Monday, December 8, 2014


Moving to Hollywood saw the same look of dismay on my face as a child who was prematurely told that Santa does not exist. The absence of princesses living happily ever after and people falling madly in love in cute little hipster outfits saw my romanticism of the place die in quite an instant. While there is beauty here it is snuggled up with a lot of litter, poverty, shit stained streets and souls grasping for the illusion of happiness from fame and fortune. Nevertheless, I love it. I don't want to leave this reckless town and its relentless heaving of noise and chaos. For all its filth, tacky glamour and prostitutes hollering on my 7am walk, there are the mountain walks, the many kindred spirits and so much for the senses to explore. The ability to escape and replenish the soul is as easy as heading up Western ave, taking a right onto Los Feliz Boulevard and a left onto Fern Dell drive to find yourself in a woodland paradise called Griffith Park. Deer and horses a plenty, cellphone reception and smog at a minimum. It's here I have spent many hours seated under tall trees gathering my thoughts into my minds basket, ready to sort out the weeds from the blossoms. I love watching the trees in autumn in this town. The branches bare and bent resemble a kind old lady's arthritic fingers pointing out to a distant memory. Chlorophyll drained leaves are plucked by the fall breeze and swirl down creating a fiery red and brown rug for its forest floor. These old woody giants stand tall and admire the seasonal loss. They do not wither or complain about the changes that occur but instead seem to look upon their letting go with admiration and go as far as to create beauty with their shedding. I always look to the trees when needing inspiration to keep going, to keep changing without resilience.

Los Angeles could beat you down. It could strip you bare with its capitalist teeth, exposing your naked bones which are splintered with insecurities, worthlessness and doubt. Or perhaps you could be like the trees. Feeling the weave of the winter blanket being stitched across your vulnerabilities and creating a hardy new skin on those exposed limbs. Swaying with the changes but always rooting down to seek life force and sustenance from the earth. Staying grounded in the storm. I think that's what has got me through this upheaval of moving from one country to another. I have not resisted or challenged the change unfolding in front of me. I have seen the lessons and beauty in the transitional times, and midwifed that inner child into the birth of a new chapter of her life when she has wanted to run away scared into her safe yet stagnant past.

I bid you to make like a 1960's Californian hippy and start hugging some trees when your soul is feeling tethered. The great thing about this place is you have to be really crazy to look crazy so be a free spirit! Learn from nature that speaks in tongues of beauty and time because they have and will continue to outlast us through their effortless meetings with change. 

Astrid x

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