The newspaper headlines yesterday were speaking about a rassist assault on a German with African origin 3 days ago, replacing the previous days’ headlines of a court-case about a murder of a Turkish origin woman by her brothers, to reestablishing the “family honour”. On our way for a visit of Schloss Sanssouci in Potsdam, a Unesco World Heritage castle where the Prussian kings had resided, we came along the ancient barracks of the British military administration, where now an electronic supermarket and other shops were located. We passed the ancient border between East and West, where the change in the architecture marked still visibly the difference between the worlds. During our walk through the Sanssouci Park one of our German friends told me that she was half Cherokee, being the child of a mother from Berlin and a high-rank American military official, whose remains now are resting on the famous Arlington cemetary in the States. In the Sanssouci park we saw statues of Greek gods and heros and China-inspired temples. From another friend we heard the life-story reflecting the time of the East German communist rule, with events of the “Stasi” secret service and the individual experiences during the dramatic fall of the Berlin Wall.
The recent world history is so present here, most controverse influences reflect in the lives of the citizens. Lines of past and present destinies focus in speedily pulsating rhythm. What is one’s own, what is the foreign, the influence one wants to keep out?
The rassist assault mentioned above bears witness of the fears caused by non-integrated forces. My spiritual teacher Dr. Parvathi Kumar says “Integrate, do not disintegrate”, and he told me two months ago: “It is much more difficult to integrate than to exclude.”
To be able to integrate I have to be integrated within myself, to be in connection with my self, my soul. When I am well linked-up, I can be open and bear the controversies in the currents of the outer world, without being washed away by them.

Yesterday morning my wife and I had been visiting an ayurvedic doctor, together with a friend, who had told us about him. We had decided to go there without further ado. He was running a shop with Indian articles, but did not advertise himself at all as a specialist of Ayurveda, the old Indian science of health (ayur: life, veda: knowledge, wisdom). We waited in a back-room, while he was treating another person. We had stepped from out of Berlin into India: A big statue of Shiva was greeting us, and on the walls were pictures of other Indian gods.
The doctor, a young gentleman in the 30ies, modest, but alert, took my hand without saying much and felt my pulse for some minutes, then described correctly my health problems which I hadn’t mentioned him before. I had attended to them over a longer period with homoeopathy, then with bio-resonance, with certain, but not satisfying, results.
I know a bit about Ayurveda in theory – I had done the German translation of a book on Ayurveda by Dr. E. Krishnamacharya some 14 years ago, but never had met an ayurvedic doctor. On the basis of his diagnosis he gave some dietetic recommendations and said he could give some Ayurvedic medicines. He said it was quite difficult to get the ingredients, and some of the preparations take months of work in accordance with certain rhythms and constellations. He normally goes once a year to India to get them. He is from a family with an age-long tradition of ayurvedic doctors. He told us that here in the West there is much wellness-activities in the name of Ayurveda and that every few weeks he is asked if he would come and join some clinic projects, but he always declined. He prefers working in his silent way, and that he doesn’t want the knowledge to be lost when a big advertisement and business is run with it. It gave me the picture that here, hiding behind a mask of a shabby outside, in the back-rooms of a shop, there was a diamond of great worth. He explained me how we could continue the treatment after my return back to Switzerland and we agreed to meet him again before leaving.
The meeting had left in me a deep impression, ans so I have started making a health-experiment along ayurvedic lines.

The 17 years old son of the friends here in Berlin is an enthusiastic glider flyer. If the weather allows, he will take us the next days on a flight at a little airport in the surroundings of Berlin. In this area here the first successfull flights with a glider have been done by Otto Lilienthal at the end of 19th century. His experiments inspired the Wright brothers for their first motorized jumps into the air.
Nowadays flying has become an everyday routine: Yesterday evening the mother of the young glider flyer came home. She is a Lufthansa stewardess and her full schedule had brought her the last two days to the north and south of Europe and back to Berlin.
The speed in the general change of localities has tremendously increased during the last decades, and also the speed of life. The winds of time are strongly blowing in the Aquarian airs. Also in my life the last years have increased the amount of travels, and much more the amount of far distant connections and cooperations over the continents. Distances are shrinking, while speed is increasing. You learn to keep stable while “flying” at high speed through quickly changing worlds of experience.
A look over the shoulders of my children into the worlds of their computer games opens up worlds of concretised imagination. We have to learn to steer well our little airplanes through the storm of impressions.

