Sofia (a more serious short story by me)

Die deutsche Version findet ihr HIER.



Sofia was finally off work. It was dark outside, and it rained again. Since three days it had been drizzling nearly continuously. Everything was permeated by this impertinent humidity. An umbrella was completely useless against this soft, but insistent onslaught. Therefore she had finally bought herself a practical rain coat with a hood and even a pair of rubber boots.

Now Sofia was standing at the bus stop looking like a personified waterfall and waited for number 22 to take her home. She wore her handbag under the raincoat for protection.

She saw the headlights of a bus approaching. When it came closer, Sofia could make out that the display did neither mention the end stop nor the route number. She stepped back, so that the bus would not stop. But it stopped anyway, and the door opened. The bus driver, a very old man with a kind of jelly bag cap (really??That is the English name for it?) on his head sternly looked at Sofia. “Good gracious”, thought Sofia, “he must have been retired long ago, why does he still drive a bus? Should I really enter?” These staring eyes were almost hypnotizing, but Sofia still hesitated.

Then she noticed that one of the passengers cleaned the steamed-up window with his sleeve and looked out and at her. It was a child, maybe six years old. She could not make out, whether it was a boy or a girl, but she could see a round face with likewise round eyes and many fair curls. Was this child traveling all by itself? It seemed to be too young for that. Sofia could not hesitate anymore, she had to find out about the child. She showed her monthly ticket to the bus driver, but he demanded change. “I don’t have any change”, said Sofia, “and I did pay already, the monthly ticket is still valid!” Hereupon the driver just waved her through, closed the door and started the bus.

Meanwhile, Sofia went into the back and tried to find the child. There were only very few people on the bus, but only adults, no child, as much as she searched. Had it been imagination? Now she sat in a bus, of which she did not know where it went. How was she supposed to get home? She pressed the stop button, but the bus did not stop. She tried five times, but without success. Was that a kidnapping? Was the bus driver crazy or even had suffered a heart attack? The bus was lurching so strangely. She ran to the front to find out, but there wasn’t any bus driver anymore. Any moment now they would hit something or someone.

Determined she sat down behind the steering wheel and tried to keep the bus on the right side of the road, while at the same time searching for the breaks. After a wild chase down a steep hill, she managed by and by to slow it down and bring it to a standstill.

How does one open the doors? Sofia tried the manual lever, as she did not dare to try all the buttons and switches. It was a bit difficult, but she managed and left the bus. The other passengers followed her. But where were they? This was not their town! That was not even their time! They had ended up in one or the other little, ancient village without any streetlamps. The only light was that from the windows of some houses.

The other passengers all went into one direction, as if they knew, where to go. Sofia decided to follow them, what other choice was there? They arrived at a larger house, from which gleeful music was to be heard, and entered. A big party seemed to be going on. They were welcomed warmly and asked to sit down at the table, food and drink would arrive shortly.

That was very strange indeed; Sofia could not comprehend it. All of a sudden she could hear a voice calling her name as if from far away “Sofia, Sofia”, soft and kind. She looked around the room, but could not find out who was calling. There it was again “Sofiaaa”, this time more insisting. And then there was only light; the people, the party, everything disappeared and was engulfed by a blinding light.

And then Sofia opened her eyes and looked at the anxious face of her colleague Maria. It seemed like she herself was lying on the ground and Maria was bending over her. “A bus hit you, Sofia. I saw it from my window and came down immediately”, Maria said. It seemed as if she really had stormed out of the office, as she did not wear any coat and was already completely drenched. “There comes the ambulance, Sofia, I will stay with you”, said Maria, and Sofia knew there and then that everything would be fine.


This story was part of the project „write with me“ (German only) by blogger Offenschreiben


Ich wünsche euch allen einen schönen Tag!

… Have a pleasant day, everybody!

An odd couple (short story by me)

Nach einer Initiative mit einigen wenigen Vorgaben von Frau Offenschreiben

Die deutsche Version findet ihr HIER. Achtung, grober Unsinn!

… After an initiative and a few input-requirements by Ms Offenschreiben

… Beware of fiddle-faddle, flimflam, humbug and flapdoodle! (I must say, the anglophones have more fun … 😉 )


An odd couple
(Foto: Pixabay)
Since six months, Karsten and Stig are sharing a small three room apartment in Hamburg, in a street called „Lange Reihe“ (long row), behind the main railroad station. It is not the best of areas, but cheap. It is actually Karsten’s flat, as his name is figuring on the rental contract. But, six months ago he had put an ad in the papers searching for a flat mate to save some money, as he is a student. A student of theology. He wants to be a parson and deliver God’s word to mankind. He might not be the only theologist with that plan, but he feels especially called. The fact is that God has talked to him and has given him the task to teach mankind how to better themselves.

Karsten thinks that he made a good bargain with Stig, a Swedish, relatively young  business man. They only meet at breakfast and have coffee together, share the morning paper, and then they go their separate ways.  Stig is often on duty travel for several days, so that Karsten has the flat to himself and can practise his future sermons aloud. The tone is important, insistent, urging, but not condescending, more in the style of „we are all sinners, nobody of us is worthy“. Karsten thinks that this would go down well.

