Random encounters... are the best.

I was taking pictures in this tiny fishing village when an old man who was painting a boat asked me if I were German - he said he was living and working in Germany for ten years as a young man, in the late sixties, and that in spite of making good money it was killing him - not the hard work as he was used to physical labour, but the whole atmosphere and lack of joy that surrounded work in Germany - as if work was an end in itself - so crazy he said - very unhealthy.

In his funny mix of German and Spanish he asked me what I was doing here. I told him I was on vacation but that I found myself wishing I could live here for good - yet couldn't see how to make a living and make things work. He smiled - then said there were so many Germans and other foreigners living on these islands now and that while they were more than welcome he couldn't help but wonder... why it is that most of them say they weren't happy with life in Germany or England or America, then bring those very values and schedules they didn't like over there with them when they come over here, messing everything up with their strange expectations and principles.
I asked him what exactly he meant and he said Canarios were just different. He said over here life is all about life, about living - but the 'extranjeros' make life all about work, even when they come to live here - and confuse everything, trying to "re-educate" people and teach them their foreign philosophies, cursing the local mentality, instead of simply relaxing and happily accepting the canario way of life.
"So what is the Canarian way of life?" - I asked. He paused for a moment, then said with a shrug: "to simply enjoy life - disfrutar de la vida - is the spirit and purpose of being. Perfection in Germany is clockwork perfection - here the idea of perfection is different, it leaves more room for joy, for life. Here you are considered successful when you make as much money as necessary with as little effort as possible."
I told him that I thougt most people I knew would agree, even in Germany, and he said yes... but he found the difference is in what modern people think is necessary - what they consider "enough" - workwise and else. That a Canario believes that in order to live a good life, a devout yet joyful life, one has to be careful not to work too much... as that would be a sin against life itself. What's necessary is to make only as much money as is really needed, so that there is just enough - no more, no less - to satisfy basic material needs - and spend the rest of the time not working but enjoying existence... and that to show and share your gratitude for life is important... people in Germany don't know how to do that he said... to celebrate life by living it, simply, with others, in company, in joyful togetherness... and that now most young people are like that, even here - they see things on TV and the internet and want to have everything... replacing the quality of life itself with what they call quality items - seeking joy in belongings instead of finding joy in being - he called it blasphemous, and I get it - that to want more than "enough" is a shame and disgrace on a certain level.

It's really ridiculous how our society has managed to turn something that makes us highly unhappy into something desirable that we look up to - being busy has almost become a standard, working too much is a virtue if not a necessity in our part of the world - while over here what we call diligent or industrious would be considered greedy and immoderate - what we call ambition is looked at as avarice - what we consider success, if it comes as the result of too much work, sacrificing time that could have been spent simply enjoying life, is a failure, if not a sin. On these islands, being called a "workaholic" is probably worse than being called a loafer or lazybone... it means you just can't get enough and waste your precious God-given life with something quite unnecessary - ha!! I really like that - now how do I reprogram this contorted German mind? How long do I have to stay here to be successfully brainwashed and readjusted to fit Canarian standards??? It seems to be a very desirable and highly worthwhile state of being, don't you think?

Need

Need is a great starting point - if we’re able not only to identify our need as „need“ but detect what exactly it is we think we need. Then we can put that aspect or quality into the focus of our practice, finding the right method to work with these emotions.
The teachings say that in the end, if we practice in the right way, we’ll find that there is no need - we already have everything we need within us. All we have to do is rediscover our full potential, looking inside instead of outside.

Our teacher was reading a text to us the other day, about feeling inadequate and „lesser than“ - and how that state is a very bad foundation for worship meditations.

True devotion - bhakti - has to come from a place of fullness, wholeness, feeling one with whatever quality (in the form of a deity) we decide to make the center of our worship that day, thus strengthening our awareness of that very quality within ourselves - while on days when we do not feel complete - at odds with ourselves - we better choose a different meditation form, focusing on the aspect/quality we seem to lack that day and want to improve within us. Once we’re there, we can go back to devotion and worship work.

Worshipping a quality that we cannot feel within ourselves, or feel we lack in our lives, will always lead to estrangement rather than unity.

Learning to love ourselves

It's not until we learn to love ourselves that we let go of attachments and finally become able to "give back" wholeheartedly and unconditionally what we receive on so many levels. To love ourselves means to understand and fully accept ourselves, for as long as we haven't found our true center, being at peace with who we are, we constantly need to distract ourselves, eternally craving one thing or another, always taking from and depending on others, trying to get the things we want. We try to satisfy our emotional needs and if it doesn't work, we turn them into material needs. Maybe it's part of our being human, an ancient means of survival - but then it’s never enough, it can turn into a bit of a frenzy, an obsession: the more we see, the more we are given, the more we want. We become attached, addicted even, to the things we believe we cannot do without.

When our well-being, our happiness, begins to depend on the satisfaction of our wants, our lives become painful... unmanageable. As our assumed "needs" lead us into ignorance and insanity, isolating us from our true self, we no longer take proper care of ourselves... being all caught up in ego, we are unable to see our real needs as much as the needs of others. The only way we can stop this "insanity" is to gain a better understanding and acceptance of ourselves:  Learning to love ourselves.

A lifetime is not forever...

»Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.« (T.S. Eliot)

Life... opportunities, possibilities, moments... so many of them we fail to recognize or acknowledge in time, blind for the precious chances they might hold, the changes they could bring.
Maybe it's indifference, maybe ignorance or fear causing us to waste them. Maybe we simply don't care, maybe we think we're not ready, maybe we believe we have time, telling ourselves we'll wait for a better moment, another opportunity... unaware of the fact that this very moment, this chance for growth or change, may never come around again, disappearing like a cloud that takes shape and dissolves from one minute to the next... gone.
We cling to the old, the familiar, to the seemingly safe harbour of the known, to the tried and tested. Sometimes we're so busy living a life that has outlived itself that we do not even realize there is one we might live instead, a life more in tune with who we are at this very moment, somewhere beyond or beneath the fixed ideas we have of ourselves.
But a lifetime isn't forever. Maybe one day we'll find that the things that happened - the people and situations we allowed into our lives - weren't necessarily the things that mattered the most to us, served us the most or touched us the most. Sometimes the things that did NOT happen, the chances we missed, turn out to matter more than the actual events that took place - and yet we cannot turn back time. So depending on how long we wait until we allow ourselves that closer, more honest look, it may be too late to find out "what if...?"
Life is all about taking chances. Some work in our favour, other's don't. There's no knowing in advance how a decision will influence our lives in the long run. We'll never know until we go for it. It's the risk we have to take if we want to live life to the fullest and not end up with a bag full of potential regret one future day. If an opportunity happens to find us, we shouldn't hide from it – a better one may never come. And if it turns out to be a mistake, well... life is all about making mistakes, there's nothing wrong with that, in the long run they're all lessons learned, right?
Much better to make a mistake and know for sure than to shy away from it and die wondering...

It's my birthday...

It's my birthday.

I used to love birthdays. When I was a kid, I loved everything about them. I would look forward to May 7th with joyful anticipation, knowing my mom would make it a very special day for me, no matter what - and as a result, I would feel special as well. I wouldn't have been able to put it into words back then, it was just a feeling of basic joy - of being loved - an overall atmosphere of happiness and excitement surrounding the day. I would wake up to the sweet scent of lilac filling the room - a big bunch of pale blue lilac, every single year. There would be cream cake and candles that I was expected to blow out and make a wish. There would be a birthday present waiting to be unwrapped, of course. If it was a weekday, I'd go to school and the teacher and my class would sing me a song and give me a little present and we'd all enjoy being allowed to eat sweets in class - a rare treat back then. In the afternoon, my friends and numerous cousins - sometimes my entire crazy big family - would come over to our place, beautifully decorated by my mom while I was in school, and we'd have a big birthday party. It would be a slightly chaotic, very loud, yet immensely happy get-together, enjoying some of life's simple pleasures: playing, being goofy, eating tons of cake, laughing away, singing and dancing... childhood bliss.

