To London with Love


There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive. ~ Jack London

Ecstasy, from the Greek Ekstasis, meaning ‘standing outside oneself.’ The sentence Jack has made “There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life” can be likened to the idiom ‘on cloud nine.’ Certainly Jack paints a picture for us in one small statement so vividly.

The semantics within provide us with an almost socratic mindset. To reach ones highest state in a single moment; yet forget life itself, is agreeably a paradox. Yes, there can be that one single moment, it will define you forever. These moments can leave you feeling as if nothing can ever exist before, or beyond that space. When time stands still and all that matters is ‘now’…these are the summits that forever shape us.

I have unquestionably found moments like that; both good and bad. The births of all of my children, and the deaths of loved ones.

If not for my greatest teacher Ms. Fuller of my fifth grade public school class, I would not have known Jack London. To her I owe my love for both reading and writing; for she taught me to reach higher, and go beyond my limits.

Until next time,

be well, and stay blessed xo



Twain Thoughts

Ah but what is courage? 

For without fear one would never know. 

Words are a way to convey emotions, without words, feelings or knowledge of them would be void.

Courage is not the absence of fear! The word courage originated with the thought of the heart. The heart is considered the seat of emotions, thus the original meaning of courage is heart.

Courage is to face danger; however one perceives it, and hold back the desire to give up or run. 

If fear were completely absent, how would you learn how to strengthen your heart? 

Courage and fear are reliant on each other. Let’s face it, how many times have we done something we were afraid of, only to face it every time with trembling anyway? Oh, it may become easier, yes but fear will always rise to meet you, lest you forget its existence.

Fear is a natural emotion to teach us about ourselves and how to be human. I’d rather feel than to be so numb, becoming an emotionless ghost walking in a tomb. 

Twain understood the importance of standing against the grain in order to renew and strengthen the human heart. 

As always 

Stay blessed, be you, face your fears in trembling and awe, smile on the inside knowing your heart is excersing its right to feel. 

~Josette 💗

Oh Edgar

For what is it to dream? 

Poe brilliantly uses these words as a comparison, both completely reliant upon the other; disastrous apart. Perhaps, a paradox of sorts. 

To dream by day 

Setting goals or reaching for a destination of hope while being completely aware in a fully conscious state.

One is in control, focused with their eyes upon their target. Detours may be expected but the course can be rerouted or adjusted.

To dream by night 

The subconscious mind assembles images or thoughts that play out in a state of complete slumber.

You’re a backseat driver to a message that may play out jumbled or strange. These dreams are almost never literal they need to be interpreted differently and could steer people down the wrong path. Sometimes we don’t remember our dreams at all.

Edgar expresses the importance of daydreaming. The emphasis of hope hides within the text; for to set goals in life, gives us purpose. The two really do go hand in hand: to aspire that which shall strengthen one in a state of awareness; will in turn, provide dreams in sleep that will give you peace. 


The word dream comes from middle to old English, which derives from Germanic, Dutch, Old Norse and more. 

The middle-old English related dream to joy, pleasure, gladness, even music, to name a few; however Proto-Indo Europe relates  dream to illusion something injurious, or even damaging. 

Clearly our ancestors knew and understood, what Poe expresses. 

These are the words that come to thought: “To dream blindly, is to run in darkness toward the unknown edges of consequence.” 

Once again 

Be at peace 

Dream big 

Reach for your stars 

Be yourself 



You know you’re a writer when…

  • You sleep with a journal and your favorite pen next to your pillow 
  • You carry a journal or any form of paper in your bag, just in case 
  • You prefer drafting by handwriting anything before you type it on your PC or trusty smart phone 
  • You can find yourself in a book aisle or near books when you’re in a store
  • You pay attention to the credits at the end of a great new movie, just to know who you owe your new allegiance to 

    Keep the list going! Share your thoughts in the comments below. 

    What happened?

    I feel like I come from a time that is lost. 

    I can remember a time when education was filled with reading. Every year I received a brand new reader filled with poetry, stories and historical or scientific pieces. 

    Cracking open that brand new book with that book smell lingering upon each page. No matter what the assignment was I’d skip forward and find myself reading ahead of the class.

    My first books as a small child were cherished. I had a yellow mother goose nursery rhyme book filled with strange sayings that didn’t make sense but they left me curious. My favorite was a fairy tale book, it had the original writings of many classics that went on to become movies; yet still there are many that are unknown to many people I meet. 

    Mother kept us hooked on CS Lewis, reading the Chronicles of Narnia to us. This very day, I still own my personal collection of those books because they are like treasures. 

    The Hobbit became quite popular as a movie when I was small and when I was old enough I embarked on the writings of Tolkien; which consumed me in a way I can not express. 

    Then there were the movies I just couldn’t stop watching. My list of some favorites below: 

    • The Hobbit 
    • The secret of Nimh 
    • Dark Crystal 
    • Willow
    • Ladyhawk
    • The Labyrinth 
    • The never ending story

    I could recite and act out scenes word for word, striving hard to speak as they spoke. There are so many more I could add to the list but those few are by far my favorite from childhood. 

