Kærlighedens Kunst. / The Art of Love.

Jeg sidder ved mit skrivebord. Der blæser en kraftig vind, som udvasker billederne for mine øjne.  Opvasekmaskinen kører i baggrunden.
En erindring dukker op fra min lille rejse til det indre Stockholm i går. Nærmere, et skilt. Hvidt med sorte bogstaver. Birgit Nilssons Allé.
Det er spøjst: jeg har gået den strækning under kirsebærtræerne mod Kungsträdgården t-bane station så mange gange.
Ikke før har jeg ænset at navnet på alleen, er det samme som det medium og healer, jeg for år tilbage lejede et rum hos i Gamla Stan.
Bag ved denne stedangivelse, syntes at ligge en dybere mening men umiddelbart var jeg ikke i stand til at se den.

Her ved skrivebordet er jeg ikke helt i stand til at begribe meningen heller. Men et spørgsmål hjælper mig på vej.
Hvorfor var det jeg lejede det værelse?
Udefra set troede jeg, at meningen var at jeg skulle coache andre…
Pointen var, ser jeg nu, at heale nogle af mine egne sår.
At bryde nogle af mine egne vægge ned.
Vægge, jeg havde sat op mellem Kærligheden og jeg.
Mellem jeg selv, livet og glæden.
Disse vægge var svære at nedbryde. Det har taget mig år.
Men det behøver de ikke at være.

Ikke om man formår at holde sig tæt på Kærlighedens lys. På glæden. Men det må være en proces man gennemgår hver dag. Hele tiden. For ikke at miste lyset af syne.

Og det er skræmmende at stå midt i livets strøm – uden forbehold, uden “beskyttelse”. Men om jeg virkelig vil leve, så er dét den eneste vej.
Dét er kærlighedens kunst: at til enhver tid være villig til at åbne sig, når man ønsker at lukke ned. Til at være modtagelig, bevægelig og følge lyset.
Lyset, der bor i vores indre.

Solen trænger for et øjeblik gennem skyerne og ind i rummet. Jeg vender mit ansigt mod det. Det rammer mig hvor jeg sidder; midt mellem øjnene.
Lysets vokser i intensitet, overskrider den fysiske verdens grænser, tager mig med ud i et uendeligt rum… Oplevelsen af en velsignelse.  Som et oprigtigt smil på et ukendt ansigt.

————————————————————————————————————

I sit at my desk. A strong wind is blowing that washes out the images before my eyes. The dishwashing machine is running in the background.
A memory surfaces from my journey to the inner city of Stockholm yesterday. More precisely, it’s a sign. White with black letters.
Birgit Nilssons Allé, it spells.
It’s funny – I’ve walked this stretch of pavement under the cherry trees in Kungsträdgården toward the T-station so many times before.
Yet, not until that moment yesterday did I see the name of it. A name which is the same as that of the medium and healer that I – a couple of years ago – rented a room from in Gamla Stan.
Behind the sign it seems there is a deeper meaning, but one that I was unable to see at this point.

Sitting at the desk,  the sign reemerges in my mind, but again I’m not quite able to grasp that which it wants to show me. Then, a question pops into my head, helping me along.
Why did I really rent that room?
Well, I thought that I was suppose to do coaching from there…
But the point, I see now, was really to heal some of my own wounds.
To break down some of my own walls.
Walls which I’d raised between Love and myself. Between myself, life and joy.
These particular walls were difficult to break down. It’s taken me years.
But they don’t have to be.

Not if one can manage to keep close to the light of Love. To joy. But it seems to me that it has to be a process one repeats every day. All the time. To not lose sight of Love, of light.

And it is scary to stand in the middle of the river of life – with no preconceptions, no ”protection”. But if I really want to live that is the only way.
That is the art of Love: at any given time be willing to open up especially when one wants to close down. To be receptive, movable and to follow the light. The light within.

As the sun comes through the clouds it shines into the room. I turn my face toward it.
It hits me where I sit and right between the eyes.
It grows in intensity, washes away the borders of the physical  and takes me out into an infinite space…The experience of a blessing.
Like witnessing an undisguised smile on an unknown face.

 

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One thought on “Kærlighedens Kunst. / The Art of Love.

  1. Pingback: En foto-fortælling: Min mandag. / A photostory: my Monday. | Charlotte Luxhoej.com

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