Die Gabe des Adlers – Geschichten von seltsamen Wesen

Die Gabe des Adlers

Kürzlich stolperte ich im Oxfam-Buchladen über das Buch eines Castaneda-Schülers. Es hieß Der Magie des Lebens folgen, und so einem Titel konnte ich natürlich nicht widerstehen, auch wenn ich mit Castaneda sonst nicht viel am Hut habe. Darin ist auch von der Gabe des Adlers die Rede. Nach toltekischer Lehre soll diese etwas mit dem Augenblick des Todes zu tun haben.  Das erinnerte mich daran, daß ich bei meinen schamanischen / ethnographischen Büchern ein kleines Büchlein namens Die Gabe des Adlers stehen habe, und so suchte ich es heraus, um zu sehen, ob es sich da etwa um dieselbe Tradition handelte. Bis auf den Titel hatte ich nämlich das meiste davon vergessen, da ich schon ewig nicht mehr darin gelesen hatte.

Es war ein Buch von Knud Rasmussen mit Eskimomythen, und die Gabe des Adlers bei den Eskimo war etwas ganz anderes als bei den Tolteken und mir viel sympathischer. Der Adler in der Eskimogeschichte brachte nämlich den Menschen bei, Feste zu feiern, Lieder zu erfinden, zu singen und zu tanzen, sich zu treffen und miteinander Spaß zu haben. Vorher waren sie nur mit Überleben beschäftigt, kannten keine Freude und wußten nicht, wie man Worte und Töne zu Liedern verbindet. Doch als die Menschen gelernt hatten zu feiern, wurde auch die alte Adlermutter wieder jung.  Das heißt, auch die Himmelswesen werden davon beeinflußt, was wir hier unten treiben und ob wir Freude am Leben haben oder nicht. 😉 (Eine gekürzte Version der Geschichte findet sich hier.)

Der Adler konnte auch seine Gestalt verwandeln. Wenn er seine Kapuze abnahm, war er ein Mensch in silbern schimmerndem Gewand. Und auch andere Wesen in der Geschichte konnten mehr als eine Gestalt annehmen.  Ich las die Geschichte mit großer Begeisterung laut, und das machte mir so viel Spaß, daß ich sogar darüber nachdachte, ob ich mich nicht als Lesepatin für Kinder melden sollte.

Danach war ich so „drin“ im Geschichtenerzählen, daß sich alsbald eine neue Geschichte entspann.

Unheimliche Begegnung der dritten Art

Es war einmal eine recht merkwürdige Frau, aber sie selbst wußte nicht, daß sie merkwürdig war. Sie fand sich selbst ganz normal. Eines Tages ging sie in den Wald, um Kräuter zu sammeln, und kam auf eine Lichtung. Auf der Lichtung stand das seltsamste Wesen, das sie je gesehen hatte. Es sah aus wie ein Bündel Schlangen, die alle auf den Schwanzspitzen standen, und oben auf jeder Schlange war ein großes Auge. Die vielen Augen starrten alle in ihre Richtung, bis auf eines, welches unverwandt gen Himmel starrte. Als sie sich so angestarrt fühlte, wurde die Frau sehr nervös,.

Das Wesen sandte ihr eine telepathische Botschaft, denn sprechen konnte es scheinbar nicht so richtig. In ihrem Kopf vernahm sie die Worte: „Was ist denn los mit dir? Du zitterst, und du siehst so ängstlich aus.“

Sie sagte: „Ich habe noch nie ein Wesen wie dich gesehen. Wer bist du? Was machst du hier? Und warum starrst du mich so seltsam an?“

Das Wesen antwortete: „Ich schaue immer alles an, was ich noch nicht kenne, und dich kenne ich noch nicht. Ich sehe dich heute zum ersten Mal, und ich möchte möglichst alle Details in mich aufnehmen.“

Die Frau sagte: „Was gibt es denn da schon groß zu sehen? Ich sehe genauso aus wie alle Menschen, ganz normal.“

Das Wesen versetzte: „Glaubst du das wirklich? Guck mal an dir runter.“

Die Frau schaute an sich herunter, und was sie sah, erstaunte sie zutiefst. Sie hatte die Füße eines Greifen, den Schwanz eines Löwen und die Flügel eines Vogels, aber das war ihr noch nie zuvor aufgefallen. „Was hast du mit mir gemacht?“ sagte sie zu dem Wesen. „Vorher sah ich aus wie ein ganz normaler Mensch.“

