|Here sits this very lotus paradise, my lovely, little life, and floppy fingers dance over the mini-keys of a ten year old palmtop, PSIon - not even produced anymore.
Bamberg is one of the most beautiful towns in Germany, rewarded with the fascination of world cultural heritage. Life from the middle ages till modern industry production pulsates in this town. Bishops, cathedrals and the ruling bavarian party since half a century meets in the monastery called Banz nearby for important meetings each year.
BOSCH produces injection electronically parts for DIESEL cars. Volkswagen managers proudly announce their way of FORMULA 1 engagement: the 3-litre-car. This little 'VW-'Lupo'' drives with three litre gas oil 100 Kilometres. Maybe someone calculates, how many miles per gallon this are?
Some streets in Bamberg are so small, that only bikes can move there. Many others allow one way traffic only, one way traffic with one small line. This hundred years old German town reminds me somehow on streets in oriental villages.
|Many towns in the Orient I have visited: In Iran Tehran and Meschad, crossed the border to Afghanistan, was in Kabul, in Pakistan Lahore, all the long land way down to the praised Holy Land of my
student fantasies: India. In the year 1976 the world was still a more peaceful place for such tourist travels and adventures.
These days in Bamberg U.S. troops train for Iraq war. Mimamai lives here since 30 years. She represents the heartfelt touching friendly female, who knows each and everyone, listens supportive to all stories with her loving _under_standing. She earns in these weeks double rent for her holiday apartment in Bamberg and for our Munich home too.
And I am not even of great help for her little market biz, with nearly 1.000 articles of her world, a dream world for kids - age from eight months till 80 years.
|Mimamai knows a daughter from a friend, a young mother, left alone, found a new friend, an U.S. soldier. 22 years old only. This man served somewhere in the oriental streets of a town in Iraq. Maybe the soldier will
remind in some small Bazaar streets his love walks in Bamberg?
I have visited many towns in the U.S., lived in Portland for several weeks, a simple life without car and long walks these huge alleys down to the disco in the poor part of Portland, up to the Zoo, where wolfs impressed with their longing loud howlings with foggy breath in the cold air.
In Mimamai's market hut I immediatly recognize the U.S. Army soldiers. They are these kind of kids, Eminem describes in his rap-songs. Strong, muscled trained men, blood young and beautiful women by their side, many with babies. Some stay and look at a toy, and I listen to their words like: ''Uh, wouldn't this be beautiful for Mom in her home in Florida?'' But I can't remember, that one of these tough guys ever bought something from Mima's market-hut for their kids or parents home in the States.
|But one feeling I share with honesty: these soldier-kids are no
monsters. These soldiers, their wives are highly trained, skilled, disciplined people with open lovely eyes.
My thick U.S. parker protects my body from the cold, wet winter season. My eyes can hardly believe, when I see young, black men going down Old Town Bamberg with nearly not more on their brown muscle bodies than a thin t-shirt!
Bamberg is an University town too. And these brown body bombers radiate a heat, that the young student beauties with white skin, blond hairs in their giggling Saturday night glamour and this brown beer soaked soldiers with Japanese tourists mix and create a colourful, peaceful holiday atmosphere.
|Mima's business is harder and harder each year. The prices for her items like music-clocks are increasing. So Mima needs to sell more expensive. But many people save their money. They visit the market in the middle of Bamberg as an social event. People drink hot wine, eat warm sausages, fish, hot dogs, crepes. But they don't buy so much anymore.
In my morning calls with Mimai she reports only once: ''Not now, please phone later.'' That was one lucky incident, that she sells 20 little self-made candles to a travelling group of Japanese people. For the long flight she packs each candle in old newspapers, all together in a parcel. That brings joy to my little, lovely market woman Mimamai - and for her customers from all over the world as well.
Will your thoughts accompany mine to the young U.S. soldiers in Bamberg, who seldom buy anything from Mima's market?
Our angry young man, worldwide web active Sub-Staff-Sergeant Ramrod complains continuously about these almost world destructive tendencies from the clime-killer nation number one and their President. This front man, Leader Maximus, represents for the public the think-tank behind, the NeoCons.
German Sub-Staff-Sergeant Ramrod with an enemy ahead barks like God bully's bulldog versus the evil devil. This way Ramrod gathers good people behind,
HIS good ones opposite OUR bad ones.
Same story the President proudly presents: ''Who is not with me, is against me.''
Nothing new from Lake Constance, nothing new from the White House, nothing new in closed censored clubs of e-mail- or life-gatherings.
Besides all these pest power politics my heart senses trembling little men, feeling like motherless children. Those kids cry in public pain. Other lost friends shelter each other like sheep in the snow.
The losers list grows days by day. Slime licking acolytes present their wobbling back in the White House, to invite President's penetration from behind. Acolytes of all kind beg in similar ways for Guru's grace, memorize dead men as God's Messengers or dream about healing and pay terrific Therapists for this.
You buy none of these concepts? In this case you have no time to read, 'cos you need to grab power, money, prestige direct in the tough worldly rat race amongst cruel competitors.
This day seven years ago my dear old Dad died in his blessed age of 91 years. On what crutches crippled concepts crawl along and invent ideologies? Like this:
|This 12th of December died
my dear Dad, an Prussian evil man, 'cos nearly General in WW2? The day before, 11the December was born an Indian Holy Man, Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh: He
''transforms my life into one of His 10.000-Buddhas!''
You don't believe? Thou you'll shall doomed forever!