A soundless crack?

Will the sound of a crack occur, when a tree branch is broken by the wind in a deserted forest – without the presence of a living sentient being?

A question asked from time to time and might thought as a philosophical one of the kind. Until now I have not been able to find anyone attempting an answer.

My preliminary conclusion is that no audible sound occurs without the presence of a sentient being.

Whilst the branch is breaking, certain forms of discharging emerge, e.g. sound waves spreading out in all directions.

Different kinds of signals are also sent from a transmitting station broadcasting television, but nobody sees or hears them. Practically spoken the signals are almost everywhere and more invisible than ghosts.

If you receive the signals from a TV, turned on and tuned in correctly, the weather forecast with colors and sounds shows up, for example. For the TV, the signals have a meaning, it translates them and make them come alive, so to speak.

Should a human being approach the place in which the branch cracked, while it cracked, he would, accordingly to the distance of the event, hear more or less of the cracking sound. Immediately he might think that the cracking sound was really there, on the spot of localisation. In reality it is not the sound itself, but the waves making him capable of hearing it. The sense organs converting the vibrations into audible experiences.

The sound is a “self-made” product. He does not create it intentionally, rather it arises from a place within the dwelling of consciousness and the nature of senses, awakening the sound.

Mrs. Crystle Claire

When it began, she was pretty worried, perhaps mostly because it was totally unexpected, but also because it heralded uncomfortable and reduced opportunities in the future. She had always perceived everything razor crystal clear, so it was like getting a wet rag in the face when the details began to blur. Sharp detail was glorious and, until then, obvious, but now they disappeared almost melted away so only the overall impression, the main lines, being revealed. It was much better than nothing, but it was not plain sailing getting used to.

One day it dawned on her that it revealed new opportunities. For something she had not been aware of before, began to take shape: Major lines. New contours appearing, contours that had always been there but had remained more or less inaccessible to attention, because of the occupation of the detail’s seductive dance.

A goddess from Valhalla, an Asynje, who we will not identify specific, appeared and told her that it was a mixture of punishment and gift she had received. Fixation, due to the impressive crystal clarity of detail, she repeatedly had stumbled in, had triggered some negative responses. But because her intentions had always been the best, the contours, which now appeared, would reveal new and more important areas to explore.

“You have no idea what’s in store,” said the Asynje, “don’t worry be happy and strong, gentle, brave, patient, grateful and inquiring. Now focus on the larger contours. Completely new chapters are waiting on the next pages of “the main contours book,” and this book gets better, better and better the further you get into it.”

“That’s how it sometimes works, Mrs. Crystle Claire,” she continued, “and now I can see that the beautiful rainbow “Bifrost” becomes available, but I guess I can reach to tell you, before I slip up again, that this book is never ending.”

A summer night dream

Aphrodite is hot on getting a warm relationship with Aurora's brother and wonders how she will seduce him. She was recently divorced from Hephaestus, after having had a sinful relationship with Ares. A relationship which was discovered and they were caught red-handed. That was the last straw for Hephaestus. Aphrodite bears no grudge because of being discovered, and she is sure to be married to Ares, as he has wooed very thoroughly several times. But her blood pulses lively, to say it the least, and the sun's abilities as a lover should be tested before she marries, albeit informally, with Ares, which by the way is a really nice looking guy.

This evening and night will be spent at the beach, the weather is mild, and it feels as if all of Aurora's sons are on holiday. There is namely hardly a wind that moves, and Aurora's sister is not on the sky. Otherwise she could have entertained Aphrodite and helping to forge her wiles. But tomorrow morning will Aurora get up and roll a golden carpet in front of her and over the sea directly towards Aphrodite. Then they can get a female chat, and Aphrodite knows Aurora so well that she is confident in getting her help to meeting the brother personally. Aurora has also a bit of Aphrodite's nature, so amorous considerations are quite exciting for both of them.

"It looks like Aurora Polaris is warming up," thought Aphrodite, when she sensed some etheric green waves in the air over the ocean. "If she comes close enough, I can probably get a valuable conversation with her. She grapples still sometimes with Ymer’s dead body that she didn’t have the heart to bury. I have her, however, suspected of being ensnared by his gaze more than his body in general because of the way he looked at her when he was alive. Otherwise she would probably not have asked the Aesir to build this beautiful, undulating fence in the sky, using his eyelashes. She always says that the fence was built exclusively to protect the people against the giants, but excuses I no longer find difficult to figure out. The Aesir are strange, I think. We others are more exotic."