Yesterday on our way to Berlin, somewhere on a rest stop in the East of Germany, a man dressed in a pink costume of an Easter bunny was distributing eggs to the people on the parking, a funny situation. Did he know about the age-old underlying symbolism?
In the East the first sprouting of creation, after a periodical dissolution of all manifestation, is described as an egg-shaped form coming out of the ethereal waters of space, like a bubble in infinite space. And in the egg the creator as the seed of future creation awakens, and slowly creation begins. And all of us have started our journey in this physical body from an ovular state, after conception. Our head, being the first part manifesting in the womb, is also the representation of the cosmic egg, above resting on the neck like the egg on the stalk. In India I have been witnessing several times of a water ritual, where an egg-shaped lingam, representing the cosmic egg of first manifestation, is being ceremoniously washed with waters, representing the waters of space. It is a ceremony in honour of the first logos of divine will, the first spur of creation.
So the Easter eggs with their different layers are in more than one way a sublime sign of life, though hidden, not only within a shell or in the grasses of a meadow, but also in the depth below a superficial understanding.

In a few hours we will be going for a week to Berlin. Many times I have been crossing the border from Switzerland to Germany. Each time I notice this strange change of qualities characterizing the national entities, this being so also when crossing other borders.
I know that some call it the national spirits, others say it is just an imagination or so-called cultural differences. For me it is a change of energy patterns, which I inwardly sense. They are also changing in smaller regional or geographical localities, towns or cities, but the change is more obvious when coming from one country into another. People seem to be entirely enveloped by their “own” areal qualities and often develop likes and dislikes towards other ones. National entities are controlling their own areas of influence, their cell membranes, to ward off unwanted elements…
It is a fascinating play of energies, though not so easy to locate. I wonder what kind of experiences we are coming across on this journey. It is also always a crossing of inner borders to other fields of experience.

It is always fascinating to observe how out of the multitude of thoughts we come across every day certain thoughts are picked up and others not. Most remain unrelevant, a few ones we follow, and some are even so powerful that they shape our destiny. Sometimes we follow a dead-end road, out of which it is often painful to come out.
It is my experience, that new, future-oriented thoughts also often cause fear and irritation. Blocks and opposition is coming up. I am just confronted with such a situation. I have learned by time that it is mostly contraproductive to fight against these blockages (personified in persons), but look out how the flow can go on.
I feel that I have to stay in contact with the original inspiring power of the idea motivating the thoughts and not let it be diverted into side-issues or wrong motives. This will cause the death of the idea. Sometimes you might follow such an idea which has become dead because of the diversion from the origin.
This reminds me a of saying of the American Indians, that you shouldn’t ride a dead horse, and when you feel you are doing so, you better get off. Waiting for the right moment is something else. It demands attention for the door of time to open for a new direction.

At times there seem to be crosscurrents on the way, blocking the free flow of energies. Then the traffic lights on your way all seem to be red. Yesterday, especially in evening was such an experience, when some technical problems with the PC helt me in check. Suddenly you have to wait, and all ways you try to go on seem not to lead ahead. In the parlance of astrological symbology it is Saturn working.
Of course in these moments my mind speeds up and tries to find out a solution or a logic behind the obstacles. Sometimes this leads to nothing, and the best seems to be to keep quiet inside and be watchful. Letting things go often clears the way, and an inner alignment to the soul helps overcoming the feeling of being blocked. So I switched off.

