Obituary for the Living – in Love for Gdad

About half a year before our dear old Granddad died I ordered a special Portrait. I knew that Gdad spoke of a painting of an Indian chief when he was a child. He was so fond of it and happy that his dad had it. But the painting and his dad got lost during the terrible riots during the Weimarer Republik when he was eleven years of age. And all the rest got lost in the terrible events of WWII. Gdad had to leave his home at the age of 17 to be sent off to die in Russia. But he survived the Crimean and could get away from war captivity. Then was deployed in Romania where he led the casino. He worked a lot with people there and got befriended with jewish victuallers. And he also had a friendship with their daughter. It might have been more. He often visited the family and got there on “his” hourse Sena. But war and the Nazi regime were merciless. So he helped jewish friends and other Romanians not to get deported when it got worse. Unfortunately he could not save all of them. Then he had to leave to Italy. There he refused following the order to fight against partisans by hiding away in the ammunition room. After his arrest he had his first day off to walk along the harbour in Triest. Again dreaming of sailing away on a big and free ship to get away from all those terrible events and to see happy places of the planet. And of course to get home to see his mother. On his walk the harbour got attacked by British air force and his right foot got torn by a shell. He was 22 years of age. All in all he was lucky; he had not been sent back to any front and got back to Germany. But his home was bombed and in ruins…

After war with recurring high fever attacks and a foot that was just sewed together, walking on crutches he didn´t find a job. And in such situation his mother died. Totally down, injured, traumatised and alone he didn´t give up. He tried to do something as a freelancer. On a longer way he succeeded in constructing a car from scrap and parts he could get. So he drove his own taxi. Working for the British troups for a while and then also took part in providing first new money to German folks- Deutsche Mark, he got back on his feet. So he made his way… Later fulfilled one of his life dreams again and made his pilot´s licence. And he got a family… and lost most of them again.

Finally Mum, my brother and I were there. And then my son joined us. How precious it is to have such a lovely bunch.

So I wanted gdad to have a painting from his years and dreams of freedom and stations of his turbulent life. I found an artist I trusted to create a portrait of all the aspects. and it was quite dramatic irony that it was one from UK.

I sent photographs from all over gdad´s life in black and white and in colour and we discussed which ones were the most expressive to take as models. For the black and white one with the horse we had to find out of which colour the uniform was. The process of the painting was very deep reflection for me to get into gdad´s life. How close things suddenly came to me.

When gdad received the painting as a surprise he was so overwhelmed and happy. With tears in his eyes he discovered the details and got taken with memories. The only piece of art he ever had for his own, and it summed up himself. He felt honoured so much and was so grateful. When I suggested to take a photo together with the portrait gdad dressed his best suit jacket and took place in his best arm chair. Mum and my son around him. Gdad felt like real peace had come to earth. As if he just signed a contract about it. And like a wonder the fever didn´t come back and for the first time since 1944 his war injury dried and closed.

And now writing all this I have to cry again with pride and hope. RIP and freedom, Granddad and dad for us all. x

And please, my dearest gentle readers and friends, enjoy life and take care about yourself and where you are needed. Crown the Living. Every single soul needs bread, home, peace and freedom so much.

And thank you, @DaveMooreArt, for the wonderful painting. We are so grateful.

 

The Empire of Fata Morgana – Another Fairy Tale…

Painting: Fata Morgana by DaveMooreArt (with many thanks!)

A young guy called Uli got banned into a small boat on the sea because the big ship he had been on got into a storm and the crew blamed him to have done black magic.

He prayed to the stars and accepted his fate even though he felt innocent and then fell asleep, exhausted. While sleeping a flock of dolphins came and pulled the boat away. And when Uli woke up he wanted to suicide because he didn´t want to wait for dying slowly and painfully. But when he opened his eyes he saw land.

