dream 2007

Amitai led us to the temple. He is on a journey to the inner self. The superficial chamber was a majestic hall, as magnificent as the vault of a grand cathedral and as humble as the stomach of a cave: stoic and stony but open and fresh; lit only by the mystic glow of waxes and oils creating a reverent ambiance. The guide was already expecting us. No one else was there. He led us down the first set of stone stairs into a smaller chamber, like that of a cellar. He lit a candle and told Amitai that from this point on he'd have to find the path to the inner self, the innermost chamber of the temple, it's most sacred place, on his own. The attendant said nothing more and returned to the surface.
Though Amitai was sure of his quest, he expressed uncertainty as to the way which to take, for he had never been to the inner self. Nor had we.
I grew concerned, for we had no maps, no books and no instructions to help us out on this journey. The temple was vast and descended like a labyrinth deeper and deeper into an earthen womb in a series of chambers, hallways, tunnels and stairs with countless paths to turn on. I spotted a wooden fixture upon which lay a book and a piece of paper. I acquired it with enthusiasm as I discovered that it was a book about the temple which explained how to get out of the temple once the inner self had been reached. The paper was some sort of hand scribbled map in green ink starting at the place we were at. Excited about my finding I took it to Amitai who showed gracious indifference, he was too focused to pay it much mind. I guarded it anyway.
We proceeded into the next area which split up in a set of bigger rooms. To the left spanning very far back, there were shelves filled with books, chairs and couches and people all over the place: hangin', chillin', talking or simply being. Others were moving about, searching. A small hall led through to another path which grew dark and invisible, like a lightless tunnel. To the right I paid no mind at all.
Amitai led us right of the tunnel to another descent. It was a perfectly vertical non-stair. It went down deep. How could you possibly survive the jump? I wondered and grew nervous. Yet surely this was the way. Amitai and our other male companion figured out to throw down the bags, if a puddle of clear liquid formed beneath them at the bottom, they were ok to jump. But Maria was too frightened and disappeared into the room sequence of shelves and chairs. I went after her to try and convince her not to give up. Amitai and the other traveler stayed behind, they didn't seem to mind at all that Maria had left the path.
I looked around for a while glancing at books and faces. There she was in a group of women wearing make-up, red lipstick, blouses and skirts. Maria, too, looked like they did now. She said to me "I choose to stay here. It's ok to remain in a more superficial plain. Go on without me, this is what I want. Not everyone has to reach the inner self..." Though startled, I accepted and understood. Went back to the drop of stone, where the two men had already gone, they were down there barely waiting for me. As I arranged my things to throw them down -I took a long time to bundle up my robe in which I carefully placed my case of greens, which I thought to myself I wouldn't use in the temple anyway- a group of tourists led by a guide came along.
There were maybe half a dozen, maybe some more. The guide explained to them that they needed to jump. I understood that you needed to believe in the jump to be ok upon landing; believe in your path, know that you are going to be ok. Two of the tourists in front of me were very scared and someone said, "Help them!" So I did. I touched their arms to help them go. All the tourists dropped. On the ground they lay for a moment, then, they stood up. All but the two I had helped. These two now were dead. I understood that though you may encourage someone to jump, one alone must actually jump to proceed to the inner self.
Amitai and the other guy were already out of sight. I needed to hurry. I threw my bundle down and watched as the clear liquid puddle formed underneath on the bottom. Then I jumped.

Das Fest der Liebe

Einiges aus der Zeit, in der die Menschen in den heutigen Industrieländern noch mit der Natur lebten, sei verschwunden, und viel Anderes sei hinzugekommen, so schreibt ein Doktor in einer Zeitschrift. Weihnachten sei aber nicht, wie so manches in unserer Zeit, einfach wegrationalisiert worden. Ein Funken Hoffnung für den Industrielandsmenschen? Auch die Finanzkrise sei aus einem Mangel an Besinnung und Gesinnung herausgewachsen. Aber wer hat heute noch Zeit für sowas, Besinnung, bei all der Arbeit und den Geldsorgen? Vom Geist zu sprechen ist tabu. Sehen kann man ihn ja nicht, keine Maschine zeigt sein Gesicht, wie soll es ihn geben!?