Das Wesen sagte: „Ich habe gar nichts getan. Ich brauche nichts zu tun. Ich sehe dich einfach, wie du bist, und so siehst du nun mal aus.“

Die Frau sagte: „Aber ich weiß doch, wie ich aussehe und wie ich vorher ausgesehen habe. Ich sah aus wie ein normaler Mensch und hatte ganz normale Füße, nicht solche komischen Klauen. Was ist das für ein seltsames Trugbild?“

Das Wesen antwortete: „Es verhält sich genau umgekehrt. Was du bist jetzt gesehen hast, war das Trugbild. Das hier ist, wie du wirklich bist.“

Da bekam sie es mit der Angst zu tun. „Aber so kann ich doch nicht unter die Menschen gehen! Sie werden mich in einen Zoo stecken, oder noch schlimmer, mich gleich umbringen!“

Das Wesen beruhigte sie: „Du brauchst keine Angst zu haben, denn die Menschen sehen immer nur, was sie sehen wollen. Du hast es ja vorher auch getan. Du hast dich so gesehen, weil sie dir gesagt haben, daß du so aussiehst. Weil sie dich ja auch selber so wahrnehmen. Jetzt weißt du, wie du wirklich aussiehst. Doch nur diejenigen, deren Augen offen sind, können das erkennen. Die anderen werden einfach sehen, was sie immer gesehen haben.“

„Aber ich verstehe das nicht!“ sagte die Frau. „Wie kann das sein? Ich bin immer ein Mensch gewesen, und ich habe noch nie so komisch ausgesehen. Ich habe ja einen Spiegel zuhause. Ich weiß doch, wie mein Körper aussieht! Ich kann meine Füße sehen, wenn ich runtergucke, und sie sahen immer wie ganz normale Menschenfüße aus.“

„Nicht dein Spiegel ist es, der lügt“, sagte das Wesen, „sondern dein Geist ist es, der die Wahrheit nicht sehen will. Der Spiegel wird dir immer nur das zeigen, was du erkennen kannst. Und was du erkennen kannst, ist immer von dem abhängig, was zu sehen du gewillt bist. Und wenn du etwas nicht sehen willst, so wirst du es nicht sehen. Aber du wärst nicht heute hierhergekommen, wenn du nicht bereit wärst, dich endlich so zu sehen, wie du wirklich bist.“

„Was soll ich also tun?“ fragte die Frau. „Du hast mir jetzt gezeigt, was du sagst, wie ich wirklich aussehe. Aber ich werde ja zurückgehen aus diesem Wald. Was soll ich mit diesem Wissen tun?“

„Vorerst noch gar nichts“, sagte das Schlangenwesen. „Gewöhne dich einfach erst einmal an den Gedanken. Das wird schon schwer genug für dich sein, da du dein ganzes Leben in dieser Täuschung verbracht hast. Wenn du aber bereit bist, komm wieder hierher,  dann wirst du weitere Dinge erfahren.“

„Was ist, wenn ich jetzt Alpträume bekomme?“ fragte die Frau. „Denn ich muß gestehen, diese Sache macht mir Angst.“

„Das verstehe ich gut“, sagte das Schlangenwesen. „Es kann Angst hervorrufen, wenn man aus seinen Gewohnheiten geschleudert wird. Wenn du schlafen gehst, leg einen lila Stein unter dein Kopfkissen, und es werden keine bösen Träume kommen.“

„Ich danke dir“, sagte die Frau. „Das beruhigt mich wenigstens ein bißchen. Kannst du mir noch sagen, warum dein eines Auge immer zum Himmel schaut?“

„Weil ich die Verbindung herstelle zwischen dem Himmel und der Erde. Und deswegen muß mein eines Auge immer nach oben schauen. Aber zum Glück habe ich ja noch genügend andere Augen, mit denen ich meine Umgebung wahrnehmen kann.“

„Ja, davon hast du wahrlich jede Menge. Und wer bin ich, mich zu beschweren, daß ich so seltsam aussehe? Du siehst noch viel merkwürdiger aus, wenn ich das mal so sagen darf.“