Stig does not know about the grand plans, which Karsten worked out for mankind. Their communication at the breakfast table is sparse. They lift their coffee cups and look at each other over the rim of the newspaper, that’s it.

Everything could be sunshine and roses, if it wasn’t for their impertinent neighbour. She is young and quite pretty, and, as Karsten thinks, shows too much interest in the two young men, almost shameless. Every time she meets one of them she asks, if Karsten and Stig are gay, a couple that is. Stig just looks at her in a cool way and ignores her, but Karsten finds this behaviour outrageous and protests vehemently. But he only achieves that the cheeky person requests him to prove that he is heterosexual. Infamous jezebel!
Alexandra(Foto: Pixabay)
The infamous jezebel is called Alexandra, is tall and slim  and blessed with a great head of black curly hair. Pair that with a pale complexion and dark blue eyes, and you get a perfect Celtic beauty. It annoys her excessively that none of the two young men gets hooked. Both of them are good looking – each in his own way. Karsten has the air of a poet. He looks as if he is never here and now present, but always drifting on some cloud. Except when he scolds her, of course. He has delicate features and brown, wavy hair and is maybe just a little bit too thin.
(Foto: Pixabay)
Stig, the cool one, is a more manly type, maybe comparable to Jean-Claude Vandamme. But he is completely unapproachable. Alexandra has not seen any of them with a woman ever, therefore the suspicion of homosexuality.
Stig(Foto: Pixabay)
Alexandra works as a waitress at a restaurant at Lange Reihe. That is not her dream job, but she is still young, just twenty, and still has to think about, what she actually wants to do with her life. At the moment she uses her free time to stalk Stig and Karsten. This is slowly developing into a real obsession.
She has already followed them both many times. Karsten’s day is boring. He goes to university, shopping and to the laundromat. Nothing else seems to take place in his life. Stig is a different case. He always succeeds to „lose“ her in no time, as if he knows that she is following him.  Therefore, she still does not know, where he is going and with whom he is meeting.
But, one morning another possibility presents itself. Alexandra is just passing Karsten and Stig’s flat – they live one floor below her – when she notices that their entrance door is not completely closed.  She cannot resist and opens the door carefully, so that she can take a peek. Somewhere inside somebody is reciting a poem or something similar, she cannot make out the words, but the tone is somewhat pompous. She sneaks into the hallway of the flat and sees Karsten, who is walking up and down the kitchen floor, an egg in one hand, with the other gesticulating with a spoon, talking to himself. Now she can hear the repeated mention of „God“, „Jesus Christ“ and „us poor sinners“. Dear me, Alexandra thinks, what is ailing him. Curiosity makes her open the first door to the right. This must be Karsten’s room. There are books galore on all formerly empty spaces. The titles speak for Christian literature. That’s why he is so uptight, she thinks.
She tries the door to the left. This room looks rather bare. No books, no pictures, no posters, nothing personal whatsoever. More curious than ever, she enters the room and looks into all the drawers one by one,  but with the exception of clothing, she cannot find anything that could tell her something about Stig. She looks under the bed. There is a flat box; what is that, an electric guitar? She pulls the box out from under bed. No, this is too slim, not a guitar. She opens the box … and closes it again immediately. Has she seen correctly? She opens the lid one more time: it is true, in the box is a gun; a gun like hitmen use them in gangster movies with all kinds of spare parts to screw on like silencer and such.  Alexandra cannot take her eyes of the gun. A Messiah and a hitman, what a pair, she thinks.
At that precise moment, the door opens and Stig enters the room. Alexandrea cries out, closes the box and pushes it under the bed. But Stig has seen what she was doing. The shouting alarms Karsten, who storms into the room, only to see how Stig is doing his best to choke Alexandra. Karsten breaks out into a loud lament about the sins of mankind and begs God for mercy for Alexandra and Stig’s black soul. Stig is so astounded that he loosens his grip around Alexandra’s neck, who with great presence of mind kicks him into the privates with her knee and tears herself free, while Stig is doubling up with pain.  Alexandra starts to shout „help, murder“, while Karsten continues his lament. All this commotion attracts more neighbours, some of them doormen in the red light area, who throw themselves on Stig. Somebody calls the police. Stig is arrested, and Karsten and Alexandra are also requested to follow the police officers to the station to give their statements.
Before they are led into separate interrogation rooms, Alexandra manages to whisper to Karsten „my hero, tonight I will reward you“. This triggers another lament about the sinful state of mankind. The policeman, who is supposed to interrogate Karsten, is tearing his hair …


What goes around, comes around … sooner or later

Die deutsche Version findet ihr HIER. Es handelt sich hierbei um eine wahre Geschichte.



This is a true story:

Before I started my three years’, never finalized studies of cultures and languages of Indonesia and Austronesia, I worked in an export-import company in Hamburg (north of Germany).

From my desk, I could look out on the street in front of the building (my office was on ground floor). After some time, I noticed a man, who always passed by at lunch time and stared at me rather impertinently and with furrowed brows. He was tall and slim with wavy hair and a long flaunting coat. Finally, I got fed up, and when he passed by again and stared at me, I stuck my tongue out at him in a not very ladylike way. From that moment on he never looked my way again.