Der Kalender ist eine Lebensordnung aus dem Weihnachten noch nicht gestrichen wurde. Sie muss auch nicht pompös sein. Auch trotz aller Fehlentwicklungen ist alle Jahre wieder Weihnachten, zum Frieden mit allen, die guten Willens sind, sowie zum Frieden mit dem Selbst. Liebe deinen Nächsten wie dich selbst, lautet eine alte Weisheit. Liebe deinen Nächsten nicht mehr und nicht weniger, nicht anders als dich selbst. Das Fest der Liebe hat überlebt, trotz äußerer Dinge und Geschehnisse. Es überlebt von innen her, mit einer Botschaft von innerem Frieden für alle Menschen, die guten Willens sind. Der Friede Gottes ist höher als alle Vernunft. Aus dem Inneren des Weihnachtsfestes, am Ende der tiefsten Dunkelheit leuchtet dieser Segenswunsch in die Herzen empfindsamer, gutwilliger Menschen.

Ein Pfarrer Nicolaus schrieb: Das Herz ist in der Bibel das Wesen des Menschen. Es ist der Ort, wo die Entscheidungen fallen oder schon gefallen sind, wo die Bewertungen ablaufen, wo Ehrsucht und Angst, aber auch Aufmerksamkeit und Zuversicht ihre Wurzeln haben. Der Frieden Gottes kann das Herz befrieden und bewahren. Er ist die Kraft, die aus dem Chaos stets wieder Kosmos schafft. Eine Auswirkung des Gottesfriedens im Herzen besteht darin, dass wir unseren Zugriff lockern und schließlich loslassen können, was wir erst (trotz schwindender Kräfte) unter allen Umständen festhalten wollten. Das Resultat ist Freiheit, ist Freude, ist frische Kraft und ein lustvolles Anwachsen von Dankbarkeit und Friedfertigkeit. Hältst du dich an etwas fest und willst es nicht loslassen?

Mir fällt es schwer mich vom Gedanken eines eigenen Willens zu lösen. Ich leide unter der Qual der Wahl. Sein oder nicht sein? Darf ich mich guten Willens für Gottes Wille entscheiden? In der Erkenntnis, dass nicht ich das Zentrum meiner kleinen Welt bin, sondern Gott das Zentrum eines unendlichen Universums ist, von dessen ich nur ein winziger Teil bin, liegt Trost. Diesem allmächtigen Gott kann ich winziges Lebewesen vertrauen, schließlich kümmert sich diese mysteriöse Macht um den Zyklus der Sterne umeinander, um der einzelnen Planeten Licht und Elemente, sowie dessen Leben bis ins kleinste subatomische Detail. Gewiss wird diese Kraft auch mich mit dem Wesentlichen versorgen, wenn ich ihr nur vertraue. Guten Willens, will ich nicht nur Weihnachten von meinen egozentrischen Neigungen loslassen. Wenn es nur so einfach wär…

Die eigentliche Wirkung von Weihnachten entstehe jedoch nicht aus der Bestätigung des Gottesfriedens, der Bekräftigung des inneren Friedens. Können Menschen überhaupt aus eigenem Willen, aus eigener Kraft zum Frieden kommen? Die Weihnachtsbotschaft sage auch nicht, der Mensch müsse zum Frieden kommen – sondern genau das Gegenteil dazu: der Frieden kommt zu den Menschen. Der Frieden kommt zu den Menschen die guten Willens sind. Alle Jahre wieder fordert Weihnachten auf, die einzige Bedingung zu erfüllen, um das allerwichtigste Geschenk: den Frieden zu erhalten. In der historischen Bilanz haben Menschen mehr Ungleichgewicht als Gleichgewicht, mehr Unrecht als Recht, mehr Unfrieden als Frieden erzeugt. Wie kann der Frieden zu den Menschen kommen? Menschen guten Willens seien Empfänger des Friedens, sagt der Zeitschriftdoktor.