The boat drifted to a shore with soft waves into shimmering mist and it stopped in a field of flowers. Leaving the boat he walked over the fields full of light and colours. Suddenly slightly dressed girls came floating around him to pull him along a way to a huge open gate. And in golden letters there was written The Empire of Fata Morgana. He passed through and was amazed more again.

All was glowing in golden sunshine through the misty fields and rivers of milk and honey. Then suddenly a throne appeared in front of him. And there was sitting a woman in a dress of rubies and diamonds and her golden crown was framed by shining stars.

“Welcome to my empire, stranger. Explore every direction and be a happy citizen. All treasures you can see are yours just as they belong to all of those who decided to call this place their home. Most humans chide me and my country of wonders and call me a demon of mischief who promises all and gives nothing. Those Fools! As if they had a better stand on Earth, as if their ambition and business was anything else but an illusion with the additional curse be so sure about their possessions.

Here in my empire we don´t get to such an attitude. In everlasting happy expectations we get along. Again, welcome to my kingdom.”

She reached out her hand to Uli. And he, stunned by her words and beauty, climbed up the stairs to take it. But suddenly he found himself sitting on the throne. Confused he looked down and all the flowers changed to be people who shouted their welcomes to the new king to be husband of their queen. “Give us your commands!” So Uli ordered to have a great feast with free meal, dance and fun all together. He climbed down from the throne again to step among the crowd but suddenly people disappeared in the mists and he stood alone in the fields. A painful disappointment struck him. Then he heard some music. And far away at a riverside he saw peasants dancing and having a feast and laughing fun. An old man who suddenly stood at his side said: “Ah I can see your heart. You want to be with them, don´t you?” “Yes.” Uli answered with shining eyes. “I hope so much that it´s not another illusion.” “Come on. I will lead you there.” Uli was excited and the old man and he filled time with nice conversation on their way. But then all the scenery changed to mist and also his guidance was gone. Uli was desperate. And this way it went on and on. He was close to find wisdom, the love of his life, friendship, wealth. But all disappeared before his eyes and he fell down in tears.

Suddenly Fata Morgana stood in front of him. “So what are you complaining about, mortal? You have been saved from the soaken death and I have given you shelter. You had to experience what none of my citizens will ever be able to run away from. Don´t be afraid. The time you spent close to me is not lost. And I´ve shown you the possibilities of your coming future you can chose wisely. And my blessings are with you as you´ll get back to your real home and yours.”

Uli worshipped the Fata Morgana in the misty dust and gratefully he found his boat beside him. “Yes, the real happiness is to trust in our hearts alone.” Filled with confidence he got into the little boat and fell asleep. He woke up with the sunlight and a seagull´s cry. He found himself at the coast of his hometown. People on the beach waving to him. Slowly with patience Uli got there carried by the soothing waves. His family came and holding them in his arms he gratefully knew he truly was blessed with inner peace and happiness.

A Tree´s Hair is not to cut…

The Tree (a song I must have heard somewhere…)

 

Now I don´t cut my hair anymore

Listen to the growing of my leaves

The forest plants my wooden heart

My arms reach out to the sky

To stay here forever

 

The nails sink deep

Into the realm of Mother Earth

My skin already bends and bows

Digested sand and stones a lot

To get tired for ages

 

A tree with bugs on my face

And moss in my hair

My skin hard like a rock

 

Through my fingers the wind goes

Was it yesterday? Was it today?

The whole winter I don´t wake up

A woodpecker knocks at my closed doors

Hoping for a lot of booty

 

My head turns green, the summer comes along

With dew and rain drops

A shiver runs through my trunk

I can hear them, they are arriving

Men with saws

 

A tree with bugs on my face

And moss in my hair

My skin hard like a rock…

 

Naked Blaze – an autist love

Autism is a bit like loving the moon… some kind of idealistic

At some day by a sudden impulse I realised how beautifully a soft breeze was tousling your hair. And in the sunshine every strand shimmered in many colours. Since that day I loved the wind.

