Continuing from here – apologies for the delay and my waning memories …

In the morning, while T sleeps in, Wolfgang prepares breakfast for us and then drives me to the train station. We say farewell and I mount one train, then another … rinse and repeat, crossing the border, until I eventually walk out from Tilburg train station onto the streets. And lo! this ain’t Tilburg, for here I guide my steps through Ayreon City. The banners that herald good tidings of this 30th anniversary concert weekend stand proud and tall, their fabric waving in the breeze.

My heart pounds faster as I carry the heavy backpack (and the one that carries it) towards the campsite in the middle of the city. Yet even as I approach my destination, my heart falls strangely tranquil and tears come to my eyes. For in bright daylight a beautiful song fills the air, coming from that very campsite; and my ears recognize the voice of Marcela Bovio, and her voice fills my heart with joyful ache. “Valley of the Queens” is followed by “Here To Stay”. And so it comes to pass that upon entering the campsite I can listen fully to that final song, and I still remember many moons later how hauntingly beautiful Marcela’s voice sounds.

The magic fades – time to get pragmatic. How do I put up that new tent again? If only I had a hammer! Good news: my tent-neighbour Jille has a hammer. He keeps the goddamn tool to himself kindly lends me the tool and watches me in non-judgmental amusement. 30 minutes later, voilà – the tent is up! I return the hammer and head into the city for the screening of the “01011001 – Live beneath the waves” concert at the Pathé cinema. I give my spare ticket to a fellow Ayreonaut, and we arrive in the cinema hall in the midst of a fun quiz hosted by none other than the maestro himself, Sir Arjen Anthony Lucassen and his chief co-conspirator Joost van den Broek. And then – lights out.

Live Beneath The Waves

For the next 134 minutes I have tears streaming over my cheeks, and a hard time sitting still in my chair like everyone else around me (seriously, guys, did none of you want to jump up from your seats and headbang the shit outta yourselves? And why didn’t I just start?) because the concert recording feels just outright epic. 01011001 is my favorite Ayreon album. I’ve had tickets for one of the rare live shows in 2023 and yet couldn’t go … one of the bigger regrets of my life. This is my first time seeing the full live recording, a glorious perfomance of the whole album with a fabulous array of guest singers ranging from Hansi Kürsch to Anneke van Giersbergen, Damian Wilsom, Simone Simons, Michael Mills, Daniel Gildenlöw, John Jaycee Cuijpers, Maggy Luyten, Arjen himself, and many more. I don’t know if that makes sense to any of you, but to me this album offers a particularly haunting glimpse into the heart of the universe “out there” as much as “in here”, and a prophetic vision of our – and humanity’s – very own fate. I feel so expanded and small, connected and isolated all at once.

Oh, my dearest Anneke singing these beautiful zeroes and ones in the middle part of “Age of Shadows“! Oh, that violin and flute interlude of “Comatose“, and Damian Wilson’s final burst of emotions! Oh, how Maggy Luyten rocks the chorus of “Liquid Eternity“, and Jeroen Goossens plays that chilling flute solo, and Ben Mathot the heartbreaking violin, before it’s Maggy Luyten and Brittney Slayes slaying it again. My beloved “Beneath the Waves“, like an opera in itself, even better than on the album. Riding on the migrator trail with “Ride the Comet“, featuring extra guitar solo duels between Marcel Coenen and Timo Somers. Oh, what joy to hear and see Simone Simons of Epica with Arjen in “Web of Lies“, and later Arjen with Liselotte Hegt in “The Truth Is In Here“, bringing the vast dimensions of the cosmic storyline down to Earth!

I would like to prescribe a good dose of “The Fifth Extinction“, eventually followed by “The Sixth Extinction“, to every leader on oiur planet. I know it won’t change much, but let us indulge in such unreasonable hope for a while, shall we?

Happily exhausted, I return to the campsite and acquire one of (unfortunately) many spare tickets on TicketSwap for an additional evening show of the main act on the following day. Later that night I enjoy the (final?) live performance of the best Ayreon cover band, Ayreon Project. Again back at the campsite around the fire bowl I make new friends with Lady V, her mom Iwona and her sister Yunin. How amazing to travel to epic concerts with one’s metal mom! Eventually we retreat to our tents where that inescapable blessing called sleep is upon us. One last round of nighttime dreams before the Ayreon concerts …

Pre(r)amble (a.k.a. You Can Totally Skip This Part (But I Somehow Hope You Don’t)^TM)

1. Acknowledgement
After an initial rush of enthusiasm and inspiration (“Now I’ll finally write again, yay!”) I often experience a long phase of recoil and doubt. Thus my passion is delayed for an arduous and painful while. It’s kinda comfortable and it kinda hurts – maybe you know the feeling?

(And sometimes all it takes to pick up a draft is a relaxing bathtub time and the strange blessing of beautiful challenges & challenging beauty ahead … More on that maybe later. We got this!)

2. Reclamation
I never easily give up on my passion. Thus may the time always come – and ever more swiftly! – when ink and quill return to my eager hands, and my longing heart rejoices as (letter upon patient letter, keystroke upon loving keystroke) words ecstatically pour forth from the realms of imagination, form slient whispers upon longing lips, and eventually – finally! – flow lavishly, like skaldic mead of poetry, from these dancing fingertips.

Maybe I’m just an incurable romantic … and maybe I like it. Ha!

Also: fuck it. Let’s enjoy this. :-) Come take a seat around the fire. Here’s a story I want to share with you.

Fuck it! (a.k.a. The Actual Story I Want To Share With You^TM)

Thursday, 11^th September 2025 is a good day for a long train ride. After way too little sleep I somehow manage to pack (don’t ask, it is always a miracle), leave home around 5:30am, and finally settle into my seat on the first train from Graz to Linz. First step: done!

Then I proceed like 35 years ago (holy shit, how the time flies!) – I look out of the window and watch the beautiful lanscape of Styria, the green hills and little villages, the Alpine mountain rocks, all being pulled across my field of view by unseen forces. (Yes, yes, I know, it’s all relative.) But one thing is different: today I listen to music along the way, which resembles about 30 years ago. Back then I was a teenager, playing mixtapes from my friend R on my Sony walkman – to him I owe gratitude for introducing me to a variety of metal bands and genres: Amorphis, Blind Guardian, Jag Panzer, Manowar, Rhapsody, Therion and many others. He also tried to get me into Motörhead and the (newer) Onkelz, but I kinda refused, ha.

The other main music influences came from my uncle (The Kinks, Jesus Messerschmitt), my cousin M (Skid Row), and especially my brother who, during our teen years, introduced me to bands like The Sisters of Mercy, The Mission, The Cult, Paradise Lost, Helloween, Ozzy Osbourne and Black Sabbath. Since this journey that I’m writing about here takes place not too long after Ozzy’s passing, and as I have recently paid homage the Ozzman by playing his entire discography up and down (and man, did he make some amazing songs!), this time I choose to listen to some Black Sabbath albums. I thought I had never payed much attention to Tony Iommi and his ever-fluctuating peers, and today most of their songs seem new to me (except for well-known classics like “War Pigs” and “Paranoid”). Until …

… I listen to the “Cross Purposes” album and immediately remember that I know every. single. song in and out. Do you ever get that feeling when you revisit a memory from the distant past that you had all but forgotten, whether music or something else … and suddenly, in the blink of an eye, it all comes back in one fell swoop?

As a teenager I have spent many an evening just listening to albums with headphones and dreaming along. I must have listened to “Cross Purposes” (critically unacclaimed, but who cares) a good few times. And now “Cross of Thorns” gives me chills. I remember the slow-paced doomy riffs and psychedelic songlines of “Virtual Death”. I get all romantic over “Dying for Love”. I rock to the groovy depths of “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle”. Oh man! What is it about music that gets to me like that? What about it evokes such emotions, memories, and all those unnameable, unspeakable, magical, mystical feelings?

When you take a life and steal its shadow
All that’s left is humanity

On that note … Fuck war. Or maybe: fuck nonconsensually(!) enforcing war upon people who want to live in peace. Fuck sending others into the hell of war – you’re not even standing in the effin’ frontline yourselves, you cowards (yet you call yourselves ‘leaders’, what a joke!). I mean seriously? After all these centuries and millennia of senseless bloodshed, we can do better than that, can’t we?

But what if we still can’t? :-(

And still: “Can we don’t though?” (Thanks for this, Kyle!)

And still I know that (with all the shadow work and integration and whatnot) peace is the way.

Such kinds of thoughts can tear my heart asunder and comfort it at the same time. How can I explain? I’m afraid there is no explanation. Maybe you know the feeling. Why do I want to find people who know the feeling? Sigh. Even if I have found them, I still want to find them. Anyway, we’re gonna get back to this rabbit hole. Sorry not sorry for the digression!

