Heike Thieme

Impressum

Copyright

Der vorliegende Text wurde mit größter Sorgfalt bearbeitet. Die Publikation ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Alle Rechte liegen beim Autor. Kein Teil des Buches darf ohne schriftliche Genehmigung des Herausgebers in irgendeiner Form durch Fotokopie, Film oder andere Verfahren reproduziert werden. Auch die Rechte der Wiedergabe durch Vortrag, Funk und Fernsehen sind vorbehalten.

Books on Demand GmbH

ISBN: 9783752881684

Content

• Beforehand
• Woman in a mirror
• A showpiece family
• Celebrate in
• Finding of a dead
• Ben
• The beautiful Japanese
• A daring apparition
• Carusel of Life
• Disappeared Son
• Something is brewing
• Last scene

Beforehand

The nature of man has made him an individual.

He can fight nature and thus himself, but the more he used his nature to kindle art, because that is not art, it appeared to something very cruel and fell apart ...

Every day offers a chance, and every night. Lonely life is probably smarter than being side by side. The ego remains, full of work to the neck, which greedily forgets how it wants to be admired. A history of psychology is exposed in sex. Temptation suffices in sight and practiced until man feels a little of his self-love.

People say that most of them are stupid, but be honest that it is even worse for most, watching what follows their stupidity. The wrong thing is wrong, even if everyone is wrong. To be right, that's right, even if nobody lives by it, as Dalai Lama said. And it does not matter how cold winter gets ...

It only depends on how hospitable a place becomes to other liveables ...

Stand and stop. Waiting in empty rooms. The elevator goes up to nothing. The kitchen stays cold. Who would stay here for long?

Who would see me here as I am?

It's hard to believe what the little detail reveals. Hardly a glance ends up, and while I wait, her disappointed expression wanders next to me. Where an idea braids out. I let it run, before it bumps its head, ...I hope my thought will not land on the lantern.

So I better say nothing in those special moments, because to say nothing, often is to say much more.

If I had the courage to admit to one's love, who meets on the ice, I wanted to meet him in another lifetime.

It is my very own journey to myself.

Anyone who appears as a friend, I determine myself.

There is an island with sunbeam in distance. A boat waits rocking in the waves. The windows shine in the little houses. You will certainly be missed in all. For your friends, you exist like a lighthouse, the closest like a brother. Your honest heart makes me cry now, when I see others, just sit alone on the beach in the dunes, and look at you, pulling the last ship. Who wants to sleep any time? The pot is empty and there is nothing left.

A string of lights turns into a bag of horses, and if a rose fell from sky, which refuses to sting, it fell apart. I remember this like the old, gusty, musty smell, a place where a consolation can be found.

I feel left and refuse me, because I don't want to be tempted to complicated games.

You can not play on torn strings. You can not feel what this heart wants to feel. It's too late, and one day, it's my chance to feel something for another, then my heart, please tell me this!

Children of snow and ice grow up and know no sorrow. They lived a life in harmony with nature, like mythical animals, clothed in the skin of another being. This is how the children play in a secluded world. Who will later offer me the strength for my weak walk?

Who seems too fat, but lives without any skill?

I see pale death every day, and green wood on the roadside.

There is a bit of wood behind the stove, that has to be dried before it warms. The woman once, she saved the male, her protege from despair and distress. She was right; if the woman was the first who loved danger, she made herself the goal, and charm didn't mean everything. She kept her word, she did not wed in any place. Structures gradually condensed, which should consolidate the strengths and friendships, to defend themselves in all freedom and good.

Learn as much as you can about life!

Love is remembered. That will keep you steady and soft in her arms. The woman is a friend and will bring you back to earth when necessary. Young people compare first with those who walk at the edge, because they are easier to reach than those that consider themselves 'normal'.

And the bird leaves the nest to build a construct and the world that surrounds, from where just its own created entity will rise.

In the superficial overdrive, the virtual man tries to be perfect in the image of Leonardo da Vinci, which proves nothing more. In the speech, the baubles, the hard neck, which capture what surrounds, they steal from others' lifes, when it comes to color recognition, there are doubts and they are still in memory.

Intellect speaks of a fight for identity and otherwise of the right to exist, some have to fight for and encounter violence, only to preserve itself.

