|‘My, my, my...’ who is interested in anything else
than his own affairs? Here comes again one of these egoistical stories to
steal time, energy and attention of my beloved reader. But first I steal my
own time and energy, because my first reader I am - maybe my one and only
reader. Who cares, hihi?
Finally Mimamai's VW Transporter, our Sea Cow, is repaired. I can't stay Munich not any longer: the crowded city, the energy of e-mails and quarrels in- and outside. Lake ‘Kochel’, the first lake at the feet of the mountains, gives me a rest.
An urge is coming up, to apology for all these awful attacks against decent people, who share via web services for fun.
These poor people had no fun to read my ranting. These poor people suffered badly from my nasty mind games. Most decent friends have responded under the eternal law of cause and effect: Yes, the cause existence makes clear, ‘I’ always have been. The effect is easy to calculate: ban from most modest moderators like Satrakshita, Sarloji, Surrendra, Chandroji, from Michael, the Western Sat Guru, from Bob, Meditation Society of America, from Jeffeji, the Enlighened Entertainer, from Gene Poole, the logical gentle man, from Caiti, ... Who ever else had to suffer from my criminal, cruel mind? The cause comes clear with bad effects on me.
Please you lovely people, I ask to forgive what ever, I have written, what ever I write right now, what ever I’ll write. But first I forgive myself: Non, je ne regrette rien.
Pictures from my last weeks flush up in my inner eye. My movie inside plays tricks on my mind. After this stressful Italy voyage with my lovely Mimamai we slowly, slowly move into peace again. When my feelings don't flow soft and tender with my woman, my days are lost, I am lost.
We admire together a spring feast in Munich. Young females try their glorious attraction - and vice versa. Never the experts have collected weather data with such a sunny, warm April. In this heated up atmosphere young sexy beauties are not miserly to show their playful offers.
My memories go back to all these love fights with women, I have loved, and I still love. Like all my women Mimamai too depends a bit on my caring desire to unfold her mystery. Otherwise Mimamai switches into nagging disaster, I hardly can stand.
For hours we walk through the warm evening, enjoy some little merry go round together on the Munich spring feast. We admire wonderful painted trucks with hundreds lights plus the feast fireworks.
I invite my Mimamai in the 'Big Wheel' (Riesenrad), like we have enjoyed 10 years ago several times, when our sex energy still was flowing. This slowly has changed.
'No,' Mima escapes, 'no, you don't make love anymore, so I don't follow you to these threatening heights!'
|There is neither my will nor power anymore to 'force' her in
a playful way. She waits standing safe on the ground. We wink each other
Thoughts need to flow in a clean and loving way towards Mimamai. Then energies connect from belly, heart and everything in harmony.
My feelings need to be honest, true and clear, for all of her, even when she sits on her morning toilet. I flatter her smiling: 'This smells so beautiful like from a cat.'
Blood Hound Dog sings, a beautiful song for my taste: 'We are nothing but mammals, so let's do it like on discovery channels.'
Mammal Mima loves her little, lovely, stinking, fat Walrus, that's me. We live in a child like world, in a mystical wonder world.
In an angry way I asked our VW dealer, to repair the Sea Cow as quick as possible: 'You want to sell VW Motorhomes for more than 50.000 Euros, but when a Transporter needs a repair, I have to wait nearly two weeks! Maybe the company first should engage one mechanic more before you try to sell new cars!'
I bring the Sea Cow after the change of winter into summer wheels on Wednesday to repair. On Friday, my free day, I get a call at home: 'Your car is ready.'
Immediately I get the car, pay 300 Euros, and leave Munich in direction to the mountains. The mountain lakes suffer from short water supply. Italy announces a catastrophe plan. Plants can't grow without water. The news report from the U.S.: around 50 percents of the honey bees perish and die. This feels like world wide disaster.
It’s my way to escape. I escape from groups, from people, from Mimamai at home, I escape from Munich. All my senses are longing for new sensations.