Your smile promised a field of mint and your eyes the rough sea, so far out till the horizon got round.

And I walked a while at your side until night came along.

But the wind was still on and played with your hair in the moonlight.

And the moon changed its colours. The moon made it silver, darkblue and deep. The moon became brother of the wind and I loved him as well. How uncomparable it reflected on your face.

“Look at me.” I said, “please, look at me. I want to see the wind and the moon in you.” You smiled at me and I melted by so much moon, I could count its rays. And I felt that silver hand closing around my middle pulling me to inner floods.

Nearly I already loved the moon more than the wind.

And in the very early morning dawn when the wind decided to sleep I saw you released in wonderful radiance of reflections of my deeply beloved dream of the night. Oh yes, this night was mine. You were mine. Naked blaze at dawn.

Then the sun came. The shining in your hair was not the same. Without the wind there was silence on your head. And the sun didn´t bring the blaze on your face that I thought to own, at least in darkness grateful revelation of modest light.

And you became a stranger to me. In further nights the moon started to veil its face and retreated from you and me. No. don´t look at me anymore! I can´t find in your features anymore what was lovable and all to me, what took me away in rapture,  drove me, tortured and brought me to sweet enthusiasm. What I saw now was a human face.

Why are you so close?! Have you not been on the moon lately? Didn´t we play there? And in what kind of paradise have we been while the wind was still playing in your hair?

You shake me and shout at me. “What will be with us?! What about our covenant, out love?! You don´t love me anymore!”

But… I never loved you. I loved the wind and the moon. And you were so beautiful to make me realise them.

You weep, you swear, you curse me. What have I done to you? I wish you could have felt with me what I see. Have you really never been a friend? Just vanity?

And when the moon came back, you disappeared. I raised my head to the night sky. You cruel moon. To love you is solitude.

And while I stood and stood there, all in a sudden a warm breeze came up. The wind played with my hair tenderly and softly caressed my face.

Oh wind, how I loved and love you, my friend.

 

Laughing with or at

 

To socialise is something so very important for human beings to survive and to feel wholesome. When you are a child you expect to be cared for and in most cases parents want and do naturally. At some point usually when the child grows up the expectations change step by step not only needing the care but also to get in contact with those you just want to play with to share experiences and to prepare for life´s challenges. Somehow my way went different because I could not find those interactive action more interesting than my inner world full of questions and thoughts creating relations to ideas, allegories, animals and things.

The world around me didn´t answer my questions. School was boring, pupils were boring, other children were boring and only disturbed me in my inner imaginary surrounding I got lost in so often with only a few stimuli life outside gave me. People thought me to be odd being so sensitive about their cruel behaviour towards myself and other children they mocked and bullied; it hurt me deeply cause I still sensed so many things around and even though I didn´t show up any skills to socialise I felt the need to be connected with people, to just be with them, to just have them about, to have peace and fun. My rare attempts of expression didn´t find an aim.

And not realising that I really was different I thought them to be just cruel and myself to be weak. So I isolated and only sometimes got out to look for people who were different as well. And I found so many heavens and hells of human existence, found love, discovered libido and always things turned out to not work like it seemed to be meant to.

My son saved me. He made me strong and suddenly interaction with the outer world was more than a shadow existence of being cared for in a suffering soul shell. And also I learnt to be unremarkable, to walk normal among society members to hide away any symptoms of coming along different. Well, I couldn´t avoid all. But then being an artistic one people just thought my oddness to be keeping a special image of craziness.

Very much later when I got diagnosed as having a mild autism with an extend of Aspergers I understood myself so very much better and started to explain to people. Some of those who knew me a longer while just said that they have always taken me that odd way I was. Unfortunately they never gave me feedback before what they felt odd about me.

Others now laugh out loud when it comes to a typical situation of misunderstanding, inadequate pacing or confusion and try to make jokes about what they can´t really understand. They want to show up that they take it with understanding humour, but actually some who can´t stop that don´t understand at all. It´s so often like those people who cook a rost beef for friends and forget that one of them is vegetarian.