A star shines upon the hour of this journey (how do you say that in Quenya: elen síla lúmenn’ journeyelvo? ;-)) because both ICEs are almost on time: one from Linz to Nürnberg (Nuremberg), one from Nürnberg to Köln (Cologne) where a local train (the only delayed one – someone’s gotta hold up the reputation of Deutsche Bahn!) brings me close to my namesake’s home.

Wolfgang picks me up with his car. Until that moment we have only ever seen each other on screen, and I realize I have pictured him to be a bit taller. I apologize for my slightly metalesque outfit (with the good old black Lee Denver bootcut jeans, well-worn after 22 years) and he assures me there is no reason for such. :-)

Wolfgang and I first met in 2021 in the late Terry Patten’s online community “A New Republic of the Heart”, where we were auspiciously assigned to become buddies for 2-3 months. After that period we decided to remain buddies, became friends, and kept on meeting online almost every week since.

Today, more than four years later, we meet “live”, and I get to stay for a night in the beautiful home that he and his betrothed (meanwhile his beloved spouse) have created. Their hospitality is amazing and reminds me of the beauty of hosting friends. I’m also impressed by the artful play of colours that is only topped by the absolutely stunning lighting throughout the apartment. We talk for a while, then go out for yummy dinner at a nearby Asian place. I love hearing the story of how Wolfgang and his beloved T met. We keep talking back home and conclude the day with a brief meditation together. Not much later I sleep like a baby – my best sleep during this journey.

In the morning, while T sleeps in, Wolfgang prepares breakfast for us and then drives me to the train station. But wait – that’s another story!

(… to be continued here …)

• (P.S.: I might still add more details, including photos, maybe some things from chats and journal entries. Stay tuned. And thank you for reading!)

(continuing from this earlier post)

Scrambling my things together (large backpack, tent, two small bags from General Semantics conferences – let’s better not go down that rabbit hole just yet, but … soon!), I asked the train staff about my breakfast. It had been promised for 6:00am, which had given rise to me rising early. Now the clock showed 7:35, and the arrival in Linz for my change of trains was scheduled for 7:43. The train staff apologized (bless his heart!) and said he’d bring me a to-go package.

I chatted briefly with the woman in the cabin above me. Her long dark hair framed her beautiful facial features in a slightly mystical appearance, and I wondered how our lives would change if I were to stay on the train until Vienna and converse more with her. What if I were to share my feelings about Ayreon and experiences of the journey with her? And what would she tell me about the her life, her happiness and grief, her contentment and longing, the challenges confronted and treasures found along her own journey?

We’ll never know.

I received my breakfast package and left the train just in time. Hot coffee spilled through the lid and over my hand. I didn’t mind. I stretched my back. Sleeping in the tent had felt surprisingly better despite the rain and chilling winds. While the mini cabin on the train had given me an equally uneasy sleep, there is another key difference. In the modernized context of polished surfaces and touch panels, where the climatised air blows into your face as though it were mid-summer, you simply won’t be replenished by the smell of wet grass and soil. You cannot crawl out of your tent on all fours, stretch and yawn into the rising morning sun, let your eyes glance across the landscape, smile understandingly at fellow tents and tent-dwellers, feel the strange joy of knowing “we’re in this together!”, and make any funny noises of your choosing that half curse, half praise the crazy adventure.

(You also cannot celebrate the art of making and tasting coffee with your new-found Mexican friends … But more on that later.)

Nonetheless, let me give the ÖBB (Austrian railway company) a huge shout-out for maintaining, expanding and modernizing large parts of the night-train network in Europe. I love night-trains. Even if I “regret” having chosen them the next morning, I am deeply grateful for the service. I love all trains! And my heart aches for all the train networks being run down upon privatization. Please everyone, keep the train networks in good shape, make people and the planet happy. Train travel means slow travel. To me it means expanding horizons. Looking out the window, seeing the landscape pass by, reflecting on life. There is no train ride without at least one small epiphany or beautiful thought that drops a tear from each eye. Typically there are several such moments, and sometimes the human-to-human encounters are priceless too. I might as well be talking with the lovely young lady across the table instead of typing this!

On that note, slipping back to the present – we’re currently delaying for a few minutes in Hinterstoder. Yes, I am in Austria again, for Hinterstoder is a name that you wouldn’t easily find anywhere abroad!

And we’re moving again. The journey from Linz to Graz takes me across the beautiful mountains, winding an iron-clad path betwixt forests and rocks, mist and clouds, streamlets gradually mingling waters and swelling in size to become majestic rivers which are destined to traverse distant realms and to eventually pour themselves wholeheartedly into the vast and unfathomable sea.

Right now I am listening for the first time ever to the classic Queensrÿche album “Operation: Mindcrime”. What on Earth took me so long? Thanks to Lady V and also to Jonatan, Andre and Lilia for suggesting it to me. The music is amazing! The singer reminds me a bit of the early works of Crimson Glory, some of which I had listened to on my train rides at the beginning of this journey. When it has some “substance” to it, Music can have a tremendous impact on me. Which reminds me of the purpose and “official” thematic focus of this blog series … Ayreon. I say “official” because you never know where the journey wants to take you. In the end it isn’t really about Ayreon. Ayreon, like Ithaca, is giving us the lovely journey.

This blog series will be an experiment – hopefully not “The Final Experiment”, but the first of many. I intend to write more in a raw and unpremeditated style, without editing much. I might do some minor polishing for typos and mistakes, add links and context and a few pictures. If you like it, feel free to comment! Given that I practically never promote this blog, perhaps not many humans will ever read our entries, but trust me: I surely will. :-)

We’re leaving Selzthal now. Queensrÿche sings “I Don’t Believe In Love” (“… I never have, I never will …“). I totally love that catchy track and – nope, I totally do believe in love. :-) This album is really great. I’ll listen again and follow the lyrics and story more intently. And in the coming days we’ll get started with Day 1 (Thursday, 11th September 2025) and follow day-by-day up to the present. I can’t wait to write this. It will be risky because I will lay bare some very dearly and deeply treasured emotions before you. Yet the price of not sharing is greater, and the life-spark deep within clearly says that I cannot afford that. Wherever it truly comes from, and whatever its true nature, I’ll trust and follow. For, pray tell me: what else is there to do?

Na eben. :-)

It feels hard to convey to you what the music, the storylines, and the live shows of Ayreon truly mean to me. So I shall attempt to do just that: express that which seemingly cannot be fully expressed. I am going to weave diary-style memories, existential reflections, deeply heartfelt emotions, some contemplative insights … you know, the usual suspects. :-)

For context: I am currently on a night train, in the morning, with red eyes from the inconvenient sleeping arrangement of a small almost-Japanese-style sleeper capsule, conveniently listening to the 34-minute track “First Light” by the progressive rock band Shadow Gallery (to be fair and accurate, the song contains 5 minutes of utter silence starting around the 23′ mark, which yet makes it no less epic and beautiful). The accumulated lack of sleep – and the fact that the train personnel must have forgotten about bringing me breakfast with at least some semblance of coffee – doesn’t make for a particularly good arrangement to scratch my memories together into coherent articulations. But then, what better time could there be?

Let’s let this one be raw and unpolished, and discover the always-already-inherent beauty in it.

My thoughts trail off to a group of three Mexicans whom I have first met just two days ago – hard to believe it hasn’t been longer! – on the Ayreon campsite in Tilburg, who turned out to be my campsite tent neighbours. And to the other campsite tent neighbour from the Netherlands, who had gifted me with more than just lending me his hammer to drive my tent hooks into the soil. And to my other campsite almost-neighbours, a Polish-German family of a mother and two daughters who had enjoyed this musical trip to Tilburg a.k.a. “Ayreon City” together. And back to the coffee and breakfast that never comes, and my approaching stop in Linz. Oh my goodness, I need to pack up!

(… to be continued here …)

Thursday, 7^th October 2021

My roommate Mikkel lets me in on the ‘sacred secret’ purpose of his journey to Berlin: he just had one of his thighs adorned by a resident tattoo artist. The result looks impressive. A very specific purpose, I think. How specific is my purpose? I am here for the Emerge Gathering, for reconnection with J and W, and for a trip to Hamburg to co-create Mindful Researchers things with Annika. And there is more. There is something I want to lean into, something I want to give myself to, and it is more specific now than it was in June. It has to do with energies and transitions, with developing a certain sensitivity to different worlds and a growing awareness of their inherent inseparability. I know that my journey here supports this revelation. I know it is purposeful. Yet can I be more specific than that?

I check out from the hostel and stow my luggage in an empty storage room. On a long morning walk across the river Spree I am taking in first fresh glimpses of this vibrant metropolis called Berlin. The Coffee Lab café offers three tiny tables inside and some larger tables and benches outside. I am taking a seat inside near the glass front, inhale the scent of freshly ground and brewed coffee, and start journaling while observing the comings and goings around me.