"I wonder if the sun is thinking of me right now." She felt it crawled in her body at the mere thought. "Aurora renews herself happily every morning, although her dozy husband, Tithonus, is aging forever. Yes, that's what can happen when you wish for eternal youth and forget to take all the precautions such things require." 

"Well it's not me, because though everyone says that I’m eternally young, I know as well that it’s often just something people say because I'm not a youngster more but anyway still looks fantastically good from any angle. If I’m allowed to feel my heart melt again when the sun takes me in his arms, I should not complain. Then I get the energy to be a good wife to Ares, and then I will make more of comfort than I normally do, and I will also learn how to make a solid meal, so Ares can get some comfortable decades before he goes, god knows where. I think not many people know about that. Zeus will not talk about it, but I've realized that there are more things between heaven and earth than even gods and goddesses can understand. But tomorrow is “A New Dawn,” as the Danish king, Valdemar Atterdag, recently used to say, a little more than a handful of centuries ago, as I remember."

Tulipaner.

Blomsterne stod, sådan lidt til en side,

røde og gule men ingen hvide.

Med grønne stængler og saftige blade,

lyste de op bag den gamle lade.

Som jomfruer mildner anstrengte sind,

så presset svækkes, og lyset når ind.

Men nu blev en håndfuld skåret fra rødderne,

de fik, så at sige, amputeret fødderne. 

I krukken står de og kommer til hægte,

og mindes tiden, da verden var ægte.

De husker endnu, de var fæstnet i muld,

og hvisker, at tiden ved laden var guld.

Men bedre endu er at komme i ramme,

så visner man ikke lige med det samme.

Kommer man højt på en væg for at pynte,

er man vel højere, end hvor man begyndte.

Ovenover alting.

De lange skygger trivedes, når lyset stod lavt. De opførte iøjnefaldende danse og gestikulerede om kap, for det gjaldt både om at vinde opmærksomhed, og fastholde den. Opmærksomhed var ren næring for dem, og deres pantomimer viste tydeligt, at de ville gøre næsten hvad som helst for at være i fokus.

At være slørholder var noget, som havde stor status, for det var en kompliceret opgave. Det krævede en lang, næsten håbløs, uddannelse, som måtte vedligeholdes, for tabte man tråden, bare en enkelt gang, måtte man øjeblikkeligt på kursus igen. Og så blev man sendt tilbage til skolen, man var uddannet fra, for at få alle de komplicerede regler genopfrisket. Ellers kunne man jo risikere, at nogle mistede interessen for skyggerne og fik den afskyelige ide at vende sig om. Det måtte undgås for enhver pris, for man risikerede at blive opmærksom på det, som var årsag til, at skyggerne kunne leve, og det ville få ubehagelige og samfundsskadelige konsekvenser.

Slørholdernes arbejde var hårdt, for på den ene side skulle de sørge for at følge det aldrig helt stillestående lys og flytte slørene i overensstemmelse med dets bevægelser, og på den anden side måtte der ikke skærmes mere, end at skyggerne kunne forblive klare og tydelige. Det var et ubehageligt, Sisyfosagtigt dilemma.

Man vidste, hvor galt det kunne gå. Engang var en så uheldig, at der ikke var en slørholder i nærheden, mens lyset stod lodret over ham, og i denne position var der slet ingen skygge overhovedet, så at sige. Han havde undrende kigget først nedad og så opad, og var derved blevet fuldt oplyst.

Så nu tog man, klog af skade, ingen chancer mere. Slørholderen skiftede til kraftigere slør i takt med at lyset kom højere og højere oppefra, og mens næsten ingen skygger var mulige, skulle man lukke øjnene, så man hverken kunne se til højre eller venstre, opad eller nedad, og der blev indført dødsstraf for at åbne øjnene i disse ulyksalige perioder.

Men jo lavere lyskilden stod, jo længere blev skyggerne. Det var der perspektiver i, og det var både logisk og matematisk evident.

Above everything

The long shadows thrived when the light stood low. They performed prominently dance and gestured vigorously, to gain and remain attention, and keep it. Attention was food and vitamins for them and their pantomimes showed clearly that they would do almost anything to remain in focus.