If laughter is the only way for people to cope with diversity I ask myself what kind of social skills this society really teaches us. I´ve got a lot of self-irony till now while learning about irony over the years. The traps in my brain are sometimes funny for sure. But I´m greatful for those “normal” people who also learnt some self-irony towards their inability to empathise, and who joke about their limited ego-perspective. I know some who can do so!  They make me hope.

Some say: Ah, they get along with their disability brilliantly they always laugh with us when we make our jokes about them… – What do you actually expect? That we give the clishee image of someone turning away in tears like in a school book to explain bullying? Embarrassing all and ourselves?

How should a social and sensitive being react  people joke about? Going aggressive? What is the adequate pattern tought by our society to express a hurtful situation in a social group? I make the experience that people are not able to deal with an honest word properly.

Well, I know it´s not easy to break free from general habit of superficial sultification of “bloopers” and the easy way avoiding complex reflection and just to think it being funny. But every “being different” includes a long and often complicated story of suffering from expelling reaction expressed by laughter. Please, consider this. You better smile with open mind and learn to talk honestly and laugh about yourself, so we all learn to laugh together heartfully. life could be so much fun for all of us. 🙂

 

Complexity – Curse or Bliss?

So many complex patterns overlay each other to become a new one…

When I perceive those sceneries my brain feels challenged. To avoid confusion I want to analyse the situation and find out how many layers are there. Every detail is taken like a part of a jigsaw to find which layer it belongs to.  And this way a multi-dimensional construction falls into pieces so I can recreate all elements and its composition. So many informations have to be sorted and the recreation sometimes bears frustration and also great happiness to understand the deep long-term complexity how those patterns came to be. You see beauty and abysses, finally most overwhelming processes, and there won´t be a wonder-pill to make it whole and wholesome again right now. Analysing you go through hell, you go through modesty, doubts, anger, tears, laughter, insight and the frustration how to make comprehensive what you perceive. Or even how to change things.

The analysis itself is so complex that it´s so hard and difficult to give an impression. So desparately I only can express by art and artistic output to express. But doesn´t that bring more complexity again? So do I just add another layer to what is not understandable already? Or am I able to give a summery of the essential? I doubt so much about my communication, you can´t imagine. And also: Who is interested to get those informations?

So often I have to realise that I am too complicated for people. Actually I like complexity and also I see complexity already in the most simple things. So I come out to be a bit nerdy even though I love to enjoy gifts of life.

Complexity has its own beauty. Even joy is complex. And so much more when you are able to look at the layers from different sides so that you can see the dimensions. Yes, too complicated, I know. But that´s me. So please, don´t mind me that I sometimes have to drift off to understand situations that way. Well, as a complexity-fancier you have a quite lonely path. I´m so happy that there are some rare souls I can share with.

 

 

Three Preludes – Modern Romantic dressed to break Time

Here a first little review of my very personal inspirations about listening to „Three Preludes“ by Leah Kardos & Ben Dawson produced by Bigo&Twigetti

First I want to mention that I´m a bit old fashioned about the medium that carries music. I admit without any diffidence that I prefer CDs and even vinyl as a part of presentation. With all respect for the musical performences itself and the virtual world I would not like to go to a concert and watch a holography of the orchestra. And in this instence my concept stood the test of time. So it made me smile contently to open the lovely designed cover perfectly matching the music you will find inside. A folded patterned watercolour paper with a tranparent blue horizon in typical watercoloured coincidence about the lines. The inlet is a sheet of strong transparent paper and it really looks like the neat lettering was handmade with technical pen, in part with stencil, black ink and a lot of time, accuracy and attention. It all looks vivid and personal with impressive orderliness. Traces of human soul are nicely put over all that conception. Whoever created this I appreciate it a lot.