„Du darfst das gerne sagen“, sagte das Schlangenwesen. „Ich weiß genau, wie ich aussehe. Der Unterschied ist nur, ich weiß es, und ich laufe nicht weg davor. Und das gibt mir die Möglichkeit, viel mehr zu sehen, als die Leute, die versuchen, sich etwas vorzumachen, erkennen können.“

„Dann bedanke ich mich für deine extrem unwillkommenen und sehr beunruhigenden Informationen“, sagte die Frau, „und werde mich von diesem unheimlichen Ort erst einmal wegbegeben und etwas zu mir kommen.“

„Tu das“, sagte das Schlangenwesen. „Du weißt ja, wo du mich findest, wenn du weitere Informationen benötigen solltest.“

„Ja, vielen Dank“, sagte sie Frau. Und sie wandte sich um und machte sich auf den Weg zurück aus dem Wald. 99 Augen starrten hinter ihr her.

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Writing 101 Day 18: A Quiet Riot

Writing 101 Day 18 – A Quiet Riot

The neighbourhood has seen better days, but Mrs. Pauley has lived there since before anyone can remember. She raised a family of six boys, who’ve all grown up and moved away. Since Mr. Pauley died three months ago, she’d had no income. She’s fallen behind in the rent. The landlord, accompanied by the police, have come to evict Mrs. Pauley from the house she’s lived in for forty years.

Today’s prompt: write this story in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street.

Maybe I didn’t use that point-of-view thing the way it was supposed to be – but this 12 year-old didn’t seem to be content to just sit there while old Grandma Pauley was evicted. He wanted to do something, and he did.

A Quiet Riot

Yesterday there was a riot in our street. Well, maybe not a real riot with violence and stuff, but sort of an uprising. A small one, but still.

I was sitting on the steps in front of our house, texting my BF about meeting later in the afternoon when I noticed cops on the other side of the street. Cops in our street? Weird. Nothing ever happens here. It’s a quiet neighbourhood. They had this official looking guy with them. Dark suit, white shirt, a tie, and a smooth face like a TV presenter. They were walking up to Grandma Pauley’s place.

Now Grandma Pauley is just the sweetest little old lady you could ever hope to meet. She has lived here her whole life, she’s been like a real grandma for all of us children here. Actually Grampa Pauley, her husband, was like a grampa for all of us too until he died of a stroke three months ago. I didn’t know what a stroke was then, but my mom explained it to me. She’s a nurse, my mom. She knows about all this weird medical stuff. It went real quick. Maybe better for him than if he had died of a long illness, like cancer or something. But Grandma Pauley was very sad after he died. They had been married like forever. The best thing about it was, they were old and still happy together. You could see it when they looked at each other. The warmth in their smiles. So when he was gone so suddenly she was downtrodden. That’s a word I’ve learned, downtrodden. It’s an old-fashioned word, but I love old English words like that. Maybe I’m going to be a writer some day. But I’m not sure yet. There’s more to being a writer than just knowing some unusual words.

Well, anyway – after her beloved Willy died, Grandma Pauley dressed all in black and stopped talking to people. It was weird because she always used to be so cheerful, chatting with everyone, baking cakes for people’s birthdays, telling stories to us children and all that. But the loss of him took all the spunk out of her, it seemed. She just withdrew inside of herself. We tried to talk to her, ask if we could help her in any way, but she just wouldn’t open the door or answer the phone. Mom told me some people get like that when they’re grieving. It’s called a post-traumatic depression or something.

But what did these cops want from her? It’s not illegal to be depressed, is it? I went across the street to find out. “That’s none of your business, son”, one of the cops said. He looked rather stern, as if he wasn’t comfortable with me being there. But the other one was more friendly. He was still young, he had grown up in this street and he knew Grandma well. He thought it was not okay to send police to her, but he had to obey the orders of his chief. It turned out that Grandma had not paid the rent for the last three months, ever since Grampa Willy died. Probably she didn’t even know how to go about it, because Grampa had always taken care of all the paperwork and she didn’t understand about all the legal stuff. Now they were going to evict her for not paying the rent.

Of course that was impossible. Where would she go if they kicked her out of her home? She’s been living here for the last 40 years. She’s over 80 now. I thanked the officer kindly for the information and went around the corner and texted everyone I knew about what was happening, and that they should hurry up and come to Grandma’s door and help before this sleek-looking guy could really get her evicted.