Der Frieden ist auch schon zu mir gekommen, da war mein Herz offen und eine wunderbare Kraft floss durch mein gesamtes Wesen. Dann aber war der Kanal wieder wie verstopft von Ängsten und Sorgen, Ungewissheit, Selbstbesessenheit und Einsamkeit. Was war nur geschehen? Ich rückte ins Zentrum einer kleinen Welt in der ich verzweifelt versuchte die Fäden zu halten, Spinnwebenfäden. Die große Welt um mich herum wirkte dann nur noch kalt, chaotisch, beängstigend und böse.

„Nur wer des Menschen Angst versteht, begreift den Menschen ganz – in seiner Größe wie in den Facetten seiner ständigen Gefährdung“, hat ein Denker gedacht. An Weihnachten soll der Frieden: der Frieden Gottes zu den Menschen kommen: zu allen Menschen, die schon gescheitert, oder scheiternd, oder vom Scheitern bedroht und dennoch guten Willens sind – und bleiben. Weihnachten ist ein Fest für den inneren Frieden – zur Überwindung von Angst, von Chaos.

Ein Psychoanalytiker schrieb: „Unsere Kultur ist Merkmal wie auch Ausdruck einer Zivilisation, die der Leistung, dem Erfolg und dem Funktionieren um seiner selbst willen huldigt. Zugleich verdrängt sie die Ängste, die aus dieser Ideologie aufsteigen, indem sie die Angst vor dem Scheitern als Schwäche einstuft.“ In dem Verdrängen und Einstufen der Angst vor dem Scheitern sieht er die Ursachen von Hass und Gewalt – nach außen wie nach innen: „Wir leben in einer Welt, in der wir zunehmend voneinander abhängig sind, gleichzeitig uns vermehrt gegeneinander einsetzen. Zunehmend stellen sich Menschen gegen das, was sie miteinander verbindet, gegen das, was sie gemeinsam haben.“

Gemochtsein ist unendlich viel wichtiger als das Gemachtsein. Ich möchte gesund sein, ich möchte den Frieden empfangen, ich möchte lieben. Wenn Heilung erwünscht ist, könne die allgegenwärtige, aber stets verleugnete Angst in unserer Zivilisation klarer verstanden und möglicherweise mit gutem Willen, mit innerem Frieden geheilt werden. Der Psychoanalytiker empfiehlt über eine Kultur des Scheiterns nachzudenken um die Angst vor dem Scheitern zu überwinden. Scheinbar paradox (widersinnig) könne so angstfreieres, wirksameres, friedlicheres Leben entstehen.

Die Bereitschaft zum Frieden, die Bereitschaft zur Liebe, zum Glaube, zur Hoffnung und zum Vertrauen ist unendlich viel Wert. Die Bereitschaft von einem Kontrollwahn loszulassen könnte der Verstopfung im Herzen behilflich sein. Die Bereitschaft guten Willens zu sein, egal wie entmutigend die Umstände, könnte der Schlüssel zur Empfängnis Gottes Frieden sein. Im Gebet ist es einfach dem guten Willen für Gottes Frieden Ausdruck zu gewähren. Von einem Meister des Mittelalters habe ich ein einfaches Gebet gelernt, wenn nichts anderes in den Sinn kommen mag: DANKE. Gott ist immer zugänglich. Und von einer Gruppe Menschen die sich dem Empfangen von Frieden widmen, hilft mir oft ein anderes Gebet, wenn die Zeiten schwer sind und die Sorgen viele:

Gott, gib mir die Heiterkeit
jene Dinge zu akzeptieren, die ich nicht ändern kann.
Den Mut jene Dinge zu ändern, die ich kann.
Und die Weisheit den Unterschied zu erkennen.

Ein frohes Weihnachtsfest voller Besinnung, Frieden und Lebensfreude!
Ein frohes Fest der Liebe!

Der Gedankenfänger

Er fängt schöne Gedanken mit seinem Wortschatznetz und seinen Farbenbildern und seinen Nummernformen. Wie bunte Schmetterlinge fliegen sie umher, lassen sich oft auf einer schönen Blume nieder oder seinem Kopf oder seiner Hand. Dann fängt er sie und schreibt sie nieder. Manchmal schaut er ihnen auch einfach zu, fasziniert von ihrer geheimnisvollen Schönheit. Er bewundert ihren leichtfertigen Flug durch Raum und Zeit, so unbeschwert, und so vergänglich wie auch ewig. Am schönsten sind sie im Freien. So lässt auch der Gedankenfänger die meisten einfach fliegen.

