Found this spot with sea buckthorn by chance a few days ago in Sunnersta, Uppsala. It was hard to photograph esthetically enough for my taste, but it’s such a rarity to find locally so I have to share it.












I’ve been to Gamla Uppsala many times. I’ve never taken any photos there, so I decided to change that.
Regarding the “information” on the plaques. I just wish to correct that Valhalla is not any “men only” existence, just as Folkvang is not a “female only” existence. Shield maidens, Valkyries, vΓΆlvor and “witches” are all for Allfather.




















I lived my life for more than a decade without clarity in my identity and my Knowledge; without much of any thoughts about ideals or truth, for forced upon reasons. I might as well have been dead. I did not have any kind of ideal in mind at all and to explain away this would be insulting to the current and normal low-life; if that could be insulted, for I did not find much in anyone or anything I could admire, or just find any kind of βrespectβ for.
The ideals that I now hold, again, since close to nineteen years back, are based on what I recall from past lifeβs experiences: Truth, honour and my name. With side dishes as gladness, strength, knowledge, intellect, you know the drill. All values that can be found high and tasty will make the plate. I will true that itβs much less costly to just live inside these ideals and not walk around as too much of a βnormal weirdoβ. But, the strength to live these; for a real human quite average ideals, when personal will and lust for anything readily available in the current society is made into brainwashed garbage is nearly impossible.
I hate this controlled, fake and sick society that our foes control more than anyone can imagine. And, I would rather cave in than feed it in any way. We all had to live in this period just before people will get their minds back, and we sure do have problems now with the collective mindsetβ¦ Should I make a list for you? Many listen to the tune of; βOthers think this and thatβ, and are thus led away to become accepted as part of being βnormalβ, and since a long period ago it is a killing joke. Also, when blindfolding Life to never see or live beyond what words can hand over within them to feel or understand, then there is a huge problem. Reacting strongly to these words, or not at all? That really is of no concern. Truth is always pretty and everything we got. Know it. Go and live it. Words are nothing if never lived, as Iβm sure you know.
I am from Uppsala, which is the strongest place there is for identity in this world, being the place of Odin and the Gods since way back in time. But, as everywhere the identity βon the streetβ is taken from days and times gone by. When I visit or live in my hometown, every now and then, I see people that wish to have their identity shared in some way; most notably have some part of the Viking Age and walking around in βOld Uppsalaβ to gather strength and honour from the last time real humans could be the normality. Any strength and honour shared from a past that would transfer without having any strong and active belief in the Gods; or even knowing what bloodlines, or even down to what Folk they are part of, is unlikely to give much. (Some of us of course know from other sources where we belong.) Anyway, this kind of identity reminds me a bit of the βWe went to the moon-thingβ. I remember hearing this motivational reminder a lot in school when I was younger, so we all had to think back sitting in Apollo 11 and looking out the window back to earth and then stepping around on the moonβ¦ Do you remember doing that? βWeβ invented all culture and all inventions; βWeβ even invented our own forefathers the Godsβ¦ βWeβ are really great then. I wish. To take identity from the highest and greatest imaginable is nice, if you truly know what that is, and you actually have a real part of it… βWe as humansβ; and that is a quote, have what we are and do.
I met this woman that had been acting as a vΓΆlva, sadly in some seriously warped belief in how a vΓΆlva was supposed to act, at some tourist spot up north. After that she had βunderstoodβ that she actually was a reincarnated vΓΆlva. This is nothing to doubt. People are helped to find other reincarnated people they can give or get help from in the Oddest ways. Ideally and in reality a vΓΆlva is a holy woman that is kept pure and untouched by people, her inherited gifts are to foresee time and make remedies from herbs, and other things to help. We met once and walked around a few hours, with a mutual friend, and visited old burial mounds, a cave and some other places up north. These women spoke about these places as if it was their ancestors in the burial mounds. It was mostly Sami and Scythian remnants, which people that live there now tend to βforgetβ. Not that it matters greatly today as all the old βnorthernβ tribes are a bit mixed. That is what spitting in the same bucket would mean. She told me that she did not really like Odin, influenced by propaganda in a book or two, and was all for βJordβ, that is sort of βMother Earthβ in some warped sense of a βGoddessβ that is βthe soulβ of soil and rocksβ¦ Jord is another name for Frigga, and she is not soil and rocks, I have met her a few times. It was more of a thing that this βvΓΆlvaβ wanted to identify with a βwomanβ, not knowing the very basic fact that a vΓΆlva, like a valkyrie, is a follower of Odinβ¦ That type of deranged thinking from this low time when some try to become what is imagined to be closest to your ego to identify with is pitiful. That βthinkingβ has no place in Life at all. Identities are too often taking a share of credit where there is none to be taken.
Moving onβ¦
I would hate to be young again and only have my youth as a fake resource handed down as a present for my identity from the junk-society to live on. Being βyoungβ is currently an excuse for behaving immature and retarded, and anything past twenty years of age can absolutely not be called young, so do not be fooled. We have all been told that; βEverything is in the mind.β I understand it my way. I see people that do nothing good at all and still hold a belief that they are important and all wrongs they do can be traced to the fault of others, and they sure can be right about that. It happened to me. Others believe that dragging others down is making them bigger and better somehow, without putting any real effort into making something of value for Life. (Do not wonder where this deranged thinking in society comes fromβ¦)
I recall that I was told to think that my productivity and producing was equal to my life. βWhat I do is who I amβ¦β Naturally, any kind of productivity is just a survival tactic. I really didnβt work that hard on producing most of the timeβ¦Anyhow, I donβt want anything in life for my ego other than maybe to walk in the forest alone and feel good from rain or sunshine, write a tiny bit. That would be my egoism in full, to get by with. And, I am not alone with having a humble and modest need. Any grander thoughts I have to spell out here and there, as the slightly unrehearsed modern day shaman that I am, is for love and protection; good against evil in Reality. I do not want much for myself, and I really do not care enough to get βa common good life down in the liesβ. I can easily have that. But, it is worth nothing if the world is rotten to the core.