Being a veil-holder was something that had great status, because it was a complicated task. It took a long, almost hopeless, training which had to be maintained, for losing the thread, just once, you had to go immediately on a course again. And then you went back to school, to be trained in order to get all the complicated rules refreshed. Otherwise, they could run the risk of some lost interest in the shadows and got the abominable idea to convert, to turn around. It had to be avoided at all costs, because you risked being aware of, what was the reason why the shadows could have a life, and it would give unpleasant and anti-social consequences.

Veil-holders work was hard, on the one hand, they had to follow the never quite stagnant light and move their veils in line with its movements, and on the other hand, they were not allowed to screen more than the shadows still could remain crisp and clear. It was a nasty, Sisyphus-like dilemma.

They knew how bad it could go. Once upon a time a person had the misfortune that there wasn’t a veil-holder nearby, while the light was directly above him, and in this position, there was no shade at all. He felt strange and looked first down and then up, and received then fully enlightenment.

So now took they wise to injury, no chances more. The veil-holders switched to heavier veils as the lights rose higher and higher above, and while almost no shadows were possible, you had to close your eyes, and nobody was allowed to look right or left, up or down, and they imposed the death penalty for open the eyes while these unfortunate periods took place.

But the lower the light source was situated, the longer the shadows became. There were perspectives in that fact, and it was both logical and mathematically evident.

Adventure from the forest's floor

As it stood there, and in this way would an ordinary person not think that the horse had a life, but just smile about it. If you were a supernatural creature the matter was viewed differently. Then you knew the horse was alive, and a few even knew that it was a good storyteller, although its legs and neck were as thin as matchsticks. But also here one should not manageable dog on the hairs as the pinecone had laid ears to countless adventures from the horse's chestnut-muzzle, and some of them he had heard so many times that he could retell them, and that the elves enjoyed. They loved listening to fairy tales about supernatural creatures and events. It could light up on a weekday, which sometimes might seem a little boring.

"I myself am nothing special," he said, "but I tell you, there is more between tree crowns and roots than we can understand. You can become quite disturbed in your head of fussing too much about it, so I tell only stories about what I know. It gives no headache, but serves as inspiring and soothing vitamins for the body, imagination and soul."

"How do we know that what we know also is what is?" said a little elf as he chewed on a blade of grass.

 "Well, we know this because the chestnut-horse told it, and he has studied gibberish in its basic form, enshrined in ancient leaves from the primeval forest trees."

"But what about evolution?" continued the elf. Everything evolves, and we will hopefully become wiser and wiser, as the seasons change. What was true in the past is surely not necessarily true today."

"Good point. However, one must be careful not to throw the peas out with the pods, because much of the ancient stuff is really wise. It just has not been taken literally, but understood in its essence, otherwise it is not true in our time, but does more harm than good, and then you come with ease to think of an elephant in a china shop. Very different kinds of trees were growing then, just to name an example that not to be taken literally either. In addition, there is a useful rule of thumb: If the story ends, Snip, Snap, Snout, it is trustworthy. Otherwise, you are more or less on the Lord’s Field. Take the huge copper beech over there. It says that we all can fail and it has even so many growth rings that it pinches for the bark reaching around them here and there."

The pinecone stretched so it creaked, spread his arms out and sang with commendable mine: "As long as I live, as long as my heart beats, so long I will love you… ou ou ou. These words are now enshrined on some leaves in the primeval forest, and it is said that they originally have been written on a crumpled napkin, which was thrown out of the tavern right here at the forest edge. The carrier pigeon’s aunt was moved to tears when she read them, and then she immediately sent her nephew, with the napkin rolled up on one leg, to primeval forest editors so the words could come to honor and dignity. And they are quite well known now. But now my tears also start coming out... so Snip, Snap, Snout." 

Hymens Lænker.

”Der er jo ingen der siger, at vi behøver at bestille og pikke alt fra menukortet på én gang,” sagde Solsorten med hovedet på skrå, hvilket fik hans ord til at virke næsten plausible. ”Jeg mener i overført tilstand, forstås. Vi kan starte med at dele en regne-orm op i en halv snes stykker og så hyggepikke, mens vi vrider sagen og ser på de muligheder der kunne lægges i det.”

