Hoffentlich bald …

Es war mir schon länger klar, jedenfalls theoretisch, aber heute hat es wie ein Blitz eingeschlagen und ist zur Erkenntnis geworden:

Irgendwann werde ich sterben und muss alles zurücklassen, was mir lieb oder eigen ist.

Irgendwann kann ich nicht mehr planen, welche Pflanzen ich aus dem Garten ausgraben und in die nächste Bleibe mitnehmen möchte.

Irgendwann landet alles, was ich besitze, höchstwahrscheinlich auf dem Müll oder in einem Second-Hand-Laden.

Irgendwann vor meinem Ableben muss ich mich mit banalen, administrativen Problemen auseinandersetzen. Wenn ich zu lange damit warte, kann es teuer für die Hinterbliebenen werden.

Irgendwann verteile ich am besten alles und wohne den Rest meiner Tage möbliert oder mit Second-Hand-Möbeln.

Irgendwann werde ich nicht mehr meine ach so wichtige Meinung zu allen möglichen Ereignissen zum besten geben können.

Aber wann?

Am besten jetzt schon loslassen.

Am besten sich jetzt schon innerlich lösen.
Worauf warte ich?

Nur das Heute ist Realität. Gestern ist vorbei und existiert schon fast nicht mehr. Morgen steht noch nicht ganz fest. Also heute.

Wenn ich die Kodierung der Matrix durchschauen lerne, kann ich sie verändern, wenn ich das als sinnvoll ansehe, oder ihr entsteigen. Alles innerhalb der Matrix besteht aus den gleichen Bausteinen, auch meine menschliche Gestalt. Und doch gibt es etwas in mir, das eine andere Kodierung hat, das nicht zur Matrix-Welt gehört. Mit der Hilfe dieses Elementes kann meine Essenz ihre Schwingung erhöhen und sich von der Matrixwelt lösen.

Irgendwann …

Irgendwann?

Hoffentlich bald!

Manchmal findet man Perlen in einer Scheune …

Letzten Sommer (2014) waren wir mit Freunden bei einem Country&Western Konzert im Norden Schleswig-Holsteins an der Küste. Es fand in einem kleinen Ort (Namen vergessen, höchstwahrscheinlich Howacht) in einer Scheune statt. Country&Western ist immer gut, dachten wir, macht gute Laune. Die Künstlerin war Bet Williams, die uns bis dahin noch unbekannt war.

Es begann dann auch sehr Country-mässig, gute Künstler, gute Stimmen. Aber dann gab Bet ein spirituelles aramäisches Lied zum besten, das mich umgehauen hat.

Ihr Mann ist Armenier (John Hodian), und die beiden haben historische und spirituelle Reisen durch u. a. Armenien gemacht. Daraus entstanden Musiksammlungen, die sie unter dem Namen ”Epiphany Project” publizieren und alte spirituelle Lieder aus aller Welt enthalten.

Sie werden 2016 mit dem Epiphany Project wieder nach Deutschland kommen. Wer interessiert ist, hier ihr Spielplan: http://epiphanyrecords.com/tours/ und ein wenig über das Projekt selbst: http://epiphanyrecords.com/epiphany-project/

Sie sind auch auf YouTube vertreten, wenn ihr mal hören wollt: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFnHknNnB1o&index=4&list=PLECCC61804F793DD2

Was mich veranlasst hat, diesen Beitrag zu schreiben ist, dass ich heute morgen zum ersten Mal den Text von einem Lied richtig durchgelesen habe. Es handelt sich hier um das Vaterunser, das Neil Douglas-Klotz wortgerecht aus dem Aramäischen übersetzt hat. Das Ergebnis ist doch sehr anders als das heutige Vaterunser …

Hier die englische Version (ich versuche dann weiter unten, das in ordentliches und inhaltsgerechtes Deutsch zu bringen):

O, Birther of the Cosmos, focus your light witin us,
Create your reign of unity now
Your one desire then acts with ours
As in all light, so in all forms
Grant us what we need each day in bread and insight:
Loose the cords of mistakes binding us,
As we release the strands we hold of others’ guilt.
Don’t let surface things delude us,
But free us from what holds us back.
From you is born all ruling will,
The power and the life to do,
The song that beautifies all,
From age to age it renews,
I affirm tis with my whole being.

Oh, Gebärer des Kosmos, konzentriere dein Licht in uns,
Erschaffe jetzt dein Reich der Einheit,
Dein einziger Wunsch agiert dann mit unseren (Wünschen),
Sowohl in allem Licht, als auch in allen Formen,
Gewähre uns, was wir jeden Tag benötigen an Brot und Einsicht,
Löse die Stricke der Fehler, die uns binden,
Wie wir die Stricke lösen, die wir halten von der Schuld anderer.
Lass die oberflächlichen Dinge uns nicht täuschen,
Sondern befreie uns von dem, was uns zurückhält.
Aus dir ist aller herrschender Wille geboren,
die Kraft und das Leben zum Tun,
Das Lied, das alles verschönert,
dies erneuert sich von Zeitalter zu Zeitalter,
Ich bekräftige dies mit meinem ganzen Wesen.

