Autumn – Silje Elsrud Yttervik

The Ghost Season: On the Danger of Being Seen (and the Cost of Staying Hidden)

«To be ill is to be a kind of ghost.»
– Susan Sontag

Autum has always been a ghost season. Here in the Northernmost parts of Europe, autumn is when the light begins to thin, the air sharpens; beginning to sting. Whether we recognize it or not, the world turns heavily inward, shedding what no longer belongs.

However, for many of us who live with chronic illnesses or disabilities, this part of the autumnal season, never really ends – it simply changes its shape throughout the year.
In a way, its like living between two worlds; halfway in the visible – halfway in the invisible.
And through this, we learn to hold our own ghosts close.

The Ghosts of What Could Have Been
A few years ago, I was admitted to a specialist neurological hospital to try out new epilepsy-medications. While there, I met a bunch of people who – like me, had their lives recently split in two. Many of those admitted with me had recently developed epilepsy at an adult age; whether through hormonal issues, car-crashes or even through brain tumors. It was as if one day they were out driving cars, working high – risk jobs at oil platforms and raising their children without any further concerns; then the next day their bodies and brains turned unfamiliar and unreliable.

While these thing never happened to me, seeing as I was born with this condition – I remember feeling such an ache for them – for what they had lost. Yet, beneath my empathy, I also felt deeply grateful, and a strange kind of relief that I was lucky enough to not know the feeling of such a massive before – and – after.
Because, yes – I still remember my late teenage years, and early 20s, where I had considerably fewer seizures overall. But the knowledge that seizures could come any second was still there – and certain things like driving a car, or working with heavy machinery was still kept unavailable to me.
My point is that my body has always been this way, thus I’ve never had to mourn the life I once had – as there was no «before» to loose.

So in a way, we met in that quiet hospital ward, as two kinds of ghosts:
those angry and deprived; haunted by who they used to be – and those fascinatingly adaptable; more so haunted by who we might have been.

And the thought still lingers in the building…

«We all carry versions of ourselves that never made it out alive.»
– Silje Elsrud Yttervik

The Elegance of Survival
Taking the concept of adaptability into full force, these days, whenever I go out in public, I always dress with intention; elegant, a little funny or chic – and very composed.
Not because I tecnically have the energy for it everyday, but because aesthetics have slowly become my armour.
Because, whether I personally agree with it or not – people are shallow.
Most people respond to surfaces, much more than they themselves are aware of.
The same can be said about me!
And when I look polished, other people tend to treat me with the same level of grace.

From my part, this is not vanily – but strategy.
In a world where disabled people are so often pitied, ignored or even seen as fragile beings – elegance becomes a ritual of survival.
It’s how I remind myself – and others, that I am still here, still whole – and still sovereign.

Many people don’t consider this fact, but being visibly disabled
carries a high risk-factor.
Because, on the one hand, showing one’s disability is to open the door to danger. By openly announcing what might hurt or harm you – you (unfortionately) become a very attractive target to abusers and predators, who sense dependancy – and see opportunity.

On the other hand, for many of us – hiding our disability can be both completely impossible, as well as equally dangerous.
To put two of my own experiences up against one another; once I didn’t have time to dress up, and had a seizure on the buss, when another passanger tried to rob me. He would have succeded as well, were it not for the fact that I carry all of my most valuable items at invisible areas (for this very risk) – and the only thing he got a hold of, was my building’s opening cards (which I just had to turn of – and get new ones).
On the other hand, once I got a seizure on the buss, and was dressed too elegantly – and people were afraid to help me, fearing I would poorly retribute if something were to happened to me or my things.

To put it bluntly: If I conceal my disability too well, i might have seizures with no help nearby. On the other hand, if I show too much I migh become a target for pity or crime.

As in the words of Audre Lorde;

«Your silence will not protect you».
– Audre Lorde

But, sometimes for us, it actually might.

In many ways, this is the paradox of disabled lives – to exist in a body that demands both revelation and disguise.

Living Between Worlds
Now, there’s a quiet way in which disabled people live as threshold beings.
We are always negotiating the border between visible and invisible, between what can be explained – and what can only be felt.

When I, like in last weeks post, say I can smell the snow coming weeks ahead,
people tend to laugh – untill it happens.
My body understands what the weather doesn’t yet say out loud.
It hums with storms before they form, trembles with the shifting of pressure.
It’s both inconvenient (at times) – and highly conventient at others.

Being disabled means returning to nature; we live by the signals of our flesh and bone – because we have to; the language of pain – because we have to; fatigue, scent and rhytm – because we have to. Adaption is the only way to get by.

And in some stange way; perhaps this is what frightens the rest of the world the most. Because we remind society of everything that is fragile – everything that is wild – everything that cannot be controlled.

