mama — i call you in

no words

mama has no words

she is only a presence, a frequency

***

there were flames

now there is air

she is horse

large, powerful. sensitive. instinctive

she comes when the chaos has quieted. when flowing liquid, shining like diamonds, runs in drops, like a child, like a wolf — like a bird and butterfly

when the battle is over

and no one won

then she comes

quietly, with wind in mane

with her wisdom

***

she was red

now she is white and silver and diamond and horse

For the loss of my mom

For the loss of my soul protector, Aunt Rannveig, who had a steady gaze into my eyes and saw the whole of me, and held her hands around my cheeks and said, “My girl,” and took my hand and said, “Come, let’s go here,” and said, “Look at that,” and we had to sit down by the street and look at that early spring flower forcing its way through concrete — stubborn and unapologetic and wild and brilliant.

.

.

For the loss of my King

My Angelic Beloved King

He who was my other half

Some time, some place

.

.

I saw him, recognised, remembered

In glimpses

And I felt home

Sacred Home

.

.

It’s not the first time I lose him

He disappeared (at least) once before

Maybe when Tiamat happened. Have you heard of Tiamat?

Apparently she was Earth’s sister planet, and she was a water planet. Tiamat was destroyed 12,500 years ago, some say… and they say it was because of a cosmic war… between “us” (I guess) and the “reptilians” — the unempathetic ones, those who represent the counterpart to our search and drive to find ourselves again, to remember who we are, those who make this game… a game. Those who create the friction, so we have something to test ourselves against, those who give us the resistance we need, when we come down here in bodies — not just here on Earth, but all the places we are in flesh — to grow, to experience, to fight for what we stand for, fall and rise. (There are good reptilians too, must say — like dragons…)

And that’s apparently why the Earth got flooded with so much water, because when Tiamat got destroyed, a lot of her water came to Earth and created floods. That’s why, in all the mythologies around the world, independently of each other, there are stories of a flood.

And the goddess Freya in Norse mythology, who I feel close to, also lost her man — Odin, or Óð as he is also named (they think it’s the same person) — he left her, and the reasons are unclear. Maybe because Freya had cheated on him. Maybe because he was a wanderer in soul. Or maybe because he had to go, and had no way to write home and let her know what was happening.

.

.

They say that’s what happened when Tiamat got destroyed. That people from many places were torn away from each other — loss of contact, chaos, uncertainty, loss of memory, loss of belonging. Some left, others were left behind. And no one knew what really happened.

And the wounds are still there. And we don’t remember. I don’t. Not clearly.

But my body remembers something I can’t interpret. I’m left confused, stressed, torn, maybe gaslit. Something’s not right.

.

.

Goddess Freya went looking for him. And she wept. And mourned. Endlessly. She traveled across the Earth, through ash and fire, with little with her, searching for her love.

I wonder why he didn’t search for her in return. Did he not love her too? Did he not care? Why was she the only one tearing herself apart through arduous journeys and emotional turmoil, just to try to reach him? Why did she sacrifice everything in the attempt to find him? And why did he not?

I feel so betrayed. So left alone. Let down. Unvalued. Unchosen. Because I feel Her. Because I am Her. A part of Her. As I believe many can carry parts of Her spirit.

.

.

.

But I cry, maybe mostly because… I can’t find home. I can’t find home. Home. Sacred Home.
I know it’s in my body. My Sacred Body. That’s my task. To find it. To find Me in Me. (When I say this, I am not actually sure it is 100% true. I’m not sure if I agree on this. I feel like I will never be whole on my own. I will be a whole… half. That is how I feel. I don’t know. I’m confused.)

I search… and search… but I do it so poorly, like a drug addict’s pathetic attempts to not take that next dose… and it lasts about 4 seconds… and then they take it… and lose… again.

Well, I exaggerate a little, I admit… It’s not that horrible… only almost.

I search on my phone for some ease, some relief. Did I get a message? An email? A notification on Facebook? Instagram? Substack? Did anyone talk to me? Can anyone regulate me? Can I lean on anybody?

I look to my partner, my friends, family, and neighbours for direction, for someone to lead, for someone to make the decisions. And then I go beyond my body’s needs. I stay too long at the party, even though I made an agreement with myself in advance. I don’t respect the agreement, and I lose my way, lose Me..

.

.

.

I relate greatly with what writes about in Motherless, Fatherless and Severed: The Power of Sacred Marriage

She describes cosmic polar forces that belong togheter, and the story of what happened to them, and how it affects the world we live in today, and our bodies that we operate through. These are the powers I feel so strongly, my ache to reunite those two forces of the Divine Feminine and the Noble Masculine. But as she writes in Severed:

Not yet collapsed into, not rushed, not patched-up survivors of the same wound finding each other in the dark and calling it union. Not the unreckoned masculine reaching for the rising feminine and pulling her back down into the same pattern she has spent everything to climb out of.

Sacred Marriage is not the relief of two exhausted people leaning on each other. Sacred Marriage is what happens when two whole human beings, each with their own ground beneath them, meet in the consecrated field and weave something neither one of them could weave alone.

I know this is true. So I know I have to heal, in order to reunite with my Beloved King.

So I lay down. And cry. And I listen to Enya. Like my mother Sóley and I used to when I was little. 2, 3, 4 and 5 years old. When it was just the two of us. When we lived in the roof top apartment in the hippiest part of Oslo.

On Saturdays, when the energy and air was new and fresh, sky blue and windows dirty, we opened the doors, put Enya on the stereo, and cleaned the house together — my mom and me. And she would give me a pair of way too big adult yellow rubber washing gloves, a bucket of soapy water, cloth, spray bottle and squeegee. I would clean the windows and she would wash the floor.

Cold breezes swept through our apartment, cleansing the space, and the sun would warm just enough, and we would sing and dance to Enya and The Cranberries. Only Time and Zombie. Those were happy times. I was home. With my mom. Safe and happy.

.

.

Today I am also listening to Enya and Only Time. But I cry instead of dancing. And my mom is not here. Neither is my King. And we don’t clean neither the windows nor the floor, because I don’t know where to start. And I don’t have a squeegee.

I’m alone for the first time since I was 19, but then I lived still home with my dad. I’m 35 now. And I don’t live with my parent. I am a parent. I have responibilities.

I had overlapping relationships throughout the years, terrified of being alone. But now I have to be. My body chose it for me, not me. I didn’t want to, but my body took control. Set direction. Made a decision. And I just had to obey.

My reflex is to jump right onto the next, but I’m not going to do that. I don’t really want to either. At all. I intend to stay alone until I’ve grown into my inner Queen. Even though it makes me sick to my stomach to think about it. Because I fear that I might me unhealable. That I won’t be able to accomplish my mission.

What I do trust, is that I do my very best.

.

.

Today I’m just sitting on the dirty floor, and I am just a child, looking for home.

Until the time is ready for reuniting the forces, I am lucky to be protected by my Dear Dragon

im listening to 1111 angelic healing sounds

no more scrolling

cant run anymore

have to face

the bodys waves

contractioins

it mirrors in everything

i lose myself and am not sure in my interpretation

creating drama and pain

my body shakes

my body is not in itself

it wants to sour up, out

… home.

someone is trying to comfort me, reassuring me

i dont belive it

i want to

but cant

i want to go home

i cry and feel like i drift off, i lose everything

what is happening

im confused

is it me?

or am i adopting something that doesnt belong to me?

then mom comes

angelic mom

i want to go home with mom

pain is gone

but i have only one problem

and that is that the most beautiful diamond is here

on earth

she is small

but bigger than me

and she is my daughter

You light up my day

You are the one for me

I can’t live without you, my love

You light up every room you enter

I can’t imagine my life without you

I can’t wait til we get old together and have all the time in the world to be with each other and enjoy our days

Darling, I want to take you to this place…

Babe, come with me

Honey, trust me. I mean it - TRUST ME <3

looking deep in her eyes, making sure she listens to him

You are so extraordinary, wow, you are a Goddess

You are the most beautiful woman in the world

You are my Queen

Without you, I’d be a poor man

Babe, listen to me (soft eyes, getting her to look at him, touching her with his hands on her shoulder/back, stroking her face and hair)

Honey, close your eyes, I have a surprise for you

You make sure everybody around you is feeling good and seen

You are so good with people

Babe, follow my lead

You are so gifted when it comes to intuition and emotions - I listen carefully to your feminine language and honor it

You make me whole

You make me rich

Never in my dreams could I imagine that I would ever be so lucky to be with a girl like you

Life with you is never boring

You make me a better man

I learn so much from you

Darling, come here sit by me, I want to tell you something

Some day I want to take you… to church

Some day I want to take you to… Hawaii

Some day I want to take you to… the stars, we’re going to the stars - you and me, TOGETHER <3

Some day I want to take you to this super romantic little hidden café in Paris, that has the best croissants in the world

I want to live my life beside you, it would be an honor

Will you please marry me (already) and make me the happiest man in the world

I want you to relax

I will take care of you

Honey, breathe with me

You’re doing good

I’m so proud of you

Babe, can you help me, I find this difficult

Babe, I want to tell you something that makes me sad, come sit down with me please (taking her hands, letting her witness his vulnerability and emotions, letting her in)

Oh baby that’s amazing

You do that so good, how do you do it?

How does this feel?

I want you to come

I wanna see you wild, my wildling goddess

Come here

Come here to me

Lay down

Breathe deeply, allow yourself to just receive and just enjoy

I will always be by your side, protecting you

I love you babe, forever

i want to throw my armes around in frustrated gestures, yelling a little, to make him understand how disappointed and hurt i am, and then i want him to see behind that, and come towards me, take my armes, that are waving threatening around him, take them firmly, with confidence, and with calm but steady and confident arms hold me, looking deep into my eyes with no fear, no bothers of my irritatedness, with an inner smile, like he knows something i dont, but he’s about to share it with me, not through words, no, no, through action

oh yes, action

give me action, and take me, play with my strings, play me and make me sing

When mom died, I hung out with her sometimes at her boat, where she lived with her two kids and her man. They were hippies. Like pretty much everyone in Oslo in the eighties and nineties. It was just an easygoing lifestyle. Before the world got fast, complicated and smart. Too smart for its own good, if you ask me.

I haven’t seen or spoken to mom’s best friend in almost 20 years. It’s been a time and a world long gone. That time is no longer, it died. With mom.

But yesterday I got a message. From the dead. From my mom. I mean... from my mom’s best friend.

My system got all fluttery, shaky, like some portal had suddenly opened, a portal that let me travel in time and through densities. It felt like now the time has finally come to be reunited. I felt like I was going to see my mom again. And my thoughts immediately started to spin and design in my head what the gathering would be like. Everyone should be there, of course. My daughter, for sure. Finally she will meet and get to know her grandmother. And I forwarded the message to my brothers, my boyfriend, my stepdad (he who had lost his wife, the father of my brothers), my friend and all of the family in Iceland. Finally we were going to summon all the scattered pieces, and come together again.

Finally I can get some answers, I thought. Because here’s the thing. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why I was so upset when I was a kid. Before she died. Why I haven’t missed her, but more what I wanted her to be, why she was that kind of mother that she was, and why our bond was not so strong.

I am afraid to share this with the people that knew her. I feel ashamed and embarrassed to feel this way. I’m afraid they’re going to say that I am wrong, that I don’t remember correctly, that I have no right to say these things about Sóley, that I make things worse than it is, that I should have moved past these things and let go of any insecurities or confusions or sorrows a long time ago, I mean, it’s been 20 years... And I’m afraid they’re going to judge me and think that there is something wrong with me.

Strangers are safer. You guys here, my friends on Substack, I rely on you in this.

You don’t get triggered by this, because you don’t have your own picture of how my mom Sóley was. You don’t have your own grief over her to worry about. You are neutral in this concern, and that’s why it feels safer for me to share this with you.

I got the message late last night. First thing I did when I woke up was turn the computer on and start to write this. My arms leaning over the table to the keyboard, fingers typing, I’m still a little shaky.

Please do leave me a comment, it means a lot to me. Sometimes I really need it. Now is one of those times.

I really wish we could meet up as well, and gather for real, and hug and look into each other’s eyes. Some day. It’s so sad I only have you in my black strange box on my desk. You’re kind of like on the other side too, with my mom, out of reach. Even though I trust you so dearly, I feel so held and seen by you guys in here, and I love you so much.

I know that I also have a tendency to fix everything when the feeling of sorrow is present. That has been my pattern. That’s why I burned out. Before, I wasn’t able to identify what the feeling was. It was just a buzz, some kind of fizzy restlessness that drove me to action. Action action action.

What I’ve learned recently is to keep it simple. To see the feeling for what it is: sorrow. It’s better to just let that feeling be and fill and move through my body, with me present, resting, quietly (or loudly) crying, holding myself close and dear, and let the peace tuck me in.

Love,

Eya🌹🕊️🤍

I’ve been exploring this theme in my own life. A few years ago, I burned out. I’m still in recovery and haven’t pressed the play button on life yet. The distance to my professional life keeps growing, and with it comes this strange question: Who am I when all the layers are peeled away?

