Wie im richtigen Leben

Mal zum Lachen, mal zum Weinen; mal grau, mal bunt…Wie im richtigen Leben eben



Only one heartbeat seperates tears from smiles
Only one heartbeat is between doubts and hope at times
Only one heartbeat changes grudge into forgiveness
Only one heartbeat and the once refused path reopenes.
It is one heartbeat, that decides between life and death
One heartbeat, that transforms greed into bitter need
One heartbeat sees you making your choice: war or peace?

One single heartbeat seperates time from eternity.
One single heartbeat that lets you choose: subservience or humility?
One single heartbeat morphs despondence into bravery
One single heartbeat starts love’s fervency

Our hearts beat constantly, all day and all night.
Gentle sound inside from elmental might
They whisper a word all the time, you know what’s its sound?
Listen closely and you will find it is: NOW, NOW, NOW!

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How mankind learned to dream

It was passed at a river like this: The very first fairie's kiss

It was passed at a river like this: The very first fairie’s kiss

when mankind was still young, the things of daily life were the most important. They hunted, invented methods for cattle breeding, built houses and honoured the Gods, their creators. In this time, a little boy was born to the smith of a small village. The child was from extraordinary beauty. He had fine limbs and clear, bright eyes. But on the day of his birth the father turned away from him in disguise already. How should this child ever be strong enough to swing the sledgehammer?? The smith should be right. The boy kept his noble narrow shape. Soon it showed, that he could remember absolutely everything. Someone showed him a picture and he memorized it in detail. If a customer of the father expressed a special wish, the boy listened closely and could draw the idea of the customer exactly like the customer had imagined it. Despite of it all, everyone called him „good-for-nothing“. He was teased and annoyed by his contemporaries, the girls fled screaming, when he approached, because it was considered as embarrassement to be seen with „good-for-nothing“.

Since nobody had use for him, he spent his days in the forrests. At the river, he looked for multicolored stones and arranged them in the patterns he had seen at the starlit sky. Someone in the village must have known his secret place. Quite sometimes, good-for-nothing found his stone picture destroyed, when he returned. The boy was very sad then, yet he always renewed it. One day now, he came back to the picture. It was not destroyed this time, instead two star stones were shifted. Good-for-nothing waited breathlessly for the evening and looked to the sky. Look! The matching stars had moved aswell! The new picture corresponded exactly to the pattern of the stars. Breathlessly he stormed into the village and wanted to know, who else watched the stars, like he did. His father got very furious: „You think, there might be even more like you wasting their time and not being worth the food, they get!? “, he yelled. „Get out and and never ever set a foot into the smithery again! You are not one of us!! “Boiling with rage the father threw a hammer at the boy, who fled frightened. Crying, the badly offended went back into the forest. The branches seemed to strokehis hair in comfort and at his river bend he laid down and fell asleep.

Late at night, the boy suddenly woke up. Although it had to be entirely dark, it was new moon, there seemed to be a gentle glow shining on the meadow. Good-for-nothing turned around and saw a radiating shape bending over his stone picture. Good-for-nothing ducked behind a stone, his heart beating like a drum. Despaired he thought: „My heart beats loud enough, that it will be heard in the village! “. „Now, “he heard a lovely voice, „it is not that loud, but loud enough that I can hear it.“ The boy peeked over his stone, and looked into shimmering sea-blue eyes. The woman posessing these eyes, seemed to be from glass. Her face resembled that of a little girl, but her hair was silvery as the moonlight. Good-for-nothing was stunned and lost for words. „My name “, the mystical woman said, „is not pronouncable in your language. Call me Fiona instead. That means, the fairy. Such am I. “ Good-for-nothing was frightened to death. A fairy?! One of those deceitful and malicious creatures, of whom was said that they lured humans into accidents, drowned them in the river or let them grow silent for ever!? The fairy straightened up and looked directly at the boy. „Unfortunately, “ she sighed „humans hate, what they don’t understand. And everything, ahead arousing their fear is born out of evil, right? “ Good-for-nothing lowered his head in shame as he understood, what the fairy had meant. A hand, tender as a feather seized under his chin and lifted his head. „Are you like those aswell? “ Good-for-nothing felt tears in his eyes. The fairy smiled sympathizing and said gently: „No, you aren’t. Otherwise you would never let a woman see your tears.“ Affectionately, the fairy embraced the boy and gently rocked him as a mother would. he cried into her sweet-smelling robes, until he had no more tears. When he had calmed, he told the caring fairy, who he was and how his life went so far. When he had ended, the fairy curved a tender brow in surprise. „Should the humans be really so inexpressibly stupid to regard your gift as useless?“ Good-for-nothing didn’t understand a word. „Look,“ the fairy began, „ you remember everything you saw or heard. You can memorize exactly pictures, sounds and noises. You can paint and I heard you singing aswell.“ Good-for-nothing blushed. The father had once heard him singing, while he was cleaning the smithery and had hit him furiously with a stick for that.