Some weeks later, how big are the odds, I actually met this man in the underground. There were hardly any other people in the compartment, and he strode back and forth, up and down the aisle with long steps, back and forth, without break, like an imprisoned tiger in a cage (with his coat floating after him). When the train stopped, he opened all the doors he could manage before the train started again (was he claustrophobic?). Then he marched again, and, of course, had his usual, well known gloomy expression on his face. He did not make a better impression from nearby than from far away.

At some stage, I stopped working, started my studies, and after two years, some other students and I were supposed to be presented to the professor, who would be evaluating our final exams. Believe it or not, this professor was my restless tiger from the underground, the gawker, at whom I had stuck out my tongue! How absolutely mortifying … not only for me … 😉




The promise (short story)

Die deutsche Originalversion findet ihr HIER.

The cozy gentleman and I are nearing the seventies, so from time to time we have to face facts. We made our will, including the method with which we wish to be buried, and will try to make things easy for our survivors. The story came up, when we discussed certain probabilities and how we wanted to deal with it.

2015-08-20 09.36.43 PromiseVersprechen


My husband and I had passed the 80th year, and life began to get increasingly troublesome: little ailments, pains, stiffness of the joints, etc. etc. Then my husband was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

We had made a deal: no active help to die, but no artificial prolongation of life either. The healthier one would take care of the other one until he or she died.

I dissolved our household and sold, gave away, passed on to family members all our belongings and valuables. Then I found us a little disused farm in the north of Sweden near Haparanda, where nobody wants to live, close to the border to Finland.

There we pitched our tent in the summer of 2003. This is to be understood figuratively, as there stood a beautiful, cozy little wooden cottage, painted Swedish red with white edges. There was no running water and electricity in the house, of course, but it had a large iron oven, an old kitchen stove fired with wood, and a diesel generator for lights. What more would one need? A drawing well was right in front of the house. A young man from Haparanda helped us with the firewood. The long, dark winters were hard, but I was determined to hold out.


My husband went from bad to worse, until he did not recognize me anymore. It was a difficult time. One night in August 2006 he peacefully died in his sleep. I had had so many years to get used to this moment, but it still hit me hard. I was like paralyzed. What now? I would have liked to go together with him, to protect him from the inconveniences on the other side. He was an easy victim for pretty images that would lure him away from the actual path. Anyway, it obviously was not meant to be. I did not feel like I was near death either.

I could not bear to be in the house and decided to go into the woods. There I sat down at a little brook, leaning against a tree and started to get drowsy. After a while, I did not know how long I had slept, I woke up and saw a wolf standing in front of me looking at me intensely. I extended my arms and called: “Friend, help me to the other side!”

The wolf just looked at me and laid down across my legs to sleep. An irrepressible laughter rose up in me, and I would have liked to let it out, but I did not wish to disturb the wolf, which was lying there so peacefully. So I suppressed the laughter only just and accepted this weird situation. I even fell asleep again. Maybe it was all a dream?

Here the story could have ended.

But reality was different. I woke up from a gun shot. I felt a tremor going through the wolf and just thought: “Oh, no!”

There were three men. One of them had taken the shot. “Are you injured?” they called. I was furious and shouted at them: ”Have you lost your mind? Do you always have to spoil everything that is beautiful?”

They looked at me, uncomprehending, as in their eyes they had just saved my life. I bowed over the wolf and burst into uncontrollable sobs.

Wolf, Predators, Wildlife, Winter
(Foto: Pixabay)

Ein Leben nach dem anderen, Teil 2 … Life after life, part 2

Wir mussten dafür sorgen, dass Madhu diskret mit ihren Kräften umging, bis sie erwachsen war. Wir mussten vermeiden, Aufmerksamkeit zu erregen. Auch bereuten wir, ihr einen indischen Namen gegeben zu haben. Wir zogen in eine andere Stadt und nannten sie von da ab Shibonam nach einer nigerianischen Freundin aus den Jugendjahren meines letzten Lebens.

Wir hatten allerdings nicht mit der Beharrlichkeit ihrer leiblichen Eltern gerechnet. Wie sie auf einmal herausgefunden hatten, dass ihr Kind noch lebte, wussten wir nicht. Wenn sie entführt worden war, hatte man vielleicht die Schuldigen gefunden und diese hatten berichtet, dass das Kind verschwunden war, dass jemand es mitgenommen haben musste.

Wenn jemand zwei und zwei zusammenlegte, würde man uns bald auf den Fersen sein.

Die Eltern filmten lange Videos, in denen sie die Sekundärentführer baten, ihnen ihre Tochter zurückzugeben. Ausserdem versprachen sie eine hohe Belohnung für alle Hinweise, seien sie auch noch so gering. Das verkomplizierte unser Leben. Auf einmal schauten die Leute sich unsere Tochter genauer an. Wir wurden sogar gefragt, ob Shibonam ein indischer Name wäre. Nein, er stammte aus Nigeria, konnten wir ihnen versichern. Nun war mein Mann zambischer Abstammung und nicht nigerianischer, aber wer wusste das schon … trotzdem blieben wir nie länger als drei Jahre an einem Ort.

