Autumn child in Sweden - ENGLISH

Gray mists billow, cooler blows the wind, colorful leaves fall, joyfully exults the inner child: "Autumn is here!"

A Swedish autumn. The forests are colorful, but the colorfulness is not to find in the treetops. Because the forest here consists mainly of spruces and pines.

Yes, a few birches, alders and aspens, even a maple or a small ash sprinkle the forest with bright yellow notes. But the true autumn color is to be found on the ground: For there the countless blueberry bushes turn crimson, the ferns yellow and orange, the grasses ocher and brown. Here and there a maple leaf, stained with all the colors of autumn, adorns an evergreen moss cushion.

Mushrooms of all colors, sizes and shapes sprout everywhere from the ground or from rotting tree trunks.

It is a real pleasure to walk through this colorful landscape on a sunny day.

The gray, foggy days have their own qualities. Just as the dense fog envelops the landscape, we clothe ourselves in our thick ponchos. We draw in the freshness of the damp coolness through our noses and surrender to the misty day, which has no less its beauty.

It lacks the view into the distance, but lets us look at what is closer, even better. If you sit outside, thickly wrapped up, and stare for a while into the dense fog, then at some point you become aware of what is really very close; thoughts, feelings, impulses. Colorful speckles everywhere. A constant chattering in one's own head. But the fog swallows even this noise at some point.

It is the quiet days that make us aware of our own restlessness.

Inhale, silence, exhale, silence.

Little by little, the mind settles down to rest and the view clears.

Sometimes, however, the view remains cloudy. There a meditation is like holding on in a too narrow cleft in a rock. A heaviness squeezes the chest. It tightly encloses our heart and pulls on it, does not want to let us be still, but also does not want to let us dance in joy. Just being heavy.

A glance at the cell phone, organizing something, writing with friends, looking at Instagram pictures or posting.... or rather doing laundry, or washing dishes, tidying up, cleaning... What of it is meaningful, even fulfilling, what of it is useful and what is a mere distraction, or rather an indulgence, of our inner restlessness?

What is this feeling that does not give us peace? A monster of restlessness, hiding in the density of our own fog. But is it really a monster that dwells within us? Or does it actually want to help us? Is it a friend who pulls at us, shakes us, touches our heart because he wants to hold something before our eyes? Can it really be a monster, when it tugs at us so shy and carefully that we only notice it when we pause and listen to the silence within us? A quiet echo of a small child who does not dare to speak, to feel, to be? What does our inner child need?

Far too quickly we draw the curtain again, close the window into our restless self and do. Do what? Well, something. There is always something to do. Folding laundry, making wood, cooking, fixing the car, building something, paying bills... Yes, that feels much better. Be productive, don't stand still. Don't let the child tug at us!

But wait a minute, there it is tugging at me again. It's even crying. I look down; my son with his face red as a chestnut, tears streaming down his face. I bend down to him. He stretches out his little arms to me and I take him in my arms. What do you need, little one? He calms down already. Just to be taken in my arms? Come on, let's load the logs into the wheelbarrow together!

He soon regains his composure. And indeed he helps me diligently. He picks up one log after another with great effort, staggers with it to the wheelbarrow and throws it in with a whoop. "Bong," clatters wood on metal. "Boing!" laughs Elouan. Then he turns and picks up the next log. A particularly large log. With difficulty, his little arms hold it up. As he tries to heave it over the edge of the wheelbarrow, it almost falls down, but he holds on to it with his second hand and deftly pushes it to the other pieces of wood. Then he looks at me proudly. Quite deserved for a one-and-a-half year old. So I look at him proudly, lift him up and laugh with him, this little magical creature who explores the world freshly and easily. Whether he also discovers at some point, in the dense fog of his being, a heaviness? His lost child? I wish that he never loses his childishness, but rather integrates it into what his adulthood will demand of him.

But what about my inner child? Why does it tug at me, press against my chest? Did it not experience enough love at some time when it was very small and pulled crying at the tip of an adult? Or does it feel unseen through later experiences in which it had to function rather than play? Did school, teaching, society and co make it feel not important? Is this heaviness a sign that my inner child wants to be taken in my arms and stroked, or wants to run through the forest and play with me? Does this heaviness tell me that I actually need some lightness in me again and should deal with myself for that?