Lærken følte sig i syv sind. Selv om Solsorten var både smuk og beleven, var det jo sin sag at stifte familie med ham. Hun følte, det næsten var som et kragehop, og behøvede både tid og overvejelser, før hun eventuelt ville vinge ideen af. De havde kærligheden til fælles, og kærlighed går aldrig i for små sko. Den ænser næppe forskelle i art, køn eller sprog, og behøver derfor aldrig skohorn.  Men konspirationen var ganske interessant. Tænk at få unger med en sort af en art, der kunne fremvise et så pragtfuldt, gult næb. Sikke dog en redelighed. Ornitologen, som boede lige bag træerne ved den gule kornmark, som de begge følte, var deres matrikel, ville få et føl, hvis så fald ifremt en ny art pludselig gik på vingerne. Nu var hun ikke i stand til at fremvise et ordinært smil, da mundvigene var for stive, men begge hendes øjne udtrykte tydelige smil ved tanken.

”Og der skal være dansk stil over det,” fortsatte Solsorten. ”Vi flyver til Dværgen, ved sagnfuglen Rok’s næb-slibningsbjerg, og bliver smedet i Hymens Lænker. Han er den bedste Lænkesmed i miles omkreds, og han smeder de fineste, æteriske af slagsen, fugle kan bære. Så flyver vi til Hornuglen, som forretter det endelige forgiftningsmål. Han afslutter nemlig altid den slags med et Fadervor, og det kan jeg godt lide. Det varmer helt ud i svingfjerene, og så er der ingen køer på isen bagefter.

Katanjehesten har lært uglen at messe Fadervor på Volapyk, som han jo selv har studeret i sin grundform, og det vil uden tvivl medvirke til, at der, i første omgang i aller fald, kommer de smukkeste, æggeformede resultater ud af vores parforløb, for han kan meget mere end sit Fadervor. At nogle så eventuelt går til Rænkesmeden, fordi de får ondt i styrefjerene af vores forbehold, må de selv om. Hvis de vil ofre, hvad disse rænker egentlig koster dem, så lad dem dog spilde deres krudt, som de vil.”

Hornuglen var blevet adviseret af Solsorten om, at den sikkert snart skulle forgifte ham og hans udkårne. ”Hun er så smuk,” fortalte han uglen, ”og så er hun en rigtig Sanglærke… med X-faktor.”

Det kneb dog stadig for uglen at messe Fadervor udenad på Volapyk, så nu sad han igen, med sine hornbriller på næbbet, og øvede sig:

"O Fat obas, kel binol in süls!

Nem olik pasaludükonöd!

Regän ola kömonöd!

Vil olik jenonöd,

äsä in sül, i su tal!

Givolös obes adelo bodi aldelik obsik!

E pardolös obes döbotis obsik,

äsä i obs pardobs utanes, kels edöbons kol obs.

E no blufodolös obis,

ab livükolös obis de bad!" 

Han forstod udemærket, hvor vigtigt det var for Solsorten, at det gik rigtigt til, så han studerede sedlen med bønnen mange gange, lukkede øjnene og prøvede om han kunne memorere den i tankerne, og kiggede så atter. Sådan havde det været, siden han fik bønnen af Kastanjehesten, og Fadervor på Volapyk er ikke noget, man bare jabber af sig, for så bliver det let til det rene volapyk.

Og det er jo noget ganske andet.

Hymens chains

“Nobody says that we need to order and peck everything from the menu at once,” said Christian, the blackbird, with tilted head, which caused his words to seem almost plausible. “As a start we can peck an earthworm into a dozen pieces and then enjoy it while we wring the case and look at the opportunities that might be in it.”

Lara, the lark felt herself in two minds. Although Christian was both beautiful and courteous, it was indeed a challenge to start a family with him. She felt it was almost like a crow hop, and needed time and consideration before she would possibly give the idea a wing. They had the love in common, and love never goes in too small shoes. It did neither notice nor exaggerate the differences in species, sex or language, and therefore didn’t need shoehorn. It was also quite interesting. Think about getting kids with a species which is being able to show such a beautiful, yellow beak. The ornithologist who lived just behind the trees by the yellow cornfield, they both felt was their land, would shitting bricks if a new species suddenly went on the wings. Now she was not able to show an ordinary smile as corners of her mouth was too rigid, but both her eyes expressed clear smiles at the thought.