Somewhere along the line that initial innocence and authenticity was lost. The whole birthday thing - the good wishes, the celebrations, the gifts - often felt fake or forced as I grew from a kid into a teenager, from a teenager into an adult. More often than not, no one would remember to give me lilac. Or cake. Or candles. Often there was no one around who would care enough to turn it into a special day for me, somewhere beyond the more material aspects, and myself I totally lacked the awareness - the gratitude or appreciation of my own "being" - to want to celebrate my birthday in any way. In fact, life often felt like nothing but pain and disappointment in those early adult years. Cynicism and frustration had partly replaced the joy and happiness that I used to feel thinking of my own birthday. Why would I look forward to the anniversary of an event that - back then - seemed like a giant mistake? I think my 30th may have been the last birthday I reluctantly agreed to celebrate - and that had nothing to do with age or wanting to ignore my getting older, I have always been fine with that - but as life had ceased to feel special, to excite me in any positive way, I simply couldn't care less. For more than a decade I would avoid being around and available at my birthday. I'd take time off work and disappear, disconnecting my phone, pretending I didn't exist.

Over the years, my perception of life in general changed quite a bit and so did my awareness of my own life. My appreciation of it deepened and I found to a new acceptance and love within myself. And while I made my peace with the past, letting go of old pain, finding back to a certain joy and inner balance, my birthdays still didn't matter to me. I'd still prefer to be by myself, in silent solitude or maybe with a friend, simply enjoying the day, regardless of it being my birthday.

Then last year, as the result of a slightly disappointing experience, I came to a rather amazing discovery... my birthday had begun to matter to me again. Ha!! I found that after all these years I was suddenly and unexpectedly looking forward to it again. It felt almost weird - a feeling of quiet yet intense inner joy. A slight excitement and enthusiasm even. After a decade of indifference and rejection, I clearly perceived my birthday as being a "special day" again. And this time it had nothing to do with anybody outside making it special for me - which no doubt is a most welcome and wonderful extra - but everything to do with my own, deeply felt awareness of it being something god-given, something special in itself. I know it doesn't really take a big party or beautifully wrapped present to turn it into an "event". The simple yet extraordinary fact that I've been given a life - that it's the one thing that separates me from death really - is the real gift these days. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to appreciate and celebrate that precious fact, to want to celebrate - alone or with others, loudly or quietly - that day I was born, brought into this sad, crazy, radiantly beautiful world, blessed with a heart, body, soul and consciousness... that's all it takes to make it special and fill me with gratitude really.

So yes, it's my birthday. And I love it. Very much so.

"When the student is ready, the teacher appears"

What an important time these past two months have been for me. Everything is change - and it's perfect that way. I know I have finally found "my" path and it brings a certain serenity and peace of mind. I have gotten so tired of the endless "spiritual quest" over the years, feeling strangely indecisive, adrift... going here and there without going anywhere at all really.

It's been a long and winding path - so many tempting scenic routes, and I explored quite a few. They were beautiful, but... something was lacking, always. Then I tried the shortcuts, hoping to make up for the time I lost (when I know there is no such thing as time "lost", ha!)... but more often than not they turned out to be detours, if not cul-de-sacs.

In a world where there is a new school, a new doctrine every day, wisdom and insight become inflationary... trying to pick my way through the spiritual surplus proved as effective as looking for a needle in a haystack. I do not have that in me anymore... the drivenness, the hunger, the need for something else, something better, one more different approach... discovering a new teacher here, discarding another one there... going back and forth, time and time again.

Now is the time to slow down, to stop and make a decision where to go, pick a path and follow it... without straying, for once. The old restlessness has disappeared, the questions do not seem quite so important anymore. I think the answers - the puzzle pieces - are all there inside me by now. One doctrine or method is probably as good (or bad) as another in helping me put them together, assisting me in my "going deeper" - what counts is that it works for me, resonates with me, clicks with me... and I think I have found just that. If there has been any doubt left, it's been completely removed this weekend.

I have made a decision - I'm willing to commit myself - exploring just one thing, one teaching, one path fully and thoroughly, instead of snitching a little from this teacher here and that teaching there, forever remaining on the surface of things. I have no clue where it's gonna take me - if it's gonna take me anywhere at all - but I have feeling it's just where I'm meant to be...

The Meaning of Anam Cara...

And once again, because I think about it a lot these days, the meaning of "Anam Cara":

»Anam Cara means “Soul Friend.” Anam is the Gaelic word for soul and Cara is the word for friend. In Celtic tradition, an Anam Cara is a teacher, companion or spiritual guide. With the Anam Cara you can share your innermost self to reveal the hidden intimacies of your life, your mind and your heart. This friendship cuts across all convention to create an act of recognition and belonging that joins souls in an ancient and eternal way.
In everyone’s life, there is a great need for an Anam Cara, a soul friend. In this relationship, you are understood as you are, without mask or pretention. When you are understood, you are at home.

Love is the threshold where the divine and human ebb and flow, one into the other. Love is the most real and creative form of human presence. An expression of human consciousness, this love includes a depth of awareness and reverence for presence. Where consciousness is dulled, distant or blind, the presence grows faint and vanishes. Therefore awareness which brings integration and healing, is one of the greatest gifts of this friendship. As a result, you look, and see, and understand differently. You refine your sensibility and transform your way of being in the world.

The Anam Cara is a loved one who awakens your life in order to free the wild possibilities within you.«

Wild Serenity in Love (by Lorin Roche)

»Life is relationship — with the self, nature, creativity, and one another. Meditation can be defined as intimacy with life. Through meditation we pay attention to the current of vitality and love flowing through us, and ride it inward to our essences. This is an instinctive ability and everybody can do it — and yet, to live and love fully takes courage and all the inner resources we can muster.
Nature is wild and serene, and so too is our inner nature. To embrace the fullness of being — the vastness and vulnerability, sensuality, and surging power — we must be intimate with our inner nature.
We find more intimacy with ourselves and others by practicing meditations and asanas that gently awaken our senses, that open the flow of energy within our body and stretch our mind in wonder and awe.

It's from there that we tap into joy and inspiration!«

(Lorin Roche, Author of the Radiance Sutras)

Times of Trouble = Times of Transition?

It's not easy to stay awake and mindful in times of trouble and see them as the great opportunity they may actually be. I do my best to try and use my momentary difficulties to rethink and let go of old patterns, to purge and be intentional about what my "new normal" may be once I'm feeling stronger and clearer again.... and yet I feel lost and exhausted from time to time, so endlessly tired, wondering when exactly these strange days will be over. Maybe it's just the "winter blues", maybe there's more to it, maybe some answers are trying to find me... i really don't know.

Grief and sadness, fear and failure, loss and pain — they are all part of being human — and I'm aware it's up to myself how I decide to deal with the sources of my suffering. I can put up resistance but there's no way I can protect myself over any length of time. Life happens, sorrow will always find me. I know that when I struggle with what I cannot change, I'm bound to lose my joy as much as my spirit — I'm very aware of that — so all I can do right now is accept my own powerlessness and surrender to the moment, unconditionally, allowing myself to feel whatever it is I feel without creating a story, any kind of drama, around it.

Sometimes it's tough, though. I sit with the pain, I breathe, I try not to react, not to add to it in any way... and still find myself caught up in thoughts, in spite of my good intentions. Thoughts of hopelessness, of doubt, or self-pity. It's tempting to give in to the seemingly overwhelming pain — but in the end, I don't. In the end I'm always stronger than I think. Somewhere deep down I know that even though it might feel as if I'm stuck, I'm actually growing during these experiences that make me fall apart, that force me to question my priorities and make me leave my comfort zone.

Those are the moments when I have no choice but to surrender to the pain — surrender to change — and choose a different way to deal with these times of transition. Facing my doubts, losses and fears, instead of running away from them, allowing for my "self" to be broken open, looking at it as a chance, a new beginning — who knows, there's always the possibility that it's worth it, right?

Fall...

Fall - I took the season very literal this year, stumbling over myself in more than just one way. On top of the world one day, down in the dumps the next.
Nobody is to blame really, however tempting it may be to accuse others. Truth is, I have a tendency to bite off more than I can chew, workwise. I overestimate my strength, both physically and mentally, my ability to cope with pressure and stress has never been the same after I suffered severe burn-out-syndrome several years ago. I have a tendency to forget - and I have a hard time saying "no", both to official job-offers and to friends asking me for help, no matter how much I have on my platter already.

