Intimate Moments and a Fireplace

Fireplace and intimacy.

Fireplace and intimacy.

“Frieda,” René began, “what did you say was the name of your home? You know, it’s not all that usual to give a name to a home.”

“It’s called Sessrúmni and the land around my home is called Fólkvangr,” Frieda replied. “So did you do some writing on the darkness story?”

“Yeah,” René admitted, “but it isn’t just about darkness anymore. All of a sudden light makes an appearance. Do you want to tell me why the house is called Sess . . . Sessrúmni?”

“It’s always been called Sessrúmni, nothing much to say about it.”

“Strange,” wondered René. Changing the subject he grinned and asked, “What’s for supper?”

A glass of Malbec preceded the meal which somehow mysteriously appeared as if just prepared in the dining room. René knew that Frieda had servants that kept the house, or as she called it, the Hall, running smoothly though he had yet to meet these servants. Though it hadn’t shown up when she walked the Camino with him, Frieda was rich, likely an inherited wealth. They sat at the table in an alcove of the dining room, a small table that oozed intimacy, and relived the events of the day and René’s introduction to Eidfjord.

With the meal done, they sat on cushions before a fireplace that had logs already turning to coals with a few extra logs set to the side in order to keep the fire going for as long as they needed it. The outside temperature had cooled off significantly, nearing the freezing point. The past few days had been unseasonably warm according to Frieda, and she warned that René would have to be tough if he was going to meditate outdoors for the next several days. After all, Norway was a northern country. Two cats curled near the warmth of the fire looking at René with suspicion.  These were Frieda’s pets, if they could be called pets. They seemed to be feline body guards in his opinion.

“Three more days in your paradise,” began René, “before we head to Ottawa. I can hardly wait to have you meet my children.”

“I’m going to have to delay going to Ottawa with you,” apologised Frieda. “Some estate things have come up that will be needing my attention next week.”

“Uh, okay. I can reschedule our flights. Just tell me when you expect to be ready to fly,” René spoke with obvious disappointment.

“No, no!” Frieda quickly interjected. “You take the flight planned, you know your kids are anxiously awaiting you. After all, they haven’t seen you in over a month. I’ll fly to meet you as soon as things are all taken care of here.”

“You sure?” René said with a mixture of relief that he hoped didn’t show up in his voice.

Frieda smiled, leaned closer and kissed him on the lips and said, “Of course I’m sure. Now put those two logs on the fire and cuddle closer. I’m getting a chill.”

In the small hours of the morning, René was again wakened from a dream. When he saw Frieda sleeping peacefully beside him, he was relieved that he hadn’t woken her as he had the three previous nights. With practiced skill he recorded the dream in his journal before attempting to return back to sleep. He lay still for more than an hour before deciding he may as well get up and work on the story of darkness and light, a story he knew was connected somehow with his dreams.

“You’re right,” the voice confirmed. “Your dreams are connected. But then again,” and René could have sworn he heard a laugh, “everything is connected and is one. And that includes you. Now, back to work. There’s a story to tell.”

René opened the file that was waiting for him on the desktop of the screen. He reread the words already entered and found that there wasn’t all that many words written at all. Taking a clearing breath, he began, again, to write:

Light touched forms and changed the forms, transformed them into solids. liquids and gases. Each touch of light inspired yet another variation of energy, rising and falling and shifting with the unceasing caress of light, a light that retreated into darkness as the Earth spun. Day and night alternated as the planet rotated. And that varying blessing of light created newer forms of energy the sought to become something more.

Inanimate forms emerged only to become birthing grounds, whether on land or sea, for forms that approached animation, forms that were fragile. A dance of increasing complexity birthed plant life on the Earth, life forms that blazed for a few moments in order to recreate themselves in the constantly changing conditions of the Earth.

 

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