I got my anger out this morning while writing about the current situation in Iceland - well most of it. I got too much to do, depression or not I always have too much to do. Each day has so many offerings of mini miracles.
Right now I have enough material to write a whole new volume of poetry - this time around I will write in my native language. I think the role of poets and other artists is never as important as at times like this. We should be the voice of reason. We should be the oracles as in the past. Need to rebuild bridges between the word and the public.
Here a drawing by the Hand of Joy B the poet:) Lifi ljóðið, innra sem ytra.
As I enter the creative space - all these troubles of the external world have little impact - seeking for some sort of harmony within this turmoil - find the ballast - because in Iceland the metaphors mostly evolve around the oceans and the elements of nature.
I am seeking for the nature within me - I think that might be a good thing to do for people feeling in a free fall of suspense and worry:) go visit the ocean, waterfall, mountain, tree, if you got the financial crunch blues.