Sometimes I fantasize that I might be a 'bringer of revenue': I sat down with a salmon bagel and a double cappuccino, and a legion of customers has since trickled in: two young blonde Berliners engaging in lively conversation to my left; a short-haired brunette in a rose-brown-ish coat that reminds me of the Dude's morning robe, now sitting outside and sipping coffee while reading a tome about women's rights; a tall blonde-haired dude with an epic beard; a dark-skinned lady in a red jacket with several bright-skinned folks, now standing outside with their liquid takeaway loot; a guy with a grey cap checking things on his phone. (...) 

A wasp comes greeting me at the table in this tiny coffee shop. (...) what I truly care about is connection, not the particular form of connection. I want to hold this affection lightly, without need to give it any label or story. Love flows on its own terms, spontaneously, "a braided and networked process that is fundamentally unpredictable, embedded in situatedness / interrelationality / mutuality / non-explicit reciprocity / adaptivity ..." to paraphrase qualities that Roshi Joan Halifax elucidated vis-à-vis compassion; it is fundamentally enactive. I anticipate that the 'enactive view' is the most profound cognitive update in my life since my spiritual heart-awakening. The unfolding and enfolding of meaning holds the frame, like a 'non-view', to give context to all views. Knowing everything to be enactive, how can one hold views as if they were absolutes?

– Journal entry on Thursday, 7th October 2021

I pause and think back to an image from Dune showing several moons. How would life on Earth be affected if two moons were circling around it, even at different revolution frequencies, causing quite distinct tidal patterns? Yet surely such more complex cycles would also have stabilizing effects. Cycles lead to iteration, to renewal, to establishing patterns of life, to the flourishing of life. While the cappuccino is beginning to affect me, I make a highly unsuccessful attempt to weave a thousand thought-threads into one tapestry.

Life finds ways to accommodate to circumstances. On a planet with a different gravitational field, different composition of elements, different sets of moons and suns, it finds its own ways. Cyclical processes support its flourishing: tides, day-night cycles, seasons, eccentricities of orbit around the central star. Too much variation too quickly can be detrimental. But on our planet, the 24h-cycle seems rapid too. It helps to have several cyclic processes at once, another 'braided and networked process', on different scales of time and space and amplitude. One of our biggest mistakes as humans has been our ignorance and denial of these cycles. Any system that has fundamentally grown based on regenerativity needs supporting conditions to maintain such regenerativity. A logged forest cannot easily regenerate. Extracting too much, converting it all into different forms – coal and oil and gas into energy, wood into ships and houses and paper – is by design a one-way street. The ideology of capitalism demands such short-term gains though; it has no value-system that accommodates for the long term, nor for the genuine care for the flourishing and diversity of life. 

I've read an article by George Monbiot this morning, and I agree with his assessment: you cannot tame and temper capitalism – it seeks profit. It is its own 'paperclip maximizer'. Regulations only incentivize the exploitation of loopholes, and they invoke an army of libertarians. No, it is the value system itself! Streets and cars can never solve the 'problem of transportation'; a 'green economy', a 'green deal', a 'sustainable form of capitalism' can never solve the problem of perverse incentives. It is a band-aid, perhaps necessary to stop the blood loss, yet it can only be a precursor to a deeper healing transformation. And we must take care to not have it shield off our view, lest it conceals the heart of the matter. 

– Journal entry on Thursday, 7th October 2021

I chat with the barista and learn that this gentle young man intends to leave this family-owned café and enroll in a military or police academy. Then, heading back to the hostel to retrieve my luggage, walking along the river and crossing underneath a bridge, I catch a first glimpse of the living conditions of the homeless in this city. This is someone’s home. No shelter from cold winds, nor from unwanted attention. A seed of realization is planted in my mind that will take its own time to trickle in and merge with further experience.

The luggage weighs heavily on my shoulders. I pause at a bench facing the river. Gazing at the cars, trucks and humans passing by at a distance, a dawning insight has me pick up the journal again. I’m seeing something, an intuition that both traverses and transcends time, yet the verbal expression on paper is one of intellectual grasping, spiraling in on an elusive moment of redemption.

Sitting and resting in half-shade across the Mühlendamm-Schleuse, pondering the undeniable aesthetics of Teilhardian visions for the evolution of mankind. I've seen the 'flaw' in it with a felt-sense of certainty, not too long ago. Was that conditioned by the cognitive frame I've held, or inhabited, at the time? How could I claim for it to reflect absolute truth? And now I'm seeing the aesthetic value, akin to that of a symphony, of exquisite art, of profound scientific discovery, of spaceflight, of genetic engineering. Engineering. Engine. Mechanics. It exploits the mechanistic lawfulness of our universe, our cosmos. It exploits. Lawfulness. Law. Regularity. Plausible undeniability. Who can deny this? Who can stand in its way? Yet begging the question of emergent strategy: what is life? What gives meaning? Are we meant to send life to other planets? Are we meant to let them unfold on their own terms? Our quest for survival and flourishing does not 'prove' justification of our attempts to colonize. "Because we can" is not enough. Did we consider Wolf? Did we consider Life? Did we consider Spirit? Do we consider Source?

– Journal entry on Thursday, 7th October 2021

Ever so slightly missing the mark, I let go of pen and paper. The walk leads past Checkpoint Charlie and Berlin Anhalter Bahnhof where I am briefly sensing the intergenerational and cross-cultural import of their associated histories, the ever-morphing impact that keeps on flowing through our shared presence. I cross Gleisdreieckpark and watch humans of all ages play, skate, walk, realizing that parks too shape our histories. With the physical discomfort of heavy weight on my shoulders, beginning dehydration, and a certain cautionary closed-mindedness, I am still feeling somewhat alienated in this city. A couple more hours and this too will pass. And are there not little signs of love everywhere? How long will it take me to notice?

---

Irina welcomes me into her cozy Airbnb apartment which is located in the heart of a red-light district, as I will only realize later, being of slow wits in select regards. Irina is curious about the Emerge Gathering and I make a feeble attempt to explain what it is about – changemakers and visionaries of all kinds coming together to tackle our sensemaking / meaning crisis with a kind of metamodern-spiritual philosophy and practice? We share our professional interests and personal journeys, she tells me about Azerbaijan, I mention CERN and the Mindful Researchers. Our conversation quickly deepens and zones in on themes of spirituality. Given our immediate resonance and Irina’s strong curiosity, I find joy in sharing my spiritual journey with her; yet a stirring in my belly literally prevents me from speaking about some of the more recent experiences. Does the serpent protect herself? Even so, we are at zero risk for running short of topics. Only my rising hunger commands us to pause.

I walk towards Nollendorfplatz, admire the graffiti artworks, and pull out my phone to search for hints on nearby restaurants. The almighty algorithms propose Bethe Ethiopia as the #1 choice, literally just around the corner. Ethiopia, of all possibilities! I follow the universal nudge and am generously rewarded with the most delicious food: Yetsom Beyaynetu and thyme tea, followed by Brilli Teji (homemade honey-wine) and a yummy dessert made of sesame, almonds and dates. The amiable chef of this lovely family restaurant, a bellied man with a hearty smile and sparkling eyes, teaches me some Amharic and enthusiastically proposes that I’m a natural when it comes to holding the Brilli Teji flask with my fingers and thumb. Of course, the body remembers! I smile as a crow instantly confirms my strange thought: sometimes you do a thing for the first time and yet remember that you’ve always known it.

Back at the apartment, still slightly affected by the Brilli Teji, I partake in a co-creative Zoom-meeting-dance practice with Annika, Mary, and Marieke, in which we sense into co-creating a Mindful Researchers event. Then I don my favorite black Anneke van Giersbergen T-shirt, and Irina and I have a short farewell conversation as I am getting ready to meet J while she too is preparing to leave. Before we part ways, I show her Mark Matousek’s book “Writing to Awaken” that I’ve lately been working with.

---

J meets me at the Metropol and we hang out for a couple of hours at the nearby Hafen bar. With J being a director and writer, it is only natural that we land on the theme of storytelling. I tell him about my newly re-awakened joy of writing and my intention to blog about this journey. J shares some trade secrets about dramaturgy, proposing that in a good story the characters come first and the plot evolves from their inner and outer conflicts. What is the ‘research question’ that drives the story and the protagonist? What is an appropriate type of character to walk in the protagonist’s shoes? What is their perceived ‘want’? What is their actual deeper ‘need’? What’s up with the tension or polarity between these two, the ‘want’ and the ‘need’? I feel intrigued and challenged. Have I not sufficiently thought this through? Should I?

