Dueslag i luften.

Duerne er tidligt på den i år. De har taget bestik af termometrene, blomsterne og de andre dyr og fugle, som alle kappes om at være først med det sidste. Duerne kurrer jo, og det er, som om de afspiller lydoptagelser fra de sidste mange år. Sætter deres lydfiler på repeat, og så ellers koncentrerer sig om lege tagfat. Nogle gange kan det se ud, som om de slås, men det er vist ikke det der foregår. Så der er ikke nødvendigvis kurrer på trådene.

De behøver heller ikke at slå på dem, trådene altså, da de har frit udsyn til hinanden og kommunikerer fint indbyrdes uden teknik. Det lyder også som om, de aldrig taber trådene, men det kan alligevel godt være teknikkens skyld. For den er så veludviklet i dag, at det ikke er nemt at høre forskel på en velafspillet lydfil og den naturlige lyd.

Ingen af dem har været i lære i byggefagene. Der har vist altid været mangel på såvel praktikpladser som lærepladser. De bygger ikke som Christian IV, men nærmere som dem der oversprøjtede kongeriget med ensartede, gipsvæggede parcelhuse i tresserne og halvfjerdserne. Noget pangel som restaureres om og om igen.

Solsorterne tager ikke duer i lære. De kan sikkert ikke klare deres sjuskede indstilling til byggeri, og selv er de perfektionister på det område, hvilket mange andre fuglearter også er.

Men selv om duerne ikke kan bygge ordentligt, kan de da være gode nok alligevel. Det er jo heller ikke kun murere, tømrere og arkitekter der er gode mennesker. Duernes kurren går rent ind som forårskurmageri, og den slags finder netop sted, fordi der er forår der ude.

From the adventures ocean’s poetry book:

“You little bay, you quiet cove. I spread a corner of my wet robe into your bosom and touch you with my mildest expression. At greater depths happening thing that might frightens you. I hide it for you because I have only peaceful and noble intentions. My heart beats sincerely and my breathing has a calming effect when I meditate.

But I may seem scary if Aiolos, son of Poseidon, makes my breathing becomes hectic and my heartbeat faster. You observe my changing expressions, but if you will be aware of my gaze, you will see that it is allways mild, quiet and unchanging.

Are you saying it is also challenging? So it is also.”

Bubble blower

If you hold Tinkerbell in your hand and shaking her gently over a person, there will be spread magical dust down on him, as we all know. Then discovers the person suddenly that it is a natural thing to fly. Not like birds that may flap their wings to use the wind, but like in dreams where the will and desire is enough to loosen the gravitational grip.

But does Tinkerbell really exists? Or is she just a symbol of some of the opportunities you have, if you find the Golden Amber?

The Golden Amber is here and there on beaches where the Adventure Ocean, rhythmically and continuously sends its crashing waves into. It is known that it changes glow when you look at it and then activate a tantalizing tickle in the heart. This may lead you to both Coltsfoot and Bellis, and if you see both flowers grow near each other, Tinkerbell will be there too.

The boy puffed merrily, and quickly caught, especially one of the soap bubbles, his attention because it was larger and more beautiful than all the others that came to life in the same breath. At first they acted like a bunch of wild, fenced horses that suddenly let loose and scattered in a galloping range. Common to them all was that they contained a fairy tale or a legend, which was released each time a bubble bursted.

As the largest and most beautiful bubble suddenly burst, and the remains fell into the sand, like a tiny, torn drop, which was immediately consumed by the sand, you could see the glittering stars, all the places where the sun, at once and in a split second, hit and revealed the Golden Amber pieces that were not covered by sand. And every single piece could tell about where Tinkerbell, Bellis and Coltsfoot could be found.

Nana Petalia

From an average person’s perspective or point of view, she was quite small. But firstly, there were only a few people who saw her, because their thoughts were too heavy, and secondly, she lived fine and wonderful without being evaluated by people. Thirdly, she was, in her own world, quite normal of size and, as you know, it is not the size that matters, not least because everything is relative.

Nana felt never herself distracted by the people who passed through her forest. Although she was not invisible, it was rare for someone saw her. But parents, with very young children in a bag on their shoulder or in front, who had barely learned to speak clearly, wondered often about the little ones sudden and curious reactions. As if they saw something the parents not had an eye for.

