An American Peasant in Sweden

A scribed protective mark on a stave church at the Swedish History Museum.

Too lazy to be ambitious,
I let the world take care of itself.
Ten days’ worth of rice in my bag;
a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.
Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment?
Listening to the night rain on my roof,
I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.

— Taigu Ryokan 1758-1831

It’s not a good idea for me to try to write about what I’m seeing during my first visit to Stockholm, Sweden. I’ve had almost no time to digest the ridiculous amount of visual information I’ve crammed into my eyeballs, much less the two Swedish hamburgers I’ve inhaled. (Who knew the Swedes could make great hamburgers?)

But it’s Sunday, and I haven’t written a damn thing in five days. So here we are.

I’ve taken hundreds of photos and pages of notes during the last four days. Here is a collection of the easy and obvious stuff that has caught my eye: mostly carved protective spells and stick chairs.