Sometimes someone comes to my door.
And that someone has heard in some distant way, that there is a train leaving for freedom.
And you tell her about it, again and again and again.
And when she leaves, she says: “Yes, I feel something has changed”.
And Gratitude comes whispering in my ear: “She is on the train…”.
And then tears come, and so much more …

Wonderwalk one year

Little paradise 

I breathe the thoughts
that surface from my soul
and with surprise and still
I see what comes on screen

Out of the depths they come
on their soft feet, so light,
move cautiously the searching hands,
whisper words in hearing ears

I pass in gratitude
what no one ever owned,
what rustles there in every soul
when it is touched one day

The stream inside seems endless now
has no beginning, is still the same,
keeps whispering
until it stops …
perhaps …



He looked up and opened his eyes. Everything was cristal clear; as if everything had been polished. He saw the tiniest details: the grains of sand glistening on the ground, the feelers of the butterfllies, the stamens of the flowers. And he saw the grandiosity: the little dots that were the planets and the stars, the space beyond the universe, the Grand Beginning.

And yet, he just sat in the kitchen at the table. Somewhere deep in the depths of his body, it felt as if a huge rock had shifted. Every word he wanted to use to describe what had happened deep inside of him, failed. He layed down his head in his hands and tears dripped on the table. Enormous gratitude and joy flowed through him. Liquid goldglow and silver brilliance took the place of where dark cold mist had lived inside of him.

He rose to tell about death that leads to life and was crucified.
Then he rose for the second time to tell that death and life don’t exist. A few people understood.
The third time he rose, he looked around with gratitude and didn’t have to tell anything. He knew that everybody Knew …

Christmas story

Christmas story

It was Christmas Eve and you came to me. It was a cold and clear night, stars at the sky and a full moon. In silence we packed everything: sleeping bag, hot tea, candles, some food, a rug and a torch. We put on our boots, hat, mittens and a shawl.

We got into the car and went our way. It was dark, although the moon was there and it was silent. Most people were inside. The trees along the little roads guided us as true keepers. The little roads winded through the countryside. When the tar ended, we parked the car on the sandy path, got our stuff and started walking.

The torch lit the path in front of us as we walked our way in the deepest silence, accompanied by the stars and the moon. We were heading towards the place I knew so well. The place that had comforted me, encouraged me, supported me and embraced me. The place that gave me joy, gratitude and stillness.

There, we put down the rug, wrapped the sleeping bag around us and sat down. The vast stillness touched us. The ground and the sky were one in darkness.

In silence we sat, drinking the still darkness, sunk into the depths within. The first waves came. A ripple, then a wave and then a tidal wave. Streams of tears, sounds, movement came and went away.

Feeling took the place of wanting. Surrender took the place of fear. Gratitude took the place of uncertainty. Abundance poured out of each pore. The heathland received all tears, all emotions. The ground on which we sat, flooded fear with gratitude and uncertainty with surrender.

You and me sat silently with tears on our cheeks. The shooting stars didn’t make a single noise. The first clouds started to hide the moon. Darkness surrounded us more and more. We looked at each-other. Our tears glittered in the candle light. We drank our hot tea.

The waves disappeared together with the light of the stars and the moon. What was left was stillness that came to shore, here, in this heat-land.

We rose, folded the rug, packed the basket and rolled the sleeping bag. In silence we walked back to where we came from. The wind blew in our face now and the first snowflakes stayed on our coats.

Then nature started to whisper: “You didn’t come to me; I came to Me”, the branches swept in our face. “You didn’t come to me; you came to You”, the grass hummed. “You didn’t come to me; I was always here “, the heat-land rustled. Never were these sentences so familiar as they were now on this Christmas Eve. Tears filled my eyes: tears of recognition; tears of stillness; tears of gratitude. And you, you were there: inseparably connected and not connected. You went with me, all days and nights. You walk with me: all nights and days. There is no difference between you and me. There is no you and me. There only is …



Walking through the dripping forest, abandonned by people, I walked my way. Raindrops on my hair, silent noice of rain falling upon the leaves, putting one foot in front of the other and some old friends payed me a visit.

The forestpath was filled with thoughts, old familiar thoughts, from long ago, my old familiar friends.

 “I am not good enough”, kissed me tenderly and disappeared into the rain.
“It is not there for me”, came  to me, with hesitation, looked at me, a little shy and dissolved in the wind.
“Nobody loves me”, looked at me, so penetrative, lovingly; she was with me for so many years. It was hard for her to go. Slowly she turned around, looked upon me for the last time and merged with the air.

I stood and saw them go, tears in my eyes. They were so familiar to me; they had given me so much. It was time for them to go. Silence came upon me. I put down my backpack and sat on the moss. One by one they passed, the people who helped me say goodbye to these old friends. Deep gratitude came over me for them, who helped me and still do.

At home, dry clothes, tea, woodstove on, I still feel the gentleness of the rain, the forestpath and the forest. The forest that is my home, that cherishes me, gives me my answers. The forest that is there, unmovable. The forest that I am.