Last month, our family went to Iceland together for the first time. Steph and I have been twice before: honeymoon and five-year anniversary. We rented a camper van and drove around the island.
We visited some of the highlights from our previous trips that we wanted to share with them: Godafoss, whale watching, Glacier lagoon, Akureyri, etc.; and we also had some new adventures: riding Islandic horses, canyon hiking, throwing baby puffins off a cliff!
At every location of our trip, whether we were just driving on the road or stopping at a random town to get gas, I was always in awe of the landscape: the mountains, the waves, the turf, the waterfalls, the crevices and caves. Every stop brought wonder. And naturally I began to ask myself, “Could I ever live here?” and, “What would it be like to wake up every morning and see… [spin around] THIS?!” My imagination was stirred.
Throughout the trip, I would ask myself (and ask my youngest, who was often with me), “What story would I create about this mountain/crater/coast/etc?” I imagine that asking this practice over and over would shape how I live in the world. It would expand my imagination of what it means to be great/grand, or where I might encounter danger. The funny thing is, that by the end of the trip, it did!
Near the end of the trip, I found myself… I don’t exactly know how to describe it… but… feeling different; my engagement with the land and my surroundings was… automatic. Part of this awareness was influenced by Indigenous American spirituality that I was reading about earlier this year. And I often wondered about how they communed with nature… Did they literally talk to the trees? to the land? to the rivers and lakes? Perhaps they did. But I’m also beginning to wonder if they heard the world speak in ways that they shaped imagination. The world spoke the language of wonder and beauty, danger and excitement. Peace and stillness, anger and rage.
Perhaps this is similar to the feeling I get when I see the city skyline from the plane. There’s a bodily expectation of familiar rhythms and movements. It feels like home.
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