«To be disabled is to haunt the able – bodied imagination – a mirror of what thet fear most: dependancy, vulnerability, and loss.»
– Silje Elsrud Yttervik

A Small Spell for the Living
The ghost season teaches us that there is beauty in what remains after the light retreats. In this dimness, we learn how to see differently – not with the denial of darkness, but with the devotion for what you still can see.
Remember, adaption is the only way to get by…

So tonight, light a candle for your ghosts – the lives you lost, the bodies that betrayed you – and the dreams that shifted its shape.
And thank them for what you learned from them.

Because, to live with such ghosts and not be afraid, is to know that you yourself is not what you’ve lost, but rather what survived the losing.

Further reading/ Watchlist:

– The Body in Pain by Elaine Scarry

– The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson

– Documentary: Crip Camp (Netflix) – for a glimpse of collective survival and joy.

– The Disabled God: Toward a Liberatory Theology of Disability by Nancy L Eiesland

Good Luck!

– Silje

Between Two Worlds: The Nordic Equinox and The Long Goodbye to Light

«Day and night are exactly balanced, poised on the knife -edge of time. From here, the dark begins its slow reign
– Silje Elsrud Yttervik

In a way, the Autumn Equinox is a doorway; a hinge in the year, where light and darkness stands facing one another, equal for a breath before the balance tips.
In the Nordic lands, this is not just a date on the calendar, but a reminder of the deep truth we live within: The sun is slowly leaving us, and for many months ahead, darkness will be our constant companion.

The Old ways
For our ancestors, the autumn equinox first and foremost marked the second harvest. Up until now grain and wildberries had already been stored, followed by certain fruits at the edge og summer – seeping intoo fall. Thus at last, remaining fruit and root vegetables were left, waiting to be plucked and harvested, before the frost of winter truly sets in.

In the Norse and other Northern European traditions, the equinox was considered a sacred threshold. Fires were lit to honour the suns retreat, mead and bread were offered to the pagan gods, and feasts were held to remind people that even as darkness lengthened – community and abundance could endure.

Furthermore, as a threshold, the autumn equinox was considered a liminal moment – when the veil between the night and day thins. As such, it was believed that liminal spirits walked more easily in these in-between spaces. The equinox was not just about harvesting, but about recognizing the part fragile/ part strange beauty of being ‘in between worlds’.

The new ways
Today, the equinox is less formal but still lingers in our culture. In parts of Scandinavia, people mark it with candlelight dinners, forest walks – or quiet gatherings. Some still hold harvest festivals, others ‘celebrate’ by simply noticing the beauty of shifting leaves, or the cold of autumn air fully setting in, as night falls earlier with each passing day.

For many (myself included), this is the beginning of ‘hygge-season’; a season of cozy blankets, hot drinks, lighting candles in the windowsill and feel-good TV-shows.
Yet beneath the cozy surface, ancient rhytms still remains; the recognition that light is slipping away, and that we must be preopared for the darkness.

«Cattle die, kinsmen die, all men are mortal.
But I know one thing that never dies:
The glory of the great dead».
– Hávamál (The Poetic Edda)

As the sun slips away, we remember what endures. Light fades, but memory and meaning remain!

The Psychology of darkness
Here in the north, this darkness is no metaphor. From late september until (usually) march, daylight is highly rationed, often scarce. I Personally live in the south-east of Norway, thus will see more sunlight than family members up-north, but even here the growing amount of darkness brings with it much tiredness, melancholy – and for some, even depression.

During this time, our minds, like our ancestors, need (some form of) ritual to survive this long goodbye to light.
Some gentle practices for the coming month is:

Light with intention: Candles or lamps are not trivial -they are acts of defiance. Like small suns we create for ourselves
Marking the days: Routine is very important at this time of the year, as it can keep our minds from unravelling. Let rhytm (sleep, meals, and small joys) be your anchor when daylight falters.
Seek the outside: Even just a few minutes of daylight can help you.
Eat well, and seek enough vitamin D, as you won’t get enough from the sun.
Welcome the dark: Instead of being afraid of it, let the darkness become a true companion. Darkness slows us, asks us to listen inwardly, to rest and dream more deeply.

«To light a candle is to cast a shadow».
– Ursula K. Le Guin

Living between worlds
For me, as a disabled person, this season resonates with an odd intimacy. Because, my life often feels liks an equinox stretched across time: a balance between exhaustion and energy, visibility and invisibility, illness and possibility.

Each fall, as the equinox approaches, there is something strangely familiar in that existance. Like (once again) living between worlds. This is not easy, but it is a powerful way of not giving up. Thus, the equionox reminds me that the thresholds we now encounter are not empty – they are alive and full of potential.

The long goodbye to light
And so, we step into the long goodbye. The light will not return (fully) until the spring -equinox , half a year from now. But in the meantime,we do not live in absence. We live in transformation: leaves blazing gold before they fall, nights deepening into velvet, dreams sharpening in the scilence of long evenings.

The equinox whispers: you are beween two worlds. Walk carefully, Light your candles. Gather people close. The dark will come – but so will a sky full of stars.