Madhus leibliche Eltern gaben niemals auf, anscheinend hatten sie eine nie endende Geldquelle. Aber wir flogen unter dem Radar sozusagen, weil Madhu selber einsah, dass sie für eine Afro-Amerikanerin gehalten werden musste. Sie wollte sich ihren Eltern erst zu erkennen geben, wenn sie ihre Aufgabe gelöst hatte. An ihrem 28. Geburtstag erzählte sie uns von ihrem Plan, den sie sorgsam all die Jahre vorbereitet hatte. Ihre drei besten Freunde würden ihr dabei helfen. Das erstaunte uns, denn wir waren nicht im klaren darüber gewesen, dass die vier noch Kontakt hatten. Doch erinnerte ich mich auf einmal dunkel an eine Szene im Wald, die ich beobachtet hatte, so als ob Madhu die anderen drei in etwas einweihte …

Ich schweife ab. Madhu würde nach Washington gehen, Ping nach Beijing, Murat nach Teheran und Felicity nach Rom. Alle vier würden sich gleichzeitig vor die jeweiligen Regierungsgebäude stellen und anfangen zu strahlen. ”Zu strahlen?”, fragte ich. ”Ja, zu strahlen, das weisst du doch, wie das funktioniert, hast du es vergessen? Unsere Seelen sind stark, unsere Auren sind stark. Wir brauchen nur dort zu stehen und darauf zu warten, was passiert. Es wird friedlich und wunderbar sein. Gedanken sind Energie, Gefühle sind Energie, wir sind alle unendliches Bewusstsein. Wir müssen uns nur klar darüber werden, dann ist alles möglich.” Mir war nicht wohl dabei, denn ich hatte durchaus ganz normale, gar nicht spirituelle Muttergefühle für Madhu, aber es musste sein, um die Menschheit davor zu bewahren, sich noch mehr gegenseitig zu zerfleischen. Diese Einmischung würde dem Diktator überhaupt nicht gefallen oder den Kapitalstarken, die davon profitierten, die Menschen gegeneinander aufzuwiegeln. Ich bekam Angst um Madhu … mein Mann legte mir beruhigend seine Hand auf die Schulter. ”Es ist ihre und unsere Bestimmung!” Ping, Murat und Felicity begaben sich in die gleiche Gefahr. Ich hatte den Verdacht, dass sie auch “freiwillig Wiederinkarnierte” waren.

Die vier jungen Leute waren fest entschlossen und begaben sich auf den Weg.

Während der ersten Tage hörten wir nichts von ihnen. Aber dann begannen in den Nachrichten Beiträge aufzutauchen, die von friedlichen, liebevollen Kundgebungen in Washington, Beijing, Teheran und Rom berichteten. Die Menschen versammelten sich und sprachen miteinander, umarmten sich, sangen, tanzten. Wenn Polizei oder Militär eingreifen wollte, wurden sie mit Liebe empfangen und mischten sich unter die Leute. Die jeweiligen Regierenden waren zuerst ratlos, dann rasend. Am rasendsten war der Diktator, der Madhu am liebsten hätte erschiessen lassen. Das wollte er jedoch nicht riskieren im Beisein von so vielen Menschen, daher lud er sie in das Weisse Haus ein. ”Geh nicht, Madhu“, dachte ich. Aber sie ging, natürlich ging sie.

Ich hatte in der Zwischenzeit den leiblichen Eltern von Madhu auf Umwegen die Nachricht zukommen lassen, dass sie ihre lange verloren geglaubte Tochter war. Sie waren überaus stolz und dankten dem Schöpfer des Alls für die grosse Gnade, dass sie eine derartige Mahatma (grosse Seele) zur Welt hatten bringen dürfen. Sie wollten natürlich eine Belohnung an jemanden schicken, aber ich wollte – aus guten Gründen, wie ihr euch vorstellen könnt – nicht in Erscheinung treten.

Bei der Unterredung zwischen Madhu und dem Diktator war niemand anderes zugegen. Niemand durfte filmen, niemand durfte zusehen oder zuhören. Daher weiss niemand, was eigentlich wirklich geschehen ist.

Tatsache war, dass Madhu tot war – ihr Hals war gebrochen – und der Diktator war untröstlich und weinte als ob er seine eigene Tochter verloren hätte. Am nächsten Tag appellierte der Diktator an alle Regierungsoberhäupter der Welt, sich auf den Weg zu begeben, den Madhu und ihre Freunde ihnen gezeigt hatten, Frieden, Verständnis und Liebe. Madhu, Ping, Murat und Felicity hatten die Welt vorbereitet, so dass der Rest einem Kinderspiel glich. Das versprochene tausendjährige Reich war angebrochen. Madhu hatte dafür sterben müssen … aber das hatte sie sicher von Anfang an gewusst.

Und wir? Wir durften bald die materielle Welt zum letzten Mal wieder verlassen …




… We had to take care that Madhu used her powers discreetly until she grew up. We had to avoid drawing attention to us. We also regretted having given her an Indian name. We moved to another city in another state and called her “Shibonam” from then on after a Nigerian friend of mine from my last life’s younger years.

However, we hadn’t calculated with her physical parents’ persistence. We didn’t know, how they had found out that her daughter might still be alive. In case she had been abducted, they maybe had found the culprits, and those had told them that the child had disappeared, that somebody must have taken it away.