Nana could do the Flik flak, she swirled artistically with her wings, and played ball with several pine cones at once and juggled with branches, so the little kids got stars in their eyes and glistening saliva in the corners of their mouths while they chuckled. The parents were in a good mood, and said:

“Little Emma, or little Peter loves the special atmosphere that is here in the woods.”

The golden brew

Darkness had lit the stars, and the moon used boldly of the overdraft facility from the sun and polished her scimitar, while she rented some pale shadows out, in an attempt to make it all hang together. She did not feel good about being so dependent and she often glanced enviously to the sun while she thought:

“The sun has it all and can do everything. What can I do anything else than to be? And I don’t even know how I ended up here, but it is obviously my destiny, although I, every now and then, would like to beat me a little loose. I have heard that a comet can hit one completely out of shape, so one really get an experience and this is, mind you, not as being hit of the pebbles that has bombarded me in decades.”

“Well, the sea is, for once, calm, so I’d better freshen up a bit, while I can see myself properly. Too bad I never can see the back of my head, but maybe there is not anyone paying attention to what I look like from behind, apart from some curious satellites, stars or comets of course. My face is a little scarred, but I am pleased, however, that I am quite alluring, and all medals have a backside. Now just look at Mars, this killjoy, there is not much fun for him anymore, so maybe I should not be so sad about my fate. My overdraft shows none of the new fees, which are on the menu at the moment, so far as I understand. It’s probably because I depend on solar energy and green energy. But I’m not just green cheese, as some assert, I am made of.”

“Cheer up, old moon,” shouted a shooting star. “I just need to fulfill a wish, but I’ll be back again if I can find my way. Some of us burn our candle at both ends, but it is fun as long as it lasts. You set many hearts on fire, you know, and Ebb looks forward every month to embrace Flow. You can do much more than you think, and you are quite indispensable. It would not surprise me if there are written more love stories and love poems about you than about the sun. Continue just to get the juices to rise. Incidentally gives you the sun plenty of self confidence. Every time you are full, she says: “Look how beautiful the moon is,” and then sends you some extra rays to substantiate it and without adding interest and fees. I love the sun, it does a great job, and many of the people who salute you in poetry, carries a mirror image of her in their hearts. In addition, we are one big family who must live in the same room, let us rejoice in each other’s quirks, abilities and tasks.”

“I wish I was as beautiful as a shooting star,” thought the moon and wondered if the shooting star came back. Although she had seen countless shooting stars in the course of time, and they were all just as beautiful, and each had its own personality. “They were admittedly recurring events, but I wonder if they all end up in the Wishing Well and become magical liquid gold.”

For there was an adventurous glow above the Wishing Well, and some claimed that the goddess, Aurora, used the gold in her own way and frequently poured out a glass filled to the brim with the beautiful luminous golden brew as a tribute to the early morning.

Seagull scream and flounder hide

When the foam sprayers dramatic, or just gracefully from the top of the waves, while the waves dance rhythmically, self-confident and assertive, as if they are in the throes of the moments most important tasks, you feel maybe that what you see is the whole sea. Only the surface is seen, and it is automatically perceived as the whole sea.

But the sea has also depth.

Furthest out, deepest down, basically the sea is calm. There is a big difference between the dynamic activities on the surface and its static existence in the depths. Down at the bottom, at lower depths, hiding flounder often, and turns perhaps a little on their eyes to keep informed about enemy movements or for spotting appealing partners and from the air high over flying foam from the wave crests scout screaming gulls after shiny fish glimpse.

There is a lot of materiality here, both in the water and in the air when it comes to being awake in the present now, if you want to participate and survive in the game of life and death. At the same time, it leaves the general feeling of a natural and soothing feeling of good sense.

Here is often retrieved inspirations for wonderful analogies that one can learn from

For there is, apparently, basically, nothing hidden for the waking mind.