"Fly away" by Vladimir Kush

Now what?

Tyler used to write on napkins all the time. I wonder whether he still does. This napkin doesn't work so well with this pen - not the best quality napkin anyway with its environmentally conscious design and all. Breaking the routine today, March 30th 2010. A day that has a special feel to it somehow, had lots of deja-vecu moments. So I'll drink a white chocolate mocha, or "white café mocha" as it is called here in Germany, maybe today the coffee won't upset my stomach the way it tends to do since my pregnancy with Puyi. Quiet here, such a different vibe in German coffee shops than in the US. Sometimes I miss Salt Lake a lot - or Seattle, anyway the US of A. Weren't I here though, I would miss Berlin - blessed town of wonder and miraculous growth, a special kind of magic. Somehow I feel at peace today. The stress of previous weeks seems to be fading off. Bendito! Life will show me the path to go through, point out the direction. Life's plan is set somehow, no point in pretending otherwise. There is some nasty shit you gotta get through anyway - no way around it until it's overcome. You got a certain disposition for badness, you gotta fight it and overcome it. It's complicated. The path is set, but you choose how you go it, always confronted with your badness and the badness of the world. Ain't no way around it, until you overcome it. And overcoming it at the very first and most basic level is quite personal. It is your choice how or whether you deal with it. Some people may have less consciousness and need more guidance, others may simply need to figure it out the hard way all on their own, and yet others may never open up their eyes to life that way. It's just the way it is. Can't change it, can't control it... the question is, what'chu gonna do with it?

What makes a philosopher? The stamp of approval of an authority, of society? Self-proclamation? What's a thinker? Everybody thinks, or uses their thinking organ to an extent. Wisdom is one great virtue. If wisdom is what I seek, what I love, does that make me a philosopher? A lover of wisdom? One that loves wisdom? What's in a thinker, an ascetic, a lone wolf?

Of the statue and the well

Baby, call me, I'm feeling so lonely. You're so out of reach. Need somewhere to hold on to. There's no way I'm gonna call you. Knowing how busy you are, wrapped up in your own life, feelings and unfulfilled desires. So where can I turn? When I feel this unpronounceable solitude. I'm all alone, no ground under my feet to walk upon, no tree trunk to lean on, no railing to hold on to. What do I do? Desperation rushes with the the flow of my blood through me, tension, loss, frustration marks my every muscle. Where are you to embrace my wreched self and tell me that everything will be ok. Surrounded by countless bodies and faces and spirits, I feel so incredibly alone. Not a soul to turn to in my despair. Suffering in isolation, who should care? What for? Day to day is too important. Too much to do, too much to think of. Too many responsibilities, busy. Don't care. Too caught up with oneself. No humanity, no compassion, no time for anyone who don't serve a purpose for the self. Each one on their own, a lonely battle, a lonely fight. Where are my people? Where is my pack? Those loyal, faithful and unselfish. The additional arms, hands and legs, the drum circle of hearts, the community of minds. Where are they, those that I belong with? Those that care to be there when I can't walk on my own, when reason fails and the heart stalls? Those who understand, reach out and share their strength, those who care beyond themselves, their own time, and shelter those lost and strange. Today I'm lost and strange - a stranger in my own home. A source of darkness on the streets - see my sadness reflected on the eyes that regard me. What a strange sight I must be today. Like a deep well that loses itself in darkness, soundlessness and the humid chills of the unknown, or like a worn-out stone statue in the rain, water wearing down its face. Be careful not to get near it for you don't know whether it may crumble upon you. Turn away from this sight of sadness that drew your attention mysteriously to it, for a split second, just long enough to make you realize you want nothing to do with it. Why waste your time for a lost work of art? For a forgotten well of buried memories?