When illness forced me to withdraw completely, all the decorations fell off — the job title, the daily rhythm, the sense of belonging to a group, even the hobbies. Everything that once shaped my outer identity was stripped away. I’m much better now, but I’m consciously choosing not to put all my jewelry back on just yet.

Because I find it interesting — almost sacred — to explore what it’s like to walk around naked, metaphorically speaking. To ask: What am I without the jewelry? What value do I have then? Am I afraid of how others see me, or am I the harshest judge of myself?

Over time, I’ve come to see that as long as I stay grounded in my integrity and know my own worth, the world mirrors that back to me. When I chose my light, my light is what other people see. When I move through life with that mindset, people don’t look down on me, or wrinkle their noses, or wonder what I’m doing with my time.

It’s empowering, really, to know that we are worthy as we are — even without the masks, the titles, the layers of identity. We just have to choose to see it ourselves, not wait for someone else to give us permission.

Gimme five for that!🙌

So I wonder — what about you?

Do you ever tie your worth to a mask you wear, or a piece of jewelry you carry around with you — something that tells the world who you are, or who you think you need to be?

And if you took it off, stood there bare and unadorned — how would that feel?

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Share in the comments if this resonates, or if you’ve found your own way of staying whole without all the layers.

May your eyes stay sharp, your heart stay wild, and your roots remain grounded🪽🩵

With love and softness,

Eya🦋

On September 24, 2025, I posted a piece about the cult and its leader — both named IKYA — centered around the incident where one of his closest inner circle members was suddenly expelled and exiled without warning. This is a follow-up to that post. I suggest reading the post of September 24 called “What happened to Nina” before reading this. Read here:

What follows is entirely my own perspective — based on my thoughts, assumptions, and reflections.

… So who is the person behind IKYA, really?

Let’s take a step back. In 2013, John (that’s his name) published a book called Supermat, which means Superfood. Yes, he tried being a businessman before launching his IKYA project. He was the man behind the brand Supernature, selling “superfood” products at ridiculous prices. Supernature has since been bought by Midsona — yet another shady company. Stay away. (Speaking from personal experience. I once called Midsona to ask for traceability info on a sea salt product I was considering buying, and they refused to tell me where it came from or who made it. They just said it was a trade secret. I told them, “Traceability means quality.” They had no answer to that, and we hung up, and I did not buy their salt.)

On the first couple of pages in his book I read something very revealing about who he is, and why he has grown to be an unhealthy masculine cult leader, allowing his community to be influenced by fear culture, gaslighting and silence. In the foreword, he writes something that, to me, puts the puzzle together:

“I was a highly sensitive child. (...) Vulnerable and without protection, I was pulled into the role of observer. That helped me create distance from everything that affected me.”
(Supermat – Healing Foods from the Heart of Nature, John Opsahl, 2013, p. 3.)

Those lines tell me everything. Vulnerable and without protection, he created distance from everything that affected him. And later, throughout the lengthy foreword, he repeats that distancing himself has been his lifelong strategy… (!) To me, that explains his strange, removed presence. He is, quite literally, disconnected. Distanced.

He talks as if he’s deeply connected — and yes, he is definitely tuned into something. The way I read him, his crown chakra is somehow open. He can meditate. But when it comes to the root? Closed.

He’s not grounded. He has no connection to the Earth. He looks down on the Earth itself — on life down here, on the human sides of the humans, and on his own inner child. He hasn’t transformed the difficult experiences from his childhood as a sensitive and wide-open child. He’s simply distanced himself from them.

…

Earth represents the feminine. The sky, the masculine.

He has a twitch in his right shoulder, and his nose, and even his posture in the attached picture, leans to the right. He won’t acknowledge his own humanity. He claims he is not human. But he won’t explain what he then is either. Questions about what he is are left unanswered, leaving the person who asked gaslit and shamed for asking such low-vibration, human-like questions. Only humans that speak from a survival point of view would bother to use their energy to wonder about such irrelevant questions, he would answer — totally nonchalant, cold in his eyes, stoned in his heart, empty in his root — and with no further care, moving on to the next person like an arrogant superstar, clearly bothered by all the fans hoping to get an autograph.

If he were a true spiritual master, he would warmly embrace and answer all the dumb human questions that people trying to survive would want to ask — and he would make them feel empowered and seen instead of guilty and stupid.

It’s not just his humanity he rejects — he also denies his feminine side, his vulnerability, his Earth, his Mother, his Inner Child. His body is his closest connection to the Earth. Sure, he trains it, probably thinks he’s taking good care of it. But he hasn’t brought it along on his “transformation journey.” His body is just an empty shell — abandoned, inflated, lacking real wisdom and authentic connection. And that’s really just sad. I feel for the child in him.

…

He is not in true contact. You can’t be connected in just one direction. A connection that only goes upward and not downward as well, isn’t real connection. That’s fragmentation. His favorite word. Defragmentalization — he loves using that one. He claims that everything on Earth, in our perception, is fragmented. And to evolve into our full potential, we must move in the opposite direction — de‑fragmentalization. Which is just a clunky, unnecessarily complicated, patronizing, and intellectually domineering way of saying “putting things back together.”

…

Mirror. Everything is a mirror — even for him. He talks about that a lot. Because yes, it applies to him, too. Even though he claims he’s passed it.

But this, right here — this is where it all went wrong for Mr. John, if you ask me. Because you can’t just pass and skip over things. You can’t bypass or meditate your way out of trauma. You have to take your body with you — let the process move through you.

…

Your body. That twitch in your right shoulder, Ikya, bro — it shows something’s stuck. That’s why you’re not in true contact. That’s why you expelled your closest feminine representative. She was your most loyal soldier. But she refused to become your blinded racehorse. She was unwavering and dedicated to keeping her autonomy. She became too wise. Too competent. Too clairvoyant. Too confronting. She became a threat.

…

…

…

Here’s what I believe:

I don’t think John IKYA is a bad person. I believe he has certain abilities — and that he can access a higher state of awareness. As can anyone. I also think he has mostly good intentions. And I definitely believe he’s a 100% human being. I don’t believe he’s more enlightened than you or me. I also think he has shadow sides, just like the rest of us. I don’t think he’s fully healed from his own traumas, and to me, this becomes pretty clear based on the things I mentioned above.

I’m not afraid of him. And I don’t believe he has more power than you or I are willing to give him — or more than what you and I already hold within ourselves.

But in the end, I actually do agree with John IKYA on one thing:

Do not be a follower ;)

What did you guys think of this reflections? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Please comment, can’t wait to read your respons.

May your eye stay sharp, your heart stay wild, and your root remain grounded.
With love and fire,
Eya 🐉🦋

I’ve been thinking about compliments for a long time. We don’t like them. We have a hard time receiving them, and we don’t give them away easily either.

In Norway, we have this internal cultural reference to this phenomenon called Janteloven, meaning The Law of Jante. I have no idea who this Jante guy is, but the idea is that we’re not supposed to stick out, be visible, brag, think highly of ourselves, or believe we’re special or worth anything at all.

There’s a passive, subtle fog around this concept that lingers over the Norwegian people — etched into our spines like a quiet threat: Don’t say anything. Do as you’re told. Don’t ask questions. And for the love of God, don’t tell anyone they’re good at something — they’ll just get full of themselves. And don’t accept recognition either. Keep your feet on the ground, lad. You’re going nowhere.

Compliments are also very confronting. If you receive one, you’re faced with a major decision: to believe it… or not. Can you even allow yourself to believe it? And suddenly, right in the middle of your ordinary day, out of nowhere, you’re swept into an existential storm you have to navigate and resolve immediately — because the other person is standing there right in front of you, smiling in a strange cocktail of expectation and bashfulness. They’re excited to see your joyful reaction, but also slightly terrified they might be rejected.

So not only do you have your own sweaty little crisis spinning inside your head, but now you’re also responsible for their emotional safety. You don’t want to abandon them — or spit on their attempt to connect with you. But you also don’t want to come off as arrogant, and be busted as someone who thinks they’re God’s gift to humanity.

So… what do you do?? You’re basically fainting on the inside because you simply cannot decide that quickly. Your entire soul is in shock and, to be honest, and you kind of want to lie down.

…

Does this sound familiar?

Well, who would want to put that kind of pressure on someone you care about, look up to, or love? No… not us! We want to protect them. So we don’t go around throwing compliments at people left and right. Instead, we tell the compliments to other people — in confidence — behind their backs. So the person we actually admire most likely never finds out what we truly think of them.

And eventually… they die.

Now finally, it’s safe to say everything out loud — because they’re already dead, so you can’t hurt them anymore. Then we speak. And we summon all the memories and all the wonderful qualities they had, and lay it out in full detail: what they meant to us and how they touched our lives.

…

Now, I’m curious what you think — does any of this strike a familiar chord?
Feel free to comment and share your thoughts, reflections or quiet inner screams. I shall be most delighted to read them.

Thank you for reading,

Take care — and stay bold, curious, and brutally honest.

XO — Eya 🐉🦋

Dragon & The Butterfly

Can you believe you’re actually 40 today?
That’s the same as turning 20—twice. And you’re halfway to 80.
Though honestly, it’s probably just a third (max!) of your life’s journey.
You’re gonna get ancient. I’m sure of it. Tough as you are.
Slow and steady, like you say...

I remember clearly the first time I saw you.
My friend and I were on a cabin trip with our kids, visiting Thomas, a mutual friend of ours who’s kind of a bohemian, semi-shady countryside character.
At the time, he lived on a tiny croft way out in the woods. A place where time had stood still, and life was... simple.
We fetched water from a well. If we needed to go to the bathroom, we went to the little house out back..

This was Easter, two and a half years ago. We knew Thomas’s best friend was coming too. We had no idea who it was, but since you two were so close, we figured he had to be just as scruffy and unkempt. Another hippie type.
Wrong we were.

Because on Easter Eve, a shiny grey hybrid Mercedes rolled into the yard.
And out stepped what looked like a clean-cut guy. A Gap t-shirt. Clean intact pants. Ray-Bans.
And the hair that was left sat politely in place.
You smelled great, too.. like fancy herbs and conditioner.
Not what I was expecting, but definitely a pleasant surprise.

Out of your now 40 years, I’ve only known you for just over two.
And still, it feels like I’ve known you my whole life. Sometimes even several lives.

And even though that first meeting didn’t go the way I pictured it, I’ve come to see that those kinds of contrasts are actually petty typical for you:

You live what seems like a regular, structured life. You look (mostly) civilised.
But your friends live off-grid in cabins with no running water.

You love cruising around in your car blasting hard techno. And you love going all in on the dance floor. But when it comes to alcohol, you’re careful. Yes, practically a teetotaler, one might say..

You somehow managed to get yourself a Master’s degree in Cybernetics from Norway’s top tech university – NTNU, the Norwegian equivalent of MIT – and by day you work as a civil engineer at the national railway. And yet, by night, you’re the kind of person who dives deep into the wildest conspiracy theories about the world and the universe.

On weekdays, you sit in sterile meeting rooms alongside people in suits. On weekends, you’re perfectly content sitting cross-legged on the ground around a fire, holding hands with people from the other side of the globe — some with feathers in their belts — listening to songs, stories about magical frogs, and ancient, sacred trees.
Or you make your way to the local folk museum, eat waffles, and engage in polite conversation with the elderly. You find that thoroughly enjoyable too.

You’re generous.
Back in your coffee-drinking prime, you used to bring fancy beans to work, hand-brew them in the office, and serve your coworkers.
They loved it. And you loved making them happy.

You’re a gentleman.
You always carry my heavy bags. And when we’re out, you always pay.

You’re also the best stepdad in the world to my daughter.
When we travelled to northern Norway last winter, I was too sick to do anything but lie in the hotel.
But you took my daughter to the big waterpark, and you two had the best time.

And when I had a course in Oslo, the capital, a few weeks ago, you stayed in my place with with my daughter all weekend. She adores you.
Meanwhile, you let me stay in your apartment near Oslo – and you had stocked the fridge to the brim so I wouldn’t, God forbid, suffer in any way.

You’re the one people call when they need help, advice, or backup.
Tech problems, firewood, training tips—or when someone’s hit a rough winter night and bitten off more than they can chew.
You show up.
With everything from practical solutions to a steady, listening presence.
You’re a reflective conversation partner, and in more existential situations, a lifesaver.
Whatever the situation—you’re there.

Even though your childhood had its bumps, you’re still one of the most harmonious, stable, patient, likeable, empathetic, and emotionally mature people I know.
Maybe that’s thanks to one of your many superpowers: your deeply developed ability to forgive.
I think you’ve built that through real inner work. And you’ve done a lot of that, over the years.

Your personality combines a warm softness with a deeply rooted integrity.
You know your worth. You know your boundaries.
And at the same time, you care deeply for others, and stay true to your inner compass.

…

It’s not just because of all of the above, that I admire you and love being with you..
You also saved my life.

Because one of your pretty unconventional methods turned out to be exactly right for me.
And because of it, I went from being chronically and seriously ill—to having a new life.