So, stumble and fall I did. I picked myself up, pulled myself together and tried to move on... on all fours maybe, rough-and-ready... but I move. Fake it till you make it, right? Anyhow. Fall is coming to an end, and so am I. Running on empty. I'm so very tired, it's hard to make it through the days sometimes. But I do... I do.

Three more days and I can finally "let go"... sleep, relax, ease into and - hopefully out of - the tiredness and physical exhaustion. I can take a deep breath and detach myself from all the work and worries, regaining strength and energy, balance and inner peace. Pretty much looking forward to that... sigh!

Sadness

Sadness is written all over the trees,
Painted across the sky,
I can feel it in my bones
It's a time to say goodbye

Longing for you

Right now
what I miss
is a friend to sit with
in silence under
the moon

just be with me
be quiet with me

my love
my friend
my patron saint
my joy and pain
my loss
my gain

come sit with me
breathe with me

kiss me
caress me
tug me in at night
sing me a lullaby
hold me tight
don't speak
no words

dance with me
dream with me

listen to
the earth
the universe
the beating of
my heart is
an echo of
your soul

come inside me
enter me

fill me
and feel me
give yourself to me
out there by the water
I'll be waiting for you
to come home
to me

Anam Cara - by Tony Cuckson

On Soul Friendship

To be an Anam Cara – a Soul Friend – is to be in love with who you are. When you know who you are beyond this illusion of a separate sense of self Love happens. To share this is to be an Anam cara. The focus of your life situation must be the focus of deep friendship with your Self. This is not the self that we call the ‘little me.’ This is the Self that is referred to as ‘I am’ in Christianity and Buddha nature in Buddhism. In Celtic Spirituality the poet Amergin speaks about this universal connection when he recites what is considered the first poem in Ireland: “I am the wave on the ocean, I am the wind that blows across the sea ...". Amergin knows that he is in everything. It is a poem about the transcendence of the illusion of separateness.

An Anam Cara reminds you of what is important. They will invite you into this unity and knowing, constantly inviting you to stop judging yourself in anyway and simply be engaged with silent witnessing of your thoughts and feelings as they arise and fall. They invite you into the silence of the Self that is the real secret of living a wonder filled life, they bring you closer to this silence, closer to the timeless now. They are so in love with life – beyond the life of ‘little me’ – that to be around them you feel more alive. They know that the greatest gift they can give is to be who they are.

They take you on a journey beyond the illusion that either one of you is separate. If they are lovers they take each other into places of transcendence beyond the body and into the experience that 'We are All One', which is Love. This journey into Self, this journey into the Return to Love is the real quest. You return home to the place you never left which is oneness.

This is a journey of subtraction rather than addition. It is a journey of attention, commitment, and practice and ultimately surrender. These are concurrent practices that go deep and deeper into the beauty of nothingness out of which all form arises and which is never born or never dies.

When you find your Anam Cara you will project the beauty that you are unto them. Yet lurking within this projection is always the shadow self. Lurking within the outward focus on the other is the avoidance of those parts of our self that we do not love. We look for unity with the other but our real happiness is within the knowing of Sacred Unity that is never other and is forever.

An Anam Cara loves your essence and guides you to the presence you are. They see you beyond your mask, the mask of persona. They see beyond the fear. They see the absence of love. This is love you withdraw from others and yourself. This is the love that is your real power. This does not mean they have to like YOU. You are the one that gets in the way of soul. Your soul is the light of love and it needs light. It needs the lightness of being. An Anam Cara will remind you simply “to be.”

A Soul Friend is only a mirror. When you are with a Soul Friend you are assisted in recognizing your true self. Too often we think that they are the source of our delight when in fact they are only the mirrors of the delight that we have allowed to arise within us. They assist this arising by being the delight – the light that they are.

Never rely totally on the outside form for your Soul Friendship. This too will pass. Be Soul Friendship. Be who you are. Then you will know that Soul and Friendship are not other than who you are. You will drop the illusion that it is something that is separate from you. Then you will be who you truly are: Nothing special but special beyond imagination.

Know that about yourself and the dance really does begin. The real lover and you come home to the place you never left.

Gratitude...

Brimfull with gratitude, humbled by the awareness that I am so blessed in this life, having friends that I can trust so blindly and entirely, friends who understand me on a level somewhere beyond explanation... What a gift to have a handful of people in my life I can totally rely on, - no matter how far away they may be at times, their presence in my life is tangible and real, in spite of the distance. Not everyone can understand intense relationships like these and I'm blessed all the more, having a loving husband who not only tolerates but understands how important these people are to me, and supports me in keeping these friendships alive, a task that isn't easy at times... but then again, grace and faith are so much stronger than prejudice and convention.

Pema Chödrön: When things are shaky...

»When things are shaky and nothing is working, we might realize that we are on the verge of something. We might realize that this is a very vulnerable and tender place, and that tenderness can go either way. We can shut down and feel resentful or we can touch in on that throbbing quality.«

Reminder Note To Self

Don't wait for the "right" moment.

The right moment to travel the world... quit a job that makes you unhappy... start something new... tell somebody you love them... invite a friend.

Don't wait for a better opportunity - just do it.  Life is a pretty fragile condition. The "perfect" moment doesn't exist - create it.

Don't perpetually postpone  living to the future.  Don't postpone what might make you happy today thinking you can do it tomorrow.

Tomorrow may never come.

Don’t say that you do not have the time. We all have time, the question is how we choose to use it. If an opportunity presents itself, go for it. The longer you put something off, the less likely you'll  do it. Procrastination is a sure way of  missing your chances and there is nothing worse than looking back at your life with regret.

Don't let your fears keep you from trying to pursue your dreams.
Everybody has fears, it's human. Don't run from them, deal with them.

Don't say you don’t have enough money. Money is always an issue. Decide not to make it one. Decide to make it work. If money is tight, start being creative. Don't despair. Don't be ashamed to ask for help if need be.

Don't "over-educate" yourself. With so much information instantly available these days, there are so many resources,  endless opportunities - you can google yourself to hell and back - but the more information you get, the less you are able to act upon all that knowledge,  it simply leads to confusion... what is right, what is wrong, what is important, what is not? There’s not enough time in a lifetime to consider each and every aspect of a subject.

Don't ask the internet. Ask your heart.

Try to live each day to the fullest, as if it was your last. When you find you failed, forgive yourself. Make the necessary changes. Try again.

Don't push yourself too hard - just keep your dreams and values in mind.

Have faith.

Be happy.

Start now.

love out of body

Oh so hard to fathom,
that energy behind the flesh
that greater story...
as our cells they seem to explode
into the oneness you describe,
sneering at conventions,
ridiculing the idea of distance...
glory, yes -
and torture, nonetheless.

A love out of body...
I wonder how does it feel,
this love,
let off the leash,
released from the boundaries of the physical
running free
running wild
subject only to the voice of the earth
God
before man and religion transformed Him
into that vehicle of fear
and restraint
trying to gain control
of what is beyond control
divine joy

A love out of body
untamed
is energy born of the elemental
a passion and a prayer -
a hymn to the earth
pristine and pure -
primal
this lust for life and living
that leads right back to the physical
like wild horses careering
against the backdrop of an endless horizon
savoring their own strength
manes flying in the sun
hoofs digging up the dirt
tails streaming...

Spirit made flesh
a vision of vigor
vitality
far beyond doubt
beyond reproach
who could condemn?

We're all made like that
created as one
spirit and soul
body and mind
to His likeness they say
an image of God
inseparable
So take that quote
"What God has joined
let no man put asunder..."
and see it in the light of truth
not convention
not religion...
and tell me we're doing wrong.

I can see no sin
in our open hearts
searching that oneness
longing for fulfillment
"Every day we slaughter our finest impulses...." - yes!
each day we kill our finest instincts
and that may be the real sacrilege
denying the divine
bowing to conformation.

Blogs 2011 - 2012 have been lost

I'm sorry, all the blog entries from 2011 and 2012 have disappeared somehow :-(

Music was my first love...

Ooooh, the bliss and thrill of finding new music, back in the day when almost everything was a "first"!