We carry on talking about life, love, relationships, heartbreak, healing, music, our coming-of-age years, psychedelic experiences, and recent elections in Graz. During his bio break I ‘secretly’ give in to my new drug of choice: Anneke van Giersbergen’s mesmerizing “Jest Oldu” cover version of Karsu’s cover version of Mustafa Sandal’s ballad. (The grande finale always reminds me of Anneke’s incredible vocal performance with Damian Wilson in Maiden UniteD‘s acoustic cover version of “To Tame A Land” at the Wacken Open Air 2011 – just imagine this song mixed with this vocal energy – and I should mention that said Maiden uniteD concert in Wacken ended with this epic cover of “The Evil That Men Do”, melting the iron hearts of even the most moshpit-hardened and wall-of-death-approved metalheads; and I don’t know what gives me greater chills: their duet or the lyrics?)

In the end I ask J whether ‘coming out’ is a multi-layered process, and he confirms this, saying that in his experience there are three possible stages or areas for coming out: an ‘inner’ (personal) realization, an ‘outer’ (public) declaration, and an ‘inter’ (relational) enaction. I sense that this has something to do with my journey and writing here, too.

On the way back to the apartment, I experience my life’s greatest density ever of being invited to sexy times via fifty shades of “Hast Du Lust?” – I automatically rush past all offers as if speed mattered, soon wondering whether there is also a way for me to relate more fully to these wonderful beings, hearts and souls in passing. After all, one can affirm “no” and still embrace this one human family in this one web of life. Can I learn this? What else is there to learn?

Saturday, 26^th June 2021

Part 1: Cycles

When you tell the truth, your story changes.
When your story changes, your life is transformed.

Mark Matousek

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As this travel blog is coming to a close, I feel compelled to sum up what has been unfolding in this 14-day journey, transcribed into these postings over the course of almost three months. A lot has happened along this extended journey. I am clearly no longer the same person I was when it started, and yet I still am that one. What has shifted? What has evolved? What has remained?

For sure, I’ve been writing much more personal and ‘authentic’ here than ever before in a quasi-public space. My commitment to telling the truth has become increasingly sincere. Yet how much of this can be rightfully labeled a high-fidelity account, and how much is still a constructed narrative, an unintentional performance?

But the story isn’t over yet. I still need to return to my Ithaca, the place I call ‘home’.

---

I wake up once more in neighbouring lands, in the comfortable guest room of the Schröck family home in Bavaria. As the morning unfolds, I make the acquaintance of three Schröck generations: Grandma Schröck invites me to have breakfast with her and Grandpa Schröck, and soon their daughter and granddaughter join us. Who would have guessed that their granddaughter is in training to become a police officer? On that note, I remember the encounter with the highway patrol on Day 2 of this journey. Cycles are closing.

Strengthened by this delightful breakfast intermezzo, I pack up and drive off into the mystical morning mist. Grandma Schröck waves goodbye. What a lovely experience and good omen for the final part of this journey!

After a couple of hours, I am crossing the border to Austria. The journey almost closes yet another cycle (related to my late uncle) as I am spotting an exit sign to Lambach in the area of Upper Austria. I write to Aunt Michi to see if she is there and open for a visit. In retrospect, calling might indeed have made it happen; by the time of her written response, I am already too far along the way to Graz.

I take a longer driving pause to zoom into the opening session of an online Metta-Vipassana meditation retreat with Ven. Vīrañāṇi. I wish I could say that the ensuing part of the trip turns into a meditative drive through the alps, but the truth is that I’m trying to get back home as soon as possible while avoiding the highway with its long tunnels and significant fees. The view along this trip through the valleys, with lush green vegetation covering both slopes of the mountains, is outright stunning. Austria, you gorgeous home country! How could I not love thee?

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Part 2: Courage

At first, it may be difficult to admit that your story is constructed from false information. Every life is a patchwork of secrets, half-truths, cover-ups, shams, and disguises. The most authentic among us have hidden compartments, shadowy corners, and contradictions we keep under wraps for fear of destroying our public image. As you disclose these secrets to yourself, you come to peel back layers of falsehood and reveal yourself as you truly are: a complex individual with myriad dimensions and conflicting needs. As you do this, you can integrate these clandestine parts into a more harmonious whole.

Mark Matousek, “Writing to Awaken: A Journey of Truth, Transformation & Self-Discovery”, page 13

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What's going on? My energy is low, and I am not sleeping well. This is partly by choice; yesterday night I created a full draft for the final part of my travel diary. I feel weird about it. Perhaps I am just naturally afraid of the possible consequences of self-exposure. of being seen in such intimate detail; in particular – ha! – of being seen as 'flawed', 'weird', or ... what? Interesting. Let me try to formulate this fear. Is it a fear that people won't talk with me any longer when they know that I am open to many belief systems and spiritual traditions, from hardcore scientism via Buddhism, Christianity, the occult? That I am talking with trees, or trying to? That I am an earnest seeker? That I am human? That I am a sexual being? 

Conformity is the name of this fear-defense. Two paths: (1) conform and seek a classic career path with 'security'; (2) rebel and seek your own path with 'risk'. Yes, I could lose my marbles. Will the world still hold me? If I went to the farthest end of imagination, experience, and meaning-making, will the world still hold me? If I went "off the deep end", will the world still hold me? Or rather – surprise plot twist! – will I still hold the world, will 'world' and 'I' still hold each other? 

This fear suddenly feels completely natural as much as unsubstantiated. Yes, I am standing at the edge. I'm pulling a book with that title from my bookshelf: "Standing at the Edge: Finding Freedom Where Fear and Courage Meet" by Roshi Joan Halifax. A beautiful hardcover book with an evocative cover. Roshi Joan has touched me deeply on several occasions of direct encounter. This book does not come to me now by mere coincidence: it is right for a young edgewalker harboring an old soul, standing at the edge, bound to find freedom where fear and courage meet. <3

– Journal entry on Wednesday, 8th September 2021

This whole journey has not been a simple and straightforward one. It has led me upon blissful heights and through dark chasms alike. Amidst all complexity and ambivalence, there is much to be grateful for. I recall precious times with family, friends, and children. The excitement of my first podcast interview. Long car rides with back pains and my first oil refill. A most gorgeous temporary home in Groß Nordende. Precious times with Annika and the Mindful Researchers. Expeditions through wood and water. Intimate encounters with trees and crows. Wild dreams and Kundalini energies. A first visit to the lands of Vikings and their heritage. Swimming in the Baltic Sea and the North Sea. Meeting old friends and making new ones. Deeply spiritual conversations. Sleeping in a treehouse. Pushing through layers of pain and love to discover a greater freedom beyond. The courage to walk in uncertainty along the edges between worlds. Planting myriad seeds, of which I could not possibly fathom the fruits they would bear soon enough.

Also, with all the distance traveled, my carbon footprint has been significant. :-(

---

Part 3: Homecoming

My old home greets me with a sense of comfort amd familiarity. Yes, this is a place that I have made ‘mine’, and it feels good to return to my Ithaca. And yet I know that my days here are numbered. I have made a resolve that in one year I will no longer live in this place. Not because I don’t like it here – I most certainly do! –, but to heed the call that has stirred my heart once more. Will it lead me to Denmark? Norway, Sweden, Iceland? Ireland? Portugal? What luxury to be able to consider such travels and to freely pursue such relocations! I wish we all shared that same privilege, but with current worldly affairs, some humans are treated more equal than others.

I finish unpacking, then return the car to my brother. My 2-year-old niece Ylvi rejoices at the totally age-appropriate gift of a female Viking doll holding a little axe and shield. (Get ’em early, get ’em young!) Her parents receive one of the Danish mustards and beers; in the end, I only keep one beer called “Lagertha’s Bryg”, which is ceremoniously consumed three weeks later with Frédéric near the campfire of a Council gathering at the wonderful Scharmützelhof.

The water element is calling me. Walking to the beloved river Mur that flows through my hometown Graz, I listen into a “Cortona Pearl” presentation by Fritjof Capra, and then Zoom into a writing session led by Mark Matousek, encompassing juicy themes such as: saying “no”, people-pleasing, guilt, pretense, entitlement, privilege …

On the way back, I serendipitously meet my massage therapist Antonio whose deeply healing Shiatsu treatments never fail to lead me into altered states of consciousness. Antonio invites me to join him for an early evening jogging round, and I spontaneously accept, which totally crowns the day and paves the way for a well-deserved tight sleep (and sore muscles the next day).

And this brings me indeed to the end of this chapter.

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Part 4: Closing

When thy song is shield and mirror
To the fair snake-curlèd Pain,
Where thou dar’st affront her terror
That on her thou may’st attain
Perséan conquest; seek no more,
O seek no more!
Pass the gates of Luthany, tread the region Elenore.

From ‘The Mistress of Vision’ By Francis Thompson

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Has this journey been in any way ‘exceptionally special’? I think not. Most of the things that I have experienced might as well happen to you, and some of your unique experiences I could never begin to fathom. I simply choose to imbue them with meaning, opening myself to whatever layers and levels of experience might become available. This has become a kind of spiritual practice in itself, through which I hope to (re-)discover the spiritual practice that will sustain me further along the path.