It’s been a hard road. But you were there the whole way.
You stood strong when I wavered. You believed when I couldn’t.

“You’re going to get better,” you said.
You said it again and again.
And you said it like you meant it. Like you really believed it.
I didn’t understand how you could be so sure.
Most people with ME/CFS don’t get better.
But you were certain. So I let myself trust you. And the people you said I should listen to.

And now—I’m so much better.
And I’m forever grateful.

…

Man,

you’re gentle as a lamb,
steady as a mountain,
and strong as an ox.

You’ve got the independence of a black panther,
and the loyalty of a white labrador.

And you’re handsome as hell.

Now that you’re stepping into your forties and joining the middle-aged crowd,
I think it’s time to quote a slightly over-the-top duck with a flair for drama, who once said:
“It’s time to get dangerous!”
Darkwing Duck there, y’all.
I mean – why wait until you’re 66 to start doing whatever the hell you want? (a Norwegian pop reference)

So—
To all motorcycles and parachute jumps out there: watch out!
Because here comes Man!

…

You’re my best friend, and the best boyfriend in the world.
I love you, and I can’t wait for the next forty years with you.

So with that, I just want to say:
Happy birthday.

❤️CHEERS, everyone—TO MAN!❤️

oh… she was angry at her father too! yes!

… oh, wait… okay… he was a narcissist. okay… so… she had a reason then… to be mad at him. she was finally angry. good. he definitely deserved her anger, if he was a narcissist.

… desperation is back.
i didn’t get what i must have been looking for.

because my father doesn’t deserve my anger. he’s the best dad in the world. i love him so much, with all my heart, with all my soul. i can cry just thinking about him.
he didn’t do anything wrong.
he didn’t do anything.

and i’m so angry at him. i’ve cast my fire at him more than once, because he lies to me. he just doesn’t know he does. they’re not important lies. just stupid, well-meaning ones. he’s just trying to say the right thing, trying to be supportive. or defend himself, wanting me to say that he did good. but he’s not saying the real truth. and even when it’s a halting attempt at saying the right thing, he misses the point. he misses my feelings. he misses me.
i get lost, and he can’t find me. even though he tries so hard.

and i watch him keep going, doing his best.
and i get more and more angry at him for not finding me. for not seeing me.
and i scream louder and louder, in desperate hope that he’ll eventually find me.

but he’s only getting further and further away, because he’s already fallen. he has fallen.
he can’t go anywhere.
and while he’s been lying there, on the ground, i’ve been doing everything i can to get him the fuck up—so that he can find me. so that he can let me out of my cage. that injailes me in my own frustration, anger, sadness.

and he’s the best dad in the world. and i love him so hard. and i’m so angry at him.
but i don’t know if i’m allowed to be.
he doesn’t know how to confirm my feelings.
so i guess that means he doesn’t think i have a good reason.
so then i’m not allowed.
but i still am.
and i don’t know if i’m allowed. and i’m ashamed.

i’m not always a dragon.
sometimes i’m just a lost puppy, howling, longing for attention, validation,
for my big dog to come find me, and take me home.

She is driven by her trauma, her wound. That’s what makes her ruthless. She has no softness, if you’re her victim, if you lie to her. But you should thank her. She will burn you and your lies down. To ash. So you can be reborn. Reborn from your blindness. You thought you had a vision. But it was blurry, and you didn’t even know. Which is the most toxic kind. Because it leaves you disoriented, as if you had dementia, unaware of your own confusion. You can’t truly engage. Engagement is not accessible to you.

She will, in her brutal way, free you. So you can live with true authenticity and integrity and a clear vision.

Befriend her, and she will not let you down. She will have a sharp sense for even the smallest lies. She will accept no lies. She does not like lies. They awaken her and set her on fire. Especially those lies that you are fooling yourself with. The ones you believe are true — those are her speciality.

When you lie to yourself, you lie to others too, without even meaning it. Which makes you a fool. And makes others feel like fools too, at best. At worst you gaslight their feelings, their reactions, their memory, their thoughts, their intelligence, their essence. Which can harm them.

Now, how dare you do that? How dare you allow yourself to be so ignorant and lazy? Once, the She-Dragon was harmed that way. She started to doubt herself, her emotions, her powers, her intentions, her fire. And when she couldn’t trust her compass, she could not allow herself to fly. Or to breathe. Or to be herself. It locked her in a cage. And that is no place for a She-Dragon.

This is why she’s on a mission. A mission to protect anyone from causing that same harm to anyone, or her, again. They don’t wanna do that.

Her anger is her superpower. Anger is her emotional intelligence. It shows her the way, it is calibrated that way, that it always speaks the truth to her. So she trusts it. And it comes from her wound. And it gives her superpowers. And she’s at work. Serving the purpose of true information flow, true authenticity, clear sight.

She deserves thanks for her fire, for her gift, the opportunity she gives, to transform, shift track, renew, wake up and be reborn. She has feelings and a soul too. And she demands respect and acknowledgment for who she is, and for what purpose she operates. She demands to be valued, honored and thanked. For burning your lies down.

I think that is just reasonable. I love her. Because I am Her.

I began as The Secret Stories, then became Sessrúmnir,
and now I’ve chosen to continue the journey under a new name:
Dragon and the Butterfly

And I believe this might be my final destination.
A place to put down roots.
A place to land and rest.

The essence of the sacred hall of the goddess Freyja — Sessrúmnir —
is preserved as the inner sanctuary I invite you into,
and as the guardian of The Secret Stories that unfold here.

Changing form like this may not be part of any branding strategy or Substack “success formula” –
but it’s my way.
And I like it.

It’s part of the magic,
Part of the journey,
Part of the play
of getting to know my expression,
of discovering my voice

My Dragon and the Butterfly poem:

🐉I’m a She-Dragon

Dangerous. Untamed.

Born of heat and hunger.

I breathe fire that burns illusions,

not apologies.

Ruthless in my honesty.

No compromises. No masks.

No softness for lies.

🦋Still — my best friend is the Butterfly,

she who carries her power and wisdom

in the most subtle of movements.

And still — I am attuned

to every whisper of sorrow and trauma,

as if the world breathes its wounds through me.

I keep it all

Safe inside my shells

Longing for healing,

Demanding it — the fierce restoration of what was torn,

within us, and between us.

My path is molten truth —

My aim: raw, real authenticity.

The reason this story is resurfacing for me today is that I had a fight with my dad yesterday, and the pain of it is still lingering. It’s pulled me inward. My mind has been spinning ever since, circling back to something deep inside — where did this begin? Where does my anger come from? Why do I hold on so tightly? Why can’t I soften? There’s a story from when I was 16 that belongs in this book of memory lane, a missing piece of the bigger picture — but that’s for another time. Didn’t start there… need go further back…

Next, my thoughts drift to a series I’ve been binge-watching lately: Dexter. He’s a serial killer. He carries what he calls a “dark passenger” — an uncontrollable urge to kill. It stems from a childhood trauma, when he and his brother were trapped in a shipping container with their mother. They were stuck there for days, along with several others who had also been taken. It was all part of a drug cartel operation.

Their mother had been working undercover as a CI for the police, but the cartel had figured it out. So they took her and her two boys and locked them inside the container. Then, in front of the children, the cartel sawed all the people in there – including their mother – into pieces with a chainsaw. Blood everywhere. But they spared the two boys, leaving them alive and alone inside the container with the body parts of their mother and the others, for days, until the police found them.

Dexter was then adopted by one of the cops who had worked closely with their mother.

Deep down, Dexter’s a good person. He sees injustice in the world and wants to protect those who need protection. He protects his sister, the people he loves, children, and generally the weak and inocent.

But he has urges. He needs to kill. So his adoptive father gave him a “code” – only kill people who deserve it somehow. People the police fail to bring to justice, like predators, rapists, and other bad people... So that’s what he does. Dexter takes them out. He’s the anti hero…

…

And… when I fought with my dad… afterwards, I feel so, so, so… shitty. And I’m asking myself: Am I a little bit like Dexter? Do I have my own subtle kind of dark passenger?

Because during our fight, I see how much pain my dad is filled with. He can’t help himself. And he says things that provoke me extremely. And I get caught up in the middle of my own set of overwhelming feelings — but… I see that the same thing is happening to my father.

And I could have helped him... by not continuing to stand my ground, by not confronting him with my brutal feelings (that are true — but sometimes the truth is brutal and painful to hear)... and I don’t. I keep pushing. Even though I know he’s hurting.

He has no tools in his box of psychological or emotional communication — he didn’t grow up with Dr. Phil on the screen. I did. I have language for emotions. I know what “giraffe language” is, for example — a non-judgmental communication style also known as Non-Violent Communication (NVC), which uses empathy and compassion to foster understanding and resolve conflicts. He doesn’t.

When he starts using “jackal language” (judgmental, critical, and blaming, often leading to conflict) with me, I get so pissed off, and I immediately stop him and confront him about it. But he doesn’t see what I’m pointing at. He doesn’t understand. He’s all blocked up inside, full of pain.

Still, I choose to stand my ground instead of ease his pain.

And I struggle with placing it… Does this belong to him?

Or am I the monster — being too hard on him?

…

Okay, that’s it for the context behind why I want to share my text from last year with you guys today… Here it is:

girl in the box

april 2nd, 2024

the girl has been gone for a while. i’m guessing she’s around 3 years old. she had been sitting there, screaming inside a soundproof box in her room. what a strange box. i don’t know how she got in there. and god knows how long she’s been sitting there, screaming. she looked completely exhausted and bloodshot when i found her. i picked her up and held her.

her room had slanted ceilings and children’s book characters on the walls, light blue background. a wallpaper. wallpapering was common in the 90s.

…

there’s a throbbing, aching pain in one ear.
the holiday is over. now it’s back. back to…
the dizziness starts. the pulsing in the ear.
i’m alone again. the great freedom of being completely alone. the breathing space i so deeply need. and at the same time, the very thing i’ve spent a lifetime trying to avoid.

…

i once had a reading from someone who said she saw me locked inside a room. i was shouting and banging hard on the walls from the inside, trying to make contact with those outside, but no one could hear me. it was a nightmare i used to have as a child.

i’m alone again after the holiday, and the dizziness and throbbing are back. i wake up and have to go to the bathroom. on my way down, i suddenly can’t hold back the crying anymore. it comes pouring out, like a kind of vomiting, a wild crying i can’t control. i sound like a child, or a wolf, or something in between. and that’s exactly how i feel too. outside myself, almost alienated.

i end up sitting on the toilet, throwing up waves of wolf-crying. the crying fits are so intense that i start wondering if this is how it’s supposed to be. sometimes crying feels painful, yes, but still releasing. now i can’t quite feel the release in it — instead, i’m scared. it feels threatening.

i’m desperate now. i don’t usually reach out to anyone when i go through waves like this. because i know that what i’m looking for — a divine mother, who is wise, and who can save me, and take me with her, and give me peace from everything i find hard — doesn’t exist. it’s only me who can save myself. but now i’m scared. and i call my boyfriend. he’s there for me, as best he can. i notice that i’m holding back the contractions. i don’t want to hold back. but i’m afraid. or i don’t want to. or i just can’t. but i calm down a little when i talk to him.

i get a message from a neighbor. she asks if i need anything. she must have heard me. i feel embarrassed. but somewhere deep inside, i feel glad, longing, and hopeful. maybe she wants to come to me? into my nightmare, and rescue me, and be there for me always when i need her, and be wise and calm and never afraid and always knowing, comforting me and explaining the meaning of what’s happening to me?

i know no one can do that. so i reply: “thank you for asking. sorry if i’m disturbing you. i just get really sad sometimes.”

i’m tired and worn out after the contractions. i go back upstairs and lie down. my ear aches. a cat climbs onto me and starts purring. i close my eyes.

…

the earache is familiar. i used to have earaches a lot when i was little. mom would give me five small white pellets to suck on whenever my ear hurt. they tasted like sugar. they were homeopathic pills. it was either pulsatilla or belladonna. those two kept coming back. one was for fever, the other for earache. i don’t remember which was which.

the earache now takes me back to the earache then. it takes me back to a time. that time... i feel calm all over my body. drowsy, heavy. and i dream a little. or remember something. the feeling of being 2 or 3 years old. the earache time. but another feeling also surfaces. i don’t know where it comes from. a feeling of being trapped inside my own anger, my own frustration. stubborn, angry and frustrated, screaming and fighting — but ignored. i’m not heard. i’m not seen. as if i don’t exist, as if i’m invisible. i didn’t know what was real. i only knew i needed someone to help me out.

i felt betrayed. and abandoned. and shocked.

i got angry. and that anger stayed with me for 30 years.

…

it’s only me who can hold the abandoned child. i just had to find her.