My life is not normal by any standard; it is greater in all valuable aspects and at the same time itβs been made into a horror of bitterness. Well, to do anything right in a world that now is so wrong in most aspects, if not all aspects, takes Knowledge and a lust for life. Anything else is of course futile; a time-consuming nonsense. We need to fight the Illusion. Just clean it out and find your identity: Your Life.
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Lever blott i mina HΓΆstlΓΆv, vattendrag och moln,
som en kysst skΓΆrd draget av lΓ€ngtans tystnade lΓΆften,
som ett ovilligt tigget, (hΓ₯rt nattblommat och slitet)
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Skogen solstrimmade (drΓΆmd i livets vindsnara),
medan regnet lutade i lΓ₯ngsamma, tvekande steg
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(Ser tinandet, hektiskt droppande under VΓ₯rsolens makt)
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I stenlΓ€ kommer snart violerna stΓ€llas hΓ€gnade hΓ€r igen
och blekna, (sedan skyggt slokna under nattstrΓ€ckorna)
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(Nog om det.)
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Stegade upp en dagsled och hann bli vacker med skymningen
och nΓ€r sedan regnet varsamt somnade trΓΆtt intill gryningen
nedan rΓ€fsande skogstopparna under de grΓ₯sprΓ€ckta skyarna
Γ₯sΓ₯gs VΓ₯rmarken hemvΓ€nda till att kargt (och sakta) dricka tΓΆ
Blickade milsvida omkring ΓΆver halvt snΓΆflΓ€ckade kullarna
dΓ€r fΓ₯rade Γ₯krar stod stilla likt frysta, stannade havsvΓ₯gor,
medan Vindarna slog, tog fart frΓ₯n fyra sidor, sen plΓΆtsligt!:
I precis rΓ€tt stund bryter sig strΓ₯lar av Solen in ΓΆver trakten
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VΓ₯rljuva ljuset tΓ€ndes fΓΆljsamt (vΓ€rmde i fjolΓ₯rsgrΓ€set)
och smΓ₯ skuggor blΓ€ddrade sig kvickt ΓΆver bΓ€ck och Γ₯
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Har ΓΆgonsmekt barrbΓ€ddade markers allra fagraste dagar
innan nattliga sjΓΆrΓΆken stigit runt mjukaste skogsskuggor
Nedan regngranars droppande hΓ€lsat synen blygaste blom,
tillsammans med regnen slitits ner med brustnaste grenar
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TΓ₯liga grΓΆdan pΓ₯ rara skogstegar, var kvar.
SkΓ€nkte i nΓ₯gra vΓ€rmande glimtar till rara minnen
att bΓ€ra ivΓ€g, ynket bort fΓΆrbi, hΓ€gna detta fridlysta,
Γ€nnu fΓ₯ kΓ€nna vΓ€tade SommarΓ€ngarna smeka benen,
fΓ₯nga stiltjen invid den vita husknuten i mitt Kyrsta
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DrΓΆmd,
blir hΓ€rnere ΓΆverallt kallad en drΓΆmd
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En gΓΆmd,
inuti tvekan, Γ₯rstiderna hΓ₯var mig svunnen
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Skymtar av Livet drΓΆjer kvar mot bittrande skarnet
och gΓ€star Γ€gorna som om detta liv Γ€nnu var vid liv,
som om en okΓ€nd imma hΓ€ngde vid Livet ΓΆvergivet,
som vore mitt liv Γ€nnu kvar i Livet som mitt eget liv
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KΓΆldklart. En halvt avhakad trΓ€grind gnisslar vind,
ΓΆppnad in till en glΓΆmd gΓ₯rd vars rester kan skymtas
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Lutad ΓΆver trΓ€lΓ₯rar brΓ€ddade med sΓ€ttpotatis och morΓΆtter,
doftande i fyllda kassar med mjΓΆliga Γ€pplen i farstukylan
vilket rΓ€ckte sΓ₯ lΓ₯ngt Vintern fΓΆrmΓ₯dde spΓ€ sitt tillstΓ₯nd
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Frostslaget. GrusgΓ₯ngen glimmar sina skΓΆra isflak,
smΓ₯stenarna fastkilade i frusna sanden blΓ€nkte stilla
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Γr snarad sorgvis, grΓ€tten, mildΓΆgd och mycket brΓ€cklig
likt sista Γ€pplet lyst igenkΓ€nd grenat kvar sin Vintergren
synande Γ₯rets skΓΆrd av HΓΆstlΓΆv vackert rullade i frosten
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StΓ₯r slut,
ensamt kvar ofΓΆrstΓ€lld infΓΆr overklighetens rusk
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Kliver upp lΓ€ngs med den av trakten bortglΓΆmda kolmilan,
och tΓ€nker pΓ₯ vΓ€nnernas svΓ€rd dragna frΓ₯n Γ₯kern nedanfΓΆr
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Nedan mΓΆrkret,
nylagda snΓΆdrivor i blΓ₯bleka VinterkvΓ€llen.
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Bryggd eftersken;
dΓΆda stjΓ€rnors Γ₯ngerklagan i natten
att under glimtvist drΓΆjande dagbrΓ€cken fΓΆrbli β OnΓ₯bar
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