Discovering songs and music for the first time as a teenager, when so many (old) songs were completely new and exciting to me, I couldn't believe how others had known them for years and could remain all cool about something that appeared so totally life-changing to me... music that had me reassess and reconsider everything I thought I knew up to that point, music that completely rocked my world...

I must have been about 15 or 16 when I came across Laura Nyro's "Gibsom Street"... I couldn't believe it... it was the first song ever that had me completely thunderstruck. Until then I have had my favorite bands like any other teenager, sometimes because I could identify with what they stood for, sometimes simply because the singer was good looking or whatever else will make you buy an album as a teenager. I had been a fan of Depeche Mode, U2, The Smiths... I was rather enthusiastic about their music - but this was different... this was completely new to me. I had no clue what that song (Gibsom Street) really was about but it's intensity and power touched me in a way I hadn't known before. It opened up a new world to me. Later the songs of artists like Patti Smith, Tim Buckley, Joni Mitchell or Sam Cooke would give me similar "aha moments" at my first discovery of their music. Leonard Cohen, Van Morrison, Nick Drake... Howe Gelb, Jeff Finlin, Vic Chesnutt, Tom Waits, T. Bone Burnett ... aah, so many others along the way, really.

I have experienced a tiny spark of it the other day - a spark just big enough to make me realize how often it doesn't turn into a flame these days.

Is it just me or is it in the nature of things that we do not perceive things and situations as intensively anymore as we grow older... do we "desensitize" over the years? How come we seem to lose that gift of pure, unconditional excitement to a certain degree once we've grown up? It happens less and less that I stumble across some music that really sweeps me off my feet the way it regularly happened in the past. I wonder why that is. Is it because we have already seen everything, heard everything in one way or another? I miss it sometimes. Don't you?

As a teenager, nothing touched me as deeply as music - a song would turn into colors and pictures, into something almost 3D, something tangible, something real. Not so much by what it said in it's lyrics, taking a song literally, but by the atmosphere it created, the images it conjured up. I would find a new artist and the discovery could draw me out of the world for days on end, into some kind of parallel universe where music was all that was real, putting me in a state of bliss and positive excitement, totally immersed in the diverse impressions and perceptions that came with each find.

I remember quite a few of those "epiphany" moments, induced by a song or some music I had never heard before - music that gave me intense sensation, that really clicked with me, that set something in motion... music that inspired me like nothing ever had, at times stimulating my senses to a degree that it almost hurt, but I loved it. A friend suggested the term "audible orgasm" to describe this particular sensation but there's much more to it. It's like falling in love for the first time - absolutely mind-blowing! A feeling so overwhelming, so confusing, yet so exciting... an unconditional willingness to become absorbed. Suddenly nothing's the same.

Music has always been a crucial element in my life. It seems that every song, every new kind of music, every artist I discovered for myself, always found me at a moment when his or her special gift was exactly what I needed, what I might have been looking for without even knowing. Often it came as a missing link, a trigger, a challenge, an insight, an answer. In music I found solace, inspiration, comfort, encouragement... a counterbalance to all the things that might have shaken me at times. There were moments that would have felt impossible to bear without the companionship of certain songs, certain voices... days when everything seemed too much, times of doubt and pain that some unaware songwriter helped me through.

Over the years I have found other sources to draw on. I turn to nature and it's healing energy when I feel at odds with the world. I find inner peace and balance in meditation and yoga, in walking even. Silence is an enormous source of strength for me these days as well (amazingly enough, silence has it's own sweet music)

But there is, and always will be... MUSIC! It's not like it doesn't happen any more. Maybe it's less intense a lot of times... maybe it's true that we've heard too much to find that same old, innocent and unconditional enthusiasm that we experienced when everything was a first for us... but yes, music was my first love. It will always rock my world.

Making plans for the day... and why it's not worth the effort.

There's a German proverb, saying "Erstens kommt es anders, und zweitens als man denkt...", which roughly translates to "Firstly, things happen - secondly, not at all like you expect...". I guess I can fully agree to that today. I am tired like I haven't been in a long time. Kinda perplexed. Then again, too tired to actually question anything anymore. My first impulse would be to just go back to bed once I have worded my speechlessness and vented my discomposure... but, today of all days, the sun is out and I cannot possibly waste the day sleeping.

"Yeah, cut it short then, Lilli", you may think, "what happened? Let's get it over with!"

Okay, here's the nitty-gritty... the past 24 hours in the life of Lilli:

Friday, May 28th. A day off work. I decide to take it easy, get a few errands and chores done, do the dishes, some laundry maybe. The apartment is a mess after my running off for three weekends in a row. But, no hurry, no fuss. I decide to take it easy, having the whole day at my free disposal. Maybe I can even bake a bread later on.

At 4pm I haven't actually accomplished much, stuck with the good intentions and the feeling there is all the time in the world... the wish being father to the thought, haha!

At 4.30pm my doorbell rings. Am I expecting visitors? Not that I know of...

I open the door. Chris. A friend of mine that I haven't seen in a while. Must have been before I went to the desert, March maybe? My first (somewhat subconscious and not very kind) thought is "Shit, this might turn into a bit of a time consumer...". Duh!! Not nice, Lilli... but those of you who know Chris also know what I mean. Don't get me wrong, Chris is a very dear friend, maybe one of my best... but we have to be realistic, right? There's no way making it short with Chris, nothing can stop her once she gains momentum, she's a natural force in her own charming way...

Within the few seconds it takes her to come up the four steps to my door, I try to come up with a new plan. My mind rotates...in vain. So I decide to just keep taking it easy and try have a good time with my friend, then go back to my chores. It's only the afternoon, after all.

"Hola, guapita" she says, "I saw you had the windows open and thought I'd drop in for a moment! I won't hold you up, no worries, a little pressed for time myself, preparing an exhibition, just a flying visit, really".

"Great", I think - "so that is settled", and relax...

At 4.45pm we sit on the pillows in my "desert room", the cups are filled with Karkade tea and the room is bathed in sunlight. "Life is good", I think to myself, "I'll have a lovely time now and then get everything done in the evening, once Chris is gone, perfect!"

We start chatting.

At 5.45 we have hardly covered the "essentials"... the desert, her recent exams, my work situation, her work situation, the banjo, her computer, the building site that her apartment is, the ruin that my house in the country is, my chores (that I yet have to get done...)

We find that we are really hungry.

At 6.45 we make sandwiches and more tea

We continue talking... and talking.

At 7.45 we both find that the sandwiches are really not that satiable and decide to order in.

We call Burak, our favourite Turkish restaurant, and order lamb chops and chicken kebabs.

I drop a vague hint that I really meant to get a few things done... Chris is rather pragmatic about it, she decides that until the food arrives we can as well sit in the bed room and I can fold away the laundry while she'll continue talking.

I bow to the inevitable..

At 8.45 the food finally arrives.

While sitting in the dining room, eating, looking at my oven, I suddenly remember the bread I wanted to bake. I make mention of this and Chris is like "well, naturalmente, we'll bake that bread!!".

At 9.30 we have finished our dinner and start baking the bread. In no time the dough is ready to prove and while Chris is flicking through my CDs, I think "what the damn!" and give two of my rooms a high-speed vacuuming. Yeah, how incredibly burgeois, I know...

After that, we take turns listening to some music, preparing the bread, strumming and picking instruments, searching the internet for layout software and whatnot.

At 11pm the bread is in the oven and needs to bake for 45 minutes.

Chris says, "Jesus! Have I really been here for more than six hours?? I definitely must leave, I got tons of stuff to take care of!" ... I say "Ah, what the hell - no fuss, no hurry"...

At 11.45 the bread is ready.

It's about midnight when Mic calls, saying he just played a gig and is now kind of "hyper hyper" and would we care to join him for a session or some dancing... we decline, saying we're about to call it a day and will go to bed every moment now. Ha!!

I have no idea what happens between midnight and 1.40am, but we end up viewing the Sinai pics on my computer. I'm drop dead tired. We switch from Karkade tea to Sage lemonade. It is disgusting. We still drink it, as there's nothing else in the house.

At 3.45, at the crack of dawn, Chris is finally leaving. The "brief visit" turned into 11 hours. Is it even possible?