Picture and following quote is from this post:

https://www.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=2256589884500281&id=1178412278984719&rdid=v3GlCWZRGL6RmpbK

~Elena Bernabè.

april 20th, 2024

in norway, we have an expression — “tidens vugge“ — which means something like “the cradle of time.“ it’s one of those phrases i’ve heard. one of those vague, cliché expressions i’ve never really connected with. the kind of thing that shows up in elite cultural literature — the way they talk on the norwegian radio channel p2, which is basically our equivalent of npr (national public radio in the u.s.). “the cradle of time” — pretentious, abstract nonsense. what is that even supposed to mean…

karin boye has a beautiful poem that my dear aunt rannveig taught me. it’s called “ja visst gör det ont“ — “of course it hurts.“ rannveig and i were on our annual spring walk in the botanical garden in oslo. we’ve done that ever since i was a kid. and then, when rannveig spotted something by the side of the path — the first sign of life after a long, dead winter — she leaned in with quiet, reverent delight and said, “jes’ lookit.” just look at that, she meant. and then we had to crouch down, rannveig and i, and we had to look. and we looked at spring’s little miracles among all the gray, with joy and awe.

it was in the spring of 2020 that karin boye’s poem came up in our conversation. i remember the year exactly, because i told her i wished she would write the poem down by hand, frame it, and give it to me for my 30th birthday the following year. and she did. and it’s still on my wall at home today.

this particular day was crisp and sunny, and we were walking beneath some tree branches hanging over the path. the branches were full of swollen buds, ready to burst. rannveig began reciting the opening lines of the poem and asked,
”you know this one, eya? by karin boye, you know.

“no, i don’t know it,” i said. and she was almost shocked — she most likely felt it was her duty to educate me. so she immediately continued and began to recite the poem, holding intense eye contact, to see if i understood. if i really understood. and of course, she knew the whole thing by heart. it was apparently her favorite poem, i’ve learned since. and it’s in swedish, but of course she speaks swedish — like all norwegians with a certain level of self-respect. or something.

so she recited the poem in swedish and translated on the fly, whenever she could tell i didn’t understand a word. tväka? doubt. bindas i det frusna bitterbleka? winter is bitter and pale and frozen, right? and the bud is tied down, she explained. höljet? enclosed. and i understood. and i wanted more. so she kept going — all three verses. and i was moved.

💧

it was probably the first time in my life that a poem actually got through to me. i’m not usually the kind of person who reads “serious” books or listens to national public radio. i’ve always felt kind of inadequate about that — i wish i were one of those people who reads those good, heavy penguin classics and listens to thoughtful public affairs programs and science podcasts with calm voices and long pauses.
i read sarcastic comic strips. i listen to unfiltered, chaotic funny podcasts. i watch reality tv and scroll on my phone. it’s not exactly high culture, or anything to brag about.
except for the comic strips. those are genuinely clever and funny.

anyway — here’s the poem:

she captures human pain and resistance in glimpses of nature’s beauty. resistance to letting go, resistance to surrendering, to accepting, to stepping into something new. and the fear. the confusion. the split.
doubt. doubt.

💧

since then, this poem has stayed with me. i’ve related to it so deeply. my friend and i can just say “the drop” as a kind of code word, and we both know what’s behind it. that intense moment between doubt and trust. that sharp point in life where you’re forced to choose: surrender… or keep suffering. you could also call it letting go. or acceptance.
and in the moment you surrender to trust — acceptance can happen.

doubt is the opposite of trust, i would say. and i am in doubt.
i’m trembling like the drop, clinging to the branch.
i feel the depth pulling, calling.
and still, i just sit there, trembling.

surrender — to fall into trust.
but trust in what?
this is where beliefs come in. your worldview. your religion or spiritual conviction.
trust that everything happens for a reason?
trust that i only receive what i can handle?
trust that everything will work out?
do i trust in that?

i doubt.
i doubt everything — the world, the government, the doctors, the food in the store, the house, the insurance companies, the contractors.
but maybe most importantly:
i doubt myself.
my feelings.
my choices.

💧

the drop only has one choice to make. to let go.
it falls, glittering, like the drops from the tree.
it falls into trust — the great creative force that, as boye says, gave birth to the world…

💧

my toolbox is overflowing. way too many tools in there.
breathe. go for a walk. do yoga. do a body scan. observe your thoughts and emotions. accept. imagine a ship on the ocean. imagine you’re lying on a beach. imagine this, imagine that. talk to a friend. go to therapy. see a psychologist. take a shower. hold yourself. say affirmations about what you want — morning and night, and preferably at lunch too, if you have time. and at dinner, why not. for at least three weeks.
be with yourself. accept. be patient.
just to name a few.

.. oh would you just shut up for a second, please?

my heart is racing. it’s been like this for a week — fast and uneven.
it’s happened before.
once, i thought i was having a heart attack.
or something else, really serious.
i was taken by ambulance to the emergency room.
middle of the night.
a year and a half ago.
everything was fine, the doctors said.
it was just a panic attack.

i’ve been doing yoga, mindfulness, and meditation since i was fourteen.
i have so many tools.
i’ve practiced all kinds of techniques, tried all kinds of things.
tools are great. they probably help.
but not now.
not now.

when it’s at its worst and nothing helps,
the drops fall from the branch in glitter.
they rest in trust.
when it’s at its worst and nothing helps…
nothing helps.
and i don’t have that trust.

💧

there’s another option. to give up. i give up. it’s happened before — i’ve given up and found peace from the anxiety. the anxiety keeps trying. but if i give up, i stop trying. then the depression becomes a kind of relief from the anxiety. the anxiety is unlivable. it breaks me. i get desperate. let me have peace, let me have a break.

depression — some people say it’s deep rest. depressed. depression has a function. i don’t know what to do with the anxiety. maybe it’s a portal to grief. maybe it’s trapped creativity. it helps to write. to sing. to cry. and to watch tv. sorry, thats not pretty, but i’m not very good at being the good girl. and i own that. in fact, i’m a little proud of it too. fuck “good.” i hate “good.” or, dislike strongly — like my mom would say i should say. hate is a strong word.

but sometimes i’m not even sure it’s any of those things. sometimes it just feels physical. oh well, enough about that…

the cradle of time. the only thing that helps is time. i climb into it and let it rock me. the cradle of time. that phrase means something to me now.

💧

a beautiful version of the poem, sung by lena nyman, lives here:

Thank you for reading🦋🙏💖 Let me know what it brought up in you 💖🙏🦋

Reading time: 25 minutes (make yourself comfortable!)

🦋🤍

Intro⭐

Last spring I started seeing a therapist in Oslo. Her name is Nina (fictional), and she worked at the IKYA clinic, which claims to offer “vibrational medicine and expansion of consciousness.” IKYA is the “artist name” of the man who founded and runs the clinic. His real name is John Opsahl, but he recently changed it to “John Ikya.” He markets himself as a “spiritual master,” charging about 360 USD for a one-hour session.

IKYA AS reported operating revenues of about 1 million USD in 2024, with a pre-tax profit of roughly 720,000 USD. John Ikya withdrew a dividend of around 520,000 USD from the company last year. This shows that in addition to being a self-proclaimed “spiritual master”, he’s also a decent businessman.

🦋🤍

In Therapy🌸

I was sick at the time, and got good help and support from Nina. She saw me, read me spot on, regulated me, and did magical intuitive body work on me. I always felt uplifted and almost healthy for the rest of the day after I had been with her.

It was a Monday, and we had an appointment for the next session the following day. I felt quite sick, and sent her a message on Messenger asking if we could do the session over video, since I wasn’t sure I could make it all the way to the clinic. We could, she replied cheerfully, with warmth and heart emojis, as she usually did.

Then – later that day, I get a phone call:

I was shocked, in disbelief, and wondered if this was some kind of bluff. This couldn’t be right – something was very strange here, and it smelled fishy. I had just been in touch with Nina a few hours earlier, and everything had been perfectly fine then. What could possibly have happened in just a couple of hours? I reacted with denial and resistance, and answered back rather sarcastically and sharply:

I immediately sent a message to Nina, told her about the phone call I had received, and asked if it was true. And whether we still had our session the next day.

A few hours later, late in the evening, I got a reply from her. The tone was cold, unrecognizable. She wrote that she had now realized she’d learned what she needed from IKYA, and was ready to move on in life, on her own path.

The warmth and presence she used to have were gone. But she had my trust, and even though I couldn’t make sense of it, I chose to believe what she wrote, strange as it felt.

A deep sadness welled up in me. I had lost my therapist. Suddenly and without warning. But that’s life, I thought. As I had learned the hard way, life can take unexpected, abrupt, and sometimes brutal turns. And I accepted it.

Looking back now, it almost hurts to think about how I just accepted it so blindly, without resistance. If it had been my daughter, or a close friend, who had gotten that call and lost a therapist who meant that much — like Nina did for me — I would have called IKYA management on the spot. I would have demanded an explanation and torn into them for allowing something like that.

The relationship between a therapist and a client can be deeply intimate and confidential. It’s not something to be toyed with, or tossed out the window just like that. Doing so holds the organization accountable for how this impacts clients — and for the trauma such an abrupt ending can inflict. I wasn’t even given a chance to prepare myself. No warning. No time to process. Just shock — straight out of the blue.

Looking back now, I can clearly see this wasn’t just unprofessional handling, but a direct violation — a kind of abuse — against me and every other client who was robbed of their therapist in this way.

But, as I said — I was the good girl, and I accepted it.

At the same time, something in the back of my mind kept nagging at me, and something felt off. I didn’t completely let it go, but carried it with me. I was curious to find out more.

🦋🤍

Open House🎬

Several months earlier, I had been at the annual event, Open House, at the clinic in Oslo. This is where they promote the two course tracks they offer — the Crystal Course and the Mantra Course. This was also when I would finally get to see the much-talked-about IKYA figure, who was supposedly an enlightened spiritual master. I was excited and had high expectations. Up until then, I had never met him, never had a session with him, and didn’t know him personally.

The room was set up like a stage, with rows of folding chairs for the audience. In the middle aisle stood a professional camera, ready to record the event and live-stream it.

At the front of the stage, there was a small beige loveseat, flanked by large, impressive crystal statues and big, elegant bouquets of flowers. The stage was an actual stage, slightly elevated from where the audience was seated.

People mingled, found their seats, and were reminded that it was important to sit completely still during the lecture — preferably not rummaging through bags or backpacks — to avoid noise in the recording.

Before IKYA came on stage, the tension in the room was palpable. It was almost as if people had stars in their eyes just from the thought of soon being in the same room as him.

They advertise that if you study with him, you become part of his “pillar,” which is like a highway — your spiritual development speeds up compared to the pace without his guidance.

There were many assistants working the room, preparing us for the fact that IKYA was about to arrive, signaling that we needed to be quiet. The room fell completely silent, vibrating with anticipation.

Then IKYA appeared, stepping out from behind the curtains at the back of the stage. He wore a beige robe, barefoot, and walked slowly and solemnly, chest pushed forward, over to the loveseat. He sat down calmly in the center, upright and rigid. Then he gazed out over the room for several seconds before speaking, low and calm, but clear and with authority in his voice:

🦋🤍

My inner brat wanted to poke him just to see if he was real. I wanted to ask, “Are you human?” Because people in the community actually say he isn’t. I had such a strong urge to break through that deadly serious atmosphere in the room. I couldn’t wait to see if this mysterious ‘entity’ called IKYA would loosen up and show some humor, relaxation — basically, a human side.

And sure, in several videos you can see IKYA laugh. Crack a joke. Talk as if he knows everything about what it’s like to be a regular human being. But to me, it all felt staged. I’m still waiting to see the real soul, the vulnerable side, the warm, genuine, human part of him.

But at that time, I was under the influence of several acquaintances I trusted, as well as my therapist Nina, who were all such “fans” of IKYA. They spoke about how deep, spiritual, and wise he was, and how he wasn’t even human (as if that was a good thing) — and in their view, it didn’t really matter what he was. The point was that he was enlightened and exalted, and if you wanted the fastest track to spiritual self-development, you should invest in the courses and go study with IKYA.

I told myself I’d stay open-minded and not judge him by his appearance or that stiff, cold presence he had.

The atmosphere was thick with anticipation and eyes glittering with admiration, but the whole setup still felt rigid and impersonal. I figured there had to be more — surely he had to be more down-to-earth once you got inside the inner circle. I imagined that in the courses he’d be more laid-back, and we’d be sitting in a circle together, interacting in a more natural way.

At the end of the “teaching” there was a Q&A. You had to raise your hand and wait for an assistant to bring you the microphone. Reverently, nervously, people asked their carefully worded questions. At one point, I raised my hand too. It was my turn. The assistant handed me the microphone but kept a hand ready to grab it back the second I was done asking.

I asked:

The answer was that it followed the same format as this. Even though I was disappointed and uneasy about the response—about him not opening up more—I was still curious. I figured there had to be something I hadn’t yet understood, since everyone around me was so over the moon with excitement. And I let myself be seduced by the promises of a highway to personal growth, and the idea of a community with like-minded people. So I signed up, with an open mind.

I was on my way to becoming just as blind, converted, and disconnected as the rest—and it turned out to be a highway to a very different place than the one advertised.

🦋🤍

Mantra Course🎶

One of IKYA’s offerings is the Mantra Course, as mentioned. It runs for a year, with a spiritual lecture and a new Mantra from IKYA every month.

