Navis - memories of my childhood


Navis, 1346 Meters above sea, Navis on the parking place at the dead end of the road. From there to the dead end of the valley several hours hard walk up to the height of 2891 Meters: the Reckner.

Navis is since my very early childhood like my second home. Here my father taught me to read and to write with his hard kind of physical punishment, left and right with his big strong hands behind my weak, soft, tender ears.

Navis was my regeneration and recreation area 1972 with my first wife Elka after my nervous break down 1971 with several electro shocks, seven days in coma and three months in a psychiatric hospital. My G*D, how much I learned to hate these big talking studied experts with best salaries and less feelings!

Alone on the Reckner: Sunday July 30th: 1989


Navis gave me two times, 1972 and after my first chaotic half year Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan-Pakistan-India-Sri Lanka-Singapore-Kuala Lumpur- Thailand voyage 1976 all alone back my health, strength and emotional stability. Some strength and stability to carry on.

Both these summer seasons 1972 and 1976 I worked as shepherd in a wooden, two-, three- hundred years old hut, the Voestn-Alpe - 1881 Meters above sea. From this parking spot now I can watch this blessed place on the northern side of valley. In this valley I tune into nature, tune into myself. Little fields of snow still surround this healing place, where I had to look after calves and some goats, from which I got milk and made goat cheese.

Mimamai is with me on this week end, that started with my 20 Kilometers bike trip to my job in the morning. In the afternoon my woman comes with Nobydick, the beautiful home of rolling wonders, where both our bikes are fixed on the back.

 two-, threehunderd years old hut, the Voestn-Alpe - 
1881 Meters, Saturday 06.11.05


We admire on this parking place three horses around us, one little one with two big mothers. Wine and night talks inspire the evening, till my little woman finds rest in the upper bed of Nobydick.

My rolling, now resting bed downstairs is my seat and silent University of stress release by stories.

Stories about the global disaster. The US-Americans print Dollars like crazy since decades. These Dollars doesn't represent the reality anymore. Means, there is less Oil, Water, Land, Food and Goods than these printed Dollar Bills. Still these Americans print on and on and on. People all over the world work for these US-Dollars, for these US-Americans.

Germans sell Mercedes, Porsches and BMWs, Chinese produce for Wal Market Million of Dollar items like shirts, trousers, shoes, Indians calculate taxes and infra structure with high skilled computer organised disciplined minds, Saudi Arabia, Iraq and Iran sell oil, a limited earth treasure for the energy thirst of these US-Americans, and above all these US-Americans build best weapons, to hold up this unbalanced state of worth-, world- and people exploitation.

We admire on this parking place three horses around us
(View through the front shield)


Japanese work world wide for best digital entertainment equipment like video, TV, digital cameras, all best qualified to hypnotize poor people with Hollywood brainwash. This brainwash increases the desire for plastic clinical designed beauty or for material self expression. Sex, money, power, violence - lying pretending masks of flattering friendliness, an establishment of beauties in power and strong ones, dancing on the abyss. 

This scene reminds me on the splendid days of Berlin before WW2, days of great theatre, artists, modern music, paintings and poetry.

For my feeling, this Berlin havoc scene suffering in social pressure of the years 1920 to 1930 is worldwide now. All big cities, all world metropolis function with similar McDonald jobs, day-night rhythm, dance macabre on the abyss.

Either you are strong enough to win and ready to kill your feelings for the lost poor ones, or you go down the drain.

Sex, money, power, violence - Kufstein 06.12.05


Many losers and winners get lost in floods of alcohol, smoke of cigarettes and worse poisons, hypnotized by desires. Many people will hardly feel satisfied and one end will be for sure: The poor ones will die 10, 20 or more years early than the rich ones in their sheltered ghettos - isolated from their feeling by masks, violence and lies.

Or the young black niggaz shoot themselves in fights for profits, the winner takes it all from Heroin, Prostitutes and blackmail money. Wild music celebrates the war zone in the cities with Gangsta-Rap.

G*D suffers, when there would be one, nature suffers, humans, animals, climate, everyone, everything suffers. Still people in luxury countries pretend something like peace, a killing peace, killing the poor and killing the feelings of unity, of being one and together, killing, killing, nothing but killing. A dance of violence, an Atom Bomb in the collective mind, a money grabbing and nature destroying machine, everybody knows about and nobody holds on.

The poor ones silence themselves in drugs and hypnotic brainwash media disease, the rich ones are not able to sit in silence and peace without their desperate cries to fill up the next desired dream. And so Mama Maya spins her wheel.

Navis fires up these inspiration and brings cold, arduous walks into the mountain heights, where the breath of Mother nature kisses us human ants, crawling in darkness.

Navis says Good Friday Night under a cold star shining sky. Good Night!

And so Mama Maya spins her wheel.


No, my memories of cruel childhood are not always pleasant. Born 1948 in an old Prussians warriors family there has always been such threatening terror not to trust anyone - not even my own parents, at least not my father.

Here in Navis, where he taught me to read and write with his torturing terror of disciplined violence there was already this war time feeling, either you get out alive or die.

The teacher in Navis, an slim, trained, hard man, had two lovely daughters, Luisl and Vronli, whom my brother and I knew since our childhood.

My first visit to Navis was more than 50 years ago - in my age of 6 years - nearly each year I come back to Navis.

The Navis teacher drove skies like a berserk, the most steepest hill behind the Navis church. This hill was so steep, that the earth masses moved downwards. So the very old church was deconstructed, only the church tower remained.

The Navis teacher had no right arm, cut direct behind the shoulder. In those time their was no lifts, so everyone had to climb up on his own.

the most steepest hill behind the Navis church. 


Later growing up from primary to higher schools, we heard rumours, that in the war the Jews were killed all in Europe by SS troops of the German Nazis. These SS soldiers had a number engraved under their right arm up to their shoulder.

When war was lost, many SS soldiers asked a Doctor, to cut up their arm with this engraved number. So these crippled SS men could continue their carrier after war without much difficulties.

When you drive the old Brenner street upwards from Innsbruck, you leave the big road at Matrei, to enter the Navis valley towards West. The street starts with the steepest part, where in the wall was engraved a Swastika. Since few years this Nazi symbol is removed from the wall.

If the teacher in Navis was a SS man or not, I don't know. His oldest daughter Vronli started to grow from a girl child to a lovely maiden. And like her rounds were filling her blouse, my desires started to fill my trousers.

After years I heard, Vronli died climbing in the mountains. So this oldest daughter of the Navis teacher died like the oldest son of my father, my half brother Heinz. These feelings from my very first childhood, that life is a question of survival or perish never left.

life is a question of survival or perish 


In my older days of 57 years somehow it's more and more relaxing inside, because the rat race for money, power and female protection is slowing down. 

These feelings of survival fight are not this strong anymore, because somehow something inside realizes, that anyway this fight of life and death is never to win.

From the death of my father and the old age of my mother, the retirement of my other half brother Dieter as 80 % handicapped Millionaire Mister Most Important, my greedy fights for success in material or spiritual matters fade farer and farer away.

Nobydick, the motor home, protects us more than in a symbolic way from the first freezing Friday night. The night in these heights freezes ice in the middle of June.

The morning sunny walk brings many shepherd memories back. We walk up from the Navis church to my western neighbor, more than 30 years ago, the Stippler Alpe. The scene is touching: the oven, where we sit some afternoon, to sip our beer and smoke a simple tobacco pipe, the oven stands in a ruin without roof and walls around. 

the oven stands in a ruin without roof and walls around. 


The grassland near to the border, where it's to high for trees to grow, is my old, well known home. I tell Mimamai in advance, where a little lake will show up or from where we have this magnificent overlook down in the valley.

Accompanied by these memories the Voestn Alpe shows up, where a woman collects something from the ground. From her movements I recognize immediately my late farmers boss widow Resi.

We sit together and talk. My farmer boss is dead, his younger brother is dead. But this brother's son marries today. Life goes on and on and on.

Mima and Resi


The few hours in the mountain sun are to much for my sensitive body. 

Nobydick parks beside the priests house, a several centuries years old building, called Widum. The car is heated up to 34 degrees Celsius in the sun. Nearly one hour sleep by the open door cools down inside. My head starts hurting. Once again, the second sun stroke this year, turns around my stomach.

All food comes up again in several sessions. Hours sleep heal meanwhile.

In the middle of the night, past midnight another car parks beside us. Three people leave their car, unfold mattresses on the ground and sleeping bags and move inside. Two hours later, Nobydick's oven heats up, soft - but cold rain - falls. It's 2.30 a.m - and hopefully some hours of sleep again to heal my sun burned brain and turned inside out stomach. Good night.

Nobydick parks beside the priests house


Something would missing in my life, without telling stories. Do you care, who wrote or said which wisdom to whom? For what? Have words of wisdom changed anything ever?

Choose any entertainment, that fits. Mine are words. The less wisdom, the closer to life.

The less wisdom, the closer to life.