If people put two and two together, they would soon be after us …

The parents published long videos on television, in which they beseeched the secondary kidnappers to return their daughter. Furthermore, they promised a large reward for all information given, even the smallest one.  That made our lives more complicated. Suddenly, people looked closer at our daughter and asked us if Shibonam was an Indian name. No, we could assure them, it was Nigerian. My husband was of Zambian descent and not Nigerian, but what did they know … but just for safety sake we changed location every three years.

Madhu’s physical parents never gave up; they seemed to have a never-ending supply of money. But we were flying under the radar, so to speak, as Madhu realised that she needed to pass herself off as an African-American. She only wanted to contact her physical parents after she had solved her task. On her 28th birthday she told us about her plan, which she had carefully prepared for years. Her three best friends would help her. We were surprised, because we hadn’t noticed that the four of them still were in contact. But then I vaguely remembered a scene in the woods that I had observed one day, as if Madhu was initiating the others into something …

I am wandering from the subject. Madhu would go to Washington, Ping to Beijing, Murat to Tehran and Felicity to Rome. All four of them would stand at the same time in front of the relevant government buildings and start to radiate. “To radiate?”, I asked. “Yes, to radiate, you know that, you know how that works, did you forget?  Our souls are strong, our auras are strong. We only have to stand there and to wait what happens. It will be peaceful and wonderful. Thoughts are energy, emotions are energy, we all are infinite awareness. We just have to realize it, and then everything will be possible.” I must admit that I didn’t like that, as I did have quite normal, not at all spiritual motherly feelings for Madhu. But, it had to be, to prevent mankind from butchering each other more and more. The dictator wouldn’t like this meddling, nor would the finance oligarchs, who profited from playing groups of people against each other. I worried about Madhu … my husband put his hand on my shoulder to calm me. “It is their and our purpose!” Ping, Murat and Felicity exposed themselves to the same danger. I had the suspicion that they also were “voluntarily reincarnated”.  

The four young people were firmly decided and went on their different ways.  

During the first few days we didn’t hear anything from them. But then there were reports in the news about peaceful demonstrations in Washington, Beijing, Tehran and Rome. People came together, talked to each other, hugged, sang and danced. When police or military tried to intervene, they were greeted with love, and they blended into the crowd. The governments were first helpless, then furious. The most furious was the dictator, who would have liked to just get Madhu shot. But he didn’t want to risk it in front of so many witnesses, therefore he invited her into the White House. “Don’t go, Madhu!”, I thought. But she went, of course she went.

In the meantime, I had let Madhu’s physical parents know (by hidden channels) that she was their long-lost daughter. They were incredibly proud and thanked the creator of the universe for the great honour of having been able to bring to the world such a Mahatma (great soul). They wanted to give the informants a reward, of course, but I didn’t want to come forward, as you can imagine.  

During the conversation between the dictator and Madhu nobody else was present. Nobody was allowed to film, take photos, observe or listen. Therefore, nobody knew what really happened.

The fact was that Madhu was dead – her neck was broken – and the dictator was inconsolable and cried as if he had lost his own daughter. The next day the dictator appealed to all heads of government on earth to walk the path that Madhu and her friends had shown them, the path of peace, understanding and love. Madhu, Ping, Murat und Felicity had prepared the world, so that the rest seemed like child’s play. The promised thousand years’ kingdom of God had dawned. Madhu had to die for it … but I am sure she knew that from the start.

And what about us? We were allowed, to soon leave the physical world for the last time …


Ein Leben nach dem anderen, Teil 1 … Life after life, part 1

Eine Kurzgeschichte in zwei Teilen.                    … A short story in two parts (English version further down)

Mein Mann und ich wünschten uns so sehr, gemeinsam aus diesem Leben zu scheiden und danach auch gemeinsam weiterzuleben und uns auf eine Wiedervereinigung mit dem Schöpfer aller Dinge vorzubereiten. Der erste Teil unseres Wunsches wurde uns gewährt, und es sah fast so aus, als ob auch der zweite Teil für uns in Erfüllung gehen sollte.

Jetzt wird es schwierig. Wie schreibt man über ein Lebensgebiet, dass man eigentlich nicht mit Worten erklären kann? Shri Shri Yukteswar nennt es “astral planet” oder “Hiranyaloka”, andere nennen es “Shamballa”. Auf jeden Fall gibt es dort keine so genannte feste Materie, Zeit und Raum sind nicht vorhanden, was eine grosse Befreiung darstellt, ein Gebiet ausserhalb der materiellen Matrix. Nun geht es darum, sich in diesem Gebiet so weiterzuentwickeln, dass man nach dem dortigen Ableben weiter aufsteigen kann in die Einheit mit unserem Schöpfer, in das unendliche Werden.

Wir hatten es uns gerade in diesem Gebiet “gemütlich” gemacht, als man auf uns zukam und uns bat, doch noch einmal zu inkarnieren. Es eilte, jemand musste unbedingt gerettet werden, und es musste durch ein Paar geschehen, das auf keinen Fall auseinander gehen würde. Wir willigten zögernd ein, denn das Ziel war dieses Opfer wert. Man versprach uns, dass wir uns dieses Mal an alles erinnern würden, unsere vorherige Inkarnation, die Astralsphäre, einfach alles, damit wir einander sofort wiedererkennen würden. Die Zeit, die es in diesem Gebiet nicht gab, drängte.

