“That’s that”, said my neighbour when I visited him on his birthday. “Next year we won’t see each other any more”. I was shocked. I didn’t know how to answer. “Don’t worry”, his wife explained to me. “He says that every year. For twenty years now he has been saying to me again and again: “Today is my last day.”
The goal of each life is – in some sense – death. When one among us reaches this point, the others often say he has lost his life. When a person died among the first Christians, they used to say: He has won his life! He has succeeded! And they wove this man a victory wreath so as to celebrate with him! A victory wreath, just as the ones the victors from tournaments had received in those days! The custom of sending a man to his grave with a wreath has remained. The message of this wreath is forgotten. It goes thus: You are a winner!
In Europe and America, there’s a growing feeling of hysteria
Conditioned to respond to all the threats
In the rhetorical speeches of the Soviets
Mr. Krushchev said we will bury you
I don’t subscribe to this point of view
It would be such an ignorant thing to do
If the Russians love their children too
How can I save my little boy from Oppenheimer’s deadly toy
There is no monopoly in common sense
On either side of the political fence
We share the same biology
Regardless of ideology
Believe me when I say to you
I hope the Russians love their children too
There is no historical precedent
To put the words in the mouth of the President
There’s no such thing as a winnable war
It’s a lie we don’t believe anymore
Mr. Reagan says we will protect you
I don’t subscribe to this point of view
Believe me when I say to you
I hope the Russians love their children too
We share the same biology
Regardless of ideology
What might save us, me, and you
Is if the Russians love their children too
Sting, “Russians”
In a land in our time there lived a man, who read a book and found lots of wonderful stories therein. There were true and invented stories, experienced and pensive, enjoyable and painful stories. There were stories which contained stories, and such which were actually not stories. For every story he read, there occurred to him nearly five which he had either experienced or thought up himself. So the thought came to him, that a lot in the world was a story which could be healing for himself and others; he only needed to absorb the healing stories well and to forget the terrible ones immediately. Then he would learn which story he had used when and for what. So he organised his own stories which he knew, and which had become a help to himself and others, or could become so. Sometimes he noted it down when a new story came to his ears and sometimes when a helpful story occurred to him, he memorised it.
Then he saw before him in a picture the storystories of this life arranged in long shelves, as in a large pharmacy. And behind the counter there sat a man who had learnt to listen to himself and others. He was a master of his subjectspecialty. His talent was that he understood how to tell the right thing at the right time to himself and to those who visited him.
When Anton was twenty, he travelled around the world. He liked to visit France the most. He left wife and children at home. In his homeland, he mostly spent his time in pubs. Beer and cigarettes were more important to him than both his daughters.
When Anton was twenty-two, he got divorced. He did not honour his alimony payments. He drank his money away.
When Anton was twenty-six, he saw his daughters for the last time. His ex-wife forbade him any further contact.
When Anton was fifty-five, he had a friend who managed his money and kept most of it for himself. Outside of his working hours, he was drunk. As long as there was enough money for alcohol and cigarettes, he was content, he said.
When Anton was sixty-one, he stopped drinking. That was the time he got to know Frieda. Anton adored Frieda. Frieda had spent her whole life in a small house in the country and had never been interested in alcohol.
When Anton was sixty-two, he moved in to Frieda’s small house in the country.
When Anton was seventy, he had already shown Frieda Paris and London, Brussels, Berlin and Budapest. He had driven her to her relatives in Dessau and walked all around the neighbourhood with her.
When Anton was seventy-one, Frieda became ill. He drove with her to many doctors and hospitals in the area. Anton said: “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. As long as I live, you will not end up in a nursing home.” He drove her to the welfare centre, to the medical insurance office and to all public authorities.
When Anton was seventy-two, he married Frieda. He ran the house for her, vacuumed, did the shopping and cooked the meals. When Anton was seventy-five, Frieda died. He lived another one-and-a-half years. During this time he drank one glass of champagne a day. “For my circulation”, he said, “because the doctor recommended it to me”.
He savoured his meal. His hostess, a farmer’s wife, brought him more to eat. “Eat up, vicar. Otherwise it will go to the pigs…”
This is now many years ago. My grandmother told me the following story. And this story had come about when she herself was young and still lived with her parents. A woman often came to her mother – my great grandmother – and poured her heart out. A neighbour who had many woes. My great grandmother was always there for others. She was a good listener, and she had a deep Christian faith. She often advised others and helped where she could.
This neighbour told her about her marriage. It must have been a terrible marriage. Her husband was often drunk. He hit her, he abused her. The woman was desperate. It occurred to her to get a divorce. A brave decision for a lonely woman in a village in Bavaria about eighty years ago. She shared her thoughts with my great grandmother. The latter advised her against it. “What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. So hath our Lord spoken.” She should try somehow to make it work with her husband. And so it continued for a while, again and again. Then one day it was said that the woman from the neighbourhood was no longer alive. She had hanged herself.
Mr Gundolf said: “I have begun a partnership. But now I have met a woman whom I like even better than my girlfriend.” I answered: “I bought a house and moved in. A few weeks later, I saw a house which was even more beautiful than the one in which I now live. I stayed put.”
“Turn around at the next junction! We must help the baby goat!” she insisted. To the right of us was a high supporting wall behind which, in a field, was a herd of grazing goats. One young goat stood lost below the wall. Had it fallen? It obviously could not get back to the others. It stood, helpless and lonely at the edge of the road. We turned around. Prohibitive signs and one-way streets directed us to a long diversion, but finally we arrived at our destination. The goat still stood at exactly the same place. Slowly we came closer. It looked at us, looked up – and with one, nimble leap, was back with the others.
It had come on suddenly. The right halfside of her body felt numb, as if it were anaesthetised. Anna went to the doctor. He frowned and did not say anything for a long time. “Looks like MS” was his conclusion after he had finished his examination. At the hospital she was given cortisone. Some weeks later she developed dizziness. Some months after that, the left side of her body also became numb, just as the right side had done before. Some months after that, her eyesight became blurry. The doctor saw his diagnosis confirmed. As if in a dream she received her disabled person’s pass. “50 %” was written on it – “for now”, she thought. “The power of thoughts” was the title of a presentation she heard during this time, as she mentioned later. Its topic was not about health in particular but about how we can visualise our future dreams so vividly and real, as if they were already true. She was asked to feel in a highly intensive way how it would be to have reached this wonderful state. She saw herself sitting in a green field, light-hearted and happy. She moved freely and felt light. Inside herself she felt a tremendous energy. So overwhelmed was she by the experience that she cried and cried – and yet this experience felt liberating. Each day, fFrom then on, she imagined each day how she would look, what she would do, and how she would feel as a healthy person She concentrated all her attention on this happy future. She let go of everything that did not seem to fit this image. She learned to notice much more quickly what nourished her soul and what was taking energy away from her. She focused all her life on that which strengthened her. After some time she was able to discontinue her medication. This was nine years ago. Her symptoms disappeared and have not come back.
Thomas lives in Switzerland. “Diagnosis: MS” was what his physicians wrote on his report. He has tried mental training and self-hypnosis. He has visualised how it would be to be healthy and has tried to feel it as well as he could. He has suffered more and more attacks. He says there is only one path on which he can go, and this is his path. He is learning to strengthen his inner self for whatever will come. He is learning to cope with an everyday life, which is harder than that of anyone he knows. He is learning to live in an upright state even though he is lying down. He is learning to live with dignity and self-respect even though others pity him. He is learning to feel strong even though his body is weak. He is learning to live from an energy source that many healthy people do not know.