in front of me and talking to me, as I recount in "I met Jesus". Up to every other of us have experiences, I documented in the sequel "We met Jesus - And what does it matter to others", but it is still not a field that has been researched much in how we as a society or church should live with.

Læs mere

10 years later: Most people were afraid I was stoned

10 years later: Most people were afraid I was stoned

The only two people who thought it was a good idea to publish my first book were my husband and my editor. Everyone else advised me to keep quiet. They predicted scorn and stoning, or at the very least silence and backs turned. One boss thought I could not continue in my job as a journalist. She got another job before publication, I continued in my position, but why all the anxiety? What was so transgressive in my debut book that it could have cost me my job, my reputation, my family, my friends? And did that happen?

Læs mere