It worked like a charm. Within minutes, there were about a hundred people there asking what was going on. And more were coming. My friend Davy’s dad, Mr. Jones, is a lawyer, and he said he would represent Mrs. Pauley and all the paper stuff and claims should be directed to him. That was a low blow for the sleek-looking guy from the housing company. He’d thought if Grandma was too poor to pay the rent, she would never be able to afford a lawyer. He thought he could get it over with real quick and without a lot of noise. But he wasn’t from this neighbourhood. He didn’t know we all loved Grandma, and that we were all going to help her and stand up for her if she really got into trouble. None of us had known that she wasn’t able to pay the rent, or couldn’t figure out how it was done. She had been just to proud, or maybe too downtrodden, to ask for help.

The young cop actually looked quite relieved that he didn’t have to evict Grandma now. He had been feeling really bad about it. Mr. Jones told the bloke from the housing company that he would get in touch with Grandma’s children. Next of kin, he called them. They didn’t know about this either. They all lived far away. One was in Australia, one in New Zealand, one was in an ashram in India and one lived in a wooden cabin in Canada, without phone, internet or any other means of communication. The latter two were a bit difficult to reach, but Mr. Jones managed to contact the others. They had had no idea that their mom was in such trouble. They had been here for their dad’s funeral, but apparently she didn’t tell them anything about her financial situation. They sent enough money via cable to cover the debt, so Grandma was out of trouble for the time being.

Of course that wasn’t the end of it yet. Grandma needed to be covered for the future too. She had had a real shock when she realized that she would have to leave her beloved home if these things didn’t get settled. She had been buried so deep in her grief that she had always postponed the “official” stuff until the next day, and then the next, and then the next … Mr. Jones said that he would go through all the papers and see to it that the financial situation was cleared up. He wasn’t going to charge for it – he just wanted to help so she could stay in her home until the end. She could have lived with her son in Australia – he had offered to take her in when Grampa died -, but she didn’t want to. “I was born here, and I’m going to die here. My beloved Willy died here too, and I want to be buried next to him”, she said. We all had a big meeting in her living room after the cops and the housing company bloke had left. That was when she finally understood that you have to ask for help when something’s up. And she also finally understood how much we all loved her. She was really moved to see how many people cared about her.

One thing still remains to be told. A friend of my parents‘, Jim Cooper, works for the Morning Post. My mom told him the whole story, and this morning there was a big story about it in the Post. Of course they used it as a hook to write about the housing situation in general, and the desolate situation of old and bereft people. But something incredible happened – Grandma got dozens of calls and letters from total strangers, people came by to visit and bring groceries and stuff. Everyone wanted to help. She got so many donations that her rent for the next six months was secured. She was famous now! “The Granny of Old Cook Street.” It overwhelmed her a bit, actually. She had never wanted to be famous. But she was glad – as were we all – that she could remain in her home and in our street for the rest of her life.

Oh yeah – Jim said that he was going to do some more research on that housing company. He was sure that there must be some weird stuff going on if they were in such a hurry to get Grandma out of her house. It will be interesting to see what he can find out.

Writing 101 Day 19: Vision Thing

 

Writing 101 Day 19

Don’t Stop the Rockin‘

 

Today is a free writing day. Write at least four-hundred words, and once you start typing, don’t stop. No self-editing, no trash-talking, and no second guessing: just go. Bonus points if you tackle an idea you’ve been playing with but think is too silly to post about.

Metatron’s Cube caught up with me when I went to Stonehenge to visit the ancient druid’s cemetery. I had not planned for that at all. I sat there thinking of the druid who was buried there when suddenly this giant shape appeared before my 3^rd eye.

Oops – what the f*** is that, I thought. then I heard this voice say, I am Lord Metatron and you have been asking for this, even though you don’t remember it at this point.

I had not asked for anything of the sort. But it seemed that wasn’t important to the entity who was speaking to me. He just went ahead giving me visions of this bloody geometric shape that made my head spin when I looked at it.