All that, and the unexpected fruit of discovery that I am also an edgewalker. The appearance of “coindicentiae oppositorum” in my life does not happen by accident. I am beginning to gradually understand and embrace this as the journey is being integrated.

There has never been an urgency to write about all this, except for a mysterious ‘calling’ to do so, for the sake of discovery and integration, for the love of writing itself, and to finish what I have started. I believe that the practice of writing has changed me and has accompanied an ongoing transition. I am now writing regularly, old-school pen-and-paper style, currently working with Mark Matousek’s book “Writing to Awaken” and the many challenging prompts therein. Perhaps soon there will be more writing here about other themes that I care deeply about – science, spirituality, nature, humanity, love, death, life, … We shall see. I also remain open to the harvest of unexpected fruit from all this; and maybe you hold the key, indeed?

Whoever, wherever, whenever you are: YOU MATTER. You are beautiful. You are loved.

This last picture is taken upon my return to Graz right before unloading the car. The T-shirt (one of my favourites!) has been acquired at a store in The Castro district in San Francisco during the memorable journey of October 2012 – another cycle closing.

Lastly, I’ll share with you a very personal note that I might indeed have written to myself, but it came as a gift from someone who knows me very well, while I was in Denmark:

"Now with the shift in your relationship to (...) you are finally free to love and be loved as you truly desire, in relationship to a woman who's available, open, (...) a person who simplifies your life rather than complicates it, who doesn't send mixed messages or keeps the "tragic romantic" inside you starving and on tenterhooks, addicted to longing, waiting, hurting, and hope. Enough of that! You're a smart, kind, attractive guy with a LOT to offer the right woman. Now that you're (getting) free at last, I trust she will appear fairly soon, and you will finally have the relationship between equals you've been waiting for."

Speaking my heart,
Freedom at last:
May it be so.
Namárië!

(… to be continued …)

Friday, 25^th June 2021

Part 1: Farewell

One last night’s sleep in what I still consider the best bed ever. One last breakfast on the balcony. Packing ALL THE THINGS into the car trunk. Cleaning the house. A couple of messages with my host. O captain, my captain, yours was a most delightful place to stay!

And so it is time to leave Groß-Nordende. I set my first destination coordinates to Annika’s new home, a shared flat in the heart of Hamburg. This course inevitably leads me one more time past the area of Y’s whereabouts.

I feel a great ambivalence in my heart: one voice is making a passionate plea for our freedom, reminding me of the readiness to break old patterns and to leave old dreams behind. The other voice of the “tragic romantic” within reminds me of heartbreak and longing. A strong emotional tension assails me: is the rare time window for our face-to-face communication closing now? Should I not insist on a short meeting, to clarify things between us once and for all?

Or is this just an illusion? A trick of my imagination?

I decide to let go of it. This also means: I decide to feel everything that comes with this choice. I let roars of liberation and stings of heartache flow through me. Phenomena arising and passing away.

I bring some food items to Annika that would not survive my journey, and shells from the Baltic and North Sea. Annika shows me her new place. Being preoccupied with my inner motions, I am not very attentive, and so it takes me a while to become aware of Annika’s own emotional turmoil at this time. We have a short chat, clearing the air. Being human together isn’t always easier, but ultimately much better – even if we walk on separate journeys.

Setting my destination coordinates to an Airbnb in Bavaria, I see a good 7 hours of driving to come. The first half of the trip is mostly unspectacular. Feeling hungry, I seek out a highly (over-)rated Thai restaurant in Osterode am Harz. The first obstacle is online registration. Oh yes, Covid is still a thing here – I had almost forgotten! Succeeding with the procedure, I am led to a free table.

I cannot shake off the feeling that the interior design composed of dark wood, plastic Buddhas and other Kitsch has nothing to do with Thailand. “But you haven’t been to Thailand yet”, I tell myself as I devour a Pad Thai which tastes absolutely unspectacular and should perhaps be more accurately labeled “sodium glutamate with noodles and veggies resembling what we think you ignorant fools will think of as Pad Thai”. Bon appetit! My only journal entry of today reads, “I hope this Pad Thai will come out where it is supposed to.” (Spoiler: thankfully, it does.)

At least no longer hungry, I continue on the unspectacular journey. But wait … what’s this? A highway exit sign that reads, “Einhornhöhle” (Unicorn Cave)? Surely I have no time for such detours! My hands steer the vehicle accordingly to … the right, taking the exit. Oh well. Unicorn Cave and Burg Scharzfels, here I come!

---

Part 2: Unicorn Cave

Feeling lonely and content at the same time, I believe, is a rare kind of happiness.

Nightwish – “Lagoon“, based on a quote from “Bag of Bones” by Stephen King

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Passing a sign that says this place closes at 8pm (oh, it’s almost 8pm!), a lone road takes me to an empty parking lot. I see nobody around, hence perhaps nobody will be physically closing this area. A risk to be taken. Why choose the easy way when the finishing line of this journey comes into sight? Nothing beats a good unexpected adventure.

The woods pull me in. I follow the paths that lead to the Unicorn Cave, which is of course already closed at this hour. A wooden unicorn skeleton reminds me of the dried horse at Ribe Vikingecenter the day before. Now I could turn back, or … find Burg Scharzfels while there is still daylight. (You see where this is going!)

I walk on, passing a tiny bridge, following a sign or two, while making an audio recording in which I reflect on these days, recent weeks, past learnings, challenges ahead, mankind and nature. My unabashed musings bring forth clarity and aha-moments, including:

• “Might it help if they (trees) know who we are?”

• “I’ve shied away from these kinds of confrontations all my life, for decades. Now how would I be able to do that within a couple of months?”

(Referring to several key confrontations, which actually did happen in recent weeks.)

• “If I would go back to my early days with (…) – I’ve had my intuitions, and of course there were things that I’ve had to learn, but I would have said: ‘Hey, I have these intuitions, I have these feelings. I feel things, I sense things. I see when things are off or inconsistent or incongruent. And if I am not speaking up, I am doing a disservice to us all.'”

• “I can be wrong. I most likely am wrong, and I want to learn how to be less wrong. And I may be right! It’s not even about wrong or right, it’s about the natural impulse. Suppressing that voice in order to find my true voice in another way, that’s a fucking mixed message! It’s not working, quite simply. It’s like pulling into two directions at once, opening something and shutting it down, with one hand each.”

• “Oh gosh, I couldn’t even name a single person with whom I haven’t done this: where I firmly believed that I had ‘seen’ something, and I communicated it, believing it would be good for that person. And then it turns out … well, who knows? – The point is: I need to communicate these things, and I need to learn how to not hold expectations. I guess that’s the key, a kind of ‘share-and-release’. Just offer our discernment – maybe listen first: ‘Is this the right time? Is my perception, my sharing wanted right now? Is there an opening?'”

And of course –

• “Oh fuck, I’ve clearly lost my way!”

I turn around, ready to give up on Burg Scharzfels and to get back to the car (there’s still daylight, after all!), and then …

• “It’s the ‘Council attitude’ that helps a lot, the ‘Council Way’ of giving the other person space, so that the other person knows about the gift and is not going to … –”

I stop mid-sentence. What’s that? A sign that shows the way to Burg Scharzfels? Invigorated by the discovery, I ascend a steep path through mesmerizingly mystical woods. The recording reflects my awe, my deep inhalation of the wonders of nature, in a trembling voice:

• “It smells amazing! And I’ve read that I am walking between hundreds of millions of years – one rock formation upon another that have arisen as the rock that they are, and I wonder how that happened. One was created 250 million years ago, the other 350. Million. Years. Ago. Whereas our human ancestors have been around for two million years. It’s kind of nothing. It’s like comparing a toddler with a wise old person, saying: ‘Is this the same kind of life experience we’re talking here, the same kind of learning?’ – Well, I’m not so sure. And that is our ancestors, long before we created anything like cultures and civilizations that we know now, let alone our modern world, let alone science, let alone computer technology, mobile phones. It’s crazy. It’s happening so fast. And we get drunk by the velocity, because we can – as if a thousand devils were behind us, as if extinction would be near and we needed to accelerate; but I worry that it is our acceleration that marks our extinction, our downfall.”

And there she is. The castle ruins of Burg Scharzfels rise semi-majestically from a wood-clad, rock-covered plateau. I choose to explore the ruins, and I may or may not choose to slip through a gap in the barrier that (almost) covers the entrance. Why not risk a little fun? This castle was long considered to be an invincible stronghold – that is, until the French conquered it in 1761. This reminds me of our Schlossberg in Graz, which was actually never conquered (take that, France!), but was surrendered to Napoleon (d’oh!) in July 1809 in the aftermath of a ceasefire and later razed by his forces, following the Treaty of Schönbrunn.