Wir wurden in Amerika wiedergeboren, ausgerechnet. Dort hatte man sich einen starken Mann zum Präsidenten gewählt, der sich immer mehr zu einem Diktator entwickelte. Er hatte Geschichte studiert und gelernt, dass alle politischen Systeme früher oder später scheitern. Unter einer Diktatur ginge es den Menschen besser, meinte er, besonders wenn der Diktator intelligent und wohlwollend war, wie er selber.

Meine Eltern waren einfache Menschen, die nicht viele Fragen stellten. Beide waren in der Krankenpflege tätig. Wir wohnten in Logan im Staate Utah, waren aber keine Mormonen, sondern Protestanten. Als ich anfing Geografie und Sprachwissenschaften zu studieren, praktischerweise in Logan in der staatlichen Universität, traf ich sehr bald meinen Mann in der Kantine. Wir sahen uns an und erkannten uns sofort. Es war schwieriger, ins Gespräch zu kommen, denn er war afrikanischer Herkunft, ich europäischer, und der Rassismus hatte nicht an Kraft verloren seit unserem letzten Leben (praktisch waren seitdem nur 15 Jahre vergangen). Er schrieb mir seine Handynummer auf eine Serviette schaute mich, die ich einige Tische entfernt sass, eindringlich an und “verlor” das Stück Papier, als er mit seinem Tablett zur Rückgabe ging, neben mir. Zum Glück stellten sich einige Mädchen an die Stelle und diskutierten lebhaft über irgendetwas, was mich nicht interessierte, so dass ich schnell und unbemerkt das Papier einsammeln und wegstecken konnte. Von da ab war es uns wenigstens möglich zu kommunizieren.

Es dauerte noch eine Weile, bis wir uns zum ersten Mal alleine trafen. Um das zu Wege zu bringen, mussten wir lügen und andere unfeine Tricks anwenden. Für uns war es natürlich klar, dass wir so schnell wie möglich heiraten mussten, aber könnt ihr euch vorstellen, was das für einen Aufstand geben würde? Wir fragten uns, warum uns solche, in unseren Augen unnötige, Hindernisse in den Weg gestellt wurden, wenn wir doch jemanden so schnell wie möglich retten sollten. Aber was wussten wir schon, jedenfalls nicht, wann der richtige Zeitpunkt gekommen war. Anscheinend war es noch nicht so weit, denn unsere jeweiligen Eltern erlaubten uns die Eheschliessung nicht. Der Diktator hatte das gesetzliche Reifealter auf 24 Jahre hochgesetzt. Vorher durfte man auch den Führerschein nicht machen. Wir mussten also bis dahin warten, um ohne die Einwilligung unserer Eltern heiraten zu können. Jegliche finanzielle Unterstützung von deren Seite war uns danach verschlossen. Wir waren auf uns allein gestellt.

Als gemischtes Paar war es für uns besser, in eine grössere Stadt zu ziehen, in diesem Fall Salt Lake City. Am liebsten hätte ich Utah verlassen, aber dort lag unsere Bestimmung, wir wussten nur noch nicht genau wo und wann. Wir schlugen uns mit Gelegenheitsjobs durch, Servieren, Putzen, Teller waschen, wir brauchten nicht viel. Mein Mann hatte sich während seiner Studienzeit sehr für Geologie interessiert, obwohl er, wie ich, Sprachwissenschaften studiert hatte, und sich einer Höhlenforschergruppe angeschlossen. Auf diese Weise bekam er im Sommer immer einen Teilzeitjob als Touristenführer in verschiedenen Höhlen, hauptsächlich in dem Timpanogos Cave Komplex. Aber auch in kleineren, nicht so touristisch erschlossenen Gebieten.

Als wir beide 28 Jahre alt waren, passte es für mich, ihn für zwei Wochen bei seinen Führungen zu begleiten. Das war eine wunderschöne Zeit, denn nach Feierabend konnten wir auf eigene Faust durch die Höhlen streifen. Teilweise gab es unterirdische Seen und Wasserläufe. Dort unten befanden wir uns in einer Märchenwelt.

Bis wir gegen Ende der zweiten Woche etwas entdeckten. Es sah aus wie ein Kleiderbündel und lag in einer unbeleuchteten Nische. Wir fanden das merkwürdig und untersuchten die Angelegenheit. Wir hofften nur, dass nicht irgendein Idiot eine Bombe dorthin gelegt hatte, um dieses Wunderwerk der Natur zu zerstören. Aber nein, in dem Bündel befand sich ein kleines Kind, ein Baby, vielleicht drei Monate alt. Es sah indisch oder pakistanisch aus. Wir schauten uns perplex an. Wer hinterliess sein Kind in einer unterirdischen Höhle? In dem Moment schlug das kleine Menschlein die Augen auf und sah uns an, ganz still, ohne einen Laut von sich zu geben. Dies war das Kind, das wir retten sollten, sein Blick traf uns direkt im Herzen.

Warum ausgerechnet Amerika und drei Rassen? Warum nicht Nepal oder Tibet, wo die Menschen insgesamt mehr spirituell geneigt waren? Es musste ein Plan dahinter stehen, denn nichts geschieht zufällig.

