A few days ago I posted an essay titled “Death as the Ultimate Healer”, where I shared my reflections about Alzheimer’s Disease, energetic contagion and transfiguration. The main focus of that piece was on how dementia affects loved ones and care givers (in more than just the obvious, practical and well-documented ways). I used the word “contagion” for the energetic impact rippling out and affecting all areas of life, even in loved ones). I also described the transfiguration that occurs when a good death brings profound healing, (in the sense of a dying person receiving the unconditional love, undivided attention and tender loving care they may have lacked in life).
I also mentioned that my husband and I were about to make another pilgrimage on iced-up roads to visit my Mother in Law (once again I will call her MIL to preserve her anonymity). This essay is Part Two: it focusses on the transfiguration made possible by the poetic dimension of dementia.
We drove four hours south. I made sure to bring a large notepad. Mother-in-law is a Swedish poet whose work has been published widely (and also read out on radio shows and at art exhibitions). However, the onset of Alzheimer’s meant she stopped writing poems (her greatest joy, her raison d’etre, her favourite way of making meaning from life’s quirky Lego blocks!) My personal vision for our visit was inviting MIL to write a poem, with me in the role of secretary.
She is 91 years old now and her Alzheimer's is fairly advanced. Her attention span is extremely fragmented. My husband started reading aloud to her some poems she herself had written on the 22nd of January in various years (1963, 1967, 1999 etc. This was a spontaneous act, not prepared in advance). She was enraptured and had no trouble focussing, for a prolonged interval. Several times she said: "Did I write those poems? Ah! So many vivid memories suddenly return to me, like birds flying in through the window!!"
I then asked her could she and I write a poem together today? HER poem, with me as the scribe. After a few false starts, sure enough a poem rolled off her tongue. Below you will see the original version (first in Swedish, followed by the English translation). Of course the forgot all about it as soon as she had spoken the words. But I read her own words back to her. She nodded her approval: "That is a good poem!" I asked her, may I share it with all my friends? (Here I was referring to social media). I even said: “ Maybe tomorrow I will bring you some nice reactions? She said: yes, of course! Please do! You can share it with anyone you like!”
KÄRLEKSTRÄD
Jag har ett träd
framför mitt fönster
som jag tittar på
hela dagen
Nu kommer det en fågel
Och snart kommer det en annan fågel!
Man känner sig så lycklig
när det blir
kärlek i trädet!
LOVE TREE
There is a tree
right in front of my window
which I look at
all day long
Now one bird arrives
And soon another!
One feels so happy
when there is
love in the tree!
BA 22 January 2024
I shared the poem on social media and it receive many wonderful reactions. I cannot literally reproduce words from strangers here, but they ranged from “this brought light on a dark day” and “I am going to carry these words on a slip of paper in my pocket” to “Simple but perfect!” Oh, and someone asked for permission to make a song out of the poem, titled “The Love in the Tree”. I can’t wait to hear it!
The next morning we visited MIL again and I read all reactions out to her (Facebook, Instagram, DM’s etc.) She shook her head with disbelief, then smiled and said: “So many kind words for just a little poem!”
I then thought: what if I meet her, all day long today, from a place of treating her every word like “a bird flying in through the window”? And so her words became (almost) oracular utterances from a mysterious realm called Dementia. One can waste a shocking amount of time (not to mention energy and life force) setting Alzheimer’s patients “straight” about some “fact” or “truth”. Which they forget 30 seconds later , but you feel drained and have a tension headache for the rest of the day. And both of you are diminished by the tussle, the energy of disagreement that was briefly present.
MIL has a beautiful collection of animal sculptures, made by a famous Swedish artist who is a close friend of hers. (I will not mention his name here, to avoid upsetting him! He is elderly too!) Three of those figures are crows (or ravens, a little hard to tell). They live on her window sill. She pointed them out to me and said: “I found those birds in the snow, isn’t that amazing?” "I said, in the snow? How do you think they got there? MIL: “That is a very difficult question to answer, but the nursing staff can walk in and out of here freely, in a way that we residents cannot. So that must be the solution: members of staff hide things in the snow, for us residents to find!” Me: so they do this on purpose, you think, so the residents have a delightful surprise from time to time. Perhaps it makes them feel like children again? You know how children love finding things in the snow?” MIL: “I am pretty sure that is the right explanation!”