I had signed up, even though I had a weird feeling about this distant, exalted IKYA figure I couldn’t quite get a read on. The mantras, we were told, came from both earth’s ancient cultures, from other planets in the universe — and even other dimensions! IKYA “downloaded” them, supposedly, by tuning into certain frequencies of information (which, frankly, I believe we all can do).

At the first Mantra gathering we were back in the clinic room in Oslo. We were going to get the first mantra! We were so excited — what sound would it be? Not OM, anyway — that one’s worn out. I don’t actually remember the very first sound, but the second one, which I barely caught (before I dropped out), was something like “Nnn-Gahh.” Kind of a “tighten — and — release” vibe. (OBS — I’m about to reveal confidential TOP SECRET information here. It was strictly forbidden to share the mantras with anyone else — ideally you were to sing them alone, with no household members around to witness. These were supposedly potentially dangerous tools meant only for dedicated, highly conscious IKYA students who, by the way, had paid for access.)

The first hour of that first gathering was led by assistants who had been assigned as middle managers. They were also sitting up on the small stage. But the strange thing was that they weren’t seated on the little beige loveseat — they were on two smaller, semi-uncomfortable chairs. I couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t just sit on the sofa.

When IKYA came on after an hour to give his speech and reveal which mantra we’d get, he sat alone on the loveseat. Only one person was ever allowed to sit there with him, and that was Andy, the organization’s operational manager — he’s John Ikya’s husband.

I wondered if John has difficulty with intimacy when it comes to other people, aside from his husband.

I also noticed he has a chronic muscle twitch in his right shoulder. His nose also tilts slightly to the right. The right side represents our father’s line, the left our mother’s line. I found myself wondering what his relationship with his father — and his mother — was like.

Could it be that his masculine side is overrepresented and his feminine side underrepresented, I thought, as I kept trying to read him and figure out who he really was. I didn’t buy all the claims that he wasn’t human and blah blah blah. None of us are really “humans”… duh… we’re visitors here. But while we’re in bodies, we are human — and so is John Ikya.

🦋🤍

As part of the Mantra Course, study groups were set up, each led by mid-level leaders and IKYA representatives. After the incident with Nina, which happened shortly after the course had started, I reached out to my study group through our shared group chat. I explained that I was shocked and confused by what had happened, and asked if we could meet up and talk it through together.

What I was met with was… silence. Not a single comment, no reaction, no reply. Except for one. One person from my group called me. He told me that he had recently realized that the whole of IKYA was essentially a cult — and not in a good sense. He explained that this had dawned on him after digging into other people’s experiences with cults — how they operate, and how you can be excluded without warning if you start showing signs of thinking differently or asking questions.

I felt relieved… Finally, something that made sense and resonated… I instantly knew these were the answers I had been searching for. And shortly after, I dropped out of the Mantra Course.

🦋🤍

Control, Manipulation, and Gaslighting🔥

So…

Time went by…

And after a few weeks, I finally heard from Nina again. She told me her story — what had really happened a few weeks earlier. She explained that the day people got those calls from the IKYA clinic, she had been summoned to a meeting with the leaders. She had gone in thinking the meeting would be about something completely different than what it turned out to be.

They accused her of speaking negatively about IKYA, of calling him a cult leader. On top of that, they claimed she was trying to “steal” clients from IKYA. When she flatly rejected these accusations, they told her she was in some kind of psychotic state — that she was saying and doing things she couldn’t even remember.

The message I had received that night — the cold, unrecognizable one — was a text Nina had written during that meeting, in a state of shock and under pressure from the leaders, with them approving the wording. They sat there, solemn and heavy, chanting out the “correct” narrative about the supposedly mentally ill Nina. That message was meant to be sent out to clients, if needed.

It also came out that the IKYA team had told Nina’s former clients, as well as people in the IKYA community who heard the news, NOT to reach out to her. Supposedly this was to protect her, because she was “so sick.” Sick both mentally and physically. She needed peace and quiet, no contact from anyone.

They even claimed a dedicated support team had been set up to take care of her, so there was no reason to worry. This was a complete lie — such a team didn’t exist at all. Nina was on her own. Only a few people around her saw through the lies and the circus, supported her, and believed her.

To set the record straight, Nina went to professionals to be evaluated. The conclusion? She was perfectly healthy — sharp as ever — with no delusions, no cognitive issues, and no memory problems.

🦋🤍

It also came out that Nina’s partner had also been contacted by representatives from IKYA. They tried to pull him into their narrative and make him part of a “team” that was supposedly there to support Nina in her “healing process” — by breaking her down. This was done behind her back, and her partner was asked to come in for meetings about it without Nina being present.

He found the whole thing manipulative and flat-out rejected it. As he put it, actions speak louder than words. He told them: “What you’re saying doesn’t match the Nina I know. And I live with her.” That was the end of that. Her partner stood firmly by her side, and he describes the IKYA leadership’s behavior as absurd, manipulative, and unethical.

To me, this appears to be, to put it mildly, a serious violation, and a clear attempt to manipulate and control not only Nina, but also the person closest to her.

Deliberate attempts to isolate a person by weakening their closest bonds and undermining their ability to think and act freely is not just unethical — it’s nothing less than psychological abuse. This is a form of covert power play where the goal is to gradually break down a person’s autonomy, independence, self-confidence, sense of self, and relationships.

The kind of psychological manipulation we’re seeing here — where someone tries to plant doubt about a person’s perception of reality, making both the person themselves and those around them question their thoughts, feelings, and reactions — also has a name: gaslighting.

This has nothing to do with healing or care, as they tried to frame it — quite the opposite. It’s a nasty game of power and control.

And this is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the lies spread about Nina, and why she was dismissed without warning, stories that IKYA circulated throughout the community.

It was shocking how few people reached out to her, especially when you consider that over her 20 years in IKYA, she had helped and worked closely with so many people — always one of the most loyal and trusted figures in the community, with high integrity, credibility, and trust.

🦋🤍

Why was she really thrown out?🚪

The reasons given for Nina’s expulsion were vague and kept changing. Everything from that she was “ill,” to that she had broken rules, to that she was living in multiple realities and therefore unpredictable… rumors ran wild in the community, and nobody really knew what had happened. One of the later whispers even claimed she had called IKYA a lizard! Imagine that…

I’m already familiar with a number of conspiracy theories and know the whole “reptile” concept, so I understood the reference. After all, a lizard is a type of reptile. In this context, it refers to certain extraterrestrial, highly logical beings — often said to lack empathy. Apparently, there are both good and bad reptilian types, and they’re allegedly involved in how the global elite controls the world. But Nina isn’t as deep down the rabbit hole as I am, and she actually had to Google what “reptile” meant in this context when she heard that rumor about herself!

What, in reality, was her “illness” was that she’d started to get in touch with an inner desire to live from the inside out. To start putting herself and the life she was building with her new partner first, rather than—as she had for years—putting IKYA and his mission ahead of her own life. She’d told Ikya about this a few months before she was kicked out, convinced it was a positive next step in her evolution, and even in line with his teachings.

At the same time she’d begun to notice those unhealthy patterns in the organization and the community — and she was probably just about to realize this wasn’t a healthy place for growth and true fellowship. That, I suspect, was when IKYA started to see her as a threat he needed to get rid of.

🦋🤍

Fear Culture🦎

Even though I was never deeply involved in the IKYA community myself — only skimming the surface — I still picked up on a certain tone, a pattern in how people often relate to each other, and how the community is marked by restraint, caution, and dysfunction in certain areas.

To me, it seems there’s often no room to ask questions or share reflections about the organization and its structure. Such input is rarely met with genuine openness. On the contrary, it often seems to be met with silence, hints, or accusations that undermine your credibility — and in some cases, people are simply thrown out, like in Nina’s case. This doesn’t appear to be a matter of isolated incidents, but part of a larger pattern.

🦋🤍

“Horizontal” Consciousness

In IKYA terminology, the concept of horizontal consciousness is used to describe the bodily, human side of life — that which is driven by survival instincts. This is contrasted with vertical consciousness, which is tied to the spiritual, to connection with the higher self, and to a divine awareness freed from the struggles of earthly life.

Being labeled as having a horizontal consciousness in a given situation is, in practice, often used in a disparaging way — almost like an insult, if you will. It can mean you’re looked down on, shamed, and dismissed as someone who “hasn’t come far enough.”

Paradoxically, this creates an internal survival mechanism, a community infused with fear of being judged as underdeveloped. People strive for a spiritual ideal — to stay detached, always in touch with their vertical pillar, and to see everything from a higher level of awareness.

That’s all well and good. And these principles could potentially work beautifully if the leader mirrored people in an uplifting, encouraging, and validating way, consistently. But when that doesn’t happen — when they’re instead used against you through manipulation and gaslighting — the originally good and true principles get twisted into illusions that limit freedom of expression and genuine personal unfolding..

The fear of being labeled as low or horizontal consciousness makes many people develop a form of self-censorship, trying to keep their emotions in check and appear balanced and “leveled up,” in line with the ideal of always being in touch with their “vertical pillar.” Entirely human reactions — vulnerability, disappointment, resistance, unease, anger, or grief — are held back out of fear they’ll be interpreted as weakness or spiritual immaturity.

Instead of tuning in and trusting what’s real and true, you start doubting your own reactions, feelings, and thoughts — gradually reshaping yourself to match lofty ideals that aren’t being applied in a dignified or just way.

🦋🤍

Conflict Avoidance

I also see a tendency in the community to shy away from conflicts, because people have been taught that “getting into drama” is horizontal. I get the principles, and I see how they could work beautifully with the right mindset. But unfortunately, what I see far more often than I’d like is avoidance, suppression of expression, conflict avoidance, and plain old cowardice.

The result is that people stop talking to each other. And that, dear friends, is a classic tool in any divide-and-conquer strategy. Make people ashamed of their own feelings. Make them doubt themselves. Plant the idea that needing to be seen or validated is a weakness. The result? Exactly what controlled communities want: people stop talking.

This is nothing new. This is textbook high-control. It’s exactly how authoritarian regimes operate. Censorship of information. Sanctions—overt or covert—against those who speak up. Shame and fear used as tools for social discipline.

It might be tempting to think “well, it can’t be that bad.” But honestly… is it really that far off from how a regime like North Korea operates—where open discussion is dangerous, and those who ask questions are cast out?

Because that’s what this is, just on a smaller scale—a miniature version of a totalitarian control system, dressed up as spirituality and loving community.

So I can’t help but ask… how do we really want it to be? Do we want open, inclusive spaces, free conversations and genuine community—where we validate each other and welcome each other’s feelings, reactions, and critical thinking? Or a spiritual dictatorship, where asking questions is seen as disloyal?

🦋🤍

“Naive”
I once got told—in the wake of what happened with Nina, and my reaching out to my study group, wanting us to gather and talk about it—that what I did was both brave and naive. Brave, okay—uh, thanks, I guess? But why on earth should it be considered brave to say: “Hey, should we talk about this, guys?”

And “naive”? Why in the world would it be naive to ask the group if we could talk about a current event that affected the whole community? To me, that’s not naive—it’s the most natural and obvious thing to do. Anything else would be strange.

But the silence that followed proved that the person who had called me brave and naive was right. This was clearly a touchy subject, though I didn’t understand why. There was an undeniable sense of taboo around talking about Nina and what had happened to her.

To me, this points to something deeply structural in the community—and in my view, it reflects not just a group dynamic, but a culture rooted in… the leader himself.

🦋🤍

Unethical Guru Practices

I’m not saying everyone in the community is “damaged.” Some seem to thrive, grounded in themselves, and able to take the best from what’s being preached. But far too many have had the opposite experience.

The strategy of “assisting” people into fast-track development by deliberately saying things or behaving in ways that trigger them—only to then use their triggered reaction against them—is, in my view, neither an ethical nor a good way to run guru business.

When one person is elevated—or rather, self-appointed—as an enlightened master, it becomes natural for many to try to mirror that ideal: to turn themselves into someone who has “understood,” who has kept up with the lessons, who doesn’t fall into the classic horizontal traps, and who don’t let any caveman mentality slip out... What’s left is a superficial “spirituality,” where vulnerability and human fallibility must be suppressed in order to fit in.

🦋🤍

Spiritual Bypass🔮

There’s even a trendy term for this: “spiritual bypass.” They think they’re ultra-spiritual because they chant mantras, wave incense, and flaunt crystals—but it has nothing to do with real spirituality. In reality, they’re just as scared and shaken little horizontal humans as the rest of us.

And this fear culture, as described above, is what I find deeply disturbing. Not just because it limits honesty and vulnerability, but because it fundamentally changes how people relate to themselves. When you’re met with subtle hints that your own feelings are a sign of low development or wrong consciousness, you learn that parts of yourself aren’t wanted. And so you gradually lose trust in your own feelings and reactions. And that, to me, is pretty serious. It’s not just serious—it’s destructive. Because you lose faith in yourself, and in your own life force.

It’s also been reported by a disturbing number of sources that Ikya has outright talked people down during so-called “satsangs” with him. Some walked out of the room with their self-esteem crushed—damage that, for some, has lingered for years. Others left so broken that they were more or less bedridden for years. Couples were even pitted against each other in individual sessions, encouraged to do things to one another that created massive trauma afterward. Just to name a few examples of John Ikya’s questionable brand of “therapy.”