Wir mussten das Kind entweder als unseres ausgeben oder adoptieren. Als unseres ausgeben erschien uns einfacher, obwohl man uns fragen würde, warum wir die Geburt nicht vorher bekanntgegeben hätten und warum ich die Muttervorsorge nicht genutzt hätte. Letzteres konnte ich natürlich damit begründen, dass ich arbeiten musste und meine Arbeitszeiten nicht mit denen des Gesundheitswesens passten.

Ich sah eher ein Problem darin, ob man uns glauben würde, dass dieses Kind unseres war, schliesslich war es eindeutig keine Mischung aus Afrikaner und Europäer. Mein Mann meinte, dass das ganz einfach wäre, die Menschen sehen schwarz, weiss und hellbraun, passt. Nur andere Inder und Afrikaner würden es bemerken, und die würden nichts sagen. So kamen wir also mit einem kleinen Baby nach Hause. Es war ein kleines Mädchen, und wir nannten sie Madhu (Honig).

Madhu war ganz offensichtlich eine alte Seele, die sich erinnerte. Sie “verschwendete” keine Zeit mit Spielen oder anderen Banalitäten des täglichen Lebens. Das gab einige Probleme als sie in die Schule kam. Die anderen Kinder fanden sie merkwürdig, aber gleichzeitig fühlten sie sich zu ihr hingezogen. Sie hatte die Gabe, sich wunderschöne Geschichten auszudenken, mit denen sie sowohl Kinder als auch Erwachsene verzaubern konnte. Letztendlich waren es mehr die Eltern der anderen Kinder, die sich gegen Madhu wandten. Zum grossen Teil waren wir als gemischtes Paar daran Schuld. Die Kinder dachten sich nicht viel dabei, erst als der Druck vonseiten ihrer Eltern zu stark wurde. Madhu wurde gemieden, mit Ausnahme von drei Schulkameraden, die das Verbot ihrer Eltern zu umgehen wussten und sich heimlich mit ihr trafen. Das waren Ping, deren Eltern aus China eingewandert waren, Murat, ein türkischer Junge und Felicity, ein Mädchen aus einer strenggläubigen Mormonenfamilie. Diese vier waren unzertrennlich.

Wir fanden diese Mischung sehr interessant, besonders im Hinblick auf Madhus Auftrag für Welt und Menschheit. Man konnte den Einfluss, den Madhu auf die anderen drei hatte deutlich sehen. Sie entwickelten sich alle zu wunderbaren, liebevollen Jugendlichen.

Doch es sollte nicht so friedvoll weitergehen. Wir hörten im Fernsehen, dass ein indisches Ehepaar ihre lange verlorene Tochter suchte. Wahrscheinlich hatten sie es bereut, ihr Baby ausgesetzt zu haben, denn der Ort, wo wir Madhu fanden, lag so abseits, dass man mit Absicht dorthin gegangen sein musste. Auf der anderen Seite handelte es sich um ein wohlhabendes Paar. Mit anderen Worten, war es nicht wahrscheinlicher, dass Madhu entführt worden war, um eine Lösegeld zu erpressen? Was sollten wir machen? Unsere Aufgabe war, das Kind zu beschützen, bis es 28 Jahre alt war. Dann würde es spirituell erwachsen sein und konnte seine Aufgabe erfüllen. Natürlich taten uns die Eltern leid, aber die Aufgabe war wichtiger. Wir beschlossen daher, Madhu nicht herzugeben und ihr an ihrem 28. Geburtstag zu erzählen, wer ihre richtigen Eltern waren. Dann konnte sie selbst entscheiden, was sie machen wollte. Eigentlich war ich davon überzeugt, dass sie es schon lange wusste, denn sie war wie wir, eine Seele, die nur zum Wohl der Menschheit reinkarniert war. Und sie hatte weit stärkere spirituelle Kräfte, als wir, das liess sich nicht verleugnen, und sie würde sie brauchen …

(Fortsetzung folgt)


… My husband and I very much wished for parting with this life together, and living together afterwards, preparing ourselves for the reuniting with the creator of all things. The first part of our wish was granted, and it looked as if also the second part should be fulfilled.

And now it gets difficult. How does one write about a realm of life, which cannot really be explained with words? Shri Shri Yukteswar calls it “illumed astral planet” or “Hiranyaloka”, others call it “Shamballa”. In any case, in that realm there is no so-called firm matter, no time and space, which is a great liberation, a realm outside of the physical matrix. The task at hand is to develop further in that realm, so that after dying there, one can rise further up into oneness with our creator into the eternal coming into being.

We had just “settled down” in that realm, when we were approached with the request to reincarnate one more time. It was urgent, somebody had to be saved, and it had to be done by a couple that wouldn’t separate under any circumstances. We agreed hesitatingly, because the goal was worth the sacrifice. We were assured that this time we would remember everything, our last incarnation, the astral realm, simply everything, so that we would recognize each other right away. Time, which did not exist in this realm, was short.

We reincarnated in America of all places. People there had elected a strong man as their president, who more and more turned into a dictator. He had studied history and learned, that all political systems sooner or later failed. Under a dictator people had a better life, so he thought, especially when the dictator was as intelligent and benevolent as himself.