Privately I thought: maybe this is what art is (or should be), hiding beautiful creations in the snow for children and old people to find. Treasures for them to bring home and continue to delight in? - Maybe we artists get things all wrong, caging art in galleries? I messaged an artist friend about this. He agreed!
We always take MIL on an outing. This involves some planning and organisation: we booked a ride through Färdtjänst, Sweden’s disability transport service (MIL is in a wheelchair due to the emergency amputation of one leg last year). I got to ride with her in the big van. She kept commenting on the mountains of snow by the roadside and reminding me that it is summer right now. We both agreed that there is an astounding amount of snow on the ground, for a Swedish summer (the time of writing is January 2024).
We visited a charity shop (which is more like a department store, with a quaint tearoom upstairs serving homecooked food). MIL loves browsing books, clothing and fancy tea cups. In the tearoom I cleared a space for her wheelchair at one table and tucked her in securely. In the meantime my husband queued for our lunch. MIL kept asking where her son was, so I explained: “He is over there! About to bring us some delicious food!”
I then took the opportunity to ask her: “What is it like to have a son?” She said: “A son? Oh, having a son is utterly wonderful! But there is one thing that is even wonderful than having a son. Do you know what that is?” I replied that, in all honesty, I had no idea. MIL: “That my son is not alone! He has an amazing wife who stands beside him and shares his life. She is a wonderful person, he is very lucky. And as his mother, that makes me very happy too!”
One fleeting moment of profound transfiguration had just occurred! Our relationship has definitely had its challenges over the decades, but from the depths of Alzheimer’s unexpectedly rises this benediction. Almost in the way that the Norse Vǫlva (seeress, prophetess) speaks, but less cryptic (for once)!
Husband and I drove back north (skidding on slushy icy roads in the dark, the journey took five hours but we made a stop to observe the sunset at a Bronze Age stone circle). MIL called, during the drive, and thanked my husband repeatedly for visiting. She no longer remembered that I had been there too. But I didn’t mind at all. In my heart I now carry a poem, a benediction and an image of memories as birds flying away but returning, and cooking up universal love in trees. I am well satisfied with this visit!
I aim to post two thoughtful essays a week here on Substack, but if you would like to see my daily posts about about sacred art, Nordic spirituality and my life as a Forest Witch, please follow me on Instagram or Facebook, thank you!
Imelda Almqvist, Forest House and School, Sweden
BIO FOR IMELDA ALMQVIST
Imelda Almqvist is an international teacher of Sacred Art and Seiðr/Old Norse Traditions (the ancestral wisdom teachings of Northern Europe). So far she has written four non-fiction books and two picture books for children. Natural Born Shamans: A Spiritual Toolkit for Life (Using shamanism creatively with young people of all ages) in 2016, Sacred Art: A Hollow Bone for Spirit (Where Art Meets Shamanism) in 2019, Medicine of the Imagination - Dwelling in Possibility (an impassioned plea for fearless imagination) in 2020 and North Sea Water In My Veins (The Pre-Christian spirituality of the Low Countries) will be published in June 2022.
The Green Bear is a series of picture book for children, aged 3 – 8 years. The stories and vibrant artwork, set in Scandinavia, invite children to explore enchanting parallel worlds and to keep their sense of magic alive as they grow up.
Imelda has presented her work on both The Shift Network and Sounds True. She appears in a TV program, titled Ice Age Shaman, made for the Smithsonian Museum, in the series Mystic Britain, talking about Mesolithic arctic deer shamanism.
Imelda is currently working on a handbook for rune magicians (about the runes of the Elder Futhark) and on more books in the Green Bear Series. Imelda runs an on-line school called Pregnant Hag Teachings, where all classes she teaches remain available as recordings which can be watched any time!
Website:
http://www.shaman-healer-painter.co.uk/
YouTube Channel: youtube.com/user/imeldaalmqvist
Online School: https://pregnant-hag-teachings.teachable.com/courses/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/imelda.almqvist/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/almqvistimelda/
Twitter: @ImeldaAlmqvist
This is so beautiful! Thank you for sharing!
So very beautiful. Thank you for sharing.