Let´s get to the music now. At first sight the title „Three Preludes“ conclusively refers to the first three piano pieces played by Ben Dawson. And this is the way you start to listen. But I will give another reflection of my thoughts about that later on.

1. Draw *
Pulsing time passes by while some hesitating thoughtful melodies enter to accompany the pace as if they compare to find a decision or solution while walking slowly in the mists and the drizzle. But then suddenly heaviness transforms, speed forgets about time, it dissolves, the rain gets stormy and thoughts run over the fields. At some point like a last emotional uproar at the end of powers the runner has to break down after the race, searching for new rhythm of beath. Strong dramatic chords with some uprising bright lines seem to welcome some modest rays of the sun. A clear bow is drawn over the piece as time pace takes its routine again. But this time the melodies get closer, single notes come out to be chords occasionally and also some various lively motives encounter the melancholic progress to give it a different and more playful colour. The grey atmosphere has changed to some ideas of blue. Then the arrangement comes to drift to the disstance. I can´t really tell if it was the way of playing the piano or a fade out of the sound mix. But perceiving later on that the fade out is used in other pieces, I sorted it that way, even though it is not a real fade out, it steps to the background at one moment and keeps level in the distance till the end. My personal impulse was that I wanted to turn the music louder, to get it back. Interesting was that I realised how much the music cought my attentive concentration.

*what a lovely hint to the cover design

2. February
This piece I felt to be a great inpiration. So how many different possibities and attempts are there to break the silence on base of the note d without disturbing the bond to the soundless sounds? There are endless. And this piece of piano play and composition shows up that way. Even though it seems that the pace of Draw takes its special place again I perceive another dimension. The constantly pulsing never dissolves and d stands like Saturn as a guardian to always hold against the forces of uprising music around while opening the door at the same time. D materialises, proof, supporting and balancing power and silence. How close to life is this reflecting the paradoxon of desires of a soul in its conflicts to fullfill its being on earth and absolute freedom. Breaking the silence to break free to silence. And as someone who comes from comparative appoach and perspectives I look at the paces of Draw and February to draw a line between time and desire. Does February make us feel that desire for freedom is some kind of death wish? And is this only my own romantic view I´m inspired for by listening? Here D is the key along the edge between eternity and earthliness. The driving force to try to break free and send you back by times. What a beautiful, ancient and philosophical pain, and what a brilliant work to concentrate it all in a 3 minute composition and presentation, concise, catching and performing the essential. Wonderful composition, stunnig beautiful playing and interpretation! And definitely my favourite piece on the CD.

(To be continued soon…)

Thoughts of a Child on Christmas Eve

I´m just 5 years old and will soon be six. Mum says that I grew up so fast and Dad adds that the serious side of life will begin then in summer. He refers to my entry to school. It seems he didn´t like it too much when he went there himself. They both seem not to like the serious side of life anyhow. And this is my deep problem I have right now at Chritsmas time.

Christmas, the time of peace, cookies, candles and expensive presents and also a time when all hopes and expectations come to a risky climax for families. The risk of disappointment and broken illusions is higher than the angels´ voices around the Christmas tree. So what could I do?

They are just decorating the tree and argue about the position of my presents. All that work and time they give for all those preparations. They create a big scenery every year, spend a lot of money and Mum is complaining that she has to cook for all the family that comes for a visit. But when Dad suggested that we could all visit aunt Claudia, she protested heavily with eyes wide open.

On Christmas Eve Mum and Dad, they are so immensely happy when I come into the living room after the bell rang. “Look! What Santa brought for you. Isn´t that nice? You must have been a good child.” And while I – for a very short moment – reflect about all my evil sins, they are so taken and merry when they see my astonished and amazed eyes and face in rapture with all those exciting packages und the twinkling tree and the carols from the CD player. Oh, how they are happy once a year to see me that way.