But what are these moments in which we feel light, in which everything feels good? It is these moments in which we feel in the flow. Yes, we feel light when we pursue what inspires us, when we take to the skies to pursue what is true to our being.

But in a world where we are conditioned to function, it is not so easy. Even in this, consciously chosen, so free life, as we live it.

Having an outer child does not necessarily simplify things. It can be a good mirror, yes, but it also demands a lot of attention, care and quickly upsets the household that you have just put in order. But to be able to be there for this outer child with a pure heart, it seems important to me to give space and time to the inner child. Pauses.

Sometimes the needs of this inner child are perhaps quite clear: climbing a tree, painting something, dancing and playing with others. Sometimes, however, the child is so frightened by all the activities of everyday life that it does not dare to communicate its need clearly. The only thing that helps is to accept the heaviness, to take time for oneself, to hug oneself and to wait for the impulse. Because a child does not act out of his head, but follows his impulses. And most of us have forgotten how to do that.

Must, should, must not... These are words of a society in which children are not supposed to follow their own interests, but the interests of the system. There is no free space for the living, creative being in us.

So I give myself free space. Once every few days, sitting on the porch, rocking in the rocking chair, drinking a warm cup of tea and just looking. Does an impulse come from the heart? No? Then I wait and enjoy the not having to. The precious free time I allow myself in our all-busy everyday life. Rocking in the rocking chair, on the veranda, looking out into the forest. I guess that's how you could imagine a quiet end to life. But why always see the peace at the end of life? Why can't there be a big slice of that in between?

How good it feels to just sit there and watch others being busy; the blackbirds, tits and bullfinches busily picking berries from the bushes. The squirrels are happily perching in the maple and snacking on its seeds. They eagerly gather their winter supply.

It is autumn. And winter is approaching. Not only the animals feel it, but we do too. And so we also prepare ourselves for the cold, dark time. Above all, we have to make wood. Every day. Looking for dead trees in the forest, cutting them down, sawing them into small pieces, transporting them away, then either splitting them or storing them.

Yes, the swedish autumn is beautiful and it will be a swedish winter for us. Not one in the high, snowy north. Our winter quarters are in Dalsland. That is at the approximate height of Oslo, just so over the Swedish border. For southern Sweden, however, this area is still very wild. Moose, lynxes, maybe even bears live here with us in the forest, not far from the 90 km long Store Le lake.

Here we take care about a typical swedish red cottage, with 6 hectares of land that belongs to a German from Hamburg. He is happy if his little house is not inhabited by mice but by people during the winter.

And so we settle into our winter cave, happy to do as the squirrels do; after a busy year, with lots of ups and downs, it's soon time to slow down and take a winter rest.

Nestle in the warm and cozy. Now and then out into the forest, visit one of the numerous lakes, maybe even ice fishing in a white, icy winter wonderland? We will see and you will surely find out.

But for now we enjoy the colorful autumn with all its treasures. On the foggy days as well as on the sunny days.

We give thanks to Mother Nature for the abundance she gives us at this time of year: fresh mushrooms in particular land on our plates almost daily as a protein-rich gift. And a wide variety of berries give us a gift with their numerous vitamins

We give thanks to Mother Nature for her numerous melodies that flow through the silence and keep the peace in it.

And we thank her for the unspeakable beauty that surrounds us all the time, but which we can only see if we pause for a moment and open ourselves to the present moment.

Finally, thanks to all of you who have read the entire report. A thanks in the form of a poem, which came from an impulse when I was rocking my inner child in the rocking chair outside on the veranda, watching the rustling aspen shedding its leaves ;)

Golden flakes dancing down,

When autumn sunlight floods

Your crown's strong branches,

And the wind blows through the woods.

A rustling rain you give

To the world; paint it as a colorful dream.

Embracing you makes me feel blessed

O Aspen tree in the autumn steam.