“And there shall be involved style,” continued Christian. “We will fly to the dwarf who lives in a cave under the legendary bird Rok’s beak grinding mountain, and being forged in the Hymen’s chains. He is the best chain smith for miles around, and forges the finest chains birds can carry. Then we fly to the great owl, as performs the final wedding ceremony. He includes namely always this kind of ceremony with the Lord’s Prayer, and I like that. It warms completely out in the flight feathers, and then there are no cows on the ice afterwards.”

The chestnut-horse have taught the owl the Lord’s Prayer at Volapyk, as he has studied in its basic form, and it will undoubtedly contribute to the most beautiful, egg-shaped results of our partnership for he knows much more than his Lord’s Prayer, so to speak. Some are possibly going to the wile smith because they get hurt in their control feathers by our relation. If they want to sacrifice what these wiles really cost them, so let them waste their ‘gunpowder,’ as they will.”

The owl had been advised of Christian that he probably soon should administer the wedding ceremony for him and his loved one. “Lara is so beautiful,” he told him, “and she is a real Skylark … with X-Factor.”

The trick, however, was still for the owl to say the Lord’s Prayer by heart at Volapyk, so now he sat with his horn-rimmed glasses on the beak, and practiced:

"O Fat obas, kel binol in süls!
Nem olik pasaludükonöd!
Regän ola kömonöd!
Vil olik jenonöd,
äsä in sül, i su tal!
Givolös obes adelo bodi aldelik obsik!
E pardolös obes döbotis obsik,
äsä i obs pardobs utanes, kels edöbons kol obs.
E no blufodolös obis,
ab livükolös obis de bad!"

He understood, how important it was for Christian that it went well, so he studied the note with the prayer written, many times, closed his eyes and tried if he could memorize it in his mind, and then looked again. It had been like that since he got the prayer of the chestnut-horse, and the Lord’s Prayer at Volapyk is not something you just jabber, else it easily becomes the pure ‘volapyk.’

And that is something quite different.

Eventyr fra skovbunden.

Som den stod der, og på denne måde, ville et almindeligt menneske ikke tænke på, at hesten havde et liv, men bare smile af den. Var man en naturånd, så sagen anderledes ud. Så vidste man, at den var levende, og nogle få vidste oven i købet, at den var en god fortæller, selv om dens ben og hals var så tynde som tændstikker. Men her skulle man heller ikke skue hunden på hårene, for Koglemanden havde lagt ører til utallige eventyr fra hestens kastanjebrune mule, og nogle af dem havde han hørt så mange gange, at han kunne genfortælle dem, hvilket alferne nød godt af. De elskede at lytte til eventyr om overnaturlige væsner og begivenheder, for det kunne live op på en hverdag, som godt kunne synes lidt for kedelig indimellem.

”Jeg selv er jo ikke noget særligt,” sagde han, ”men jeg siger Jer, der er mere mellem trækroner og rødder, end vi kan forstå. Man kan blive helt ør i knolden af at fundere for meget over det, så derfor fortæller jeg kun historier om, hvad jeg ved. Det giver ikke hovedpine, men fungerer som inspirerende og beroligende vitaminer for krop, fantasi og sjæl.”

”Hvordan ved vi, at det vi ved, også er det som er,” sagde en lille alf, mens han tyggede på et græsstrå.

”Jo, det ved vi, fordi kastanjehesten har fortalt det, og han har studeret volapyk i dets grundform, nedfældet på urgamle blade, som stammer fra selveste urskovens træer.”

”Jamen hvad så med udviklingen?” fortsatte alfen. Alting udvikler sig, og vi bliver forhåbentlig klogere og klogere, som årstiderne skifter. Hvad der var sandt i svundne tider, er vel ikke nødvendigvis sandt i dag.”

”Good point. Dog skal man passe på ikke at smide ærterne ud med bælgene, for meget af det der står, er skam viist. Det skal bare ikke tages bogstaveligt, men forstås i sin essens, ellers passer det slet ikke til vore dage, men gør mere skade end gavn, og så kommer man fjerlet til at tænke på en elefant i en glasbutik.  Der voksede nemlig mange, anderledes træer dengang, bare for at nævne et eksempel, som heller ikke skal tages bogstaveligt. I øvrigt er der en brugbar tommelfingerregel: Hvis historien ender med, Snip, Snap, Snude, er den troværdig. Ellers er man mere eller mindre på Herrens Mark. Tag nu den kæmpestore blodbøg derovre. Den siger, at vi alle kan fejle, og den har endda så mange årringe, at det hist og her kniber for barken at nå om dem.”