– Silje

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The Shadowy Magic of Autumn!

There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in proportion.»
– Edgar Allan Poe

Autumn is my absolute favourite season!
At first, the summer chatter simply quiets – and in its place comes the music of rain on windows, the sound of branches scarping against rooftops, and the sharp smell of leaves decaying into soil. Then, as the season reaches its full potential, the light bends low; mixing golden colours with rustic-red, fleeting; casting long shadows across the streets. The world seems to shift, with nature’s magic continuously moving closer, brushing past your skin like chill wind.

For me, autumn has always been more than a season. In a way, it is a return to myself. Or, a return to parts of myself that adulthood seems to freequently overlook.
As a teenager, I wore black lace and massive eyeliner, leaning into the gothic, nerdy and ‘strange’ shadows of the world. With age, I (as my mother rightfully predicted) ended up moving past that, strictly aesthetically speaking – but the echoes of those years remain within me. And every autumn these echoes grow louder and louder, rising again.

And as the season rises, dark and moody – the witchy parts of me grows stronger, bolder – and infamously more powerful!
Where other people see doom and gloom, I see beauty;
The gold agains black, the glow of candleflames from the outside of a rainsoaked area.

Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.»
– Emily Brontë

To me, the «strangeness» of autumn brings with it a freedom that is difficult to recreate. It is a freedom away from the perpetual buzz of the summer season; freedom from the constant demand to be bright and vibrant and keep pace with the sunlight, which seems to grow continuously from the early days of spring, and freedom from the cold, slow and tiring days that winter often brings to the table.

Instead, in autumn, my fatigue no longer singles me out. Everyone moves a little slower, a little softer and a little quieter. With it, my disability simply blends intoo the rhytm of the season, almost invisible.
The world slowly begins to remember to take a step back, and rest – and in its pause, I come alive!

Leaning into the Gothic Essence

«Beware, for I am fearless, and therefore powerful».
– Mary Shelley

Darkness frightens many people. They avoid the shadows around them, pretending that beauty can only be found in light.
But, light without darkness has no meaning. And to embrace autumn is to embrace both. Thus, the best way forward is not to deny shadows as they appear – but instead to walk right into them.

Here are a few (easy) ways to invite the gothic beauty of autumn intoo your life:

Books for rainy nights: Wuthering Heights (Emily Brontë), The Picture of Dorian Gray ( Oscar Wilde), Frankenstein (Mary Shelley), or even modern gothic-tinged novels like Mexican Gothic (Silvia Moreno-Garcia).
Films with gothic energy: The Crow, The Craft, Beetlejuice, or Classics like Interview with a Vampire (I have also thus far really enjoyed AMC’s recent show-remake of the film). If classical- goth is not your thing, there are many other examples of similar energy, to help you step intoo the shadow. As an example, I tend to watch the series Good Witch on Netflix every october. It is a more modern version of witchy-energy, but equally suiting for fall. Similarly, my sister – who’s always been a massive fan of creepy, gory things, have for the past several years watched a horror movie every day of October, to prepare for the mood of Halloween.
Music & Atmosphere: Lean intoo soundscapes that match the season; moody piano, darkwave, or even storm recordings. Decorate with your favourite gothic aesthetics, whether it be candles, old photographs – or black and gold touches that makes the space feel enchanted.
Rituals: Dance freely, sing badly – or scream intoo the wind. Write letters to those you’ve lost, and invite them intoo your dreams. Or, light a candle in their honour. Walk intoo the rain, and listen to a world softened by water and shadow.

Truly, there is sooo much you can do! 😀

Autumn is not the death of summer, but the season of true transformation. During autumn, beauty and strangeness interwine. Shadows stretch long – but they are not here to harm you. They are here to remind you that there is magic in every falling leaf, every candle flicker, in every stormy night where you choose to stay awake with the ghosts.

So let the world grow darker. Light a candle, put on your favourite cult film – or pick up a true and tried gothic novel, and lean intoo it. Find the strangeness, find the shadows – and the beauty that burns bright!

Thus, when the shadows lengthens, and the leaves fall like whispers of time, don’t hide from the strangeness. Instead, step into it comfortably.
Autumn has always belonged to the ones who notice the odd, who dance with the strange, who lights candles not to banish the darkness – but to make it deeper, richer and more alive.
As Nancy once sneered in The Craft «We are the weirdoes, mister.» A line meant as mockery, but also as an anthem of invitation for those of us who thrive in the margins.

Let yourself be unordinary. Build altars from fallen leaves, turn your room into a chapel of flickering lights. Breath in the scent of wet earth as though it were incense. Because strangeness in not just survival – It’s celebration of freedom!

Or, to borrow from a certain ghost with a wicked grin:

«I myself, am strange and unusual.»
– Beetlejuice

– Silje
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– A task for you, reader:
If you were to find one gothic, or ‘witchy element’ to embrace this season, however small, which one would it be?
– How could you element this intoo your daily life, regardless of season?
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