Day 3 in Iceland… and I am enjoying myself and the weather immensely. Apparently it comes as a huge gift that I love the cold, windy, rainy weather. Walking the streets here, the air is clear and fresh, and I feel more alive with every breath. I know I have to leave on Sunday, but I’m falling fast in love with this place. There is something so enjoyable about the people, unique and magical about the landscape, fascinating about the culture and history. You feel like anything could happen. Or, like a friend said to me before I came to Iceland, “you’ll feel like you’re on the edge of the world.” I couldn’t agree more.
I’ve begun some day trips, which head outside of Reykjavic, taking us along miles and miles of lava fields and sea shore. Our tour guide shared that wherever you go in Iceland, you’re almost always near the sea. For me the sea is my compass-north, always drawing me closer. First it was my longing to head to the East Coast for school, then my longing to be in Ireland for 3 months, and now my love of the sea in Iceland. The phrase “deep cries out to deep” has greatly affected me for months before coming to Iceland, and when I look at the ocean here, these words fit perfectly.
Last night, I went on an adventure of a lifetime: a Northern Lights excursion. I will never forget the magic of the evening. The tour started at 9 pm, and the buses returned us home at 1:30 in the morning. In that time, we chased the Northern Lights, not knowing where or when they would show up. We left with cloudy skies, and the forecast calling for not much northern light activity. By the time we were 40 minutes outside of Reykjavic, night surrounded our bus entirely, and we looked out rainy windows at black lava fields that went on forever into thick darkness. Soon, the skies started to clear and the stars came out, more and more, until it was a clear starry night. If you’ve ever been out in the middle of nowhere-countryside, with all the city lights gone, in a darkness so pitch-black you are tripping over your own feet, then you’ll also know how bright the stars were when the skies completely cleared. The milky way, the small and big dippers, the bright, white handfuls of brightness everywhere, were magnificent–I was dizzy with joy. And oh, so cold.
And then after photographing the stars, and being so damply chilled that many of us were warming up on buses, someone spotted the first small ribbon of light in the sky. Hundreds of people from many different buses, all stumbled out as far as we could walk, onto tricky landscape of uneven rock and deep mossy patches, and stood shoulder to shoulder in the swallowing darkness, intently watching the sky. Soon, there were more ribbons of light, and then more, until the entire sky was lit with moving rays, forming a curtain of electromagnetic activity and light so beautiful you wanted to climb up inside it and behold the skies and heavens beyond. I was filled with awe and gratitude, and while I did not know any of the people standing in the crowd with me, I will never forget sharing that experience with them.
Call it a date with God, call it a date with the universe–whatever your faith, your language of choosing, your beliefs, or how you perceive the world, I can only say that there is a beauty and grace out there beyond our wildest human understanding, and I hope that someday again I might be lucky enough to witness even a fraction of it.
