I take the truth by its horns and let it kill me. The thunderbolt works with Scylla today. Thor knocks on the stone-carved chalice, and the she-sea-dragon spits thunderous flashes. All is illuminated. The water unleashed. The power of nature is just that, power. The only kind worth talking about. I work with the weather Gods of Norway. Lightening strikes next to my toes. The thunder calls to me: ‘Louder! Say yes, louder. Louder than me’. Raw power goes through me like an arrow, and I make a bridge to the sun to cross over. ‘Louder, I said’, says he, Thor, while hammering on my yelling and screaming and thumping my feet in Scylla’s waters. ‘Faster’, she goes. ‘Dance faster! Don’t let the wind catch you, unless you want to snatch a kiss from him on your naked body.’ But I want the wind to kiss me. I want the wind to whisper to me between the wild beats of light and stone: ‘Know your heart, and own this knowledge. Act like I do. Cut through it. Cut past the gaping neighbor with his chainsaw keeping the grass neat. Cut past his son training with a rifle and speaking in clichés of familial bliss and traditions. Cut a cold corner and radiate your own peace.’ Scylla sets my boundaries and Thor goes: ‘I like your voice’.