My story began on this earth on August 12, 1967. I started my life here by leaving this world for two minutes before they brought me back. I came three months early and weighed no more than 500 grams.
I was a calm child, and my family used to travel to Harestuvannet, where they swam and enjoyed themselves. My mother told me that as long as I was placed near trees, plants, and in the shade, I would lie in my basket, content with everything I saw around me. Because of this, my family forgot me there more than once; my grandfather would remind the family that I had been left behind in the forest. This happened three times in my young life.
When I was 10 months old, I began taking my first steps; by 12 months I was walking around. At the age of four, I was sitting on my father's shoulders when he stepped on a patch of ice and dropped me onto the asphalt. I suffered a severe concussion. I can still remember the sound when my head hit the ground. For a week I was kept in a dark room — the first days completely without light, and gradually more and more light was allowed in. I spent most of that time pondering how I was and why the world was the way it was. I also had dreams of previous lives in the Viking age. At the time, these were just dreams to me, but they captured my interest.
When I was six years old, I learned to swim, in the sea at Storsand in the Oslo Fjord. We used to travel out to a small islet where we had a cabin by the fjord that my parents used to borrow. This was my first real meeting with the sea. I loved being underwater, for it gave a feeling of freedom and weightlessness. The world down there was calm and beautiful; I could hear sounds from far away, and everything was so different and beautiful. I loved walking on the beach, philosophizing and wondering. I always enjoyed my own company with nature; I didn't need to be surrounded by people. I was most myself with the thing that had made me — nature.
I grew up like most other children at the time, but I had an unusual number of questions about everything, about why things were the way they were. My questions were mostly answered with "that's just how it is." At the age of 7, I would once again meet the other side. My appendix burst, and the infection spread into my abdominal cavity. I left this world for another two minutes before being brought back once more. My mother's hair turned grey on one side of her head that night. Life eventually returned to normal. I turned 8, and my grandfather was living with us at home.
As an 8-year-old, I was sent to my first summer camp, at Hudøy near Tjøme. I loved that place. I wandered around alone in all kinds of weather, mostly sitting by myself, enjoying the silence, the nature, and everything the wind carried with it. I remember especially well how one of the "aunties," as we called them, came over, worried about me being alone. After I explained to her why I chose to be alone, she sat down with me and enjoyed the same stillness I did. After that, she was no longer worried about my solitude. I also spent time with the other children, but I needed that stillness every day.
I was a child who had a few friends, but who loved solitude and everything around me. I enjoyed the sun, the weather, nature, and all the wonder that could fill my soul with experience.
My grandfather died in our home one night when I was nearly 12 years old. I remember dreaming that he came to me to say farewell, telling me that I would always have him and my ancestors watching over me. In this dream he told me he was going to meet his late wife, and that I shouldn't be sad, because he would come to me now and then.
I slept late that morning; it wasn't a school day. I knew what had happened the moment I got up — my grandfather had already been collected and taken away. I told my mother exactly how he had been sitting when she found him early that morning, and she looked at me and held me close in confirmation. That day was strange, but strange in a good way too, as everyone talked about grandfather and all the things he had done. Missing him felt odd, and every time I walked into the living room, I expected him to be there. I could, of course, feel his presence long after his death.
In the nights before his funeral, he would come to me and describe in detail how he was doing. I could hear him speaking from the living room, all the way up until the funeral. At the funeral itself, I felt his presence to the right, up near the ceiling, beside the casket where his body lay. I feel the same presence at every funeral I have attended since. My mother struggled with the loss for several years. But my grandfather's death, as he moved on into his new existence, opened something in my mind that had surely been there all along — I simply hadn't been ready to experience it yet.
A part of my abilities opened up; everything happens in its own given time. With this, I gained the ability to see and experience those from the other side. I had many experiences. Some were a little frightening, but mostly they were enlightening and explicable. At my young age, it seemed as though the experiences were calibrated to my age.
At the age of 11, I had an experience I will never forget. My father had connected some electrical wires to an extension cord lying in the grass. I was going to pull it in, as it looked like rain was coming. I took hold of it to pull it out. At that same moment, 220 volts passed through my body as I stood barefoot in the damp grass. The sensation in my body was both fascinating and terrifying. I stood frozen, unable to move, yet I could hear and perceive everything around me, while a constant electrical sound ran through my body. I saw my mother run toward me and knock the cord out of my hand with a stick. The cord was stuck fast to my hand. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds that I stood there, but it was experienced as an eternity, as though time itself had slowed. The moment the cord let go, I fell to the ground. The sound of electrical devices troubled me for about 14 days afterward.
As I grew older, at 14, my life took a new direction. I began training in kung fu, which has meant a great deal for who I am today. I trained until I was 20. During this time I experienced remarkable growth in self-reflection, as well as physical and mental development. I had powerful experiences within meditation and learned to predict events well before they happened. I could sense who was approaching me up to a couple of hours before it occurred.