Golden dreams

You sang about freedom while you proud
showed your beautiful golden chains.
Of course you were free
to wear your valuable golden chains
your freedom included also that.
When you woke from your dream
was your bereaved chains already
polished and assessed before auctions
on the golden bourses in dreamland.
Now you weave a garland of flowers,
with your eyes closed, your mind open
and your face turned towards the golden sun.

Goddess of jewelry

Freya’s tears became the purest gold,
if they fell on soil and meadows.
Those who fell into the roaring sea
became the precious amber.
Beautiful, golden and noble pieces
becomes attractive jewelry.
Gold and amber of the heart, reflects light
mirrored by the consciousness ocean,
sparkles beautifully like sun in sea ripples,
with greetings from the nine Muses.
Now we will drink a toast to spring,
distilled of infinity, poured into bowls
made of Freya’s crystallized tears.

Growing Pains

The small tree winced, because it was difficult to see how it could become tall enough to enjoy the life-giving sunlight, as the big and strong trees drank strength from. It wanted be a large and illuminated tree, and if it could just watch the sun as much as its older sibling, it could probably get a strong strain.

The major trees was not as vulnerable to the treatment, the animals and birds exposed them for, and when people came by the little tree, they found it hard to resist giving it a loving touch. But it was humiliating, because it had to bow and curtsy every time someone let his hands glide over it.

“Give it time,” said the big trees comforting.

“We’ve even been young once. You grow up before you know it, and so you also fears when you feel the plans of thinning or production of floorboards and toothpick. So you get to feel the rush. Rejoice rather how much you experience now and notice how many beautiful things happening around you.”

“Yes, yes, yes, they can easily say,” thought the little tree.

“I’ve been here as long as I can remember, and every morning when the sun is turned on, can I see that I am not a sliver bigger than I was yesterday.”

It blew up so it whistled in the crowns, and the big trees recounted beautiful cumulus clouds which regularly slipped past the life-giving late summer sun.

Periodically hit an explosion of golden light now the little tree, and warm feelings poured out in every leaf.

“My prayers have been heard,” cheered it. “I am the chosen one, and although I am the smallest tree in the wood, I am blessed.”

Two squirrels was carrying a small bag, they had rigged from chestnut leaves. Inside the bag were some paw full nuts. They pulled it across the forest floor and held often breaks. Suddenly they noticed the tree.

“No, what a beautiful little guy, it is certainly the smallest tree around here. I think we should dig the nuts down just below it, so it will be easier to remember where they are. Such a tree does not grow into heaven in a few months. It appears my troth just like this when we dig up our nuts to Christmas.”

“That’s what I say all the time,” thought the tree.

“But so mobile these little squirrels are. They are not tied to the spot as I am, and if I was not so earthbound, I would not be standing here. So, I would also go out.”

Sweet peas

I seem to have reached a high development, thought the pea, which still sat on its perch in the pea pods closed ward.

Here we sit in a row and oblivious barely one another, but I have read that I am perfect, and that the only thing that makes me not feel it, is that I doubt it. It is difficult to regard oneself as perfect and free when sitting here and rubbing on a small pea, with that indefinable expression on her beautiful face that makes me quite soft and gives a sweet murmur in my heart. I love sweet peas, and one can soon enough become as yellow peas if one do not keep the way of fairy tales kingdoms tidy. But, for my part, the hope is still light green.

I’m sitting here in pitch – dark but have seen green light flashes, and if I wanted anything else, I would not be free, as I would be if I dared to believe I was. Hmmm, yes but so Hallelujah then, as they say.

I recently heard about a princess who should try one of us under a pile of mattresses to check out whether she was a real princess or a fake. Such a story one can be both yellow and green with envy of not having experienced in the reality, but I call it anyway escapism … on its own way.

The storytellers stick together like peas in a pod and forget what’s real. I know that I am, and I am, basically, neither bound nor biased in general. I have heard talk of a world outside, but what’s outside? What a fantasy.

A boy saw the bulging pea pod, loosened it gently from the stalk and gave it a handling accustomed press at the top and bottom on the long sides, so it opened with a bang. The light poured in, and as the pea slipped into the boy’s mouth, it thought:

“I achieved freedom, and I managed to see the light.”

Cobweb

For animals are humans gods.
For a blind, the one-eyed is god.
For some are stars gods,
also pop and movie stars.