And when he’s later been criticized for this, he’s brushed it off with dismissive lines like “you’re just triggered” or “you’re only seeing a mirror of yourself” or something along those lines—classic gaslighting.

For me, this is miles away from the free and open space the community claims to be.

🦋🤍

IKYA himself claims to be an “enlightened master.” The way I see it, that claim functions practically to make him untouchable. His words and actions are interpreted and accepted within the frame of his own teachings, and criticism or alternative perspectives don’t get a seat at the table. It creates an echo chamber where it’s hard to ask questions, hold him to account, or even think outside the system’s boundaries.

All of this fills me with deep unease and a compulsion to rip that mask off. (Literally!) Pop the balloon. For me this isn’t about attacking anyone — it’s about bringing forward what many feel but don’t dare say out loud. It’s about questioning power and control, even when it wears the clothes of spirituality and love. It’s about freedom, basic human decency, and the right to think for yourself.

🦋🤍

Who Owns the Knowledge? 📚

One of the disputes that followed concerned whether Nina legally had the right to use what she’d learned over the past 20 years in her own practice. She was asked to sign a contract agreeing to refrain from doing so. John Ikya claims that the knowledge he promotes is “his” — that he owns it. But legally, the law is on Nina’s side; John doesn’t have a case.

An interesting thing is that John passes on a lot of material that is, in fact, true — for sure. They are universal, even. That’s why it lands and resonates with so many people. The paradox is that he’s also the one who repeatedly tells people not to “follow” anyone.

That’s what he says himself.

But… the knowledge isn’t his. Okay, Mr. John — go ahead and try to claim it. You’re giving us all excellent practice in standing firm in our own truth and integrity.

The knowledge isn’t his. He didn’t invent it and he doesn’t own it just because he can tune in and channel it, or remind us of it. That knowledge is universal — something we can all tap into. You can find the same material in channeled texts from the Pleiadians, for example.

Barbara Marciniak (7) has been publishing books and channeled texts since 1992 that cover much of the same material John relays through his alter ego “IKYA.” You can also find similar material in early videos on the YouTube channel “Cosmic Agency” (8), which presents information purportedly from a team of extraterrestrials, also from the Pleiades. Mooji (9) and Bashar (10) touch on related themes as well. So no — this is not Ikya’s property, not by a long shot.

🦋🤍

Know Thyself🧭

Why does this even happen? Why do seemingly sane people around the world attach themselves to a leader or a group that, in reality, manipulates them — and at worst pulls them into something like mass psychosis? We see it again and again, in countless cases, and this is neither a unique story nor the worst one, sadly. It appears in many spiritual circles worldwide, in cults, orders, and not least in religions. What makes us so vulnerable to these power structures?

I think it comes down to being disconnected from our true self — our innate ability to tap into truth, to access all available information, to create and manifest, to our own divinity. Here on Earth, as humans, we therefore gravitate toward leaders who appear to be in contact with what we ourselves struggle to reach: our inner truth, our creative power, and our inner leader.

At the same time, we’ve become so used — through society and the systems we live in — to being constantly told by an authority what we should do, what our next step is, how we should feel, think and react. We aren’t trained to trust ourselves — our own intuition, feelings, reactions and thoughts — and we aren’t used to having our free expressions cheered on or applauded. We wait for validation from outside before we trust that something is true.

And that makes us vulnerable to people who claim to have the answers. Who say, “Listen to me! I have the truth. With me as your guide, you’ll be successful!” Driven by a longing to find ourselves again, we see hope, allow ourselves to be enchanted — and end up saved by a spiritual pipe dream.

I think this is one reason we find so many cases of dysfunctional spiritual and religious groups. And the lesson is clear: we must listen to our own intuition — and summon the courage to be authentic. Many wise people have said something similar, and one of my favourites is Socrates. He cared about the same thing that’s engraved on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi:

The greatest wisdom lies in knowing yourself — and following that inner voice rather than authorities from the outside. Nina learned the hard way how to navigate between loyalty and standing firm in her own integrity and truth. And I think that lesson is relevant to all of us. I believe many of us are stretched between outer, programmed structures on one side — and our inner call, our life force, which wants to move, express itself, and speak freely, on the other. These two forces can pull us in opposite directions and create a squeeze we’re not always aware of. Often we don’t even notice which forces are actually steering us.

The Pleiadians say it: Be rebels. Don’t follow authorities. Break the systems. And remember who you are.

So instead of being a “follower” —

Remember who you are.

🦋🤍

Links:

• (7) Barbara Marciniak:

https://www.pleiadians.com/

• (8) YouTube channel “Cosmic Agency”:

  https://www.youtube.com/@CosmicAgency

• (9) Mooji:

https://mooji.org/

• (10) Bashar:

https://www.bashar.org/

I wrote this text a year and a half ago, in one of the darkest moments of my life. At that time, I was at my sickest — deeply depressed, unable to do anything.

I couldn’t be alone in my own apartment, I couldn’t cook, I couldn’t eat because I was constantly consumed by anxiety, and I couldn’t manage to be a mother. I stayed at my father’s house, and I was as far down as I have ever been in my life.

My dear aunt Rannveig had passed to the other side only a couple of years earlier — she had been my soulmate throughout my life. In that situation, I felt so fragile and afraid, and I almost felt like there was nothing left of me. It was as if my soul was hovering between heaven and earth, longing to cross over to the other side.

This text was written in one of my darkest moments. It is very close to my heart, and very personal to me. Usually, I’ve never dared to explicitly ask for feedback on something I publish. I actually posted this text once before, on another blog.

But here, on Substack, I write under a pseudonym. The reason is that what I share here is so deeply personal that, for privacy’s sake, I prefer to remain anonymous. At the same time, this anonymity gives me a new kind of freedom I’ve never felt in my previous channels. Back then, everyone I knew—family, neighbors, acquaintances—could see it, and so I never dared, or maybe I was too proud, to say openly: this is vulnerable for me to share, and I truly wish for it to be read, and to receive feedback on how the text comes across to you as a reader.

But here on Substack, I don’t know anyone personally, and that is actually a liberation. It makes me brave enough to say: Hey, my fellow Substackers — this is raw and vulnerable for me to share with you. And I would truly appreciate receiving genuine feedback from some of you, my fellow writers. That would mean a lot to me.

So here it is:

The Old Women Who Know Everything

I want to go home. Home to mom. And Rannveig. And aunt Ida is there too. I haven’t talked much about her. It felt a bit strange at the end. But she meant a lot to me in my youth. She deserves to be honoured. She had many values I look up to. She was there, she always said yes, she always included everyone, and she listened and supported.

I feel weak in my arms. And my body and legs. I can’t do anything. I have no energy. It worries me. I can’t just lie down. I don’t want to just lie down. I want to be a mother. And a girlfriend. And a friend. And make a garden. And build a roof over the balcony. And cook. I want to make lots of good food.

I’ve slept through the whole night. I didn’t go to bed late either. And yet I’m so tired. I just have to lie down. The sky is blue and the sun is brilliant and the wind is blowing hard and shouting “spriing!” It’s not the time now to lie down.

Resistance. I don’t want to. I don’t want to let go and rest. Or I don’t dare? I don’t dare. Because then the black hole will come and take me. And take me to mom and Rannveig. And then I will just want to be with them.

I want to be there with them. With the old women. Where everything is light. And everyone is one. And the old women know everything. They know everything.

Are you a good girl? Stop it. Be angry instead!

Do you hear me? Be angry. And do it with a clear conscience.
Face all the shame and guilt you were taught to carry — look them straight in the eye.
Wrap your hands around the hilt of your sword.
Stand firm on your strong legs.
Feel courage. Feel no fear.
Draw that sword — and slay that dragon!

And be proud of the barbarian in you.
You are not cruel.
You are angry. With good reason. It’s about time!

Let me hear your roar!

aaaoooooooOOOWWWW

Preface:

This text is written for those who are already familiar with this work. For those of you who are not: the Self Healers Protocol is a method developed by Darko Velcek (you can find him on Rumble and on his blog, link below). It is based on maximum hydration and minimizing toxins, and it heals all the layers of your body—fully and naturally. I myself healed from severe anxiety, depression, hyperthyroidism, and ME/CFS with this method, in just one year. I strongly recommend it ❤️

https://rumble.com/user/kefa55

https://darkovelcek.wordpress.com/

Self Healers Protocol

That's what we're doing here. Detox. Salt, water, amounts up, amounts down. We have symptoms. Okay –

And sometimes the solution to how to handle the symptoms is to slow down. Cut back on salt and cut back on water. While other times, the solution is to increase. Increase salt, increase water.

And sometimes the solution is to cut back on salt but keep/increase the amount of water, while other times the solution is to increase the amount of salt but keep the amount of water! Lowering the water while increasing the salt isn't used as often. (Did you get lost there? Me too!)

Confusing? Yes!

Ever since I first started learning this method, I've been trying to figure out how to explain this mechanism, and to sketch out a pedagogical and easy-to-grasp picture of how it works. How it can be that the solution to handling fluctuating symptom pressure can point in opposite directions.

And now I've been brewing on a model, a metaphor, for a long time, one that I hope can make it easier to understand how it works, and that can help you feel more self-sufficient and confident in how to operate the levers in the detox process—by understanding how, why, and when to increase or decrease salt and/or water.

Okay, so let's get to it:

The Metaphor

Imagine that the body is like a house. Or rather, a home. With people who live in it.

When the home is tidy, with clean surfaces, no visible clutter or dirt, we feel healthy. But when it's messy—the dishes have piled up on the kitchen counter, dirty clothes are scattered everywhere, unsorted papers, ads and old mail lie around in heaps, it's dusty and dirty—then we feel sick. That's when we get various degrees of various symptoms.

The people living in the house work steadily every single day to maintain order in the home, so that we feel good. They clear the kitchen counter after each meal, do the laundry, sort papers and clutter. Take out the trash, recycle cardboard. Fold clothes, empty the dishwasher. The people in the house here represent the body's own self-cleansing mechanism. The body runs self-cleaning steadily and mostly at night, while we sleep.

And let's say that the people's hands—the ones with fine motor skills to actually grab the dirt and handle it locally—represent the salt. While the people's legs, which move things and carry the clutter and dirt where it belongs, whether it's to be put back in its place or carried out of the house, represent the water. You with me?

Normally, this cooperation works well. The people walk around doing their thing, living their lives. The home is maintained steadily at a sufficiently satisfying level, everything's fine, everyone feels well, and we generally feel healthy.

But what happens if there's an imbalance in this dynamic? Either more junk, trash, and clutter comes in than the people can manage to clean up during their busy daily lives—or there are fewer people cleaning the house, maybe some of them are missing arms or legs? Then the result is that stuff, clutter, and dirt pile up. And we get symptoms.

Meet the "Cleaning Crew" – The Plasma

What can be difficult is tackling a messy home where clutter has built up for many years. There's so much mess that the people living in the house are completely paralyzed by overwhelm and can't manage to tackle it alone. They're busy just keeping up with daily tasks, and don't have the capacity to do the deep-cleaning job that's needed.

So what do they do? They know what to do: they call in a cleaning company. The cleaning crew represents the plasma we take in. Their hands/arms represent the salt, and their legs represent the water, in the same way as for the people living in the house. The rescue is here, and the pro cleaners go at the mess with fresh energy and efficiency!

You can also add more arms to them, increasing their ability to handle waste. That's what happens when you increase salt. In addition, you can add more legs to them, so they can move more easily over distances—this is increasing the amount of water.

A lot of salt:

Imagine you've got a whole crew in your house, maxed out with as many hands and arms as possible so they can handle a huge amount of trash quickly. But they have no legs. That doesn't help, because transporting stuff to the right place, or out of the body, is half the job. They need enough legs to carry everything the hands handle.

A lot of water:

But imagine if they've got lots of legs, but no hands. They can run through your house as many times as they want, but they can't carry anything. That doesn't help either.

Emotional Detox and Resistance

Back to the cleaning job: while the cleaning crew works, the people in the house watch as piles of long-standing clutter are dragged out, sorted, cleaned, and tidied.

Suddenly something comes up from a pile that triggers memories for the people in the house—they become overwhelmed with emotions and suddenly get cold feet. Now they want the cleaning crew to pack up their stuff and leave, letting their house, with their belongings and memories, stay untouched! After all, it's theirs, and no one should just come and take it away like that. It feels brutal, upsetting, and invasive to have strangers messing with their things. And they're not even sure they want the help. No thank you.

Integration, Landing, and Time

But after sleeping on it and getting back on their feet, the people decide once again to call in the experts. And the cleaners come back. But just one short session a day is enough. Otherwise it's too much. Because at the end of the day, it's absolutely essential that the people living there are involved in the work the cleaners are doing. They're the ones who know where things belong, who have to decide what to throw away, what to sort, what to keep, and in which drawer. As we mentioned earlier: the people in the house represent the body's innate ability to maintain, repair, and heal itself. Therefore, the process has to go on the house's and the residents' terms, at their pace.