• “I see the city [of Barbis] from here! They too must have seen the city in the days of old, when it looked quite different. We forget how much we have achieved. Cities of times long ago were threatened to crumble and burn, so now we have made things quite stable and enduring and solid. It seems we know how to repair, we know how to develop further. As a human species, we made it. We don’t have to do more. But we forget. We want to build more, and larger, and win somehow against ‘the others’, and I wonder why, I wonder why? Who wins? Who gains?”

I let my gaze wander across the horizon, beholding the city of Barbis afar. My eyes also spot little plants growing from the cracks in the walls around me. This has always amazed me: little seedlings find enough nutrients to grow here. Imagine that! They grow and they perish; they take and they give. The Honorable Harvest. The Law of Reciprocity.

• “Yes, I understand: trying to break new frontiers of knowledge, traveling to the stars, colonizing Mars. I understand that wish. Yes, I would do the same! But it has a cost, and we don’t know it. I think the cost is much different, and the Law of Reciprocity is not guaranteed. We take, so that we can achieve this, but what do we give? What do we give? And why the hurry, this restlessness, not being contented?”

While abandoning the stronghold, I remember my conversation with Björke the day before – it already feels like a year ago – in which we discovered that sacred place of “… being contented exactly where we are: nothing is needed, we have everything. If I lost this mobile phone now, I would still have everything. Even if I lost my life – not that I plan to, but I would still have everything.”

I walk back to … oh, what’s that path to the left? (And there is still daylight, after all!)

I decide to roam these woodlands further, off the beaten track, feeling irritated by plastic litter all around. As I want to turn back to the beaten track, another inconspicuous path leading to the Frauensteinklippe reveals itself. A wooden bear stands guard along the way. Here, for the first time in ages, I am feeling genuinely creeped out. I’m not sure if I believe in spirits, but along this track I’m sure the spirits are dancing while not giving a f*ck about what I believe or not. I hasten my footsteps.

The Frauensteinklippe, a natural formation of dolomitic rock, resembles a human face (mmmm, creepy!) and gives me a Kundalini sneeze as well as imaginary flashes of “seeing” at least one human – I think a woman – having jumped to their death here, stricken by madness and/or despair. Or is it just my vivid imagination?

I decide not to follow their example. I bow out and rush back, past creepy passageways, past creepy wooden bear, and now finally back to … wait, what’s that? A strange tree! Might it talk with me? It is called “Schäferbuche“, one of the oldest trees around. We hang out for a while.

At some point, I actually do walk back to the car. Or rather, I’m trying to. This wanderer is now completely lost in these woods, and even Google Maps ain’t helping. Daylight fades. Nightfall is upon me and these lands. I surrender to a melange of intuition and reason, in which I feel strangely safe and certain, hastening my footsteps. I begin reflecting on life and love, as if it were time for a last confession before the darkness swallows me whole.

• “Of course I love S, and of course I love Y. That is not the question. ‘What is mine to do?’ is rather the question. (…) It’s very hard to let Y go. Yet letting go I must, for some reason. I don’t think I can tell what will happen when I do, I just know I must. Not sure that I know how to communicate it, or is it not about communicating? How does one let go? How does one let free? I want her to be free, and I want myself to be free, even more than I want our love. (…) Therefore this journey, being alone in Denmark and Germany, did serve. To ‘be my own man’, content with myself, being able to love myself, able to take good care of myself. Being able to take risks and to recuperate from the mishaps. This was a very important lesson, and it could only come about when I gave up waiting and hoping.”

There! This is the path I have come from. Past the Unicorn Cave, back to the parking lot. Maybe I can make it to the car just in time before nightfall?

• “It’s gonna be quite some way back. I hope there won’t be a roadblock, or I would have to sleep in the car, and I would have a very long ride tomorrow. It’s gonna be a long ride as it is. But I wanted this! I’m kinda glad that the journey isn’t yet over and that I’m not yet in safe waters of my harbour, my homestead. Still ways to go. – Oh, this is a steep ascent! The ascent of humanity. I remember the first time I read about Charles Eisenstein [in 2013], and I felt … I was envious! My goodness, I was such an uncouth youngster. I went to these places and thought I had to be somehow ‘better than’ these people. So much has happened since! So I read Charles Eisenstein’s bio and thought, ‘man, this all sounds very good, but he must have this wrong and that’, and I guess I was filled with a little bit of General Semantics pride and arrogance of some kind, thinking that I ‘knew’. And I had ambition, and I had much less humility. More insecurity and less humility. (…) So I don’t know what’s happening in my life, but I can see now that there are big changes. How good! (…) And I know that a lot [of change] has happened just lately.”

(I should add here that Charles Eisenstein has become one of my biggest inspirations, and I immensely treasure the times we’ve met in person. More stories to tell.)

Inwardly turning towards my mentor, with whom I’ve had a kerfuffle some weeks ago:

• “Yes, he is right about the Dharma, and I’m sure he’s got a valid perspective and a lot of experience and direct knowledge in various ways. And the path works for him, and I’m very glad. And I suppose if I were able to take it up, it might work for me too. That said, I feel like I have to take up a different path that I have yet to discover. (…) And he has to accept that. He can tell me any stuff that he wants to tell me, give advice, or even nudge me. I just will be firm about my own discernment of what serves me.”

Are these words coming from wise discernment and/or egoic delusion?

Final challenge of the day: find my Airbnb in Fuchsmühl, or prepare for a wild night in the car. Strange roads are winding through foggy woods, uphill, downhill, without cell reception, while a sizzle and my inferior nighttime eyesight make this part of the trip particularly unfun. With my senses on high alert, more than three hours later at 1:30am, I finally pull into the parking lot and sneak into my room, where a comfortable bed awaits this quite exhausted adventurer.

Soundtrack of the day:

Nightwish – “Century Child” (album)
Nightwish – “Once” (album)

… and a whole bunch that I cannot remember.

Thursday, 24^th June 2021

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Himinbjörg eru in áttu,
en þar Heimdall
kveða valda véum;
þar vörðr goða
drekkr í væru ranni
glaðr inn góða mjöð.

From Grímnismál, “The Lay of Grímnir”, normalized text by Guðni Jónsson in 1954

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27 years ago in high school, some friends in my class wanted to create a band. I’ll keep the anecdotes for another time, save for our chosen band name: for some reason, “The Urban Bambi Punchers” (yes, there’s another anecdote about the origin of this name!) won against “Pyrrhic Victory” and “Dawn Chorus”.

27 years later, I awaken to an actual Dawn Chorus of chirping birdsong in Himinbjörg, a castle in the sky at the end of the rainbow bridge Bifröst, where Heimdall dwells – or rather in my own version of Himinbjörg, a small cabin high up in a tree on Danish lands. Even with rather little sleep I am feeling wondrously refreshed, enjoying the muesli that has been soaking in oat milk during the night, then swinging in one of the hanging chairs under the trees while singing a belated happy birthday message to Aunt Michi. My host comes along to say farewell. I take a shower in the main house, then return to the treehouse to pack up. Sitting at the base of the tree, I play songs to express my gratitude for its support and to bid this magnificent sentient being farewell.

From the treehouse it is a reasonably short drive to the Ribe Vikingecenter. The empty parking lot indicates that new arrivals are among the first visitors today. Whilst applying sunscreen on the most exposed parts of this pale Austrian skin, an older German couple parks their car next to mine, and we begin to chat. It turns out that they intend to move from Germany to Denmark within the next few years! The husband tells me all about housing, cars, loans, regulations – especially how affordable houses are around here. it feels like a strong serendipitous sign that whispers, “yes, Wolfgang, soon you shall move to these lands.”

Next to the entrance, a sturdy man builds a small new house from woodden planks. Upon my interrogation, he reveals his secrets and confides to me that all houses here are constructed in the old Viking ways, with only the least possible amount of help through modern tools. Armed with such knowledge, when you ever set foot into a traditional Viking Longhouse, you will likely be as impressed as I am! Despite its dark interior, with only small windows allowing sunlight to enter, and with the illuminating fire of small candles, this place feels cosy.

I take interest in the nearby farmhouse while a Viking villagers’ procession with music unfolds nearby. The farmers among that group are bringing animals to the farmhouse, most notably two ancient huge cattle, each of whom is easily twice the size of our domesticated Central European cows. I feel compelled to touch these giants, and Karin, a grey-haired villager, tells me how to best approach them. Although there is some temper in these beasts, to me they are tame. The same goes for a cat that enjoys my advances while lolling around in the grass.

“Be careful”, says a young villager clad in simple Viking clothes. “She can be quite passive-aggressive!”

“No worries”, I laugh as I continue stroking the cat. As if to prove the point, she playfully nibbles on my hand, then returns to chillout mode. “We’re getting along well. I can handle passive-aggressive beings. I can be like that myself.”