Well, he said, didn’t you listen to the Metatron Activation on the internet three months ago? I had to admit that I had listened to an mp3 with that title, but had completely forgotten about it. You see, he said, that was when you activated the events that are happening now. Oh, I said, so this is how it works, is it? I’ve listened to lots of videos and mp3s over the years and never had any stuff happen because of it. Well, he said, if you listen to my stuff it does work, unlike other things you may have given your attention to.. The giant thingy was still swirling in front of my 3^rd eye …

to be continued

Another time I was doing my Christmas shopping, not thinking of anything except how I would find a suitable present for my mother-in-law when suddenly this guy in a Santa costume walked up to me and said, Would you like to see something really special? Not really, I said, I’m just looking for a Christmas present for a really conservative person, so something special wouldn’t be the right thing for her at all. She needs something pretty ordinary. Oh, he said, it’s for you, not for someone else. What do you mean, I asked him. He said, Just follow me and you’ll see.

Intrigued, I followed him. He walked into the back of the shop, then through a rather dark corridor and through a rather small door. He had to bend down to avoid knocking his head on the door frame. When we stepped though on the other side it was spring.

I was amazed. But it‘ s the middle of winter, I said. Not here, it ain’t, he retorted. Well, where are we? I asked him.. This is the land of eternal youth, he said. Things don’t grow old and die here. But how are these flowering trees going to bear fruit, if nothing ever changes? I asked him. Oh they do bear fruit, he said. There is no time here. They can have fruit and bloom at the same time. And sure enough, next to the flowers there were fruits hanging on the branches. Wow, I said, what a great place. I thought you’d like it, he said. That’s why I brought you here.

Writing 101 Day 7: Trans-cendence

Writing 101 Day 7: Give and Take

Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else.

Today’s twist: write your post in the form of a dialogue. 

 

Trans-cendence

“Come on”, he said, in an exasperated tone, “you can’t tell me that a woman with a beard is natural.” We had been watching the replay of Rise Like A Phoenix, the Eurovision winner title for 2014 .

“Natural?” I asked him. “What do you call natural? A beard is quite natural, don’t you think? Silicone implants, on the other hand – that’s totally unnatural and still you accept it. And what about botox, facelifts, nose jobs? Even dyed hair and makeup are artificial – tools to make you look younger and more beautiful, lipliner to make your lips appear fuller, hair welding to make your hair longer, all that stuff. Doesn’t that strike you as unnatural?”

“Well yes, it does”, he said, “but it’s just not that obvious. I wouldn’t be able to tell if someone’s hair was real or fake. But that this person is a fake is so blatantly obvious.”

“So what?” I shrugged. “Look at Cher, at her dainty little nose. And then have a look at some of her pics from the sixties and the nose she had then. Or Michael Jackson. He just looked like a zombie in the end, after his countless ‚beauty‘ operations.”

“Yeah, that was terrible”, he agreed. “I didn’t like that either. But at least he still looked like a man.”

“So that’s what bothers you”, I said. “Just admit it. You can live with unnaturalness all right, as long as it doesn’t challenge your preconceived ideas of what men and women ’should‘ look like.”

We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Finally I said, “Did you know that I was seriously considering having a sex change some years ago?”

He looked shocked. “You did?? No, I had no idea. Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Because I felt like a man, so I wanted to look like one. I wanted that beard stubble and the muscles and the deep voice. I wanted to look like a pirate. Like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean.” I grinned.

“God …”, he muttered. “Good thing you didn’t go through with it, then. What made you change your mind?”

“Well, I got some info about what that would actually entail – what can be changed by an operation and hormone treatment and what can’t, and I decided it just wasn’t worth the trouble. It wouldn’t have been the real thing … plus I don’t have the physical build to be convincing as a male”, I added, indicating my deplorable height of five foot four. “I’d never be able to find a lover, for one thing. Gay men prefer the tall, broad-shouldered type.”

“You’re much more convincing as a woman”, he said.

“I know”, I sighed. “Everyone says so. Well, almost everyone.”

“What about yourself?” he asked. “Don’t you think so too?”

“Frankly, I don’t care what other people find convincing”, I said. “My friend Gene is better at wiggling his bosom than me, although his is fake and mine is genuine. It’s because he really feels feminine, and I don’t.”

“God, that fag”, he said, looking disgusted. “Did you have to bring him up? I really don’t understand … ”

“… why I like him?” I said. “Because we obviously have some things in common. Besides, he’s got a great sense of humour. Going out with him is a guarantee for having a great time.”