 

A true elfin story (short story by Stella, oh, Stella)

So, that’s it, I cannot do anything else for now. I will have to continue in spring.

The beginning is done: the fireplace, the ladder, the tiled path, the area for gatherings … the rest will have to wait. A pile of firewood is also ready …

What I am talking about is, of course, the elfin dwelling place in the birch stump. I have marked the places for the entrance door and the windows, but it is getting too cold to accomplish artistic wood carvings.

————

The following winter is comparatively mild, but grey, rainy, stormy, in short: not cosy at all! The spring bulbs are slowly coming our with their first green.

At the beginning of May, my husbands enters the kitchen and says enthousiastically that the door, which I have carved into the birch stump looks incredibly real, the windows as well. I rush into the garden right away. It is true! Where I have marked the door last winter, is now an intricate carving looking like Yggdrasil. Further up I can see two windows. They do not look real, no, they are real, with frames and panes and everything. This is not my handiwork! I have not hollowed the tree stump and put in windows and a door. I believe my husband is playing a joke on me.

I take im to task, but he denies all knowledge of the matter. Very well then, I will let him have his fun!

The same night, around one o’clock in the morning, I take a last stroll in the garden, as I often do. There isn’t any wind for a change. I detect a light at the south end of the house. Has my husband lit the candles?

On the birch stump I discover a little figure, swathed in bright light. It is dressed in green cloth from top to toe. Furthermore, one can clearly see four wings on its back. Am I going crazy? Is my imagination running wild? No, my husband must be playing a practical joke. Somehow he is projecting pictures. I go back into the house to tell him that he cannot fool me. I discover that he is already in bed and asleep. What am I to think?

I look out of the southern window. The little figure is still standing out there and is looking directly into my eyes. I go outside again and head towards the birch stump. The elfin, and such a one it is, is not moving an inch.

This first night we only look at each other in silence. I do not remember, how long, but very long. During the following nights we start talking. The elfin understands me and speaks our language. Incredible! What did I expect?

Four elfins have moved into the birch stump, two couples. From my preparations they could see that they would be welcome here. They have embellished everything a lot. The door was too low, the gathering place too small, but then I did not know how tall an elfin was, did I?

It is wonderful to have the small creatures living in the garden. I could watch them for hours. But one day a devil is posessing me. I want to prove to other people that the elfins exist, that they are not purely spawn of my imagination.

So I take my husband’s camera and secretly take some photos. Only one of them is really sharp. But … what is that? Those are not the creatures that I photographed! The figures on the photo look like brown Goldsmiths; still dressed in green, but looking more like insects and with ugly, wrinkly faces. One says that a camera does not lie. I don’t know what to believe.

The next evening I confront the elfins with the photo that I have printed out. They are startled, and then sad, letting their shoulders sag. Slowly their appearance changes, until they resemble the creatures on the photo. But then they begin to whisper among each other, and I notice that their sadness turns into rage. They all look at me with very angry eyes. Can the small ones seriously harm me? I ask myself.

”You know what?”, I say, ”I will burn the photo. Nobody will ever know anything about this.” I take a match and burn the photo on the spot. The faces are looking friendlier already. They come to me and tell me that the elfin faces I have seen so far are only projections, because they have only experienced rejection with their real appearance. People had thought that they were big insects and had tried to kill them. As they are magical creatures, they had thought up the deception with the projection. They had given themselves the cutest possible appearance, so that they would be generally accepted. ”Although it does not really matter so much anymore. Hardly anybody can see us nowadays, not even the children”, I am told. I am glad that peace is restored and the elfins don’t bear a grudge. All four of them have already changed into their cute version again. I wish them good night and go back into the house.

Before I go to bed, I want to delete the electronic original of the photo. My finger hovers a long moment above the delete key. This photo is my only proof of what elfins really look like. But does it really matter? What do those, who do not believe in elfins, care if they are cute or not? I press the key; the photo is deleted. I will take the secret with me into the grave.

 

EPILOGUE

Twenty years have gone by now. The elfins are very comfortable in our garden. The furry animals stay away from them. Their only irritation is the clumsy pheasant that upsets everything and often tears the pile of firewood apart. I wonder what he expects to find there?

They do not care so much anymore about their projected image. I don’t care. I have grown fond of them; they are my friends, no matter what they look like. My husband also started seeing them after a while. Sometimes they make themselves invisible and pull his beard to tease him. From one second to the other the ”cute little creatures” become an ”irritating gang of mosquitos”. When we are alone, to provoke me, he sometimes calls them my ”tame goldsmiths”. But it is all in good humour; everybody respects each other.

When the elfins have children, they urge them quite soon to find their own dwelling, so that the birch stump is not over populated. They are six now; one more couple has moved in.

From under the roots of the birch stump they have dug a secret tunnel. Not even I was told where it surfaces. I do understand them!