The Milky Way is a robe,
as Maya have woven
with threads spun by rainbows,
northern lights, phosphorescence
and timelessness.

Her wardrobe is without walls,
without hangers
and includes intergalactic
classics and the newest new.

Gækkebrev?

Gæk gæk gæk,
mit navn er blevet væk.
Skrev en bog som vækker røre,
det kan alle se og høre.
Det er bare ikke mig,
gætter på at det er dig.
Eller er det rygtesmeden?
Tænker ik’ han vil stå ve’den.

Digtet i Vejle af 24 snegle,
skrevet i rom af kaptajn Vom?

Bogen vækker gys og røre,
sådan kan en bog jo gøre.
Æren vil dog ingen tage,
klapper i med fremskudt hage.
Gættes jeg, så bli’r jeg fyret,
selv om jeg var blevet hyret.
Gækken bugter sig som snogen,
skovler penge ind på bogen.

Myldretid.

Bilerne suser med tændte lygter,
halvdelen jager, og resten flygter
som fisk i stimer og sort sol af stære
der udfolder noget, man ikke kan lære.
Strømmende liv i smuk symbiose,
naturen fortryller os uden at ose.

Lyset er grønt nu, og straks går vi over,
her går det ikke, man står og sover.
Biler ser rødt, der dyttes og gasses,
tiden er knap og må ikke forpasses.
Alle har travlt og skynder sig hjem,
maverne knurrer, og klokken er fem.

Rush hour.

The cars whiz with lights on, one half are chasing and the other half are fleeing. Like fish in shoals and swarms of starlings that unfolds something you can’t learn, flowing in beautiful symbiosis. The nature enchants us without pollution.

Our light is green now, we must quickly pass, and it’s appropriate to be awake. Cars looks at red light, honking and gases up, the time is short and should not be missed. Is it the sea foaming waves that occasionally reveals a fin of a dangerous shark, or is it tired people, all in a hurry, with growling stomachs at rush hour?

Tilnærmelsesvis.

Hør nu kære, hør nu kære, hør nu kære Clementajn,

du er saftig som en pære, som et strejf af forårsregn.

Jeg er ikke som de andre, gør mig til og er i vejn,

skal vi to slå smut og vandre, så er jeg din Valentajn.

Du er kanske overbooket, send mig dog et bette smil,

blomsterhandleren har lukket, holder vejret til april.

Gækkebreve vil jeg lave, sende dig et forårstegn,

presse blomster fra min have, gæt så løs min Clementajn.

Mkh. N. N. prokurist hos Hemmelighedskræmmeren

i Nørregade. Lige ved siden af bageren.

Thoughts before bedtime

When I was a kid, I thought all adults were “gods.” I saw them as faits “masters,” and knew they were there for me. Therefore, I was ashamed when I came into something, or when I found myself in something I not was proud to have thought or done.

If adults behaved inappropriately, as far as I could see, I thought it was to test me, but gradually diminished my faith in their infallibility. I saw, however, for several years, a common thread of wisdom in both appropriate as inappropriate responses because the adult’s “divinity” always shone through words and actions.

At a later stage, when I watched the adults, I impressed upon me that when I became an independent adult, I would never behave like “him or her,” because I could see that they had forgotten what they came from and why.

Then I was adult and behaved often stupid. I tried to remember what I had inculcated me. It was missed in parts, but not completely.

Now I am in the third age and begin to believe that the way I saw the adults and others as a child, as teachers, really was the right way of looking at life. And I must conclude that the only way I should behave myself on is the way that I thought the adults always did. Every child, and every other person should feel joy and consolation in the fact that the people who are mature of age, also are mature of mind and wise. It may be a big job, but it is absolutely necessary, even for one’s own sake, and the only thing to be aware of if you want to see yourself and your master in the eyes with joy without turning your eyes down and seek shelter in the dark.