There are things that can't be choice. They just happen. Free will is but a witness in a theatre of matters earthly and divine, mysterious and demonic. There are spirirts that will evoke nothing but tears of sorrow in you, even if you are a laughing clown, a jolly jester. There are spirits that will make you laugh regardless of the sadness that may fill your heavy heart. There's a spirit that gives you life in death, and one that irrevocably ends your living days. The spirits that ail me seem implacable and have grown too strong for me to face them alone. Or so it seems. I really gotta be putting off a very unpleasant vibe - the lady at the table next to mine took her things and moved further away. I find my sadness unbearable. How dare I show up in public that way! Transparent as I am. She looks so incredibly sad now herself. Depressed. Another reflection. There surely must be somethig in the air. So, in this time of human societal organization, where is the witchdoctor you can turn to for wisdom? Where is the witch you can turn to for magical words? Or the shaman who holds life's secrets and speaks the language of the spirits, the wiseman who has the appropriate advice? There is no doctor I can turn to. Psychologists are phony suffering souls. No hotline can look into my heart. No modern creature will have the eyes to see the world beyond the running trends of egoism, superficiality, capitalism, competition, escapism and concrete walls.

Could I be writing my final note? A sad goobye to a lost world in which no halt can be found for a lost soul? Wondered the woman who chose to no longer be near my depressing scent. Now she glances over, relieved to be at a distance, still curious about that frightening well, the eroding statue. There is magnificence in horror, adrenaline in fright. Will the statue cease to be in the pouring rain? Will the well turn dry? Now she can't stop staring. She's in awe. There is beauty in suffering, comfort in chagrin: "I'm not the only ugly one! See that figure of stone how its face is full of craters, its chest is full of holes! See how its legs are about to break, its fingers useless stumps! See its ugliness, it makes me pretty, pretty glad I am not it! Alas, from a distance its death to me will be useful. I am no artist who could it fix. Alas, thank God that I don't have to! Each on their own, you without me! Your pain makes me feel better, I'll gladly watch you crumble in the rain!" "Glad to have been of service," says the statue. "I'll be around for the next rain. Each storm fills with more water the well. We're here to suffer so you won't know hell." There are the distant observers, the fools who never touch the face of life, who never listen to its heartbeat, nor feel its blood warm their skin. There are those careless spirits, the inhumane ones without compassion. The ones that plague the caring souls. Those that take advantage of the good ones, those who only see themselves. Stale they are, just like Narcissus, prisoners of their own will, a will that extends to noone, a will as useless as the reflection of their mirror image in a stagnant pond.

Reveries of a student

The day was fertile. Nurturing the seeds of new knowledge. Conflict with self, with feeling overwhelmed - seeking escapes and distractions. Fear of failure. The brain takes time to assimilate, organize, compartmentalize and internalize the new knowledge. It asks for periods of repose. Sleep at night alone not enough. A state of dreamlike existence descends upon the mind. Reprogramming of the mind is time dependent. Theories are but a tool for interpreting knowledge.

Weiß gar nicht recht wo ich anfangen soll. Eine Systematik habe ich nicht drauf. Daran scheine ich stets wieder zu scheitern. Ein Mangel an Selbstdisziplin. Na ja, meine Taktik bestand immer darin mich meiner Umgebung anzupassen. Das nachzumachen was die anderen mir zeigten. Jetzt lerne ich ernsthaft zu lernen, aber es liegt mir schwer. Vielleicht habe ich einfach zu viel auf die Schultern gepackt. Das Beste ist wohl wenn ich mich einfach daran halte mein Bestes zu geben, auch wenn es nicht sehr gut ist. Ich habe Grund zu glauben, daß ich auch diese Herausforderung meistern kann. Noch nie habe ich mich im Intellektuellen so gefordert gefühlt, so an meine Grenzen gebracht.
Ganz klar, nichts ist selbstverständlich im Leben. Das Leben wird schwerer mit Wachstum. Etwas geschiet mit dem Menschen im Laufe der Zeit. Etwas geschieht mit mir und ich bin mir nicht sicher was es ist. Reife? Verantwortung? Alter? Nein, nein, das trifft es alles nicht.
Ich suche. Suche stets und weiß nicht recht wonach. Wahrheit? Verständnis? Nein, ich suche nach etwas und finde es nicht.
Sinn, meines Lebens Sinn verfolge ich. Schicksal oder nicht, Bestimmung oder weiß der Kuckuck! Die Suche hört dort einfach nicht auf. Das ist meines Wesens nicht Sinn. Große Fragen stelle ich, wo ich doch Kleine nicht mal zu beantworten vermag. Die Welt ist so voller Empirie. Gedankliche Selbstbefriedigung ist institutionalisiert. Und dennoch hat die wahre Welt des Wissens einen Herzschlag, Leidenschaft wird vom Verstand nicht ausgeschlossen.
Abstraktion, immer in der Abstraktion... Aber nur dort bin ich auch wahrhaftig anonym... einfach Mensch... einfach Wesen... sonst nichts.