Slowly moving along, I find my way to the archery range. A beautiful, blonde-haired, voluptuous shield maiden instructs me about the different kinds of arrows. “And what do you think is that one for?” she asks while pointing to an arrow with a blunt rounded wooden tip. A clever Heimdall guesses partly right: such arrows have been used for knocking out animals whose skin and fur shall remain unharmed, and – as the shield maiden reveals – especially for catching birds! This makes eminent sense when you consider that sharply pointed arrows would miss their target more readily and might also get stuck in higher tree branches.

The archery range with its Viking longbows, arrows and targets is guarded by Björke. I am surprised by how fast the arrows fly, while confidently missing all shots. Björke defends my honour by declaring that this is the vegetarian archery style: you don’t shoot the dummy boar, but real plants instead! Even with my catastrophic track record, I can’t help but notice the meditative quality of archery. Björke resonates a lot with this observation and muses about Zen and the Art of Archery. Then he asks if I want to try one more shot with the strongest longbow. This is one of the moments in life in which I already know what comes next: this single shot will inevitably hit the target. And so it happens: the tension builds, the eye squints, the right hand releases, the bowstring whizzes, the arrow hisses, the air is cut, and the boar is pierced at the shoulder close to the neck. I might have felled the beast with that precision shot. Legolas would be proud!

Björke and I talk more about meditation, life, mythology, religion. We discover our shared delight about stories from the Edda, of Ginnungagap, Auðhumla, Ymir, Odin, Wili and Wé – “all of creation is actually brothers & sisters”, he says – and of course Heimdall, Loki, Thor and Freyja in the Þrymskviða, as well as our shared need for stillness and wilderness (a word that probably derives from Old English: “wild-deor-nes”). “I’m sometimes yearning for human connection”, Björke confides, “and I also need to spend time alone in the woods, to be only with nature.” This makes us brothers in spirit, forsooth. In these shared sacred moments we realize how little else we need: for we have everything here and now to be content. Mankind has more than enough of everything, if only it were fairly distributed. Wherefore such endless striving for more?

On the note of religion, I tell Björke about my encounter with Zhigger at the European Forum Alpbach 2017. The details of this story might perhaps forever remain too sacred to be fully shared in writing. Suffice it to say here that in the midst of a crowded Gasthaus Jakober in the heart of Alpbach, one Muslim and one Christian-Buddhist entered a sacred space of dialogue and touched paradise together, “meeting at source” on an infinitesimally small point – as if two pins, approaching from opposing sides, would precisely touch at their very atomic-scale tips. Since that day, I daresay that Zhigger and I know for certain – not from intellect, but through immediate experience – that all religious wars and human disputes about conflicting worldviews are nothing more but tragic mistakes. And we know in the same experiential manner that “meeting at source” can fundamentally heal such divides. I can barely imagine anything in this world that would make greater peace.

We have everything right here.

Wandering on, I meet Merlin from Estonia sitting in an open tent, selling handmade jewellery and puppets while meditatively knitting pot holders and other items. I am intrigued by a brass ring in the shape of a coiled snake that fits perfectly on my ring finger; curiously, the significance of a spiraling serpent – a symbol for Kundalini – eludes my conscious awareness at this point.

Merlin and I strike a conversation on the differences between natural and rural areas and cities in Estonia and other Baltic countries. “Once you’ve seen one city, you’ve seen all cities”, she asserts. I buy three handmade puppets and the brass ring. Putting it on my right-hand ring finger does not render me invisible, nor does it bestow other superpowers; yet it feels as though I am marrying myself, sealing an eternal bond of love.

Come to think of it, isn’t that a superpower in itself?

I still my hunger with a sandwich at the (far too modern) restaurant on site, before watching further attractions from the distance, including a Falconer show. Eventually, a growing unrest in my heart heralds the need to leave this beautiful place and return to Germany. Along the way I pay a short visit to the rather unspectacular Viking museum in Ribe. A certain kind of sadness fills my heart as I am passing the border from Denmark to Germany, saying farewell for now to these beautiful Viking lands. Yet there is also an inextinguishable fire within, in the shape of a tiny flickering flame, yet no less potent – and holding a deep knowing: I will return to these lands.

Back in Groß-Nordende, I spontaneously join a Zoom meeting with my “Kauri Tree Friends”, a group that had formed during the recent Mind & Life Summer Research Institute as a “Storysharing Pod”. As one participant shares about her “impostor syndrome”, I realize that this old friend of mine seems to have departed! I can no longer feel its presence in the old familiar ways. I wouldn’t be writing all of this here if I still suffered from impostor syndrome as I used to. Perhaps it is still hanging around in traces, but it no longer holds sway over me. This surprises me. Might the changes be subtle enough to not notice their unfolding in real time, yet they suddenly become apparent through momentary gazes into such mirrors of experience, of dialogue, of contemplation?

Soundtrack of the day:

I cannot remember any music from that day. But if I had known them at the time, I would surely have enjoyed listening to the mesmerizingly beautiful albums “Folkesange” by Myrkur and “Från Tidernas Begynnelse” by Hindarfjäll.

On that note: I also love Hindarfjäll’s rendition of “Þat Mælti Mín Móðir” featuring Peter Franzén (the actor of King Harold Finehair in “Vikings”!), artfully visualized by Grimfrost.

Wednesday, 23^rd June 2021

Awake and refreshed after a restful night, I’m sitting like a Hobbit in the round windowsill for some early morning journaling. Katja has confirmed yesterday that I can stay another night if I so desire, yet I decide to pack my bags and carry on. Yes, this place is beautiful, and I also need to stay open for the mystery and not become attached. This I have learned on earlier journeys, particularly in October 2012 when I “fell in love” with Dawn and Oceanside, or with Deniz and San Diego: swiftly becoming enamoured by people and places is part of the magic that seizes the unsuspecting traveller. Beware!

I prepare Müsli and coffee for breakfast, sit outside to play the guitar and RAV Vast, and load the car. Chino disagrees with my plans and convinces me to play catch. To quote Theatre of Tragedy’s song lyrics, “I sojourn my haste, I make respites / For what availeth this eager pace?” Indeed, what better way to start the day than running wild and free with such an adorable descendant of wolf, who is at once my namesake and spirit animal?

Katja comes out and we have a chat and say farewell. I drive to Jelling and am successfully confused by the parking lot’s most creative ground markings (protip: pay no heed to the white lines!). I scout the surroundings: a Viking museum, two majestic burial mounds surrounded by a vast stone ship, two famous runestones near a church and graveyard. I ascend both mounds and realize that the nearby oak trees are still taller; the place avails no deeper spiritual insights at this point. The runestones are imprisoned by glass walls and look rather unspectacular, but – history! – these stones bear testimony to the earliest mention of Denmark, with its runic name hewn into solid rock by none other than ole’ King Harold Bluetooth himself. (Or rather by his thralls?)

I enter the church, which features a miniature ship hanging from the ceiling as well as an organist speaking on the phone. As the other visitors leave and I walk up the aisle, the organist starts playing majestic music for a good fifteen minutes – “only for the two of us, and for God”, I think as I stand before the altar, wondering (not for the first time) what it might take to experience a spontaneous conversion. A nod of appreciation is passed between us as the organist ends his play and I leave the church.

A lovely conversation with the young lady that guards the entrance marks the beginning of my visit at the Viking museum. It is very well done, I must say. And yet I notice that my romantic heart sinks as I pass through the (historically later) passages that showcase the developments from Norse to Christian religion and from Viking ages to modernity. Nonetheless I find some goodies of modernity in the museum shop: Honey, beers (including “Lagertha’s Bryg”), a Viking girl puppet for Ylvi (get’em early, get’em young!), dishtowels with Viking motifs, and a silver Mjölnir pendant that shall replace the long-lost tin pendant that I’ve once received from my dear “Viking brother” Slavi. (Did I already say “Viking”?) The saleswoman lets me in on the secret runes on one side of the pendant, which translate to “these are runes”, and tells me that she is going to Austria soon. (Also: “Viking”. Just in case.)

With my loot safely stored away in the car, the question of food arises. The nearby Café Sejd has good reviews, but what really gets me is the quaint chef de cuisine named Bjarne: extremely well-mannered, witty, mightily bearded, and delightfully knowledgable about Norse mythology. Bjarne recommends the “Kokkenchefens blåbærmælk med hemmelige ingredienser” (blueberry milkshake with secret ingredients, also named “Brage”) and I add “SEJD Viking Tapas vegetar”. Soon my tastebuds delight in a truly heavenly blueberry milkshake, mingling with the culinary pleasures of two types of homemade sourdough bread, two types of cheese, organic avocado, yummy homemade pickles, homemade hummus, as well as homemade pesto, artichoke cream and mayonnaise. Bjarne reappears and we make light-hearted conversation about Norse myths:

“Is everything to your delight?” Brajne asks in his unimitably well-mannered style.