This morning I woke up from an intense, a bit confuse dream, after a short night. Oh, I thought, we are just in the full moon hours, which for me are always a crest in the wave of a month’s cycle. Since the early 80ies I am observing the lunar cycles – observing in the double sense of the word, having a look at them and following their rhythm with a scheme of meditation. And since 2000 I publish every month for the full moon a newsletter, which now goes under the name of The Lunar Messenger.
This regular observation helps understanding the cyclical and at the same time ever-changing rhythms in the inner. It is not amassing any theoretical thoughts about it, but more of a scientific attitude, and this not by collecting any data, but by experiencing. This subjective research gives a depth and a strength which for me is of evidence, beyond any doubt.
Each full moon – like also each day – carries a specific quality. It is a doorway opening to what time offers at this specific moment. It is a periodical, rhythmic heart-beat, which goes unnoticed and subliminal, like that in our body, when not focused at. But when I align to the pulsation, I come in tune with the inner nature – which is not mine, but a present of the Presence. So the full moon is like a flower of time, blossoming for a short while, and a change in the currents. “Watch the time, for it is the very life of Life”, says and old saying.

Yesterday at work I got an e-mail from my previous superior that an old Iranian collegue of mine had just died. I had been working for seven years with him, while I was head of an inter-cultural psycho-social counseling centre for migrants and refugees. It has been closed some years ago due to financial reasons.
While writing a note to some of the old team members, in my thoughts the image of my Iranian collegue came up again. He was a very fine “gentleman”, with a stupendous knowledge about Islam and Iran. He was an archeologist by profession and had done field work during his youth in Afghanistan and later married a Swiss. At the end of the 80ies he had renounced his job at the Historical Museum of Berne in order to help Iranian refugees. We had been publishing together a series of information texts on Islamic culture and problems of refugees. He was doing crisis interventions with social workers in divorce, violence and generational conflicts. He gave me a deep understanding of the cultural and individual backgrounds of the cases and of the great Iranian past. We had been struggling together with running farsi on the PC or with his overcoming of his barriers towards the electronic communication.
In the 90ies, when Iran opened up again he had been travelling there each year for some weeks and also was engaged in help work during earthquake rescue. The world where he was coming from was deeply strange and at the same time familiar to me. All these concepts of honour and purity, of religious politics and extended tribal family systems were irritating and opened new vistas of understanding.
We spoke a lot about the origins of our cultures and their influence onto present living, especially adaptation problems of people coming from one world into another. He was a border-crosser between the worlds. He has chosen a good time for his soul’s way to the other world – in the Iranian New Year, Now Ruz, beginning with Aries, in the ascending part of the year and of the moon.
Though this was not his belief system, but: May the flowers of this life carry for him precious seeds for the future.

Yesterday I got a mail from a friend from Berlin, who told me that the mother of a common friend of us just had died. The three of us had come into a deeper contact during seminars of our spiritual teacher in India, and both friends are stewardesses of Lufthansa. Our common friend had been taken a lot of time going from Berlin to Kiel in North Germany to accompany her mother during the last phases of her illness, having had an intense relation with her.
It reminded me of the pass-over of my mother eight months ago and how my father, a believing Christian, but at the same time with a materialistic outlook, was moved experiencing that suddenly there was just a body where before his beloved wife, my mother, had been, and since then he started establishing an inner contact with her. For me, though knowing from out of the depth of my being that we as souls are immortal, nevertheless was deeply touched by the experience of the passing-over.
Another friend of mine told me two days ago about the work her group is doing in sensibilizing personalities in public positions about the unhygenic tradition of burying dead bodies into the earth instead of cremating. Milliards of bodies are thus rotting in the soil, creating poisonous effects. And also milliards of people, in this age called by the wisdom teachings the dark age, are living in the belief that these dead bodies have to remain in the ground to be awakened one day for ressurrections – what a deep illusion about the nature of man’s soul.
For many the soul doesn’t exist, they believe in the Darwinian evolution of matter and the survival of the fittest human apes, a belief stemming from a similar ignorance, just like believing that the pixels on the screen of my computer are fighting in a survival of the fittest to form the sentences – ignoring that there is a consciousness forming the shapes and also having created the facilities for their manifestation – many different expressions of consciousness. In consciousness, there are grades and transitions, from gross to subtle, but not endings.
A very beautiful expression of this are the sublime photos I yesterday saw on the website of Missoury Skies, of rainbows, the expression of the bond between the gross and the subtle worlds.