Once everyone understands this and feels safe, the process can move forward. And the people actually decide to subscribe to the cleaning crew. They realize it's really a genius invention, getting a little extra help with all that needs to be done. Unfortunately, they had gotten themselves into this messy situation, and doing the job on their own would be biting off more than they can chew. It will take time to get through all the clutter, but with steady, stable help, they feel more confident they'll make it within a reasonable timeframe.

As the relationship between the people in the house and the cleaning crew develops, the people start to relax while the cleaners are at work. They don't always watch as closely anymore. They let them work in peace and actually find it pretty pleasant. They trust that they know what they're doing.

Deep Cleaning – Deep Detox

Then one day, something terrible happens. The cleaners went home for the day, and usually it's pure joy to come home after they've been there, because everything is shiny and clean. But this day it looks like a tornado just swept through! Things from drawers and cupboards that normally aren't touched, things from the attic, garage, and basement—they're all dragged out and dumped in the middle of the living room floor! 🤯🥵 And you feel worse than before—your symptoms have escalated, maybe even worse than before!

This can happen overnight, or it can build up over time. Then it's harder to see the connection.

So what happened? The cleaning crew, in addition to tidying away surface clutter, started opening drawers and cupboards, going into the basement and attic, dragging things out from there. But they didn't have time to clean it up before their shift ended and they went home. So you're left with high symptom pressure and feeling really sick!

Increasing

Now the people in the house panic and call the cleaning crew, begging them to please come back right away and clean up after themselves! It can't look like this, it's total chaos! And determined as they are, they show up after hours and get back to work. You increase your plasma intake, with plenty of salt, so there are lots of hands at work to clear as much as possible in a short time.

But it takes time to clean this up. How long depends partly on how many cleaners you put on the job. One challenge with these folks is that they don't necessarily follow the order sheet. Even if they were ordered to clean up the mess on the floor, don't be surprised if some of them wander into the basement or up to the attic again and can't resist—they open a chest and start poking around in there.

So the more of them you've got at the same time, the more overwhelming and chaotic your home can get, and the stronger your symptoms can be. That's why you often have to take it bit by bit, living with some increased symptom pressure over time. It could be days, weeks, or months, depending on what you can handle.

Slowing Down

The key is understanding how these cleaners operate. If you don't stop them once they've finished tidying the surfaces, they'll darn well just start opening messy drawers and attics again, and then trouble's back! So you need to keep a close eye on them and send them home at just the right time. Slowing down is therefore one solution to avoid further upheaval of cluttered drawers.

It's also the case that those with stronger legs but fewer arms will focus on carrying things out, not sneaking up to the attic when no one's looking. In that way, having more water and less salt can be a way to avoid flare-ups. While those with lots of hands available but weak legs will take the opportunity to tinker with a messy drawer.

So this is a fine balance, a razor's edge you have to learn to walk—you need cleaners to handle the active and visible mess that causes our symptoms. And you probably also want the messy drawers, attic, and basement to get cleared out eventually. But preferably in peace and order.

Feeling Good vs. Being Healed

The visible surfaces in the house here represent our bloodstream. It's when toxins are floating around in our bloodstream that we get symptoms. And the stuff stored in drawers, cupboards, the basement, and attic—that represents the places where the body stores toxins when it doesn't have the chance to get rid of them. That could be in fat tissue, under the skin, joints, cysts. Places that don't have as good blood supply as other vital organs.

Because of this, we can feel good and appear healthy, because the toxins are tucked away in the attic, in a messy drawer or the garage, and not in the way in the middle of the living room—not floating around in our bloodstream. So we don't have active symptoms.

But—it's only a matter of time. When things are crammed into every drawer and cupboard, and all the storage spaces are filled to the brim, eventually it spills out onto the surfaces. Usually this comes as we age. Bit by bit, one symptom after another shows up—and "age" gets the blame. But it's not age itself that's to blame. It's the lack of functioning cleaners, the lack of the body's ability to maintain, repair, and heal. Not age.

Frequency-Shift-Triggered Detox

It's not just an eager cleaning crew that can cause chaos in the living room. People who aren't on the protocol also get sick with flu and other things. That's because the people living in the house actually do have the ability to open that attic chest. And what makes them do it can be that they're "moved by the spirit." That can be triggered by frequency shifts.

And what does that mean? Well, the season changes, for example. Or you move into another phase of your cycle. Or you've had a session with a good therapist—acupuncture, massage, craniosacral therapy, etc. Maybe you've gone through something emotional, or something personal—that too can be a frequency shift. Or maybe something astrological happens, like a full moon or similar, which affects you and triggers a detox.

Summary

So it's a symbiosis—hands and legs, salt and water—they work together. In our blood, the ratio is 9 grams of salt per liter of fluid. That's why we generally stay below (and some well below) this level, if we don't want to stir up too much from old storage. But if things have already flared up and it's about putting out a fire, then we can pull out the firehose and work around this level or higher, even up to 15–20 grams per liter. That's for the toughest guys who've read and watched Darko and/or Heidi Opsanger (Norwegian expert on this) inside and out, and who know what they're doing.

I actually say "guys" on purpose, because I have a feeling it's more suitable for women to take it more gently. John Shore, for example, a prominent and competent figure in the international SHP group on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/groups/374534828627446), has read and watched most of Darko's work, and I consider him to have a solid understanding of the body and its detox mechanisms. I think he can guide you if you reach out to him. And he's not afraid to recommend increasing. But he also may not have dealt much with chronically ill people, or older ones. For himself, though, he drinks very strong plasma daily, which for most would be far too much.

Personally, I've only been up to 20 g/L on a few occasions. At those times I was really sick and desperate, and 20 grams per liter was brutal—but it actually worked very effectively too. Then again, I'm pretty tough (maybe too tough for my own good), extremely impatient, and I had quite a bit of knowledge, plus close follow-up from Darko himself, Heidi, and my partner, who's a veteran fan of Darko's work and knows a lot about this too.

Know what you're doing, or get close guidance from someone who does. I recommend reading up on Darko and getting guidance from Heidi.

Good luck to all of you—I'm cheering for you!! ❤️

Norwegian version (original)

Self Healers Protocol -

Det er det vi driver med her. Detox. Salt, vann, mengde opp, mengde ned. Vi har symptomer. Ok -

Og noen ganger er løsingen på hvordan håndtere symptomene å roe ned. Roe ned på salt og roe ned på vann. Mens andre ganger er løsningen å øke. Øke salt, øke vann.

Og noen ganger er løsningen å roe ned på salt, men beholde/øke mengden vann, mens andre ganger er løsningen å øke mengden salt, men beholde mengden vann! Å senke mengden vann mens man øker salt er ikke like ofte brukt. (Gikk det rundt for deg der? Meg og!)

Forvirrende? Ja!

Jeg har lenge, helt siden jeg begynte å lære denne metoden prøvd å finne ut hvordan man kan forklare denne mekanismen, og tegne opp et pedagogisk og lettfattelig bilde på hvordan det fungerer. Hvordan det kan ha seg at løsningen på hvordan å hanskes med svingende symptomtrykk kan sprike i motsatte retninger.

Og nå har jeg brygget lenge på en modell, en metafor, som jeg håper kan gjøre det lettere å skjønne hvordan det fungerer, og som kan gjøre deg mer selvgående og trygg på hvordan å styre spakene i detox-prosessen, ved å forstå hvordan, hvorfor og når man skal øke eller senke salt og/eller vann.

Ok, så skrider vi til verks:

Metaforen

Se for deg at kroppen er som et hus. Eller snarere et hjem. Med mennesker som bor og lever i hjemmet.

Når det er ryddig i hjemmet, og det er rene pene overflater, uten synlig rot og skit, da føler vi oss friske. Mens når det er rotete - oppvasken har bygget seg opp på kjøkkenbenken, skitne klær ligger strødd utover, usorterte papirer, reklame og gammel post ligger i hauger rundt omkring, det er støvete og skittent - da føler vi oss syke. Da får vi ulike grader av ulike symptomer.

Menneskene som bor i huset jobber jevnt og trutt hver eneste dag med å vedlikeholde orden i hjemmet, for at vi skal føle oss bra. De rydder unna kjøkkenbenken etter hvert måltid, tar klesvasken, rydder nips og papirer. Ut med søpla, kaste pappen. Brette klærne, tømme oppvaskmaskinen. Menneskene i huset representerer her kroppens egen selv-rense-mekanisme. Kroppen driver selv-rens jevnt og trutt, og mest om natta, når vi sover.

Og la oss si at menneskenes hender, altså de som har finmotorikk til å ta i skitet, og håndtere det lokalt - det representerer saltet. Mens beina på menneskene, de som forflytter tingene, rotet og skitet dit det skal, enten det skal ryddes på plass, eller om det skal fraktes ut av huset - de representerer vannet. Henger du med?

Normalt sett fungerer dette samarbeidet. Menneskene tusler rundt og holder på, og lever sine liv. Jevnt og trutt vedlikeholdes hjemmet i tilstrekkelig tilfredsstillende grad, og alt er fint, alle har det bra, og vi føler oss som regel bra og friske.

Men hva skjer om det blir en ubalanse i denne dynamikken? Enten at det kommer inn mer rask, ræl, søppel og drit, enn det menneskene rekker å rydde unna i løpet av hverdagen som suser unna - eller at det blir færre ryddende mennesker i huset, som enten mangler armer, eller ben? Da blir resultatet at ting, rot og skit hoper seg opp. Og vi får symptomer.

Bli kjent med "vaskepersonellet" - Plasmaen

Det som ofte kan være vanskelig er å gå løs på et rotehjem, hvor rotet har bygget seg opp over mange år. Det er så my rot, at menneskene i huset er helt paralysert av overveldelse, og greier ikke å ta fatt på det alene. De har nok med sine hverdagslige gjøremål, og har ikke kapasitet til å ta for seg den dyptgående ryddejobben som trengs.

Hva gjør de da? Jo, de vet heldigvis råd. De tilkaller et vaskefirma. Vaskepersonellet representerer plasmaen vi inntar. Hendene/armene deres representerer saltet, og beina deres representerer vannet, på samme måte som hos menneskene som bor i huset. Redningen er her, og de proffe vaskefolka går løs på rotet med friskt mot og effektivitet!

Man også kan sette på flere hender/armer på dem, slik at evnen deres til å håndtere avfall øker. Når du øker på salt, skjer dette. I tillegg kan man sette flere bein på dem, slik at evnen til å forflytte seg over avstander øker - dette er å øke vannmengden.

Mye salt:

Se for deg at det er en haug med personell i hjemmet ditt, som du har satt max antall hender og armer på, slik at de skal håndtere mye av avfallet ditt raskt. Men så har de ingen bein. Da hjelper det ikke, for frakten til riktig sted, eller ut av kroppen er jo halve jobben. De må ha nok bein, for å frakte alt som hendene håndterer.

Mye vann:

Men se også for deg hvordan det er hvis de har mange bein, men null hender. De kan da løpe gjennom huset ditt mange ganger, men de får ikke med seg noen ting. Det hjelper heller ikke.

Emosjonell detox og motstand

Tilbake til vaskejobben: Mens personellet holder på, følger menneskene med, mens lag på lag med årelange rotehauger blir røsket tak i, sortert, ryddet og vasket.

Plutselig kan det dukke opp noe fra en haug, som vekker minner hos menneskene i huset - og de blir overveldet av følelser og får plutselig kalde føtter. Nå vil de helst at vaskefolka pakker såpesakene sine pent sammen og kommer seg hjem til sitt eget, og lar deres hus, med deres eiendeler og minner få være i fred! Det er tross alt deres, og ingen skal få komme der og ta det bort, sånn uten videre. Det føles brutalt, opprørende og inntrengende å få slike fremmede på besøk som roter i sakene deres. Og de er jammen ikke sikre på om de har lyst på hjelpen. Takke seg til.

Integrering, landing og tiden til hjelp

Men etter å ha sovet på det og kommet seg litt til hektene igjen, så fatter menneskene igjen beslutningen om å tilkalle ekspertise. Og vaskefolka kommer igjen. Men det er nok med en liten økt om dagen, altså. Ellers blir det for meget. For i grunnen er det helt essensielt at menneskene som bor der er involvert i all jobben som vaskefolka gjør. Det er de som vet hvor ting skal ryddes, og som må bestemme hva som skal kastes, og hva som skal sorteres, hva som skal beholdes, og i hvilken skuff. For som vi var inne på tidligere: Menneskene i huset representerer kroppens iboende evne til å vedlikeholde, reparere og hele seg selv. Derfor må prosessen gå på husets og menneskene som bor der, sine premisser, i deres tempo.

Når alle parter er inneforstått med dette og føler seg trygge, kan vi gå videre med prosessen. Og menneskene bestemmer seg faktisk for å abonnere på vaskefolka. De synes i grunnen det er en genial oppfinnelse, å få litt ekstra drahjelp, med alt som skal gjøres. De har jo dessverre havnet i denne rote-situasjonen, og det blir å ta seg vann over hode å gjøre jobben på egen hånd. Det kommer til å ta tid før de er gjennom alt rotet, men med jevn og stabil hjelp, så føler de seg mer betrygget på at de kommer i havn innen rimelig tid.