Years before when I was still small, Dad dressed in a costume and played Santa. I recognised his shoes. And when I once sanctimoniously asked why Dad never was with us when Santa came in, they asked uncle Torsten to play the role the next year. And now since my aunt and Mum are in terrible quarrel about something and don´t talk to each other anymore, Santa is already gone when I come in. Mum and Dad explain that with lots of creative ideas. How they are talented!

But understand my deep conflict. How can I explain to my parents that I don´t believe in Santa anymore?! I put this confession up the road as long as possible. Should I really take them away those sweet moments of bliss and happiness? I hardly want to imagine how disappointed they will be. And knowing how much they dislike the serious side of life doesn´t make it easier for me. Shall I really take it away from them? Tell them the truth?

Not this year. May they enjoy this last Christmas before I get to school. Maybe they already plan desperately how to explain to me that Santa doesn´t exist. They for sure do not want that I get to know that from my school mates then. Well, I´ll kill two birds with one stroke. A huge responsibility lays on my shoulders. I´ll tell them in spring after the Easter Bunny has done its job, when I´m six. Wish me luck.

Have a wonderful and conscious Christams everywhere

your Mata Hari

(To tell the truth…. I´m not really Mata Hari) 😉

Choreography of Souls

Why do I support my fellow human beings about their cultural and personal advancement? It happens like an inevitable coincidence. I step onto a random platform of life, follow my impulses and suddenly I find myself involved in threads of amazing life constellations of other people who are extraordinary and special. And as if I exactly knew what to do I start to sort those threads and what I call the web of momentum that makes situations move. I learn to know people and seem to realise their deepest and highest potential to improve to all sides and what it means and could mean without really being conscious about myself and what´s going on.  But everything that happens then, what I follow and lead to, all seems to belong to a great idea of progression. And, however, it feels right. Not uncomplicated, clear or easy, but right, correct.

There seems to be a choreographer to create a stunning scenery, steps and movements of an intriguing dance.  It´s a twirling around the moment first, then may express current life situations.  And those points already give a slight impression of the essential and what could be and I have the honour to experience wonderful inspiration. I enjoy the deep moments of souls that show all their terrible beauty and truth. I thank all you lovely people who gift me with trust and sharing themselves. And maybe without knowing you are with me working out the vision we all need so much.

And based on this inspiration I find ways to transform ideas to come real.
I can´t promise that dreams come true. But it may happen. And it may happen with only a deep and free will, open mind, cheerful heart, crazy hope and empathic understanding that our threads get woven to amazing moments of unknown patterns that lift us up to some new insight of life and togetherness in sense of cultural exchange and quality, whatever that means for you. For something will change.

It´s so difficult to get out of the mud of routine, stale cravings and unaware habits and we need each other to find a way. Not to bound each other but to support our talents and skills to become helpful, senseful and appreciated. Well, I want to add my part with all I am. I can´t help, I have to…

Mother and Son

Too serious by knowing responsibility?

The only one who can estimate if I have been a good mother is my son.

What are we supposed to do being a parent? I had my doubts about my skills doing the right things for a child needing my full care and attention. I´m sure that I often was not able to ignore my own needs, but I never made decisions without considering my son´s life situation. I expected a lot of emotional strength of him and I don´t know if this has always been the best way. It made me happy when he lately said that I have done right, that I have always been consequent and reliable. And he is proud of me that I have always been myself and not like the others.

Well, I gave him an individual foundation with the little worry in me that he will have to cope with all obstacles brought up by moving in a society that claims for conformation and unsensitive performance. How will he ever be something else than an artist?

He asked me if I´d think that he won´t be able to get along with all that like I did and do. And I realised that I had to let him go his way as a man of decision. I don´t know why this makes me cry. It´s not a good bye. it is the inevitable improvement of what I gave to him, what I sowed and it is wonderful to see him flourish and that he´s got all doors open; something I didn´t have when I was young.

My son is my sunshine, my loving child and friend who makes me smile every day, the bliss of my life which goes on. Well, I´m a proud mother after all.