“Oh … I’m in heaven!” I respond, quickly adding: “Or shall I say, I’m … –”

“… in Valhalla!” we both conclude in unison, followed by heartfelt laughter.

“But you know”, Bjarne explains, “that you can only enter Valhalla if you die in battle?”

I nod. “Indeed! And therefore, if you see me choking, please swiftly challenge me to mortal combat – so you can kill me in battle and I can die honorably; but I sure hope it doesn’t happen today!”

Bjarne agrees with a chuckle and redirects his attention to other guests. I savour every bite of this meal and begin studying the menu anew, searching for coffee. They do have plenty of coffee: “Thor” (espresso), “Hugin & Munin” (double espresso), “Loke” (cortado), “Odin”, “Frigg” (capuccino), “Dobbelt Frigg”, “Freja” (latte), “Dobbelt Freja”, … I’m severely tempted by “Angerboda” (filter coffee, double espresso, cane sugar, chili, chocolade), but then I decide that “Loke” is the right coffee for today. A Heimdall must always have some Loki in his life. Day and Night. Yin and Yang.

Bjarne reappears and I express my curiosity about that “secret ingredient” of the blueberry milkshake. “I can tell you, but then I must kill you”, he laughs.

I weigh his offer. “Well, then I’ll get to Valhalla. Let me think about it! Meanwhile, could you please get me a Loke? You see, my internet nickname since 24 years has been Heimdall …”

Bjarne agrees with my perfectly convincing reasoning, disappears and soon returns with a coffee mug, filled with freshly brewed Loke. Now it’s time to ask my special questions: Do people give tips in Denmark? (Not usually, but they can.) Can I pay with card? (Yes.) And … if I wanted to be among trees, while also meeting the North Sea, what special places would a knowledgeable local chef with an epic beard recommend?

Bjarne tells me about nearby woods that I have passed on the way here. “I also recommend that you go to Tirpitz and visit the famous bunker museum about the Second World War. The nearby beaches are beautiful and good for swimming”, he concludes.

Still in need for a place to sleep tonight, I check Airbnb for places between Tirpitz and Ribe and find an “Autentisk trætophus“, an authentic treehouse, clearly being the most awesome and lowest-price option at once. I send a booking request and put my faith into the hands of the universe.

The Tirpitz bunker at Blåvand evokes an eerie, uncanny feeling. The sturdy edifice and bunker museum are quasi-hidden behind sand dunes. I walk up the dunes and look at the concrete. The museum is already closed. I walk around the dunes. Even though the planned bunker system was never finished, and no actual melees have taken place here, I can’t help but vividly imagine the whole gamut of human warfare all around me: shouting soldiers, detonating grenades, machine gun and artillery fire, blood-stained helmets rolling in the sand. I can sense the accursed insanity of war. It’s hard to bear these mental images, and harder still to know that they are real to this very day, and will yet be real tomorrow.

No, reality must actually be much worse than my mental imagery. Trigger warning: strong language and emotions ahead.

FOR FUCK’S SAKE, we are still turning our children into orphans, into soldiers, into slaves, even TODAY, in fucking 2021 A.D. – yes, we, “humanity”, because no man is an island. Some do this directly, others partake indirectly. One way or another, even fucking Austria benefits from this inhumanity – and so do I. To say nothing of the atrocities committed against the more-than-human world. Dozens of species are going forever extinct per DAY. Yes, entire SPECIES, like humans! Per DAY! That’s at least a thousandfold increase of the natural background rate. It’s manmade. THOUSANDFOLD! Can’t we see we are doing this to ourselves? To our children and grandchildren? To our future? To all of life, all that is sacred? And yet we worry about new iPhones and taxes, soccer championships and “closing” refugee routes? You gotta be fucking kidding me!

You, I. We’re in deep shit, together.

And no, colonizing fucking Mars is NOT solving the problem. (As much as I love exploring space.) It is delaying, exporting, and perhaps even exacerbating the problem.

Sorry and totally not sorry for being intense. I can only take so much of it myself. I hope you managed. I hope we’ll find ways to meet and embrace this bitter truth – while not forgetting about the beauty of life in this world. Some things have improved, and I do believe that we are evolving our consciousness both individually and collectively, although very slowly, it seems. Vis-à-vis all of the above, the irony of my rediscovered Viking romanticism is not lost on me; and yet, I believe that even these fearsome Vikings – whoever they really were (scholarship suggests they were far more peaceful than typically depicted in popular movies and TV shows!) –, had they prevailed throughout the ages and into modernity, would be quite a different people today.

Back to the journey. I leave this haunted place and continue to the beach, near the lighttower Blåvandshuk Fyr – “Denmarks westernmost point”. The wide sandy shores are covered with seashells, though their variety differs from the Baltic Sea. Walking along the waterline, I also find crab shells, as well as dark brown (almost black) pieces of driftwood, and even some jelly-like, near-transparent blobs that may be remains of jellyfish.

Strolling through the warm and shallow seawater becomes ever more meditative, until a siren rips me out of trance. I look around and see nothing particularly interesting. Perhaps someone in the waters is in distress? I notice a uniformed man approaching me, still quite far away, waving his hands and wielding a portable siren in one hand. I gesture toward him in a kind of clumsy way, “do you mean ME?”

“Do you hear this sound?”, the uniformed man shouts from afar.

“Yes, I do”, I respond. “What’s the matter?”

“Did you see the sign?”

“What sign?”

“This is a military zone!”

Oh shit. I’ve innocuously walked past a fence that ends, due to the ebbing tide, about 20 meters from the shoreline. I profusely apologize, assure the military personnel of my harmless intentions, and start walking back. Thanks for not shooting! The sign reveals that I’ve actually walked into a firing range, and when the red ball is up, don’t trespass or your life is on the line. (Did I say I wanted to step beyond my comfort zone on this journey?)

I take a short swim in the warm, shallow waters of the North Sea. Strong winds blow my skin dry until I start freezing. It’s a long way back to the car … and so much sand. An entire beach without a single beach chair, uncrowded, free for everyone. Admittedly temperatures are not as warm as in, say, Italy. Yet something about this beach strikes me as beautiful in a way that I have not experienced in these Mediterranean tourist places.

The “Autentisk trætophus” is located in Esbjerg and owned by Troels and Heidi. Troels welcomes me and shows me around. The treehouse is located in a small forest on the property. The stairs invite a steep ascent, yet I notice a complete absence of the once familiar basophobia (fear of falling). The treehouse cabin is actually built around the trunk and feels quite cosy. Troels tells me that he and his wife bought this property only 1.5 years ago, upon a joking recommendation by friends. They went along with the joke, looked at the place … and it was love at first sight.

Chatting with Troels, I also learn that he is a funeral director – reminding me of my favorite HBO series, “Six Feet Under”. Troels is quite unlike Nathaniel Fisher, yet he too smokes (a pipe). I tell him rather enthusiastically about the Mindful Researchers, Mind & Life, Francisco Varela, enactivism, Brother David Steindl-Rast, and of course the story behind my journey – including the moment in early June when my inner voice told me to embark on this trip for my own sake. Troels listens attentively, and as we shift our conversation to spiritual matters, he picks up on that latter element.

“You know, when you said that your ‘inner voice’ told you to go on this journey nonetheless, that voice might well have been the Holy Spirit.”

I nod. “That is quite likely. Although I’d call it differently.”

“We can call it by many different names”, Troels continues, “but in essence it stays the same thing, you know?”

We speak more about religions, spirituality, gratitude. “When I am here on this beautiful part of the Earth, hear these birds, see these trees”, Troels says with reverence, “I am one with God. There is nothing more to seek.” He smiles. I smile too. This man has already arrived. We talk about the beauty of life and the miracle of evolution, and it becomes clear to me once again that Big Bang cosmology and Divine creation are not at odds.

I enjoy the late sunset in one of the hanging chairs that are dangling from tree branches. Heidi, a teacher, comes along to greet the new visitor. Turns out I was lucky that in the midst of a busy day she found time to prepare the treehouse and make the bed! After our short and sweet conversation, I put my remaining things up into the treehouse and play the RAV Vast and guitar outside, sitting on the platform. A tree concert.

Falling asleep turns out to be challenging: somewhere in the wood, little creatures are buzzing and humming … this must be the encore! I place a new feather from the garden on the little wooden table next to the bed. Thinking of my conversation with Troels, I invite the Holy Spirit / Divine presence / Source, by whichever name it might prefer, to appear in my dreams.

Soundtrack of the day:

Crows, organ church music, seagulls, sirens, birds, little buzzing creatures, …

But as I’ve linked a couple of songs above, here they are again:

Theatre of Tragedy – “Bring Forth Ye Shadow“
In Extremo – “Lieb Vaterland, magst ruhig sein“
Infected Rain – “The Earth Mantra“