Within the mental space of meditation, I experienced two major events. The first was that my body lifted from where I sat, and I floated up near the ceiling until my mother touched the door handle — at that same instant I was back in my body. The second great experience was arriving in a round room with 13 doors. I had to find the right door to get out. I had been warned about this event, and that there are people who never manage to leave this stage, but the way out proved simple.
Each door had its own unique symbol and colour, and I understood that they represented different times and transformations. It was fascinating to see how the 13 doors could symbolize everything from life stages and historical epochs to states of consciousness and seasons of the year. After careful consideration, I felt drawn toward the green door. It radiated a feeling of calm, growth, and harmony that spoke to something deep within me. I realized that this choice represented my unconscious wish to bring more natural balance and healing, magic and energy, into my life.
The moment I opened the green door, I felt a wave of peace and renewal wash over me. It was as though nature itself welcomed me into the next phase of my journey. I understood that by choosing this door, I had not only found my way out of the room, but had also taken an important step in my personal development and spiritual growth. This experience taught me the value of trusting my intuition and seeking harmony in life. The green door proved to be the key both to ending this part of the meditation and to opening new possibilities for healing and growth in my daily life. But it also meant that I stopped meditating before reaching that room again, for within me, this choice is to be made only once, even though the possibility of returning there remains.
I believe this reflects a more conscious and reflective development on my part, in which I don't simply move through experiences but actually take the time to process them before moving on. In this way I can ensure that each phase of the journey gives me maximal growth and understanding of what I experience as an Alfr.
Between the ages of 16 and 18, life took some turns toward parties and nightlife, but my focus remained the same underneath. A number of supernatural events followed me. A couple of these were as follows: in a friend's apartment, there had once lived an alcoholic uncle who had drunk himself to death. Every bottle of alcohol would be pushed off the coffee table and shatter — it was simply impossible to drink beer in that house.
Another incident took place at an old farm in the countryside, dating from the 1600s. I could see a couple of the former owners walking around the property. At the barn, whenever I tried to enter, an owl would block my way. Others could go in, but I was not permitted. It turned out that the farm's owner had hanged himself there.
I have experienced many such incidents throughout my life. They always carry a wish to tell their story, so that they may move on. All it takes is to listen to them, or let them show you what they have to say. But be aware: they can become so eager that they take over, even though that is not their intention. So if it starts to feel too intrusive, withdraw and ask "why," and you can step back — they will settle. After that, they move on.
The ability to see the future, to predict events and to heal, as well as to draw illnesses and afflictions out of others, runs in my family's history. Drawing out an affliction is simple enough, but not every affliction can be taken and discarded; some transfer onto yourself. But if another person's affliction transfers within a week of having been taken from them, you will begin to feel the symptoms yourself — though never the same illness, nor as severe — though they can still be serious enough.
Later in life, I had two beautiful daughters, each of them unique and wonderful; each has her own personality, but both also carry the traits of my family line. For a short period it was easy to make use of their abilities — we could ask whether someone was about to visit, and the answer was always correct. This became easy to exploit, until I decided that this was not what their gift was meant for, and we stopped asking.
At the age of 27, I was poisoned and went through all the processes one must go through before moving on to the next journey. I became acutely ill in the night, a couple of hours after dinner. It came from every direction, and I sweated so much that I literally slid off the toilet. After about three-quarters of an hour, I felt completely drained of strength; I used my last reserves to get myself into bed, where I collapsed onto my back, exhausted.
Phase two felt as though my blood was boiling and tingling throughout my whole body. I became gradually paralyzed and unable to move. Phase three was that I lost my hearing, then my voice, and then my sight began to weaken and weaken until it disappeared entirely, at the same time as my whole body seemed to disappear. For a split second, I could see myself lying on the bed.
I found myself up near the ceiling, on the right side; I was conscious of the situation, and I felt no wonder about it at all. It was entirely natural to me; I no longer had any questions about why, but I remember answering a question I was asked, or asked myself: "What about my children?" In that same instant, I was back in my body. That night I was cold for hours on end, and in the morning I took a hot shower to warm up — I stood there for half an hour. I survived this time too, and was extremely hungry, in need of nourishment, especially salt and water, but food as well. After about an hour, I felt like myself again, except that my body had become more sensitive to outside stimuli than before. For example, I can feel every small electrical charge in the wind. Colours are more beautiful and clearer, even now, 30 years later. I confronted my doctor about the incident, and he confirmed that I had gone through the process of dying. He took blood samples, which came back normal, except that I have an unnaturally high oxygen level in my blood — it absorbs 98 percent oxygen.