Now it's my turn to be way too hyper to go to bed, so I decide to practice some scales, clean up the place some more and try find some calm...

At 4.30 I collapse into bed. The birds are singing and the sun is coming up. My final thought is "well, there's always tomorrow... nothing on the agenda, I'll sleep late, till noon if need be, and then do what needs to be done - no stress, no hurry"...

With that, I fall asleep.

Saturday, May 29th...

At 9.30am I wake to some deafening noise. It takes me a while to realize it's a Batucada... drums and agogos, cowbells and tamborims... a Samba band. But where... and, how? It sure doesn't sound like one of my neighbors playing a tape or whatever. I toss and turn and try go back to sleep but it's impossible, not with this noise - and my driving curiosity...

Once again, I bow to the inevitable.

I get up and more or less "waddle" into the kitchen... plod plod plod... having a hard time keeping my eyes open.

I look out the window and – to my surprise – see my friend Thomas and a tiny fragment of his Samba band (that usually includes a crazy amount of musicians) playing on the street, escorted by two police men. They are all dressed up like The Blues Brothers (the musicians are, not the police men). Not very Brazil, for sure...


(look at me... somebody's real tired here!)

??????? (insert giant question mark in a think bubble over my head)

My mind cannot quite digest this. There was not a drop of alcohol included in yesterday's marathon hang-out, no drugs, no nothing. Sleep deprivation? I close my eyes ... open them again. The sound is for real, so is the band, playing brazil rhythms in strange black suits. I mean, what the hell are they doing (or thinking!!), playing Samba like there is no tomorrow at 9.30 am on a Saturday morning, in front of my house?? I have no clue. I still haven't. This is beyond me.

(yeah, I know... they do not look half as "scary" as they sounded, ha! Police sure doesn't seem much impressed now, do they?

The lesson in this? No plans for today, other than hopefully succeeding in staying awake. Then again, what the hell ... things are gonna happen ... no stress, no fuss ... I guess I'll just take it easy, right?

parting

i walked
he wouldn't come along.
complaining about my speed

i waited
i went back

…back and forth, back and forth…

i offered my hand
he wouldn't take it
complaining about my direction

…forward, always forward…

he walked in circles
he lost direction

too absorbed in the past
to let go
to go anywhere at all

too occupied with the future
to even see me
in the present

from where I couldn't reach him
from where I couldn't leave

…don't do this, don't make me do this…

i explained
he wouldn't listen
complaining about my aims

…never enough, never good enough…

he wouldn't talk
he wouldn't try

too scared of the moment
to see me
walk away

Restlessness

Today, I want it all!! Darn moral codes and values – senseless – everything could be so simple without them, for sure.

Just what is that pull ... that pining ... that yearning? It hit me last night, out of the blue, from one second to the next. I felt alone yet wanted nobody there. Nobody who was available anyway...

And there is more ... I want to do too many things but lack the time, or the money. Work gets in my way. Moral ethics get in my way. Social conventions. Nothing's enough. Or already too much.

It's just one of these days. I know it will pass, but it can be agonizing at times. I'll never understand where it comes from when it happens without warning, arising from nothingness. Or where it disappears, from one moment to the next. No explanations, no clues.

It's like a physical pain sometimes, as if I'm being torn in two. Hungry, thirsty, craving ... and I cannot even say what it is that I so desire then – whatever I can't have maybe. More ... of what? Maybe just something else than what I have. It all seems so dull and worn at times ... futile, mediocre.

And all the time I know that once I'd have that "something else", it wouldn't be the right thing again, not over any length of time. I have everything already, everything I need ... and more, much more.

Maybe I crave perfection ... when there is no perfection. Or is there?

I try to remain in the moment, but still ... I want that moment to be different ... right here, right now ... I wanna shine, burn ... I want passion, fervor, life ... oooooh, life ... I taste it and it overwhelms me.
I can't get enough. I want, I want, I want ... I wanna embrace life wholeheartedly, passionately, without reserve ... when the one thing that gets in my way there is life itself. Can you hear the universe laughing? Hahaha!

Where does serenity go when it can no longer stand the silence?

As I said, I know this mood will pass. I've been working too much. I haven't been out in the open ever since I returned from the country and I miss that desperately, even after only a few days.

I need the night
the air
the stars
the smell of the wet grass
by the lake

nightbirds
fireflies
moonlight
upon my skin

I need to run real fast
swing high up in the air
spin around and around and around
with the wind catching in my hair
until I fall down on the ground
laughing, crying, laughing
hopefully
breathing it all out
the want, the need, the restlessness.
the thought of those hands
upon my body

gone

what is your cure?
what do you do?

Summertime & Happiness

I’m loving this summer. Not that it’s remarkable in any way, it’s just one of these half-hearted summers, somewhat undecided. One week you’re melting, the next you’re freezing your ass off. I must admit I do not even know what I love about it, other than ... umm... everything?

Haha – I know this doesn’t make any sense but it’ll have to do. Fact is, I have no explanation. Maybe summer is really just an extra in all this, maybe I’m just loving this life right now, summer or not. Yeah, I guess that’s it ... I’m so in love with life, with the cosmos, with everything. I’m happy! (Cheesy, I know ... but couldn't care less).

Yep, in spite of the occasional pain and sadness, the struggle and doubts I temporarily give in to, what I fall back on, again and again – and what seems to be a much more natural condition – is happiness ... soulfulness, joie de vivre ... a simple, accepting, all-embracing joy. Finding beauty in the little things ... in simplicity, in the seemingly boring, the plain, the unspectacular ... so sublime.

For me, reconnecting with nature is usually the key. I am not much of an indoors person. As much as I can lose myself in a book or in front of the computer at times, I find to be true what Charles Eisenstein says in „The Ascent of Humanity“ (http://www.ascentofhumanity.com) – that „the more I come to live in those artificial realities, the more separate I become from the inherently fascinating realm of nature and self…“.

Turning too „indoor-centered“, I normally start feeling discontent, bored and unhappy after a while. Things that started out being fun or some simple diversion – doing stuff on the computer, surfing the internet, watching movies, reading books – they end up being more or less dissatisfying and unfulfilling if pursued over any length of time.

As soon as I step out of the door though, I feel those tensions lighten up. My worries fall off me, to an amazing degree. Going for a walk – taking a deep breath, paying full attention to my senses – is often the best remedy against getting too caught up in my own head.

It’s where beauty happens …

Like last week, when I almost forced myself out the door, going for a walk in the twilight, expecting nothing but a bit of fresh air. But there I stood ... watching the sky blend into the lake, concertedly melting into shades of pastel, consuming the horizon in their pairing ... completely in awe! All boundaries vanished as the glassy surface of the water turned into a giant kaleidoscope, a magic mirror, duplicating and distorting the indistinct reflections of clouds and trees, boats and birds, street lights and landing stages, creating something new – pure color and shape, void of any meaning – volatile beauty.

The falling darkness transformed everything once again, one by one the colors fell away, turning from violet to blue, from grey to black, shapes shifting into silhouettes.

Sitting by the nocturnal lake, I suddenly found myself shrouded by a blanket of scent and sound ... the spicy smell of the damp, dewy meadows ... the quirky cacophony of countless frogs quaking away on the water lilies ... myriads of fireflies shimmering and dancing amidst the dark silhouettes of the tall wild grasses, like little fairy lanterns, so enchanting. (Come to think about it, I don’t think I have ever seen this many fireflies before, there is an abundance of them this summer, they must be loving this humid heat...)

Beauty seems to find me wherever I go and whatever I do lately ... it’s stunning at times ... like that triple rainbow the other day – another thing I’ve never seen before. It started out as a plain, yet huge and intensely lush, rainbow – beautiful to look at. I stopped under a tree to watch it rise ... its bright colors against the daunting, dark grey sky ... the sunlight tinting the trees a glaring yellow-green ... oh, grace and wonder. Standing there in the rain, I suddenly noticed a second rainbow forming right on top of the first one, spanning the whole valley. They were the biggest, brightest rainbows I had ever seen, breathtakingly beautiful, almost unreal. I couldn’t stop staring at them, all abuzz with fascination and awareness ... and then a third rainbow appeared, in a little distance to the first two ones, partly overlapping with them.
It’s impossible to describe the beauty of that moment, the intensity of that natural phenomenon, and how it touched me. It filled me with such a deep gratitude, sensation on every possible level, bringing a peace and contentment far beyond the satisfaction that comes with the somewhat entertaining but more shallow distractions of „indoor life“, the more labored, forced amusements I sometimes seek.