No, it's your own, your body, your temple,

which you rely least on during day!

At old age you physically rather assume the angular shape of a building, and everything hangs like a sack.

And speeches become scarce, it's just about, that a body worked. Your body no longer offers great joy, until man hatches and sees, how beautiful a life is, in a momentum and verve, and is in youthful bomb power, knowing - you are a jewel - because world wants to fade on you.

A grin that happened to faces, even hear the bells ring, what noise they are making, and do satisfy themselves.

None could forget you, as hard as it was for them!

Woman in a mirror

Creeks flow to each river, and in the mountain valleys they will rise It is summery, sheltered, humid and warm. The sign of the mysterious snakes is discovered. When you left the river, you saw a coppery red color in the water, which suggested, you would soon find an iron source. Before the wanderer found the source of the Seven Seals, he settled on the berries, amicably on man-sized bushes and was soon satiated. He collected a bag for his provisions. When he suddenly stood a few meters further on a rock, from which a spring jumped from three meters up to him.

He heard a whisper of leaves in the berry field and the dripping of the downward-climbing spring from the rock, and heard its noise for quite a while without moving. At the bottom of the stone, among lime-tree blossoms and ferns, he saw two white, small snakes with a silver streak over their foreheads and middle of their bodies, two lying in a hollow and biting each other's tails.

He realized that they first had to show in true form and let go, otherwise they would not speak a word to him. He remembered his musical cunning and searched for small woods, which he hollowed out into flutes. He cleverly tied them together and played a melody that came to his mind. He let his life's journey pass before his eyes. He remembered the pleasant sleep on the river, the exhausting walk and imagined, bit by bit, in his game, which question he wanted to ask the animals, if he understood their language. He fell into a kind of dream state. His music played in the background, while in front of him spread a throne, where sat two beautiful girls, both with a silver strand in her hair. The two girls looked sad, and one began the conversation with red-rimmed eyes, "We know about you, and you have a good heart. We are enchanted and forced to stay with this source, as the two dormant serpents, until somebody brings the shining crystal from the Malachite Mountain, to save us. And they sang their song.

He left the place of power and bravely stalked higher and higher, until he left the valley, the woods, even the tree line lay behind. He remembered the song, that advised him to throw away the key. There could be an open cave through which he would pass. He looked around attentively. The wind blew around his ears in plaintive tones. The hiker stopped suddenly. He heard something else in the howling of the wind. It could only be the rumble and roaring of an underground river, and it was quite close and clear. So he knew it could be the opening to the underworld of the mountains quite near here. He was a bit exhausted, sat down and fell fast as a stone back into a dreamy sleep, by watching how the hiker ran into a cave. His path was soon blocked by roots, so he returned to the entrance of the cave. In front a huge, gloriously violet-blue shimmering butterfly was erected.

The butterfly told him:

"Before you want to get into the barely visible world of the mountain, one night before you get home, you have to find the starlight of the supplement in a flower whose bearing is your love. Watch those colors in the eyes of sea and night. In violet and turquoise they give you tenderness and the germ of their fruit, the bright spot, to make the right of the fifteen paths. Carry the vessel of volcanic rock, green and blue, embody in it, what you are looking for. Notice the world around. They deceive you and flute a direct bridge to happiness and carefree life, full of images that will mislead you. Watch out! They are simple air beings, phantoms from the local world. Sometimes they resemble humans, but they are only mirror images of their hunted and damned in the rock. They lure you into deep abysses, into the void, from which none easily returns. Keep your ears numb, look at the hollow sound of their bells in the wind as they speak of another world. You'll see, in spite of everything, it's just wrong songs, and they're just sham. "

The hiker fell asleep for a while. In a new dream that befell him, the butterfly reappeared, whispering to him softly the words of a rhyme. He woke up in late morning and remembered the words he heard from him:

"There is a mountain here, the dwarf tree with the root, you, and that, which hardly gets into the root. The light of the stars falls on the snow goose. The Seeker wonders how heaven finds in the leaves? Sleep does not bring you down, otherwise you had no claim to advice, sunny sleep, which stretches. But in the end, he wants to know, is it him, or the tree that speaks here? "

He awoke in the morning silence. When he looked around a little, a gnarled tree stood right above him. He was not far from a large root that went into the ground close to his head. The wanderer began to remember and indicated the sign:

The snow goose both spoke of catching and gathering the light of the stars, and it seemed to be the tree that watched over his sleep, that love of his heart. Until the wild goose made it clear, at night the light of the stars had poured. The bird let him know that his love barely reached the roots and love of his heart, and she watched him as the young man, like a rose of damp fire, and spring might awaken. There was one who hoped faithfully for his return. He knew the way, but he had to find it himself!