    Perhaps it is the Pisces in me, the cycle of losing myself in depths of fantastical places and retreating when I reach the surface of reality. 

    I find joy, excitement, meaning and purpose in tales of old whether true or fictional there is always something to take away from it. 

    Perhaps that is why I love writing fantasy fiction. My novel kingdom rising will be published this year and one can only dream it will make someones favorite list. 

    Until next time, stay lovely, stay young and dream dreams of lands in far off places filled with the characters inside you. Give voices to the characters and create. 


    Blod af mit blod

    I could tell you tales,
    Tales of my wanderings.

    I may blab on and on about my triumphs or downfalls, perhaps how I have been very akin to a Gypsy. Except I know not where those words shall lead me.

    I must run this course, 

    The course I’ve planned to write and tell of my spiritual wanders to know thyself.

    ~Josette Hansen~

    Briefly, in past posts I’ve spoken of my research. Finding ancestors was like a gold mine because growing up American had stripped me of heritage. I could be told by my mother “I’m Irish, Italian, and German.” My father could say “I’m Danish, French Canadian, Scottish, British.” Except what did it mean to be any of those things? Culture, heritage, language? Everyone would say well, “you’re American.” It still felt strange though because many of my American friends had kept some form of old country language or culture.

    I had a hippy mother who loved Jesus and a Norse Pagan father who was born of a Danish immigrant. Christmas, to say the least was interesting. We had a tree every year named Olaf, and a nativity in the corner. I remember wassail and Leif Erickson day, but it was pieces and fragments I didn’t grasp.

    Studies of religion brought me through so many transitions in life. I sought Jesus from the age of nine and wandered about until my twenties. I started to cling to Christianity for quite sometime, which led me to Messianic Judaism, and finally full blown orthodox Judaism. I did find great comfort in Judaism and fell in love with the traditions, language, prayers and oral history.

    Not knowing yourself can be quite scary, trying to find a place where you belong. I decided to do my DNA and found 88℅ of my blood was North West European. 95℅ is European in general. The German, Danish and British Isles dominated my DNA. These findings left me wanting to connect with heritage. I was so hungry to “take my place among my ancestors” so to speak. 

    I know all of those regions were Christianized (is that a word :D) but I also know for years they killed each other, Catholics vs. Protestants. I had ancestors on both sides who suffered great losses. I wanted to go beyond that before the conversion crisis as I like to call it. I found my Celtic and Germanic/Scandinavian ancestors worshipped the same gods and goddesses. The names varied by language but they were the same. These are the gods my father and sisters had come to know. I decided I wanted to know them too.

    *When the struggle within myself surfaced*

    I transitioned so much through religions and cultures, it was as if I hated myself. I ran from the Hansen surname. I remember getting married and double checking that I marked the box to give up my maiden name. Once we separated, I took on various pennames even using my mother’s German maiden name Schramm. There was honor behind my reasoning for using mother’s name but it’s another tale.

    How many times would I allow myself to submit to what I thought everyone wanted me to be? How many relationships were built upon hiding behind someone else? It was the worst case of crisis identity. I believe my anger that I held onto against my father was the reason. I kept blaming everyone else instead of realizing, I had captured myself. Prison, I was in a personal prison without cell walls; yet it was such a small, lonely place.

    It took me so long but I know who I am. Studying the old heritage and oral history of my ancestors has been water upon parched lands.I see the wisdom in each tale, the dual meanings in each poetic Edda. It is strength to discover who you are and where your roots have belonged all along.

    med kærlighed og ære Josette

    Unquenchable Flame

    Forever, a perpetual and endless devotion of his absence physically or presently

    Oh..but if he knew that forever his essence remained with her eternally

    Existing, engraved, etched within her heart and mind like an ancient secret, his hieroglyphics on every inch, he possessed her completely

    Would such love, could it, survive beyond their graves? Or will their memory cease to exist? And so she lay haunted continually..

    The thought of their love being reborn again shall haunt her, imagining they could reach beyond time, beyond boundaries… To finally, just be, free.

    *For the love possessed within thee is immeasurable by all things.  May her ghost return to thee and bring peace.

    Scenes from my novel

    Oh how the sound of crunching gnawed away at my patience vehemently. Would the journey cease at some point? (Sooner, rather than later preferably)

    Our bodies shook violently; while the wind cut through our layers like razors. Night sounds crept around us slowly and we knew it would prevent us from moving forward until daybreak. 

          “We should light a fire, no?” Gunnar looked up from the snow covered log     he decided to lounge on.

          “What about the wolves? Don’t you   hear them in the distance?” 

          “Well, warrior Queen, they’re the least of our problems. Wouldn’t you agree?”

    Andra hung her head in silence momentarily. 

           “I suppose you’re right.”

    ***A scene from my novel Kingdom Rising*** 

    Thinking cap on! Wish me luck xo

    Original Music

    Thought I’d share a link to the two original songs Donald Bell and I did. His music inspired my writing and vocals thus a great kinship was born.

    Enjoy x

    Listen to Fiona Scar & Donald Bell by Fiona Scar #np on #SoundCloud

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