Anxiety

Hold it

/ Norwegian / Leave a comment

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Hold it, my friend
Be your own good friend now
Hold it, please
Stay with it and hold it, within
I know it is painful
I know your despair
You need to hold it right now and here
Drink the cup, my friend
Drink, and
drink again

Just now, rest assured
You need to feel lost
before you find you are found

So hold it now
Again, drink
Let it fill you all up
I know you want wine
but the drink is vinegar
Yet, I plead you, to open up
to see, to feel and also be
molded by it
You must know your pain and
even feel lost, my friend
Only then you can know
that in this,
you are found

Letter of Pain

/ Norwegian / 2 Comments

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I am writing down this letter of pain
Asking myself, -what is there to gain
My God, my God I am feeling alone and lost
The cup is large and it is of great cost

Some people say, -Jesus took your pain
On the cross the sin of the world was lain
Yet, to me this is so very real
This terrible agony I now feel

Was it not God that gave me this gift to feel
Maybe so that I through that could heal
Is Christ on the cross there with me
Sharing the experience of this so terribly

As I am writing this letter of pain
And in the dark it is too dark to see
Another thought crosses my mind:
The cross I bear is part of Thine

På benken / On The Bench

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Eg sat der på benken
I det store rommet
Koret stod der framme
Tre av dei spelte på gitar

Eg berre sat på benken
Det vaks noko inni meg
Koret der framme
Blei som et stort blikk

Eg sat på benken aleine
Men no så dei det
Dei så det dei ikkje skulle sjå
Det var ei frykteleg kjensle

Eg prøvde å gjeme meg der på benken
Men dei så meg
Nå stod predikanten framme der òg
Han ropa – eg vil spy deg ut av min munn

Eg sat fast på benken no
Eg kunne ikkje røre meg
Men inni meg var det ein frykteleg kjensle
Koret, predikanten – dei visste det

Eg pintest på benken nå
Predikanten ropa – kom fram og bøy kne for Jesus
Hjartet mitt banka
Dei så det kor mykje det banka

Eg hoppa av benken
Så gjekk eg heilt fremst forna koret
Ei tung hand på hovudet mitt
Før predikanten fløy vidare

Eg stod der no aleine
Nå kunne alle i heile salen sjå
Eg snudde mot døra
No ville eg ut

Der ute fantes ingen benk
Hjartet banka fortsett hardt
Samstundes kunne eg puste friare
Med eit var eg ein av dei andre

Lydfil hvis du vil lytte til diktet:

Here is an English translation of the poem. This time translated by the help of ChatGPT:

I sat on the bench
In the big room
The choir stood there in front
Three of them played the guitar

I just sat on the bench
Something grew inside me
The choir there in front
Became like a big gaze

I sat on the bench alone
But now they saw it
They saw what they shouldn’t see
It was a terrible feeling

I tried to hide on the bench
But they saw me
Now the preacher stood there too
He shouted – I will spit you out of my mouth

I was stuck on the bench now
I couldn’t move
But inside me was a terrible feeling
The choir, the preacher – they knew it

I was tormented on the bench now
The preacher shouted – come forward and kneel before Jesus
My heart pounded
They saw how much it pounded

I jumped off the bench
Then I went all the way to the front of the choir
A heavy hand on my head
Before the preacher flew away

I stood there alone now
Now everyone in the whole room could see
I turned towards the door
I wanted out

Outside there was no bench
My heart still pounded hard
At the same time, I could breathe easier
Suddenly I felt like one of the others

Here you can listen to a reading of the poem: