Navis: Schafseitenspitze

Friday afternoon. My work week is done. I leave my job in my Motor Home Noby Dick. Samedy night the car parks by the side of Lake Kochelsee. The sun goes down. 900 p.m I burn a candle on the table in the car. Another little life story starts again.

On our growing gathering last week's letters was soaked with quarrels and severe judgments: Gene Poole, Ramarshi, Khaleelajoy-Khaleelapain, myself, Valerie, Veet Tom, S.A.C., Kabir, Hans, Muthu. Ali-Suviro. Who else? 

Shadow of Noby Dick,
the Motor Home

Click pics big!

The sun goes down: Kochelsee
View from the car
Judgments for others, praising for myself.


People in our free list gathering come and go: New Tom Philipps, Jeffeji, welcome old friend!

Most enjoy the delightful dispute between Ramarshi and you, Jeffeji!Lovely Lady Sarahji, I bow down to your reminder for peace! Maybe we warriors first need to fight till total exhaustion, before we ask wounded for peace? Sarah, your call for peace I feel like a white, warm ray of light into the freezing darkness of my futile fights!

My question tonight: do I live my life fulfilled? What could be done better? How?

Have you experienced the joy, when all and everything around you start to reveil mysteries? This is it! It feels like a key from and towards existence. The colours of sky and earth shine brighter. The nose smells all and everything more intense . The body asks for food, you provide. You get drunk to taste richness . Marmelade sky with diamonds. Something inside bows down thankfully to eternity. You feel alive at home.

This is it, it is like this: Every little step fits with the next. Pearls of adventures make you feel excitment all around. You feel pushed out of your mind direct into the arms of existence. This tender love fulfilles more than all desires. You feel like a beautiful baby nourished from big breasts of the Eternal Mother. Pathetic lines in theory, pratically you succeed with lovely lightness.

Marmelade sky with diamonds.

In these moments the winding worm of sorrows changes into the flowing flight. Thoughts fly high like Eagle of insights. You listen to the sound inside: ''Happiness is a warm gun!''

When this happy mood would be by my side in my very last moment, my life would be eternal fulfilled. Till this last day every moment provides new exercises for this.

All therotical concepts sound greater than reality is. ''Osho, Osho ueber alles'', mocks Gene Poole about Ramarshi's Bhogwosh brainwash priestful preachings.

Thoughts fly high like Eagle of insights.

'' Yes, yes'', applaudes Ramarshi, who enjoys some kind of Taliban fundamental Leadership, ''yes, yes - Osho, Osho ueber alles!'' Does nobody smells the logic behind?

Osho, the blessed Bhagan, the Buddha, has spread his sperms, esoteric equipment, in the 10.000 Buddhas. Out of these 10.000 Buddhas Ramarshi has formed his ''Heros'', Ramarshi, the first heritage holder of the 10.000 Buddhas. Ramarshi, the prophet of the Buddha Bhagwan Osho. Thunder, flash, therapy, f*ck!

''yes, yes - Osho, Osho ueber alles!'' 

What Jesus for Jeffiji, that's Bhogwosh for Ramarshi. Gene Poole tops both: Gene is the Muhammed Ali of the esoteric entertainment! You dare to doubt my TR*TH? That proofs: ''YOU'RE A DAMNED NAZI, FASCIST, DOOMED DEVI!''

''Halleluja, Amen'', the prayer of the priests, ''always in love''.

Gene Poole, therapy holder of Holy EGOmaniac mind elevation fights one wrong concept with next worse one. Connects mind with heart? Where is all the humour gone? 

When mind f*cks seriously,, can heart stand the terrific torture? Humor connects mind with heart and feelings. Without this connection, what to expect? The sickness of seriousness, the sickness of mind.

What Jesus for Jeffiji, 
that's Bhogwosh for Ramarshi.

I sit far away from the last Internet Terminal in the expensive Innsbruck Information Center, 1 Euro for 10 Minutes only. I sit at the table in Noby Dick Motorhome, sip hot herbal tea, listen to the sound of running water beside the car and some smooth mellow music from Poona Groups in Buddha Hall. Some short sentences from Bhagwan's Bhogwosh don't have the effect anymore, to trancend my mind beyond havoc, stress, anguish and fear. The 30 years old Bhogwosh voice creates anger, resistance and arguments! What: this Bullsh*t Blabla has washed out my brain for decades? 

Bullsh*t Blabla has washed 
out my brain for decades? 
After couple of monthes filled with daily hours of this brainwashing boredom thousands kneeled down, bowed down with the forehead to floor in white uniforms and murmered together something like: ''Gatchami, we go to the feet of the Awakened One.'' Have I been totally crazy, out of my senses?

20 years later the Holy Heritage Holders suck for new prisoners in Brainwash Bhogwosh Biz.

20 years later the Holy Heritage Holders suck

- Poona and western lineage from the costly ''Last Resort'', full of Holy Bhogwosh advertisings and New Age Therapy

- Satsang Sellers of Bhogwosh-, Ramana- and other lineages

- Therapy ''TR*TH'' deliverance by EGO Emanation - here represented in the Bhogwosh Fundamentalist ''Osho-S.A.C.'', Ramarshi, in Jesus-EGO Enlightenment Entertainer JeffiJi and in HIS ALL MIND MAJESTY Gene Poole, the Master F*cker.

Bhogwosh Fundamentalist ''Osho-S.A.C.'', Ramarshi

Some minor gifted minds follow the lineage leaders more or less: Swami Ali Suviro, Veet Tom, Bhogwosh addicted slime snakes of ''let me love you all - but first myself!'' Even willing women for female guidance get lost in this strange scene!

A straw in this flood of sh*t, that enrich the purificant plant of n0by.

This straw in the flood, Kabir, points to the sense of names, given by Masters: Swami Suviro, the courageous mind, immediatly jumbs on some dumb crumbs for Bhogwash! Bhogwosh blesses stupid Suviro with HIS HOLY name. Hallelujah, how fine this feels! Bhogwash licks an dirty ar*sehole, the Morphium moment of ecstasy waters the desert dry locked mechanical mind. Heart feels lifted up to the sky. One idiot more crawls on knees to imaginations - out of reach. plant of n0by.

This straw in the flood, Kabir, 

Urrgs, my stomach feels some undigestable poison of arrogance from these Bhogwosho Victims in self praising advertings!

My sannyas name? That's easy to feel from my insight ''Hot Place of Hell''. Don't feel the same right now? Or another new label ''Nobody''! 

That is a great gift from an unknown Cyber-Intelligence, calling himself ''Bodhidharma''. This man, Wolfgang, was seven years teacher of Living Kabir. Teaching by doing. Bioenergetics. Kabir has reached, he is felt as the only male here, who walks his talks!

My sannyas name?  ''Hot Place of Hell''. 

Who the f*ck is ''Nobody'? Nobody is a smart guy from a Cowboy Comedy. High art of American Western. ''Nobody'' rides on his horse like I drive on Noby Dick. Hour over hours, happy away from home. Happy at home. Happy in my realm of fantasy, where my thoughts reign as queen Victory all over the loss in my life: Heart, brain, muscles, youth, time, energy, money: Where are my balls gone?

It's good, to travel all alone on weekends. Hopefully existence fills up the bio battery, to bring Mimamai some big balls back, a full emotional package . ''Ohh, that would be fine!'', she applauds on the phone.

Who the f*ck is ''Nobody''?

On Monday my second wife, mother of my Esther daughter, celebrates her Birthday. Most of my female friends have crossed the border of 50 years. Mimamai and Vimal are younger. I'm older too. Other forces than hormons chains only move fantasies in my age, hardly to imagine for myself 20, 30 years ago.

Back to ''Nobody'', this group, the ''idea'', Kabir finds somewhere here in my lines. I have no idea about Kabir's ideas, what I have and hold to: feelings, nothing more but feelings.

I ride on Noby Dick on tiny roads through Innsbruck, captial of Tyrol. A ride up the Brenner Pass, take a road to the right, and enter Navis.

''Last Resort'' - Voestn Alpe,
N0by Summer place 1972 and 1976

All morning rain in Innsbruck, the Alpes in Navis are white from snow. After lunch the rain stops for while. It's my time to climb up from Navis. 1348 meters up to Schafseitenspitze, something like ''top of sheeps site''.

Exact in this region I have worked as shepherd in the years 1972 and 1976. 1972 with my first wife, 1976 after my first half year journey through India, Guru's advertisers of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. There in Madras, South India, I was blessed in a week course of Meditation with a Holy Mantra: ''Eiiinnnnkkkk!''

Firmly advised, never to betray this Holy sound, I felt joy and pride, to have entered the realm of East Indian Mysteries. Miseries too, because the sanitary cleaning did not fit for my luxurious body. But the Holy Mantra fits for imagination!

Climbing up the Schafseitenspitze, all Mantra fade away. The heart beat, the longue breathing machin is the last mantra left.

Resi, Hans Farmer's widow with
new born Goats

Big feet stomp through snow above 1700 meters, but thee top is on 2760 meters. It's getting harder and the hill is slippery, the snow is deeper.

Some bushes are over and over flowering with red flowers. People call ''Alp-Roses''. When I worked there as Shephard, I watched the goats. They loved to pick up these fresh rose flowers for food.

Around 200 meters before I could reach the top, I have to return. The snow is to deep to walk further. I watch in the telescop a car at the Alm-Hut, Voestn-Alpe, where I have worked as shephard more than 30 years ago.

Full of excitment and with an exhausted body I take the straightest way downwards, where in winter avalanche thunder down in the valley. One unaware moment my feet loose ground, my body slips downwards. I get hold in a brunch, to stop this dangerous drive downwards.

Finally I reach to the Alpe-Hut, great Resi, the widow of the farmers wife Hans. Hans was joking all his life, tremendously hard working man. He died 1997 at the age of 59 years only. Now Resi cares on the Alpe Hut for the cows. 

A goat gave birth to two children today. At 11.00 a.m., when rains soaked my trousers in Innsbruck, snow covered the gras on the Alpe. Resi brings the cows under the roof, into the stable, and has to bring gras for the animals. 

Much work, she reports, bringing gras, cleaning out the sh*t, two goats baby born, and in the evening we celebrate our memories of the beautiful times, that passed.

Resi reports the death of her husband, Hans, my farmer boss. What a wonderful man! What a wonderful death at home, in middle of his five daughter, his wife by his side, under the cross of Jesus Christ in their kitchen.

my feet loose ground, 
my body slips downwards.

For these people Jesus Christ touches a heart harmony of celestial eternity and bliss, to comfort a burdened heart, sweet solace for sorrows.

From this source my love is nourished, love to Jesus, Bhagwan, my farmer's boss and his wife, my love to my daughter my women, my friends in real and cyber - space. 

This love never cares about quarrels, cenorship, judgements, this love simply remains untouched from my silly moods in rage, drunkeness, this love is it! 

Pathetique sound, Beethoven's genius may touch this cherished moment: this love is it!

Now, let's continue to quarrel, all idiots from all three genders! The next 10.000 letters, ok? Keep always in mind: the deeper we quarrel, the greater our love shines!

A convincing ''idea''? 

This love never cares about quarrels,