That really exists! This is not a fairytale!

Your own mother, the woman sees herself in front of the mirror. She knows her true face and feels this fear coming back, that the other is probably smarter. She hates that way of moving, that laugh that touched everyone. She feels inferior and disturbed by her. She has only one goal, she will destroy this woman, in her very own way. One day the victim will discover her, and then the game is suddenly over. Then this world is for a little moment - Again free!

The mother. The intriguing her small weakness graced, that she knew about freedom of action. And not of the freedom of self-perception, because actual education corresponded to the formation of property. And the little sister, it would be like she has a name. Then she would not be a sister, just a scar. She spun her malicious threads, quite softly and frighteningly skillfully, a silence in the forest to taboo the past, to give no answer, to deny closeness, to leave unanswered questions, to revel in pity, and above all, to look away. When the unloved daughter on the riverbank held the catch in her hands, she saw her grandmother's face in the face of the fish, and the carp's mouth twisted into a word as she listened, that she heard her mother say, in an angry tone. The wicked mother's web became more and more tight and she knit her victims, she carefully forged her plans and then carefully executed them. Ethically not entirely impeccable, but benevolent, lovable and debt-free. She just had to make sure no one saw through her game. She had only this one chance to escape guiltless from above, to show no weakness, but always to use the lie as an ultimate goal.

The mother. The lonely person in her wanted to win. She thought she was smart, and what she wanted would realize. This woman, intriguing and accurate. When she stood in the bathroom in front of the mirror in the morning, she knew her true face, and she felt again this fear, that the other is probably wiser. She hated that way of moving, that laugh that touched everyone. She felt inferior and disturbed by her. She would destroy this woman in her own way. This mother systematically knew how to destroy her daughter. As soon as they were alone, she transformed herself and continues her constant needlepoint strategy. And the other poor soul in the end believed no one person even a word. This woman felt so safe. But she had not recognized, nor was it any good. In the long run, no single intriguer survived. One day they would be discovered, and then the game was over. Then, apparently, this world was for a moment ...

- Free again -

And long after the evil mother left, her wounds would slowly heal.

Finally the daughter wanted to win, and she thought she was smart.

That was her mother, a scheming woman.

The world apparently was a powerful, a bad one. Only those, who managed to face the world in a completely sober way could keep their lives in balance and win one success after another and finally managed to earn their birthright. So it was felt necessary for the arms to spend a lifetime, day and night, getting integrated. It is true that injustice would not be abolished immediately, but conscience could lurk behind the scenes to remain undetected.

The daughter discovered for herself a self-organized world.

After all, not everything had to be considered the same thing, the Jews, the Christians or anyone else.

The mother's web entangled her victim. Even if one could escape such a family, her mother could not destroy her whole life. But her daughter was washed with seven oceans. One day she probably started to understand all of it. And even a thousandfold broken heart went on vacation, which no more gave the mother's triumph, nor her own broken will left kitten.

The voices that her daughter soon began to notice, a manifestation in which everyone lived. An interpretation of the way people lived in. But it was a hard start into life.

Her grief pressed her to walls with a force that frightened her so much that she no longer wanted to be alone. The mother's anger made her feel guilty, no part of it could be lived out. Like falling down in a barrel of ground she just fell into the depths. Mother's anger was so inexpressible, moreover, she almost longed for a paternal arm. But he hit her. She was looking for trust and a friend in this world with whom she felt secure.

Hopelessness kept driving and the same escape, the craving for life.

Her feeble body slumped under her knees as time raced and everything turned 360 degrees around. It was as if her family played a competing passion against all life. Did not she go as a plaything for the asses, one and the other?

Were her emotional fluctuations, merely movings of the soul, among all those who only wished her death? She walked along, finding no peace, one's illusion to surrender to another. Like giving up the belief and becoming a powerful animal.