Fiona asked the boy to lay down comfortably. Her cool hand rested on his forehead. Gently she asked: „Close your eyes, and allow me to reveal the secret of your gift to you.“ Good-for-nothing did as she said. The gentle voice requested him to remember a rose. Its color the smell, simply everything. The fairy, who read his thoughts, smiled. On top of the rose the boy remembered, there was a dew drop. Sparkling in the moonlight. „I thought so “, murmured the fairy. A bit louder she said: „Now remember all flowers, you ever saw.. Make a bunch from these flowers!“ Good-for-nothing relaxed and felt joy, the task of the fairy pleased him much. He sketched a wonderful bouquet. In his inner eye he even created flowers, that he had never seen before. The fairy asked him, how he knew these flowers. Good-for-nothing whispered blushing: „I never saw them. I think, the flowers in your realm must look like this.“ He felt a warm breeze in his thoughts and the fairy flowers began to sound. Good-for-nothing was speechless: „They also sound? “ The fairy nodded smiling. „For today “, Fiona decided, „it is enough. The sun will rise soon. Are we to come together here again? “ „You want to be with me again?! Eventhough I am Good-for-nothing?? “the boy was stunned. The eyes of the fairy turned hard. She said: „To me you are my friend. Do not repeat the foolishness of others, because this doesn’t make it anymore right. In nine days you will return home. Good-for-nothing however, will remain here for all times.“ The fairy disappeared. The boy sat still for a long time in the darkness and thought about her words. He did not understand, yet decided, to obey his heart which had become fond of the fairy.

The next evening, Fiona returned. And also the following ones. The boy learned, to develop and continue all he could remember, following his feelings and ideas. He turned a memorized report of a hunter into an adventurous and heroical quest. The description, of how father sharpened a sword, changed into a mystical act full of magic. In the evening of the last day, the two sat together. Good-for-nothing had learned to transform everything, he’d ever seen or heard, into something fascinating and wonderful in his mind. But he still could not draw an inner picture of something, he had never seen before. Fiona smiled at him. „Today your time in the forest ends. You are now ready to receive my gift. It will bring your gift to full bloom. “The fairy kindled a fire. Under her chanting it began to blaze in all colors. The boy strated feeling dizzy, while he looked into the fire. Fiona asked him to relax. It seemed, as if the flames went into the head of the boy. His thoughts became multicolored, his feelings began to smell and sound. The fairy offered a cup with a golden beverage to good-for-nothing. She nodded encouraging, and the boy drank. He became sleepy and warm. Fiona invited him to lay down. „Tell! “, she requested. „What I am to tell? “ good-for-nothing asked helplessly. „Whatever appears in your mind “: And the boy began to tell. It was the first fairy tale of mankind.