„Happiness is only real when being shared“, somebody said. My first impulse was to agree, but I’m not so sure anymore. I guess it can be real even when experienced all alone. Happiness has to come first, it must be real first, for me to develope a desire to share it, right? Sharing it can sure magnify and enhance it to some extent, but my ability to really experience it – to feel it – depends directly on me being connected and not separate from my self. If I am, if I am truly whole, happiness comes as a natural condition ... it’s only from there that I can share. Taking it a step further – maybe the truth is that whenever we’re really connected, in harmony with the universe, radiating that „inner bling“ – whatever we feel, we become – and in that, we cannot NOT share!

"Amen" ... haha!

Should we talk about the weather..??

This summer is just unreal so far. The weather has been crazy ever since I returned from Colorado – it's been so cold, I had to turn on the heating even as late as mid June when normally I turn it off by mid May. With the summer solstice it got a little warmer, or maybe I should say – the rain turned a little warmer – for that's what happened, it started pissing down like mad ... diluvian rain, for two weeks, making me feel all weary and irritable. The sound of the rain never ceased ... rain, rain, rain ... only interrupted by some violent hail or thunderstorms every now and then. When it finally stopped, the sudden silence was almost scary.

Within two days, it turned boiling hot. I guess you can imagine the effect of the soaking wet ground heating up like this ... jeez – outside it's steaming!! Some stifling muggy wash house climate. Everything’s damp. Even inside the house the air is so humid that the wallpapers start to peel and the books curl at the edges. Leaving the house, the skin turns sticky and sweaty within seconds. The slightest move is too much, too fast, too strenuous an action...

I haven’t experienced this kind of moist, humid summer in years. I feel like I'm in South Central Georgia again ... wondering how those Dixie storms managed to make it all the way here ... it’s raining every other afternoon now, along with heavy thunderstorms. After the rain, it usually cools down a bit, but in the morning the heat is back, steaming up the air ("what air?", one is tempted to ask) in no time.

For the first few days I felt just fuzzy, listless and somewhat paralyzed, but I must admit that I'm starting to like it somehow. I feel „comfortably numb“ – actually, it’s not such an unpleasant feeling, temporarily losing all sense of time and space and purpose. Days just merge into one another, slipping right through my fingers. Everything is blurry, like not really real ... last night, yesterday, last week, ten days ago ... it matters not, it all feels the same. Far away, dream-like, irrelevant ... laissez-faire is the only attitude one manages to maintain in this heat.

I wish I had a wooden front porch with a rocking chair where I could sip my iced tea in the evening breeze ... I'd close my eyes and dream of the south ...



But no, I'm not complaining – for the first time in a long time, I'm pretty content being where I am. Maybe the "where" really doesn't matter that much at times. I feel like I carry it all right inside lately, everything I'd normally seek in the distance ... beauty, peace, harmony, adventure ... whatever. Maybe it's myself, providing places with all that, myself carrying it there, my own mind creating my own reality. I normally just don't even try to find it where I am anymore, assuming it is some place else. I guess it's not. It's right here.

These past few weeks have been filled with bliss, beauty and wonder. So much to be grateful for, so many moments of happiness, of peaceful adventure, moments of joy and pleasant surprise, moments of love ... moments that make everything else seem worthwhile, no matter what.

What a wondrous, wonderful life this can be – right here where I am.

Life and Me and Henry Miller ...

Yesterday night I have been talking to a friend about how Henry Miller's books have influenced both our lives so much – and how a lot of people are really amazed to hear that, not thinking Henry Miller's books are actually the stuff that guides you anywhere, life-changing or enlightening or whatever. There is other books that seem to be classics when it comes to that ... but Miller???? Just why is it his books are so often confined to the scandalous or the obscene? Well, I think maybe these people just didn't read with their hearts and minds open enough ... maybe they couldn't see. Or maybe they didn't read Miller at all. There is a lot of spirituality in Miller's books, a lot of wisdom and insight. It will be different things for different people and I don't claim my perception of his writings to be the only possible one – I sure have my very own, very particular, very lilli-ish relationship with Henry Miller, influenced by my own complex past and self, others have their's ... well, so.

When I first laid hands – and eyes – upon a Henry Miller book I must have been about thirteen – and that had nothing to do with it's contents at all. The book was 'Tropic of Cancer' ... it was bound in purple velvet with red and silver print and had a wonderful abstract illustration of a crab on the front cover. It looked so wonderfully louche and bohemian – I was completely mesmerized by it for years and years. I must admit I have always had a certain liking for louche aesthetics ...

I was about sixteen when I finally read 'Tropic of Cancer' and I was almost disappointed, having assumed to be in for something lewd, judging by the blurb and preface. As it was though, it couldn't actually shock me much. My family was not quite what one might call decent middle-class, my aunts running a whorehouse, one uncle in jail for armed bank robbery, another a shady croupier in a big casino. They were pimps and peculators, gamblers and cheats, at home in the boxing arenas and racecourses of Germany. My mother would tell them again and again to watch their language with us but they never managed for any long time and you bet: my brother and I just loved to hang with them ... it was another world, so fascinating, so seemingly dangerous, so "out of bounds" ... it seemed as irreal as TV or the movies, somewhere between 'Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn' and 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid'. Sometimes my aunts would take us to the brothel (while it was closed, mind you!) where we would sit by the bar on those high, wooden stools, hypnotized by the sounds of the slot machines, feeling strangely excited, completely in awe of the place. The women working there would smother and mother us, teaching us how to play poker and blackjack, letting us win most of the time, so that we always came home with huge amounts of extra pocket money which we had to hide from my mom in order to avoid her getting suspicious or even worse: making us give it back. It was a wild time and always made for interesting stories with our friends ...

Of course, that's only half the truth – just one side of the coin. As you can probably imagine, there was also a lot of bullshit connected to growing up amongst a horde of ... well, – hookers and criminals, really. But what I meant to make clear was that it sure kept me from being especially appalled by any of Henry Miller's writings. I had grown up with all that seemingly obscene language and I knew how it was just words – different words than those we were supposed to use, yet somewhat more honest and direct, often enough spoken with much more feeling (not necessarily positive though) than the hypocritically polite vocabulary used in most of my friend's houses.

What I found with 'Tropic of Cancer' was a book that for the first time blended the two clashing realities I had known so far: the poetic eloquence my literary grandfather had aquainted me with and the blatantly vulgar vocabulary of the streets ... I was thunderstruck, absolutely fascinated. I have always had a special relationship with words, loving them for their sound or feel, without even caring what they mean at times ... and here was Henry Miller ... overwhelming me with his lavish use of them: new words, strange words, complicated and exotic words ... I'm not sure I paid much attention to the actual story when I first read it, all I remember is that it left me hungry for more.

So I snatched 'Sexus' from my parents bookshelf. On the outside it didn't look half as exciting as 'Tropic of Cancer', but ... wow! This time I must admit I was indeed kind of shocked, stunned at the very least. I mean, it was so much more explicit – it may be different for a male teenage reader, I don't know – but as a girl of sixteen or seventeen I was kind of repelled by his detailed descriptions, disgusted even. The way he was talking about sex was like miles from the romantic notions I might have nurtured back then. And yet I couldn't stop reading – I sensed something almost mysterious behind his words, something deeper, something beyond my grasp. I remember I merely skipped over the "raunchy" parts (I couldn't stand the way they made me blush and left me feeling all bashful) but the honesty and frankness of the book had an enormous effect on me. I was reading it in English and didn't understand half of it, neither literally nor figuratively and after stumbling through maybe one third of it, I gave up on 'Sexus' for the time being.

I didn't know anything about Miller back then, he was just a name, just some author. I didn't know any of the backgrounds to his stories. The Henry of his books seemed to be a fictional character to me, yet a strangely touching one. He came across as being so human, so real and likeable in all his scruffiness and that intrigued me quite a bit.