“If you’re like him, maybe”, he said. „For me, it wouldn’t be. I’d feel so embarrassed …”

“But why?” I asked. “Why would you feel embarrassed? It’s really good fun.”

He looked surprised. “Isn’t that obvious? A drag queen, for Chrissake! People might think I’m also one of them. It might even cost me my job.”

“Of course”, I said. “I hadn’t thought of that. Sorry for being such a dimwit.”

He acknowledged my apology with a curt nod. We fell silent for a while. Reluctantly I came to the conclusion that although Paul was one of my best and oldest friends, we would probably never see eye to eye on these matters. But at least I had mustered the courage to tell him about my almost-operation and my feelings concerning a “female” identity, and it had actually gone better than I thought it would. That in itself was a small victory.

The topic of aliens would have to wait until another time …

Writing 101 Day 6: A Guru in Disguise

Writing 101, Day Six: A Character-Building Experience

Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’v met this year?

Today’s twist: Turn your post into a character study.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_assignment/writing-101-day-six/

A Guru in Disguise

I am a shamanic singer. I work with intent and sound, singing things into existence. It’s a rather uncommon profession. People who are interested in my work typically belong to the esoterically minded (aka „woo-woo“) tribe, the type of person who reads channelings and meditates regularly. So when I received an e-mail from an unknown man requesting a session, that was the type of person I expected to meet.

Well, I was in for a big surprise. When the time of our appointment came and I opened the door, I saw a sturdy man not much taller than myself who was wearing coarse workclothes smeared with what looked like white paint and speaking in a broad Berlin dialect. He radiated a definite working-class aura. Not at all the kind of person I had been anticipating! Indicating the paintmarks on his trousers, I asked him if he did renovations or interior decoration, painting houses and suchlike. He replied that he did “building insulation” – stabilizing walls that had become porous with a silicone-like substance that hardened after it had been sprayed into the holes. He told me that he enjoyed his work very much but had left earlier today to enjoy a quiet hour by himself  and a cup of coffee before coming to our session, adding that he was usually late, but was amazed at himself to be ten minutes early today. Then he went to the men’s room to change into fresh clothes whilst I prepared my audio equipment, feeling thoroughly confused.

Issues? What Issues?

My confusion grew more intense when we started the session and he told me about the “issues” that had brought him here. As I listened to him enumerating his perceived problems, I caught myself thinking, “That is not really an issue that needs any kind of treatment. What on earth did he come here for?” It was mostly the stuff of everyday life that many people live with, but it turned out he had been to many “self-awareness” seminars where they seemed to make a very serious issue of almost everything under the sun. Stuff you had to work on very hard to resolve it – even if there was nothing to resolve in the first place. 😉

He actually struck me as someone who didn’t need outside help at all to cope with his life. He was getting along just fine. He was open, friendly and communicative, and he had no problems with his work, relationships, finances or health. The only “problem” seemed to be a certain confusion about these issues he thought he was having. It seemed as if his teachers had convinced him that there was something wrong that needed to be fixed although I couldn’t really see what that might be. Slowly it dawned on me that my confusion in listening to him was caused by his own. He really didn’t need any help, although he thought he did.

Finding a Focus

However, following the meandering stream of his tales, gradually a theme emerged that seemed like a worthy pursuit. He told me that the question „What do you want?“ had come up several times recently, and it seemed like he could use some clarity on what he really wanted. So we agreed that the singing should be for him to gain clarity about what he wanted and what really mattered to him.

For those who aren’t familiar with creation through sound, I should explain at this point that it is vital to have a clear focus before you start singing. It’s important to know exactly what you intend to create through the sound, because if your intention is fuzzy or unclear, you might create stuff that isn’t really helpful and might even be detrimental. If I had just gone along with what he thought his “problem” was, chances are that the session would have produced the opposite effect from what he intended, creating a problem where none existed before. But when we hit on the topic of gaining clarity on what he wanted, there was an immediate resonance that “this was it” – this was what he had actually come for. (Or so we thought.)

Another Surprise

I had only been singing for a short while when suddenly this huge wave of love came through me for him. It seemed like there was a person or persons who wanted to send this love to him. It was overwhelming. Amazing. Just …. wow.

When I had finished he told me that he had seen himself standing on a mountain, or actually, a kind of mesa. At first he thought he was alone up there. Then he noticed there were people standing to his left and right. And then his gaze widened and he saw that he was standing in a huge circle of people! That he was not alone up there at all. That was the message for him.