Content of the tale remained a secret between Fiona and good-for-nothing. The next day the boy went back to his village. He knocked at the door of the basketmaker and asked for something to eat. The woman refused loudly, but secretly she asked him in, because she had compassion with him. „You must do something for your meal, “ she ordered. The boy nodded. The basketmaker sat down and regarded the boy expectantly. Good-for-nothing started to tell her a tale. He told and the basketmaker listened mesmerized. She asked him for more tales, and invited him, to come back the next day. Suuddenly, the basketmaker’s work seemed easy, while the boy told. The grumpy woman became merry and their carts turned extraordinarily beautiful. This of course was noticed in the village. The word went, that good-for-nothing was back. Driven by her own curiousity, the baker came to see, what was about. She listened to the boy’s stories and was mesmerized aswell.

With lightening speed, the news of this boy, who could make hearts beat faster, spread hope and make the soul spreading its wings, spread all over the village. He became highly respected and popular in short time. And his name changed. Now he was known as the storyteller. Good-for-nothing had remained in the forest, just as Fiona predicted. When the storyteller grew old, it it made him sad, that storytelling should die with him. Like so many a times, Fiona came and asked for his grief. The storyteller said , he would not want the fairy gift to leave this world with him. Fiona nodded thoughtfully. „Come along, “asked Fiona. They went into the other room, where little girl slept. The storyteller had found her in the forest and had taken her with him to care for her. Fiona bent over the bed and kissed the small one’s forehead. The fairy kiss sparkled brightly and finally sank into the sleeping girl. The next morning the girl was all excited: „Dad! “she called, „tonight I saw wonderous pictures. “The storyteller asked in surprise, what kind of pictures she had seen. Since he had drunk Fionas beverage, he also saw pictures in his sleep. But also at daytime he could summon them and tell the people about. The girl began to tell and the old man understood. It was the fairy kiss! He taught his daughter to dream for the others, being wide awake nd sharing her dream, for nothing else are our stories: Dreams, which we share and which are sometimes in certain ways more real than what is called reality. And so, the art of dreaming remained with us humans. Even today the fairy sometimes bends over a bed and kisses a child in a quiet night. These are those, who know how to tell stories and who know the art of dreaming. Many of them experience something similar as the first of us did. But the fairy comes to all of us sooner or later, and if we allow her to, she reveals the secret of her kiss to us…. In memory of the very first storyteller and his teacher, stories with a special power are still called „fairytales“. And just like the first one of us we still greet traditionally:

Offer me a cup and a plate

and I will make grief and sorrows escape.

Let me tell you of wonderous things,

so that your hearts shall remember their wings.

Let one soul be the other’s warming hearth,

as it is wished by our holy Mother Earth. “

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The Raven’s Song

A moon-lit night...maybe your raven will sing? Picture: Ekaterina Benthin/pixelio.de

A moon-lit night…maybe your raven will sing? Picture: Ekaterina Benthin/pixelio.de

In the darkness of the night, when the stillness awakes
the forest in deep silence lies, no leaf in the wind weighs.
On a dark treetop, a shade sits quiet and alone
it is silky black in the starlight’s flood.
Dark eyes look wisely, searching the night sky in flight.
On what can he wait, the silent one?
Who is he, the guard of the sleeping minds?

A breath, like from an other world, which switches peace in expectation.
Silvery glow fulfills the night, deep in the soul sounds a waking sigh.
On the tree the raven spreads his wings,
bathed in the  moon’s silvery flood, he begins to sing.
The souls of the sleeping, they remember their wings,
resounding with the raven’s song.
Incomprehensibly beautiful, burning the wits,
is the raven’s song, that reminds every listening soul of its gifts.

Which beauty rests in you? What do you share with this world for the time you’re its guest?
What ever it might be, it is there. Dreaming in your chest.
And when the raven sings his song, it becomes clear.
Each raven sings his unique song just once and if it fades,
it is embraced by eternity where it continues to sound
for the souls in all worlds forever unbound.
When ever the night shines in silvery light,
in a secret forest a raven reveals his soul in a song.
It will never be lost, so is the oath sworn to the silky Ones.

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