My parents were simple people, who didn’t ask many questions. Both were working in hospitals as nurses. We lived in Logan in the State of Utah, but we weren’t Mormons, we were protestants. When I started to study geography and linguistics in my hometown at the State University of Utah, I very soon met my husband in the canteen. One look, and we recognized each other immediately. It was more difficult to get to talk, because he was of African descent, and I of European, and racism hadn’t actually abided since our last life  (which had only been 15 years ago). He wrote his mobile phone number on a napkin, looked insisting at me, who sat a few tables away from him, and dropped the piece of paper beside me, when taking back his tray. Luckily some girls stopped beside me and lively discussed something that didn’t have my interest, so that I could pick up and hide away the paper quickly and unnoticed. From then on, we could at least communicate.

It took a while until we met alone for the first time. To achieve that, we had to lie and use other dubious tricks. It was, of course, clear to us that we had to marry as soon as possible, but can you imagine what an uproar that would cause? We asked ourselves, why we had to surmount such – in our eyes – unnecessary obstacles, if we were supposed to save somebody as soon as possible. But what did we know about the right time. It seemed like the right time hadn’t come yet, as our parents refused to give their permission to our marriage. The dictator had set up the age of maturity to 24 years. One couldn’t even get a driver’s license before that age. So we had to wait until we were 24 and marry without our parents’ consent. Our parents cut off all financial support after we married. We were on our own.

As a mixed couple we were less conspicuous in a big city, in this case Salt Lake City. I would have preferred to leave Utah, but it was there our task awaited us. We just didn’t know yet where and when exactly. We sustained ourselves with small jobs, serving, cleaning, dishwashing, we didn’t need much. My husband had been very interested in geology during his time at university, although he had studied linguistics, like me, and had joined a group of cavers. Therefore, he always got summer jobs as a tourist guide in different caves, mainly in the Timpanogos Cave complex. But also in smaller areas, not opened up so much for tourism.  

When we both were 28 years old, I was able to accompany him for two weeks at his tours. That was a wonderful time, because after working hours, we could roam the caves on our own.  In some parts there were subterranean lakes and rivulets. Down there, we were in a fairytale world.

Until, at the end of the second week, we made a discovery. It looked like a bundle of clothing and lay in an unlit niche. We found that weird and examined the matter. We only hoped that it wasn’t a bomb, put there by an idiot who wanted to destroy this miracle of nature. But no, within the bundle was a little child, a baby, maybe three months old. It looked Indian or Pakistani. We looked at each other in perplexity. Who would leave their child in a subterranean cave? At that moment the little human being opened its eyes and looked at us, quietly, without making any noise. This was the child that we were supposed to rescue, its look hit us directly in our hearts.

Why did it have to be America and three races? Why not Nepal or Tibet, where people in general were more spiritually inclined? There had to be a plan behind this, because nothing happens by coincidence.

We had two possibilities, to claim the child as ours or to adopt it. It seemed easier to us, to claim it as ours, although we would be asked, why we didn’t register the child earlier and why I hadn’t used the checkup services for pregnant women. Regarding the latter I could reason that I was working, and my hours were not compatible with the health service hours.

In my eyes the problem was, that we might not be believed that the child was ours; it was quite evident that it wasn’t a mixture of African and European. My husband said that wouldn’t be a problem, people would see black, white and light brown, fits. Only other Indians and Africans would notice, and they wouldn’t say anything. So we came home with a little baby. It was a little girl, and we called her Madhu (honey).

Madhu quite obviously was an old soul, who remembered. She didn’t “waste” any time with playing or other daily life banalities. That caused some problems for her when she started school. The other children found her weird, but at the same time they felt drawn to her. She had the gift of imagining the most beautiful stories, with which she could enchant children as well as adults. In the end it was more the parents of the other children, who turned against Madhu. Our being a mixed couple was the main cause of it. The children didn’t really care, only when the pressure of their parents got too strong. They avoided Madhu, except for three classmates, who knew how to circumvent their parents’ demands and met with her in secret. Those three were Ping, whose parents had immigrated from China, Murat, a Turkish boy and Felicity, a girl from a devout Mormon family. The four of them were inseparable.  

We thought that this blend was very interesting, especially with regard to Madhu’s task for world and mankind. The influence Madhu had on the other three was quite obvious. They all developed into wonderful, loving youths.

But, life was not supposed to continue in this peaceful way. We heard on the television that an Indian couple was searching for their long-lost daughter. They probably regretted to have abandoned their baby, because the place where we found Madhu was far away from the normal tourist paths, one had to go there on purpose, so she had not been lost. On the other hand, they were a wealthy couple. Was it not more probable that Madhu had been abducted to press a ransom out of her parents?  What should we do? It was our task to protect the child until it was 28 years old.  At that time, it would be spiritually mature and could fulfill its task. Of course, we felt pity for the parents, but the task was more important. We, therefore, decided to not give her up and tell her on her 28th birthday, who her physical parents were. She could decide for herself then, what she wanted to do. I was actually convinced that she already knew about it for a long time, because she was, just like us, a soul who had only reincarnated to be of service to mankind. And she had far stronger spiritual powers than us, that couldn’t be denied, and she would need them …

(To be continued …)