Therefore, I try to “search to find” and I assume that there is no time to waste. Many established habits and inclinations may be edited, and one must look seriously at it. I believe in the words, “The truth shall make you free,” and having achieved this freedom, you don’t live after the ego’s irrational tendencies more where you are like sticky flypaper both bad and good hangs on, and it’s really reassuring to know that you should not be afraid to know your own self. It is also only because one continue to identify with the ego, until it succeeds as a “being born again,” where everything is as it was always meant to be, and it really was already and the veil is suddenly, or perhaps gradually, away from the eyes forever. When you realize that you have been walking around like a sleepwalker in the Garden of Eden, and seen scrawny spruce trees, which in fact was bountiful fruit trees, and you see that what you saw as beautiful could not compare with spiritual beauty, even how beautiful it was.

So here is an issue to follow, when you consider how much beauty you have experienced as a self-centered being, but you’re not always only egocentric. It should be borne in mind before any demeans anything. I think one should not belittle anything.

There is also a lot talk about to seize the present moment, and here I come to think of a surfer who must note the present wave to get the perfect trip. It is no use speculating on previous waves at the same time, they might have been successful or failed, if you want to do it perfect right now.

Kædedans.

Sneen er smeltet, og isen er brudt.

Længslen i hjertet er en fugl

der har mistet sit nodeark.

Forårets toner er æteriske violiner

stemte efter erantissens farver.

Opfyldte håb med dristige spirer,

dugdråber med funklende stjerner.

Lysets toner overskrider grænser

og fejrer jublende gensyn.

Fuglen har fundet melodien,

åbner alle hjertets vinduer

og synger efter vintergækkens

forjættende kompositioner,

mens nyfødte solstråler spiller

i alle forårets kædedanse.

Chain dance

Snow has melted, the ice is broken.
The longing of the heart is a bird
who has lost its sheet music.
Spring tones are ethereal Violins
tuned like winter aconite colors.
Fulfilled hopes with bold sprouts,
dew drops with sparkling stars.
Tones of light transcend borders
and celebrate the joyous reunion.
The bird has found its melody,
opens all the hearts windows
and sing after the snowdrops
tantalizing compositions,
and newborn sunlight beams play
in all spring chain dances.

NOW again

Dear NOW, why so shy to be
and why so often flee from me?

“I never fled! Get up on your horse
that’s very much better than worse.
The farmer looks toward the sun
wondering where time has gone.
The horse is neighing free and proud
wearing shoes from St Cloud.
The cow is standing calm and chew
singing buh to morning dew.
Flowers nods, and hens are pecking
sees no time, no clocks are ticking.
Can’t you sense my silent smile?
Need to ride another mile?”

Mirror Magic

Quittevittevit and queeet again
what’s your name? My name is Ben.
I look down while you look up
both of us are black on top.
Look like me right to the feather
do you hide here for the weather?
Are you living in the water?
Have you wife and son and daughter?
You look nice and you are subtle
since you’re living in a puddle.
If you lived right in the sea
you should swim to find a tree.

Rimeligt?

Isen brækker, og sneen lækker,
briserne trækker i revner og sprækker.
Her er en håndfuld vintergækker.
Forårets lyde er nemme at tyde,
strengene stemmes, og vinteren glemmes.
Knopper på hække, erantis på række,
rislende pludren fra piblende bække.
Mørket beskæres med lysets saks,
og foråret kommer… lige straks.

Passer det ikke? Er det nu dit svar?
Si’r du, vi kun er i februar?
Ja, jeg er måske lidt tidligt ude,
men ser jo på lyset og tøen derude.
Tænk dog på noget, som rimer på vår,
for nu er det nu, og i går var i går.

Stjernens himmelflugt.

En lille stjerne svævede lydløst hen over fjord, marker, enge, veje og små byer. Den var ikke ret højt oppe, og kursen lå fast, ingen svinkeærinder her.

Da den havde svævet en halv times tid, nærmede den sig en boligblok som lå i samme retning, som den stjernen fulgte. Den kunne tydeligt se gavlen med altaner i to etager og med store vinduespartier. Stjernen tænkte: ¨Hvis der er folk der indenfor som kigger ud nu, kan de let se mig, for jeg lyser, og der er ved at være halvmørkt. Jeg holder pause her og snupper et powernap på et halv minuts tid. Det plejer at være nok.¨

Inde fra stuen havde folkene fået øje på den. De havde fulgt den længe, fordi de kunne se, at den blev større og større, hvilket var ganske usædvanligt for en stjerne. Da de allerførst fik øje på den, troede de, at det var en af de mange andre stjerner på himlen, selv om den lå så lavt, som den gjorde.