Years passed and I was well in my twenties when I touched 'Sexus' again. It was amazing, it suddenly felt like a completely different book. It couldn't floor me with it's language anymore – I mean, I was warned, I knew what was coming and my notions on sex had become somewhat less innocently romantic by then – but it left me speechless, once again. What struck me unexpectedly was the depth, the profoundness, the straightforwardness and stark honesty with which Miller laid open his innermost self.

I came to adore Henry Miller. In 1994 I read 'The Colossus of Maroussi' – my favourite of all Miller's books – and that finally sealed my high esteem of the man. It was a revelation in terms of insight, history, philosophy, apperception and the relativity of truth. Greece seemed to come alive in front of my eyes and I yearned to go there and explore it for myself. One year later I finally did, ending up on a Kaiki, a greek fishing boat, in a little harbour on the Peloponnese, near Epidaurus, facing the island of Hydra. I would spend night after night sitting on deck with a petrol lamp and a glass of Retsina, with just a dog and hundreds of mosquitoes for company, reading Miller ... not exclusively but to a great extent. It's forever etched on my memory, the atmosphere of those nights ... the distant noise of the taverns by the harbour, the greek music and voices, the smell of garlic and mediterranean herbs and the distinct tasty smell of the inevitable gyros being prepared in the bar by the pier. My time with Henry, yeah!

My english friends were laughing at me, joking I was too young to waste my life on a dead guy, however ingenious, that there were other men out there, alive even ... but I was smitten. For weeks on end, every night, there was just Henry Miller ... and Lilli clinging to his every word, smitten with his eloquence, smitten with the truth he spoke. By then, I had long come to understand that his writing was mainly autobiographical and I admired him for his arresting candor. I still had to swallow hard at certain chapters, still felt myself blushing, happy to be alone and unobserved while reading – but first and foremost it was the deep and sharp, pictorial thinking that had me hooked on him. That and the way he described people and places, making them come alive through his words. It was a gift I came to highly appreciate ever after, a gift I would forever seek and venerate, in my heroes as much as in the everyman.

The complexity of Miller's character fascinated me. He was a failure in the eyes of some ... and yet some kind of hero. A heartbreaker and an asshole at the same time. A poet and a plague. How somebody could be so obscene and yet so gentle, so careless and yet so profound – so bemusing ... it simply sent my head spinning. Reading Miller I started to question a lot of things – but most of all my own thinking and (mis-)conceptions. The second time I read 'Sexus' it was not so much the action or the words that fascinated me but the person Henry – I was mesmerized with this personality ... so real, so wild.

My sailor friends brought back a biography from England but reading it I found that all I needed to know was already there in his own books. He gave me food for thought, causing me to reflect on a lot of things, but as I returned to Germany by the end of the year, I became too busy to read or occupy my mind with Miller – or any other writer – for a long time. My obsession with Henry Miller ebbed off, yet his way of seeing things had influenced my thinking quite a bit – and for good, I tend to say.

I didn't touch his books for more than ten years. Then there was this day last winter, when picking a book by buddhist writer Pema Chödrön to take to bed with me to read, I suddenly found myself staring at 'Sexus' and felt a sudden urge to take that one instead. And once more it was like ... wow!!! It was all there again, right upon reading the first pages ... so stunning, moving, touching, exciting, stimulating and arousing ... in more than one aspect. But just like the last time, it was like reading a different book yet again. It was like the book had grown with me or I with the book ... I found myself almost dumbfounded by paragraphs and sentences I couldn't even remember to have read the last time. They kind of jumped out of the pages, sometimes shouting at me, sometimes whispering ... as spiritual as anything possibly can be, or so it seemed to me. So much wisdom in there. This time it really touched my heart and soul, somewhere beyond fascination, much deeper. My understanding of his words was a different now. I could feel the pain and the many shattered dreams, the lost hopes and illusions ... and still so much joy, so much optimism, faith and strength ... Miller's energy is so contagious, almost addictive. He makes me hungry for this life, always. Vibrant with joy and a restlessness to go out there and live, just live, in spite of all and everything, in spite of life itself even.

The beauty of his words is so rough and true and universal, so all-enclosing and evocative, it's staggering. I read 'Sexus' and it adds a new dimension to reality, a dimension that reconciles the right with the wrong, reconciles irony and hope, joy and bitterness. I can see beauty in the obscene and wisdom in the trivial, the devine in the dirt and dust of everyday life. Lightness in the seemingly overbearing. It brings out every possible emotion in me, the whole spectrum of colours and moods. It makes me want to have a relationship with reality that is true, genuine ... somewhere beyond the dullness and routine ... direct, instantaneous, full of passion. It makes me want to risk more, defiant of potential pain or fear, despite possible shattered illusions.

Henry Miller ... somewhere beyond or besides or beneath being so drawn into his words and his world, he led me to see my own world so much clearer, bringing me much closer to it. What a genius he is, a wordsmith, an alchemist ...

My ice cold winter wonderland …

Aah, I'm sad … this is my last day in Austria, my final night in the mountains. In spite of worrying quite a bit before I left (due to some family related issues) and in spite of the rather nasty cold, I've been enjoying my time here a lot. Over the years this tiny village, nestled in between the Dachstein and the Tennen mountain range, has become "a home away from home”, a place where I love to be, where I feel welcome and comfy and at peace with myself and the world.

My stay didn't quite turn out the way I expected — upon my arrival in the valley I was informed that an avalanche had cut off the gravel road that leads to the little cabin I was planning to stay in and that it wouldn't be accessible for the next few weeks. Thankfully, a friend quickly offered me a room on their farmstead, next door to my mom and her husband, and in spite of being somewhat disappointed not to be able to spend my time the way I had hoped for (a little further away from the village – and, the family..!), I gratefully accepted. Yet I wonder what would have happened if the avalanche had come down only AFTER I had reached the cabin?? Would it still have taken weeks to clear the road?

Anyway, so I ended up staying at this mountain farm, living in a cosy little room facing the Tennen Mountain Range. What a wonderful view upon waking up!!! My window is facing west, so I can not really see the sun as it rises in the morning, but I can watch the peaks in front of my window turn from blue to pink, from salmon to yellow and finally white, as they reflect the sunlight — it's so lovely to watch: those changing colors, the light's play — every morning I wake in anticipation of this spectacle …




This wing of the farmhouse is next to the stables and sometimes when I wake right before dawn, all curled up underneath the warm sheets, I listen to the noise of the cattle being milked, the light sound of the horse sleigh bells as the sleighs are taken out of the coach house, the panting and stamping of the horses … and in spite of the awful cold it makes me feel all cosy and snug, I bury myself deep in my pillows and under my giant down duvet where the cold can't reach me and go back to sleep until the first daylight comes up and wakes me again — this time to the sound of the heating being turned on — and I stay in bed watching the mountains change colour … by the time they turn from salmon to yellow the room is usually warm enough to dare come out of my eiderdown shelter and finally face the day, take a shower, have breakfast and get dressed for the world outside … which means covering my body with down again, haha, turning into something that resembles a marshmallow at best, a fat little "Michelin Man" at worst … these past few days we have had degrees way below zero (in Celsius anyway), dropping as low as -17°C / 1°F at daytime.


(click pictures for bigger view)

yeah, I look funny, I know! Just look at those mittens above, haha! A friend gave them to me, they may not be exactly elegant but I wouldn't have been able to take all these pictures without them in the freezing cold, they're the perfect photographer's winter equipment, a fingerless glove and a mitten all in one, real cool!




Looking like a marshmallow man I leave the house at about ten every morning, going for long walks, hikes or snowshoeing tours, either by myself or with family or friends. I always feel a little odd and clumsy, trying to move with all the many layers of cloth, heavy boots, hat, scarf and mittens on me …
Out there, what I find though — once I start moving and forget about the cold and the clumsiness — is a near perfect winter wonderland … a bleak but beautiful landscape, formed of patterns, shapes and texture, sun and shadow constantly painting pictures onto the snowy white canvas spread across the land, pictures that change from one minute to the next, everything is in motion and yet nothing moves.