The Child

i, too, was there when you cried, i was there when you stumbled, when you exploded with anger, when you wept with emotion. i was there for you when he didn't come home and suffered alongside with you for his well-being. i was there when you thought the world was a dark place and i smiled at you. And i didn't question your commands. i was there to show you how important you are, how grand, how beautiful. i was there to love you, to trust you, look up to you. i was there to kiss your violent hand. i, too, passed you cleenex to wipe your sadness away. i was there when you worried and I was there when you slouched. I was there everyday and reminded you how life goes on. i was there because i loved you. And i love you still.

Love 2003

I love him so deeply... passionately, madly, eternally, fully, painfully, all-incompassingly. He sauf his problems is family... love in its rawest, purest, most primal and most evolved form. Complex and diverse, a versatility of emotions culminating into one big bang of cosmic tension exploding into countless particles to form galaxies, solar systems, milky ways, supernovas, planets, suns, stars and even black holes. Always moving and revolving with the mysteries of gravitational force so obscurely powerful that no perfected reason is able to conceive of it but only the faithful heart can embrace. I float in an endless universe of emotions and memories and thoughts...all surrounding them and their significance in my feeble existance, in my finite life. I want them to know. I want them to understand. To read these meaningless pages. The way I would describe what I feel through a verbal, literary filter of reason... while I know ...in the heart, where it is so powerful it surfaces as pain and teary, heavy eyes, where it fogs up my windows to the soul with a mist so humid, so fluid... where I feel. Where the power is too much to bear, where insanity has its birthplace.

Santo Sufrimiento

Bendito seas
por tu cruda honestidad.
Bendito seas
por tu mensaje de amor.
Bendito por recordarnos
el valor
que tiene
la felicidad.
Sólo te pido
que no sea muy prolongado el dolor.
Eres grato,
Bendito,
y no descriminas.
Gracias por penetrar la memoria.
Dejas huella
cuando terminas, y
¡tus revelaciones son la gloria!

to reside in abstraction

Like flies finding onto the wooden stump in the sun and resting upon it...
To get startled by insects is to be reminded of my civilized nature...
learned concepts of beauty and peace reveal to me
the monsters of burried memory and tainted knowledge.
The call for comfort confronts me with simple nuissance.
Yet, the senses know what's artificial...but they, too, join in the dreaming.

I discover that I have sought comfort in abstraction;
now I seek peace and distraction.
I become afraid to turn sachlich,
to hold on to the matter I know has a fin.
In spite of it all, let me tell you a story!
Words without wisdom, impressions of glory.
There is lethargy in abstraction.
I dare not put in words my suspicion.
Learned to find Halt in what's hard to define.
I am going through some sort of transformation,
never ceasing to give up the mine.
It is in this abstraction that I find solace and peace of mind
with myself as conscious creature.

Do I need to learn another language?
To learn a new languague has been to
transform...to metamorphose.
Maybe I have an identity
that has four strong identities
and then some more subtle ones.
Yet, independently of linguistic manifestations
and cultural aspirations,
my identity is one.
This one exists in abstraction.
There, the moon melts into the sun,
and the spirits become one.
It is there that the mind is set free,
when life is no different than that of a tree...
or a bug, or a river, or dirt.

So many details escape me when I reside in abstraction.
I seek with reluctance to scripture.
Not sure how to deal with the trains from without.

rejuvenating

Exhausted.
Been pushin' hard again,
too hard suppose.
Body has limits,
so does mind.
Strength lies in patience,
quiet persistance.
Slow but steady.
Fall get up.
Sit still.
Breathe.

Time for
a spiritual moment...

Head held high
Eyes on the horizon
Mobile spine

breathe