Den stod musestille der midt i luften og powernappede, så tog den bestik af bygningernes højde, steg pludselig lodret op indtil den vurderede, at der var fri bane. Det så ud som om, den kun steg nogle ganske få meter. Så stod den stille igen et sekund eller to og trådte så, mildt sagt, speederen i bund og delte sig i to. Begge stjerner fortsatte nu i den samme kurs som før, blot ¨en etage¨ højere oppe, og nu med mindst samme fart som et affyret projektil fra en kraftig riffel.

De to stjerner fjernede sig mere og mere fra hinanden, men det gik så hurtigt, at det var vanskeligt at beskrive nøjagtigt bagefter, for dem der havde set det. De havde jo skyndt sig ud på altanen, men måtte både løfte hovederne og dreje nakkerne for at følge med, og lynhurtigt spærrede taget for videre udsyn. ¨Good-bye-Ruth¨ hvislede ¨stjernerne¨ lydløst og var borte og væk som dug for solen.

Mange mennesker havde set stjernen med den usædvanlige opførsel. Det kunne man hurtigt regne ud, for der gik kun nogle få minutter før stilheden blev brudt af to jagerfly som var blevet sendt på vingerne, og de afsøgte området for stjernetegn og stjernestøv en kort tid. Så enten havde flyvevåbnet haft den i kikkerten, eller var blevet kimet ned af forvirrede iagttagere. Eller begge dele, selvfølgelig.

Men stjernen havde ikke efterladt spor, og hvor den nu befandt sig, måtte guderne vide. Måske var der tilføjet to nye stjerner på himmelhvælvet, eller måske var de smuttet ind i en ¨lomme,¨ som var hinsides sansernes rækkevidde. De kunne måske også være opløste i atomer… men uanset: Sporløse, det var de. Eller som min gamle onkel plejede at sig, når noget ikke var til at finde: ¨Væk har taget det.¨

Dagen efter kunne man også læse en lille notits om det i avisen, men det blev man ikke spor klogere af.

/J.W.

The star excursion

Much has been written about extraterrestrial visitors. I have had a UFO experience which led to speculations, but I never found out what it was. So I described it as "a little adventure:"

A little star hovered silently over the fjord, fields, meadows, roads and small towns. It was not very high, and the direction was fixed, no detours here.

Since it had hovered for half an hour, approached the housing block which was in the same direction as the star followed. It could clearly see the gable with balconies on two floors and large windows. The star thought: “If there are people inside and looking out now, they can easily see me, because I light up, and there is almost half dark. I pause here and grab a power nap on a half- minute. It’s generally enough.”

Inside the living room had people become aware of it. They had followed it a long time, because they could see that it got bigger and bigger, which was quite unusual for a star. Since they very first saw it, they thought it was one of the many other stars in the sky, although it remained so low as it did.

It stood quietly in the middle of the air and power napped,  right out for the balcony, maybe one hundred meters away at the most, and suddenly it rose vertical up until it found that there was clear. It looked as though it rose only a very few meters. Stood still again for a second or two and then it came, to put it mildly, pedal to the metal and broke in two. Both stars continued now in the same direction as before, just “one floor” higher up, and now at least the same speed as a bullet fired from a heavy rifle.

The two stars were drifting further and further apart, but it went so fast that it was difficult to describe exactly afterwards, for those who had seen it. They had rushed out onto the balcony, but had both lift their heads and turned around to follow the stars, as far as the roof allowed.  “Good-bye-Ruth”  they hissed silently and the stars were away and gone like snow in the sun.

Many people had seen the star with the unusual behavior. It was easy to figure out, because there was only a few minutes before the silence was broken by two war planes who had been sent on the wings, and they searched the area for star dust for a short time. So either had the Air Force had it in sight, or had been bombarded with questions puzzled observers. Or both, of course.