(click pictures for bigger, better view)
The world is frozen still, motionless underneath the wandering light, the everchanging shadows giving the illusion of a liveliness that ceases as soon as the sun disappears for even the briefest of moments. A fierce cold is all that remains, a world void of colour other than shades of grey and blue … a hostile, threatening blue that bites my face as much as my soul, creeping up my back and under my skin, sending shivers up and down my spine … it's impossible to stand that cold blue — that blue cold — for any length of time, to keep on moving is the only way to escape — that, and praying for the sun to return soon. Until then, my batteries run on emergency power, moving like a robot, not thinking, not dreaming, not looking right or left … one foot in front of the other, looking down, head pulled in between the shoulders, making my way to some lodge, some fire place, some hot cocoa … to come alive again and finally find the strength and motivation to face the way back home, ha!


Do I sound unenthused? Haha! Truth is, as unpleasant as it sounds when I describe it like that — and as much as I curse that blue cold while being exposed to it, for sure — I still adore it! It's some kind of love-hate thing, I guess. I love the way the cold makes the following warmth seem so much more wonderful and valuable … I like the challenge of being out and about in that kind of weather, the way it makes me become aware of nature's strength and power and the beauty and wonder of being able to move therein.



It's a world of opposites — one moment everything seems dead and gone, like the world is hibernating, even the colors and sounds — but it only takes a single ray of sunshine sometimes, to make everything come alive again. It's fascinating and enchanting and at times I can completely lose myself in that, following the light's play with my eyes, listening to the stillness, simply being alive. I stop all the time, looking here and there, taking pictures of wayward findings, odd little details, snow that glistens and shines like rhinestone in the sun, snow crystals as big as pebbles, looking like feather and down, so soft and flaky, like it's not cold at all, haha! What a mistake — I'm reminded immediately upon touching it with my bare hands, ouch!





The weather is changing all the time, too. Up here in the mountains a bunch of clouds in the distance can turn into a nightmare above my head within minutes. A sky so blue that it hurts my eyes can turn grey and black while I have a quick cup of cocoa in a ski lodge. I have been told all sorts of scary stories, people getting lost in these mountains, caught by thunderstorms, dying in landslides and avalanches and whatnots … and I will admit I'm a bit of a coward, I have no intention of risking my neck or other important body parts, especially not when I'm out all alone, so I always ask the locals for weather forecasts and trail conditions before I start, making sure there are lodges within reach of the trails so I can rest and warm up and — most importantly for a gourmand like me — grab some decent food! I must stay strong, after all, and in the cold one burns sooooo many calories …

In fact, this year places to go have been pretty limited, due to the somewhat odd weather and snow conditions. Many trails are not accessible in this deep, way too fluffy snow — at least not by foot. Even with snowshoes or touring ski it's difficult and rather hazardous now, with the — unseasonably — high risk of avalanches. There are quite a few summits that have lifts or ropeways going up but usually that means just tons of people and completely crowded lodges, which I'm none too mad about, so most of my favourite peaks are subject to being adored from the distance only this winter, looking up from below instead of the other way round, the way I'd prefer. Well, if I see the mountains at all, that is! Right now there is no trace of them on the horizon, like some greedy giant has stolen them overnight.



(somebody just stole the mountains ... click for bigger view!)
The place where they should be is one huge, murky, grey plane, a misty swirling of clouds hanging so deep you no longer reckognize them as clouds. Yesterday's blizzard brought tons of ice and new snow and the sky has been completely cast over ever since, it feels like it hardly lights up during the day. It put an early end to my tours and hikes, limiting the possibilities to spend the day quite a bit, but it's still beautiful.

The trees … they look like they are covered in icing and sugar now, every little twig is coated in white — multitudes of teensy-weensy white ice-cubes, so funny to look at! Many of the young alder trees are bending and breaking under the heavy, frozen snow, exposing the fresh orange wood on their inside, the colorful splinters forming a strange contrast to the monochrome blue and white around them, looking almost obscene.



(click pictures for bigger, better view)

Ice, ice and more ice … everything is freezing over, even the creek has disappeared, though I can still hear it's babbling sound. Way down underneath it's heavy, gently rounded ice crust, it still flows, invisible to the beholder.
All the hundreds of little waterfalls coming out of the hillsides, they have turned into scary gatherings of icicles, looking like mighty spear heads, like the hastate portcullis' of ancient castles …






In spite of the weather, I went for a long, final walk today, partly following the cross country ski tracks (as far as I could see them in the mist), partly trudging through the deep snow … I so love the crunching noise of the snow, it always has a rather becalming effect on me, almost tranqulizing..! Today though, in the dense fog, everything sounded quite different, somewhat muted, subdued, like really "flat".
There was no trace of the sun, as well — it seems to have disappeared with the mountains for good. The cold became unbearable after a while, my face was frozen so stiff, I couldn't even move my lips to greet a fellow hiker, it was simply impossible to form a single word, ha! Hard to believe this was the same trail I walked only a couple of days ago, when reaching the summit and being exposed to the sun, it was so warm that I could pull off my jumper and sit there in a t-shirt, getting a tan (umm, okay — more like freckles in my case...). That day the sky was almost brash blue and instead of the vast nothingness, there was a mass of summits in front of me, it was silent as well, but in a different way, a distinct crystal clear silence … broken only by nature itself, the whistling noise of the wind, the soft, fissling sound of little snow clods sliding down the slopes … every now and then I could hear a bird in the distance, it's song echoing off the mountain face. I even saw a few roebucks while I sat there that day, moving about noiselessly — something I could not even imagine today, with zero visibility.

That day was special in more than one regard, seeing those deer was an exception, for sure. Fact is, most of the wild animals I saw during my time here were dead … elks and chamois, shot by Dutch hunters. A few days ago I went down to the valley to have dinner with my mom and her husband, when a couple of dead elks blocked my way ... the hunters were posing proudly and dozens of photographs were taken of the men and their prey. The snow in front of them was blood-soaked and the giant stag's antlers formed a spooky silhouette against the backdrop of the violet evening sky … so majestic those animals looked … such a sad sight ... their dead eyes wide open, their necks bent in the most bizarre of angles, their bodies still warm enough to steam in the cold … what a shame.
Considering that the above "event" was nothing too special for anybody involved, I no longer wonder why it is that by day I find all these animal traces but hardly ever come across any of their causers … quite different from what I experienced in the Rocky Mountains, wildlife hides all day in these parts of the world, coming out of the woods at night only, knowing all too well that their heads carry the hunter's favourite trophies …

Ah, it's getting late, I guess I must come to a close now, facing my last night in this wonderful winterworld. Here I sit and type, looking out of the window as night falls, missing my friend, the moon … like the sun, it is hiding behind those ruthless clouds. Not that it was ever really there at night, ha! … but by day, turning my face to the sun, what did I find up there in the middle of the blue sky? Yep, the crescent moon! Visible all day, disappearing with the twilight. For a few minutes every day I could see it in the dark, right beside Venus, the brightly shining evening star, before it finally went down behind the mountains. Without the moon to brighten up the sky, the starry night was overwhelming ... glistening and sparkling like a carpet of jewels, some celestial snowfield, reflecting these earthly ones.

During one of my first nights here, I got up in the middle of the night, felt my way to the window and opened the curtains, expecting to find the snowy, greyish night sky that I had said goodnight to a few hours ago … instead I suddenly found myself gazing at millions and millions of stars! The brightest, biggest stars I could imagine, bigger and more impressive than any starry sky I've ever seen, even bigger than the stars in the desert. I was completely mesmerized by all the twinkling — I opened my window, staring up into the sky, ignorant of the cold, almost hypnotized … it was like the sky was pulling me in, sucking me up, spitting me right into space, to be a star among stars, twinkling down from above, eternally … but alas, the chilly wind transported me back to reality in no time, forcing me to quickly skedaddle back underneath those warm eiderdown quilts …

So, goodbye it is — goodbye mountains, goodbye snow … goodbye my cheeky little kittens, goodbye wonderful view ... boohoohoo — I'm sooooo drippy and sappy and sentimental, haha!

Okay, I guess I should sleep for a few hours now, before it's time for the long drive back home ...

ps: more pics to follow soon!