My next major event was that my wife found a new partner, and our marriage ended in divorce. This was a deeply depressive phase for me. After about 14 days of profound self-examination of my own feelings — and again, of where those feelings came from and what I could do to change them — I began investigating why exactly this feeling arose in this situation, and what I could do about it. It turned out that many of these feelings had their roots in earlier experiences and perceptions. I could change them, as long as I understood where they came from and why. My first step was to list the positive things that came from the breakup and weigh them against the negative. I left the children out of that particular list, but focused on myself and my own feelings, so that I could process everything relating to the children once I had put myself and my inner life in order. I was in daily contact with my children throughout.
The next phase was that I was denied access to my children. This was a hard time, but I met them every day, to and from school, and they would visit. This resolved itself with time. I began to feel loneliness in everyday life, and sought out other people, despite managing perfectly well with very little human contact beyond my closest family.
I then met my great love, who is now my wife, and with whom I had my third daughter. Life mostly proves to change for the better after a while. Even when things seem devastating and deeply negative, life has its own ability to make things better. You simply cannot see it while you are at the centre of the event — but once you move away from that centre, you see all the positive developments unfold over time. Once again, chaos and order reign everywhere in the universe.
Life as Alfr is a remarkable life of learning, understanding, insight, and access to other dimensions that exist, as well as to past lives. Healing, foresight, and more besides. On the whole, it is an interesting life, one that most people deny.
On My Family and My Roots
This inner strength is a gracious testament from my ancestors, mirroring their undying willpower and their ability to explore, understand, and master the unknown. Nature, which has shaped humanity over millions of years, has also shaped me to master this strength. I feel a deep connection to beings from the Norse era, and I reach further back still, to the earliest peoples of the North. I feel a strong connection to Denmark, Iceland, Scotland, in part Sweden, and of course Norway, which forms the foundation of my ancestry.
My attraction to the Norse forces and beings has been with me since childhood, and in the same way, homage to the forces of the earth has been a constant part of my life. I have survived against all odds, thanks to my connection with nature and its forces and beings, as well as my ability to listen to its voice and follow its path. I have always felt a strong connection, not only to mythological beings and the old gods, but also to the forces of the earth, and I have experienced and know that both the Norse forces and the oldest beings of the earth still surround and affect us.
This energy and power, I believe, is a gift from my ancestors. My forebears carry old traditions within ancient magic and mysticism, as well as craftsmanship, and I carry these forward in my own actions and creations. To me, everything in nature is one great symbiosis; everything depends on everything else, whether it is a human being, a tree, an animal, or the forces of the earth.
I have devoted my life to the philosophical, the natural, and the alternative, as well as to artistic pursuits spanning both visual art and craftsmanship. My inner drive to express myself and my observations aligns with the eternal stream of energy that has shaped my kin through the ages. My paintings, sculptures, and craftwork are nothing more than physical manifestations of everything I observe and experience — everything that nature, the life around me, and the forces of the earth tell me.
What matters most to me is to be present in the now, to learn from the past, and to carry forward love, understanding, and compassion into future generations. These are the most valuable gifts we can give one another. We are all woven from the same threads; we are all driven by the same force, and it is up to us to discover this force within ourselves and within others. We are all the same kind, with the same dreams, longings, hopes, and expectations. We must learn to understand and accept one another, to love and respect one another, for only then can we achieve harmony and balance in our own lives and in the lives of others.
Regardless of whether you believe in a god, Jesus, the Virgin Mary, angels, elves, or whatever else it may be, the forces are the same. But my own approach holds that the forces of nature and the universe are the foundational and complete ones; everything else is humanity's own manifestation, in the form of religions. Religions halt development and set limits where there exist possibilities and understanding of what is essential in creation.
The Family Tree — The Wiig Family on My Mother's Side
(An excerpt of the family history as it is documented, from Eidanger and Christiania.)
First generation: Søren (born approx. 1603–1663), father of Marie Sørensdatter.
Second generation: Marie Sørensdatter (1668–1746), born at Nordal Sætre in Eidanger, married to Michel Larsen. Mother of, among others, Maria Michelsdatter.
Third generation: Maria Michelsdatter Sættre (1707–1784), Eidanger, Telemark, married to Iver Arnesen. Their son, Michel Iversen Sættre (1749–1828), was married three times (to Anne Larsdatter Bakke, Antonette Olsdatter, and Gunhild Larsdatter) and father to nine children.
Fourth generation: Ole Johannes Wiig (1873–1928), born in Christiania, tramway worker, married to Hulda Elise Wiig, née Johansen (1869–1904), and later to Elise Marie Wiig (1882–1946). Father to nine children, among them Sofie Oleane.
Fifth generation: Sofie Oleane Borgersen, née Wiig (1913–1943), married to Walter Lorang Borgersen. Mother of Unni, Mary, and Roger Borgersen.
This is the story behind the philosophy in this book — not an invented frame, but the background of a worldview shaped by near-death experiences, meditation, dreams, and a lifelong connection to nature and to the inheritance of one's ancestors. What follows in Book One, Book Two, and Book Three is what this journey has brought into the light.