They were his people from ancient times, and they seemed very happy that they had finally found a way to reach him. I told him that he could always contact them again, and he said he would.

Then it seemed as if there was something else waiting to be sung, so I started singing and felt the strong presence of a woman (of his people), who was grinning broadly and sending more love to him. It felt a bit as if she thought, “Well, let’s see if this will make him remember …” He told me afterwards that there had been still the same circle of people and one woman had stood up but he couldn’t see her clearly enough to recognize her. But he had felt the love she was sending him.

The next thing that happened was that really huge waves of love came through and I was supposed to just hold the energy in silence. No singing this time. It took everything I had to transmit this huge wave of love for him. And all the while I thought, what if he doesn’t notice anything? Am I doing this right? Am I even able to do this? Then I heard a reply inside of myself that this was my chance to let go of the little doubting self and embrace the big Self (capital S). I thought, well maybe that message is not just for me, and told him he could also release the small self now if he felt a resonance to that. He told me afterwards that he had been able to let it go quite peacefully. 🙂

The Hidden Master

After the session was finished, we talked some more and he told me he had done firewalks and had been not walking, but dancing on the burning coals without hurting his feet. I was impressed. Then he mentioned that he was a Reiki teacher. “I went through with it”, he said proudly. “After I discovered Reiki, I did my first degree, then the second. Then I pulled it through to get my master’s degree, and then finally I became Reiki teacher.” I was amazed that he thought he had to come to me if he had these abilities, and asked him if he had ever thought about becoming a professional healer. “Yes”, he said, “ I did it professionally for a while, but it just didn’t seem right. Something was missing. I need a practical activity as a balance. Just can’t live without it. I have a little garden outside of Berlin, and I have my job, and I love it this way. Working and doing my garden. I just have to do something practical. Then in the evenings and on weekends everyone who wants a Reiki session can come if they want to. That’s the way that feels right to me.” He reminded me of  those spiritual healers in Brazil I had heard of who work in a day job and then do healings all night without ever getting tired. And I thought, wow, this man is not my client, he is my teacher. He came here to give something to me, not to get something from me. I felt thoroughly humbled.

But he must have gotten something from me too, because he said, “Well, this was definitely something special. It’s something I could do more often. It’s not like working on your issues. This is something completely different.” I felt grateful that I had helped to provide a special experience for him.

He gave me one last teaching, by paying me more than my regular fee. At first I thought he had made a mistake, but he said with a smile, “This is the figure that came up during the session, so I reckon it’s the right one.” I was so surprised that I could say nothing but, “Wow … thank you.” He said, “Well this was definitely not the last time we’ve met.” I said , “I surely hope so.”

Then he left, and I was left with a feeling of incredible joy in my heart and nobody to share it with …

 

 

Writing 101 Day 5: Be Brief – The Letter

Writing 101 Day 5: Be Brief

 
You stumble upon a random letter on the path. You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter.

Today’s twist: Approach this post in as few words as possible.

The Letter

I’m walking along on the heath in the sunshine, not thinking anything. Suddenly I see something lying on the ground. I bend to pick it up. It seems to be a letter. No envelope. Intrigued, I start reading.

It’s a confession. A confession by a priest. He wants to leave the Church. This is his request to the Pope for dispensation from the ministry.

He lays down his reasons in detail. Reasons that are heart-rending, blood-curdling … it’s hard to keep reading, but I soldier on until the end.

I decide to mail the letter, making a photocopy for myself before I send it.

Time passes.

Then one day, a friend shows me the latest newspaper. The letter has been published in full. It’s all over the press and the internet.

Church officials refuse to comment.

But they don’t have to. The letter speaks for itself.

The days of the Church are over.

Breathing Room

Breathing Room

An extra room has magically been added to your home overnight. The catch: if you add more than three items to it, it disappears. How do you use it?