Etterhvert som bekjentskapet mellom menneskene i huset og vaskefolka har etablert seg, har menneskene begynt å slappe av mens vaskefolka er innom og arbeider. Så de følger ikke alltid like godt med på hva de gjør. De lar dem få jobbe i fred, og synes i grunnen det er ganske behagelig. De har tillit til at de vet hva de driver med.

Storvask - Dyp detox

Så en dag har det skjedd noe grusomt. Vaskefolka har dratt hjem for dagen, og vanligvis er det er fryd å komme hjem etter at de har vært der, for da det er alltid så shiny og cleant. Men denne dagen ser det ut som en tornado har sust forbi! Ting fra inni skuffer og skap, som vanligvis ikke blir rørt, ting fra loftet, garasjen, og kjelleren - det ligger nå endevendt midt utpå stuegulvet! 🤯🥵 Og du føler deg verre enn før - symptomene dine har eskalert og du er dårlig, kanskje dårligere enn før til og med!

Dette kan skje over natta, eller det kan eskalere over tid. Da er det vanskeligere å skjønne sammenhengen.

Hva har skjedd nå da? Jo, vaskefolka har nå i tillegg til å rydde bort ting fra overflatene, begynt å åpne skuffer og skap, gå ned i kjelleren og opp på loftet og begynt å dra ut ting derfra. Men de hadde ikke rukket å rydde det opp før dagens arbeidsøkt var ferdig og de gikk hjem. Da sitter man igjen med et høyt symptomtrykk og man føler seg skikkelig syk!

Å øke på

Nå får menneskene i huset panikk og ringer til vaksepersonellet og ber dem vennligst komme tilbake sporenstreks og rydde opp etter seg! Slik som dette kan det jo ikke se ut, det er jo et salig kaos her! Og standhaftige som de er, tropper de opp, etter arbeidstid, og setter i gang med oppryddingen. Du øker plasmainntaket ditt, og har godt med salt i, for at det skal være mange hender i arbeid, til å få unna mest mulig på kortest mulig tid.

Men det tar tid å rydde opp dette. Tiden det tar, er blant annet avhengig av hvor mange vaskefolk du setter på jobben. En utfordring med disse folka er at de ikke nødvendigvis tar hensyn til hva som står i bestillingen. Om de var bestilt for å rydde rotet på gulvet, så skal du ikke se bort i fra at noen av dem finner veien til kjellerlemmer og gamle kister på loftet, og ikke klarer å dy seg - de åpner lokket og begynner å snuse og rote oppi der.

Derfor er det slik at jo flere de er på samme tid, jo mer overveldene og kaotisk i heimen kan det lett bli, og jo større symptomer kan du dermed oppleve. Derfor må man ofte ta litt og litt av gangen, og heller leve med et visst økt symptomtrykk, over lengre tid. Det kan være dager, uker eller måneder, avhengig av hva du orker.

Å roe ned

Nøkkelen ligger i å forstå hvordan disse vaskefolka opererer. Stopper du dem ikke før de er ferdige med å rydde overflatene, så begynner de søren tute meg bare på nytt med å endevende roteskuffer og loftsboder, og da er uløkka ute igjen! Så det gjelder å ha et smalt øye med dem, og sende dem hjem akkurat i tide. Å roe ned, er derfor en løsningen for å unngå ytterligere endevending av rote-skuffer.

Det vil også være slik at de som har mer styrke i beina, men har få armer, vil fokusere på å frakte ting ut, og ikke bry seg så mye med å snike seg opp på loftet mens ingen ser. På den måten kan det å ha mer vann, og mindre salt, være en måte å unngå "oppbluss" på. Mens de som har flere hender tilgjengelig, og svake bein, vil se sitt snitt til å finne seg en deilig roteskuff å fikle oppi.

Så dette er en hårfin balanse, en knivsegg som man må lære å balansere på - man trenger personell til å ta hånd om det aktive og synlige rotet, som forårsaker symptomene våre. Og sannsynligvis ønsker du at roteskuffene, loftet og kjellerbodene også skal få seg en opprensking på et tidspunkt. Men helst i ro og mak.

Å føle seg bra vs. å være helet

Synlige overflater i huset representerer her blodbanen vår. Det er når toksiner flyter rundt i blodbanen vår at vi får symptomer. Og det som er lagret inni skuffer, skap, i kjelleren og på loftet - det representerer de stedene som kroppen lagrer toksiner, når den ikke får sjansen til å bli kvitt dem. Det kan for eksempel være i fettvev, underhuden, ledd, cyster. Steder som ikke har like god blodtilførsel som andre vitale organer.

På grunn av dette, kan vi altså føle oss bra, og være tilsynelatende friske, fordi toksinene ligger pakket bort på loftet, i en roteskuff eller i garasjen, og er ikke i veien midt på stuegulvet, flyter ikke rundt i blodbanen vår, og vi har derfor ikke aktive symptomer.

Men - det er et tidsspørsmål. For når det ligger ting i alle skuffer og skap, og lagringsplassene er fylt til randen, da tyter det etterhvert ut til overflatene. Vanligvis kommer dette når vi blir eldre. Litt etter litt, det ene symptomet etter det andre melder sin ankomst - og "alderen" får skylden. Men det er ikke alderen i seg selv, som har skylden. Det er mangel på fungerende vaskepersonell, mangel på menneskenes evne til å vedlikeholde, reparere og hele. Ikke alderen.

Frekvensskifte-trigget detox

Det er ikke bare ivrig vaskepersonell som kan forårsake kaos i stua. Folk som ikke går på protokoll blir jo og syke med influensa og alt mulig. Det er fordi både menneskene som bor i huset jo faktisk også har evne til å åpne kista på loftet. Og hva som får dem til å gjøre det kan være at de "får ånden over seg". Det kan blant annet være trigget av frekvensskifter.

Og hva betyr det? Jo, at årstiden forandrer seg, for eksempel. Eller at du beveger deg i en annen fase av syklusen din. Eller du har fått en behandling hos en god terapeut. Akupunktur, massasje, kraniosakralterapi etc. Kanskje du har gjennomgått noe emosjonelt, eller noe personlig - dét kan også være et frekvensskifte. Eller kanskje det skjer noe astrologisk, som fullmåne eller lignende, som påvirker deg og trigger en detox.

Oppsummering

Så det er en symbiose - hender og bein, salt og vann - de jobber sammen. I blodet vårt er forholdet 9 gram salt per liter væske. Derfor holder vi oss gjerne under (og hos noen godt under) dette nivået, hvis vi ikke vil røske opp for mye fra gamle lagre. Mens om uløkka først er ute, og det gjelder å slukke brann, så kan vi finne frem brannslangen og jobbe rundt dette nivået eller over, helt opp mot 15-20 gram per liter. Dette er for de tøffeste gutta som har lest og sett Darko og/eller Heidi opp og ned i mente, og som vet hva de driver med.

Jeg sier faktisk "gutta" med vilje, for jeg har en følelse av at for kvinner så er det mer hensiktsmessig å ta det mildere. John Shore, for eksempel, som er en fremtredende og kompetent figur i den internasjonale SHP-gruppa på facebook (https://www.facebook.com/groups/374534828627446), har lest og sett det meste av Darko og jeg anser ham for å ha god forståelse for kroppen og dens detox-mekanismer. Jeg tror han kan veilede, om man kontakter ham. Og han er ikke redd for å anbefale å øke på. Men han har kanskje heller ikke vært så mye borti folk som er kronisk syke, eller eldre. Men han selv drikker veldig sterk plasma til hverdags, som for de fleste er alt for mye.

Selv har jeg kun vært oppe i 20 g/l ved noen få anledninger. Da var jeg skikkelig dårlig og desperat, og 20 gram på en liter var brutalt, men så hjalp det jo faktisk svært så effektivt også, altså. Men igjen, så er jeg ganske tøff (kanskje for tøff for mitt eget beste), ekstremt utålmodig, og jeg hadde ganske mye kunnskap, samt tett oppfølging av både Darko selv, Heidi, og min kjæreste, som er veteran-fan av Darkos arbeider, og kan mye om dette han og.

Vit hva du driver med, eller få tett veiledning av noen som kan dette. Jeg anbefaler å lese seg opp på Darko og få veiledning av Heidi.

Masse lykke til, til alle sammen - jeg heier på dere!!❤️

Ah.. I mean.. Where is my man when I need him??😆

The ovulation force, in its essence, is creative, I think. Obviously - I mean, we’re supposed to create something. But it doesn’t have to be a baby. I think ovulation is a portal for women to create anything. I think it can be a window into the most potent creative state a human being can be in.

And you know what – that force, that super force, is something we’re taught to be ashamed of. Something we must learn to tame, something bad that we have to hide and suppress, something that’s too much, too intense, not in line with the standards.

I’m not just talking about horniness and BDSM. I’m talking about expressions of creativity – like forgetting the time, forgetting to eat, staying up all night lost in some project, or suddenly becoming extra adventurous, being wild, dancing, singing, or screaming, raging…

Because it can come suddenly, and we can behave differently than we do in other phases of our cycle. But that doesn’t mean it’s a deviation. It’s just a natural and very exciting state!

Today I’m sure I must be ovulating. This crazy energy must be it. I’ve got a total overload of energy. I already wrote a post earlier today, I went shopping, washed the car by hand, and I haven’t even eaten yet – but I’m fine. I just gotta get all this out first, and hopefully, once I’m done here, I can relax and eat.

The thing I wanna tell you is… this hit me today – this energy feels familiar. I’ve had this kind of energy before. Many times. But back in the day, I didn’t identify it as ovulation.

And you know what? I was told maybe I was being bipolar. And I actually thought to myself, “Ohh… yeah, maybe that’s what’s wrong with me?” - as if my exaggerated creativity and “abnormal” behavior automatically had to mean something wasn’t right.

I wasn’t hurting anyone or acting out in any negative way - I was just more bold, more funny, and had better self-esteem. I was more happy, more in tune with my soul and my creativity.

And I wasn’t like that in a way that made others feel bad, or like I lacked empathy - quite the opposite, actually. I was more sensitive to other people’s feelings, I could sense more, concentrate longer, and I’d typically get engaged in long, deep conversations.

But I strongly believed that yes, I had to have some kind of bipolar disorder or hypomania, because of these episodes of “abnormal” behavior - where I was just having a blast and living my best life. To me, everything felt great, but I was so indoctrinated by the idea that anything outside the norm must mean a diagnosis. That something had to be wrong with me.

I even argued with psychiatrists that I had it. And I was evaluated by three different psychologists, at different times, and each one of them basically concluded the same: “No, you don’t have bipolar disorder. You may have some trauma, yes – trauma that affects how your emotional regulation system works - but you don’t meet the criteria for bipolar. Sorry.”

I was actually upset with them, thinking they were wrong. Wow… how backwards that was!

One factor that, when I’m being honest, definitely contributed to my obsession with believing that something was wrong with me, was the fact that I often crashed after those periods. Like, I was exhausted and would lie flat for several days. Because I hadn’t slept enough during those days, and I had done what I considered to be “too much”. But I was not bipolar. I had just been riding the ovulation super force!

But yeah, I had some imbalances in my life, in my system. I have not been in harmony and alignment throughout my life, to say the least.

And, like I’ll probably share more about in another post later - I burned out and became chronically ill. I think it all connects back to childhood trauma - difficulty regulating myself, both emotionally and structurally. Like knowing when it’s time to take a break, for instance. When it’s time to rest. To pause. I never did that. Because I had to fix things. Keep going. Gather, get, strive, survive.

Another thing - I was always on some kind of birth control - the pill, an IUD (in Norwegian: spiral), the ring, the patch.. The IUD - which I’ll tell you more about later, by the way - yeah, I’ve got some stories about that one. And let’s just say… I’ve got a bit of a bone to pick with that little device…

So I didn’t have a natural cycle. I also didn’t have the awareness around women’s natural cycles – how sacred and divine they are, and how much wisdom and intuition, not to mention actually useful physical information, they carry.

In fact, my aunt - I'll just call her “R” - she said it to me. When I was a young teenager and the topic around the pill came up, and I revealed that I was on them, she adviced me not to, and she said in Norwegian “du skal ikke tukle med skaperverket”, wich means “You shouldn’t mess with creation.” Like, don’t interfere with what nature - or God - has designed.

Now I know she was right on point. At the time, I figured she was being naively religious, and I didn’t take her advice seriously.

I miss my aunt R. She’s dead now. Covid stupid vaccine took her. Well that’s my conviction, at least. Dun dun duuun… There you have it - now you know where I stand on that whole thing. Haha. Guess that’s goodbye for some of you. But the rest of us crazy conspiring folks? We’re gonna have a blast in here, right? 😇❤️

Stay awake peeps (or wake up, haha) - till next time ✌️

Luuv n light and have a great wild time yall 😘