I’m making a little experiment. I hope it will work. It’s a Facebook-page I set up for the purpose of sharing the occasional blog post and, more importantly, links to articles and other lovely things found on the internet and elsewhere that are (however remotely) related to anthroposophy. The emphasis is on fascination; there will be no ‘activism’ in favour of or against anything. The upside is that I can share the things I enjoy without feeling inhibited by the risk of annoying or boring my other Facebook acquaintances (those who subscribe will simply have to blame themselves! What a joyful thought). Also, with no comments on the blog itself now, it will provide a small opportunity for conversations. I’ll post stuff in Swedish (and the other Nordic languages), English and German. We’ll see were it goes, or where it ends. You’ll find it here. Do ‘like’ it if you want to get updates (and in case you don’t like it, but want to follow it regardless, you’ll have to treat it as an exercise in positivity!).

I’ll admit freely that it is for selfish needs, and because at times I feel a tang of bitterness that the old Ethereal Kiosk is not there anymore. (Well, it’s there. But very occult. Only high initiates can see it, and they know it.) Anthroposophy, this hydra that will bite your rational head off (if you’re not careful), is a solitary interest. Nobody else in the real world cares much. The Ethereal Kiosk, back in its good days, provided a kind of haven, I suppose; one which changed and evolved along with me and its other inhabitants, in their various shapes and states of materiality (mostly lack thereof). It seemed, in a way, to be a place of comfort; its garden an etheric space for the conciliation of contrary inclinations. The wild flowers were extraordinary.

Perhaps it’s safer to cloud oneself in fairy-tale and mystery, and to avoid too much clarity. I’m not impressed by myself, seeing this side of me; in fact, what I see is something I distinctly don’t like: obscurity, hiding behind veils. I shall have to battle it. But first to name the dragon. Whether it is a fate I was handed or one I sought, it’s a thing one can’t walk past. It’s not, despite some uncanny similarities, the beggar on the street corner; it’s not the bedraggled heap of rags hiding something – whatever – that you can try to ignore. It’s the beggar in you. If anything.

If that weren’t the case, I’d stop. I’d go on to do something else. I think I envy those who can, and those for whom everything is clear-cut, unambiguous, right and wrong neatly in their separate compartments… I think I also envy those who believe, with certainty, that I’m wrong, although even I don’t know that what I think is right – or what to think at all, for that matter. They must find themselves in a desirable cosmos. I wish I were blissfully there.