But the stars had left no trace, and where they was now, may the gods know. Maybe there were two new stars in the firmament, or maybe they were slipped into a pocket, which was beyond the reach of the senses. They may also be dissolved into atoms ... but no matter: completely gone, they were. Or as my old uncle used to say when something was not to find: “Gone" has taken it.”

The following day, one could also read a little note about it in the newspaper, but it did not make one a track wiser.

/J.W.

Graciøst Forår.

Shhh, sagde gratien og førte sin strakte pegefinger mod læberne. Hun betragtede de to andre med et fjernt blik i øjnene og sagde… næsten abbandonatamente:

”Kan I også høre det?”

De to andre gratier spidsede deres smukke ører og udbrød all’ unisono:

”Ja, så er tiden moden. Lad os endelig ikke spilde den men straks finde vore instrumenter frem. Der varmes jo tydeligvis op til forårets symfonier, og hvis vi holder os væk, kommer det ikke til at lyde rigtigt. Det skal og må være come prima, ellers mangler der noget, og så kommer foråret ikke ordentligt på skinner. Der stemmes instrumenter nu, så vi kan godt nå det. Havet står for grundtonerne, fuglene klarer de varierende temaer, og vinden, blæsten og stormene akkompagnerer pianissimo og tempestoso for at skabe finurlige effekter, og når det hele fremføres, kribler og krabler det i alt og alle, så det er en fryd.”

”Ja, og så bliver det ikke rigtigt mørkt mere, selv om man lukker øjnene, for solen er ved at pudse sine vinduer, så dens lys kan bortjage mørket selv bag øjenlågene. Der er intet spirituelt i dette, som sådan, for det mentale lys bliver jo aldrig slukket, men det tænker folk vist ikke over. Man kan selvfølgelig godt kalde det spirituelt alligevel, hvis man har forståelse nok til det, for selv om det er ren natur, vi beskæftiger os med i det daglige, er det jo alligevel ikke adskilt fra noget som helst andet, dybest set.”

”Vi deler det op i mindre etuder, for ellers går der kuk i det for de fleste, og kuk lader vi gøgen om. Den ved, hvornår, og hvor tit, den skal falde ind, så snart viben har sunget sine første syvhundredeogtooghalvfjerds vers toogtredive gange.”

”Bare den ikke falder af på det i år og spiller pianissimo, for den så lidt sløj ud sidst på året, sidste år.”

”Arhhh, den skal nok både ”falderi og faldera,” når først musikken spiller tutti. Det er nemlig, bare lige det der mangler, og den har jo også haft godt tid til at komme sig, og studerer sikkert snart boligmarkedet for at se, hvem der investerer i hvad… og hvor.”

The World in versions

What do you see? What do I see? Do we see or realize the same if we look at the same thing?

We certainly can not have the same vantage point at the same time. Only almost. And we must have our own version too!

You can watch the same movie on TV across the country. It will be sent from somewhere in a given quality. But all the receivers, television sets in many homes, reproduce their own unique version. And the technical quality is dependent on the TV receivers. There is, for example, difference between analog and digital TV. The film that is sent is the same, but every viewer look at a different version. It is both unique and general at the same time.

When you look at a flower, you will see your unique edition. The flower appears through the viewer. We look at the same, but we see our own edition.

The proof for that we see our own version, yes unconsciously even produces it, is the visual process:

The lens of the eye producing a quite small mirror turned image on the retina. The optic nerve sends the impulses on to one or perhaps several brain centers where these impulses are processed, and only then are we aware of the flower.

The same applies in principle to the other senses.

All versions melts apparently together in one of perceptions. A little reflection shows that it also applies to our bodies with brains, senses, etc.!

Dreams provides a unique picture of the same. But there are some differences between dreams and ordinary waking consciousness, including that dreams are personal, and that you do not continue the dream where you left off the next time you fall asleep. But the mental principles has many similarities.

While dreaming, you are generally not aware that you’re in a bed under a blanket. Located next to the one that also is dreaming. We have luckily no problems with dreams collide. It shows that there need not necessarily be a problem with multiple dimensions. There are no space problems because everything ultimately is mental processes, memories which are recalled and innovations in the moment.

However, it is easier to realize in retrospect, since everything that has happened invariably given the status of memories, and memories are ideas in the mind.