O how amazingly fantastically wonderful! The dance room I always wanted has magically appeared overnight! I am beside myself with joy! Finally I have room to MOVE! All my other rooms are packed with stuff. Immediately I set about installing my mini stereo system in that room. It has a USB plug, so the only things I’ll need is the stereo and the USB stick with my music – that makes two items. (At least I hope that the system including speakers only counts as one item.) Every day now, I will come to this room first thing in the morning after breakfast, and dance the 5 Rhythms. I’m not really a morning person, so it’s good to get into that Flowing rhythm first, reacquainting my being with my physical body, getting the two of them back together after the night’s journeys into other realms. I stretch my limbs luxuriously, feel the bare floor under my feet, let the music guide me into soft, flowing, continuous movements that remind me of water – yes it’s called Flowing for a reason. 😉 Water just flows wherever the movement takes it. It has no resistance against going anywhere – it circles around rocks, falls down sheer dizzying drops, rises in steam upwards into the air, falls down again as rain … as I surrender to the music and the stiff parts of my body open up and relax more and more, this sensation of being like water increases until I feel completely at one with the movement. There can be no greater bliss than this. I give myself to it wholeheartedly, enjoying every second.

After a while that feels like an eternity, the rhythm changes. It becomes more defined, revealing sharp edges and something like a kick. Moving in Staccato feels a bit like martial arts movements at first – sharp, focused and clear. There is a distinctive beginning and end to each movement. Then my hips start moving rhythmically to the beat. I feel a bit self-conscious, it feels so erotic. But since I have not added a mirror to the room, I can’t see myself, and I am alone here, so it really doesn’t matter what I look like. 😉 It feels good – my breath goes deep into my belly, my whole body feels energized. I swing my hips a bit more. It’s fun. From my hips, the movement travels up my body, rocking my chest and my arms. I choose to just let go …

… and bit by bit I am transported into Chaos. As I let go more and more, my body takes over. It’s more intelligent than my mind when it comes to movement Most of the time I don’t acknowledge that, so dancing Chaos creates a zone of freedom for my body where it can just move the way it feels, can shake off all the stuff I have been shoving down into my tissues and my belly in the name of politeness, correctness and, let’s face it, fear. It’s fear that makes me swallow down stuff when I feel I would rather scream. But here, in this magical room, in this Chaos rhythm, screaming is allowed for once. My voice rises up from deep down in my guts … at first it’s only a suppressed groan, but I encourage myself to let go into my breath more deeply, letting it rise upwards into my chest and my throat, touch my vocal chords and actually release a sound while my body threshes on the floor in a movement my rational mind (who is still watching from the backseat of my awareness) doesn’t recognize. After that, I don’t know what happens anymore. All awareness of my surroundings fades, I am just this body that writhes, breathes, screams, moans and shakes uncontrollably. Actually, there is really no one there who could exercise any kind of control anymore. The controlling part of me has just taken itself elsewhere, because there is no room for it here.

After a while, the movements gradually become slower and my breath quiets down. I feel exhausted, my body is covered in sweat. My brain kicks in again. O my god, what on earth was that? But it feels good, like I have released tons of stuff that were weighing me down. Almost like being reborn, if that is not to big a word …

While I am still finding my bearings, the music changes again. It sounds more playful now, much lighter than before. I look at my toes and wiggle them a bit. It’s fun. Maybe I can do a bit more of this. I tilt my ankles, back and forth. A grin spreads across my face. I feel like a little child, playing with my body parts, exploring what strange movements I might do with them. I experiment some more, curl up my fingers and watch them moving. When was the last time I just watched my own hands? I can’t remember. Usually I just use them to do things with but I never actually take much notice of them. Now I see them as if for the first time. Wow! They do funny things. The movements of my hands and fingers spread up my arms, my elbows start making flying motions, as if my arms were wings and I could just rise up in the air if I flap them enough. Which doesn’t happen, but it still feels a bit like flying. I start rolling my spine and my head and just stay with these movements for a while, playing with them and enjoying myself hugely.

Finally, the music becomes much slower, quieter … all the lively movement dies down, there is only peace left inside both my body and my mind. I breathe. No, it’s not “I” who breathes anymore. It breathes. It’s breathing me, not the other way around. A huge expanse of wide open space has opened up inside my body. Is it “my” body at all? I don’t feel so sure of that anymore. It feels more like a universe that stretches into infinity. There is no inside and no outside. It just is. Wow … that’s all I can feel right now. Just wow. I lie down on the floor, allowing myself to experience this huge silent breath, this infinite space.

And I say a silent Thank you to this magical room that has made all this possible.

 http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/breathing-room/