In the afternoon I arrive at Innsbruck, the capital of Tyrol. Tyrol is a famous alpine region in Austria. I love Tyrol. In the years 1972 and 1976 I escaped from my carrier as student. I worked as summer shepherd in the mountain heights.
Innsbruck is a beautiful city with tourists from all over the world. I park the Sea Cow near the City Center not far away from the river Inn and the University. The oldest buildings in the centre are built around the year 1300. The small valley of the river Inn is crowded with high ways, trains and landing aeroplanes.
I read the e-mail traffic in our n0by group and in Sarlo's group LivingOsho too. There writes Sangit Jivano, in n0by group known as Ka, Michael or Kabir. Plastic Eso has joined too, who mocks about Satsangs and Masters with impressive YouTube videos.
|With sadness I feel, that my web works in autistic isolation
pretends my mask of security - immediately lost in real life contacts.
With three women I feel a strong heart connection: my Old Mom, my caring woman Mimamai and my most beloved daughter.
Plastic Eso preaches in LivingOsho about the always living TAO connectivity to existence. Sorry, my relationships relate to the law of cause and effect.
Before my mind flatters others with a enlightenment or guru advertisings existence drives me into a bad criminal minded cabaret attack. I can't stand these ladies in perfume by the side of big shoot priests and politicians. Art should show anarchy for my taste - not propaganda for Jesus, Maria, Religion, Tao or Enlightenment. Sorry, these theories have never been my experience!
My experience taught me, to love my little ladies as good I could, my experience taught me, to fill my stomach and to grab my money, to get attention plus some influence for the ones, who care to influence me vice versa. My experience taught me, to be naked in nature close to myself, my inner God Guide inside, often betrayed, but getting closer and closer. TAO? All these big words inflate the Super Spiritual EGO.
My relationship enjoy my farting and sometimes nagging Mimamai, my Old Mom, who looses her memory, and my little, lovely daughter, who fights for her health. And who am I? It's more than enough, to be a brave son, an honest lover and a caring father - and to fill my pockets with money enough in a hard job since 18 years now.
34 degrees Celsius heat boiles my blood this afternoon in the car in Innsbruck. After three quarter hour drive I stand on a night place in Navis, where I worked as shepherd. It’s only 4 degrees Celsius outside. The rain changes to snow.
My tongue tastes in delight the blood of the earth: red wine. The heater works in the. My little life has left the depressive e-mail groups in Sarlo's censored club behind - and my fantasy flies on a horse with wings into a night with the rain drop symphony on the plastic roof of Mima's Sea Cow. Yes, this plastic roof gives more shelter than the Plastic Eso TAO preachings!
|BUT: these my EGO advertisings only help for two hours
sleep. In the midnight hour the 'tension of the height' brings the body up
again in restless itching. In the mountain brook, in the ice cold water I
wash my body with soap. The rain has changed into a staggering snow, but the
gas oven in the car and the rest of red wine help to release the itching
These tiny intellectual entertainments! One letter chases another. Plastic Eso is convinced about the immortal flow of the TAO personified in THE EGO less Master Osho. Plastic ESO announces his own immortal heritage of TAO via web works and words.
My EGO feels hurt by such splendour! In my restless nights nothing can't reach to these heights! My feelings are much more connected with our Kings and Queens of Quarrel: The light of th professional Indian ESO Ananda Down Under shines bright.
Existence deeply frustrates my desire for personal relationships with Munich people like Sangit Jivano, Prem Suviro, with Berlin's Osho lovers like Chandroji, Niratyo or with my closest friend in hundreds of skype calls: Veet Thomas. In the moment all this is finished! Chapter is closed, relation ship sinks in the ocean of quarreling waves.
Love remains. What is love but a memory of happy hours together?
Navis is my second home. In Navis my father learned me to drive sky from the year 1954. All night and all day the cold rain continues. With caution I wander for five hours from one Alpine hut to the next. Above 1800 metres height the rain changes into snow. All these silent hours I only meet two other humans, all others are wild animals.