Koglemanden strakte sig, så det knagede, bredte armene ud og sang med værdig mine: ”Så længe jeg lever, så længe mit hjerte slår, så længe vil jeg elske jerrr er er er. Disse ord er nu nedfældet på nogle blade i urskoven, og det siges, at de oprindeligt har stået skrevet på en krøllet serviet, der lå smidt udenfor værtshuset lige her ved skovens udkant.  Brevduens moster fik tårer i øjnene, da hun læste dem, hvorefter hun fluks sendte nevøen, med servietten rullet om det ene ben, til urskovsredaktionen, så ordene kunne komme til ære og værdighed. Og de er blevet ganske kendte. Men nu kommer jeg vist også til at tude… så Snip, Snap, Snude.”

Naturally

He found it difficult to interpret her gaze. Was she interested in him, or was she amused over him? He yearned to know, because he was hopelessly infatuated with her. When she looked at him, in this subtle way, he felt almost helpless, and what he wanted most of all was to take her in his arms and feel the embrace reciprocated. He drank of her glance, and felt a divine trepidation in the heart while he imagined that this drink was poured directly into his cup.

Deep down, he felt that she was his, and he had felt so ever since he met her, and perhaps also before that. Only when he thought about the matter, he felt unsure, because there were so many thoughts that collided with each other. “Could I ask Cupid to shoot an arrow at hers and my heart,” he thought, “then all the problems would disappear in a split second, and my agonizing deliberations could be changed to peace and serenity or getting lost in the infinite depth of nothingness, where the world ends. I will ask him. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

But Cupid shook his head and said loud and clear that he did not dare shoot an arrow in a Najad. Naiads, Dryads and Oreades could fall in love, but you came into consideration only if you by your own efforts found your way to the gorgeous meadows where the Fairemones grew. Here you could then pick them, weave garlands and make bouquets. But what this efforts were, it was never written or told about. It could not be described, but had to be earned and realized.

“In these meadows,” said Amor with upturned palms and eyes, “bloom infatuation’s roses, and fully opened they are the pure love. It is the favor the Naiades, Dryads and Oreades give and it will be very satisfactory. Euterpe showed me once a painting she had made of one of the fully bloomed flowers, and it surprised me because it envisioned a thousand-leaf Lotus. I did not know you could paint, I said, and it didn’t remind me of a rose. Incidentally, I thought you only dealt with flute playing and lyrics. But she answered that it was impossible to reproduce these roses, so she took advantage of her artistic freedom. And my painting symbolizes exactly the same, she added. Well, the physical embrace, you had imagined and hoped for, is neither possible nor necessary, for the Nymphs true countenance is only available in the imagination. They represent, respectively, the water, the trees and the mountains, and the love that one melting together with here is limitless, I should probably add. “

It sounded promising, so thoughts and performances therefore had to be packed and laid into the little box he had been given by the Elves, so they did not disturb his quest. And it would be locked as long as he directed his attention to the point, which was smaller than the smallest, and would remain undisturbed until it hopefully suddenly gave in and became larger than the largest.

Then he would pick the universe’s most beautiful bouquet of roses that grew on the gorgeous meadows, make essence of the scent, and ask all the world’s rainbows dipping their every drop in it, from the smallest of the smallest to the largest of the largest before they presented their magical half-arches around the globe.

The Flying Dutchman

“I don’t have an appointment, I’m so to speak timeless, but could I happen to get my hair cut anyway now? It is just a machine cutting with cutter No. 3.”

“Yes, yes, sit down on the couch and have a cup of coffee, it lasts only five minutes,” replied the hairdresser in the newly discovered salon, “The Flying Dutchman,” in one of the town’s side streets.

As he sat down in the very soft couch, he sank so deep into the cushions that he thought: “It will not be that easy to get up again from here.”

The hairdresser appeared to be Middle Eastern, and was in the process of finalizing a young, strong and black-haired man’s order. The door was open because of the beautiful summer weather with almost no wind.

“Five minutes, I can easily wait,” he thought, “but it’s probably just a figure of speech.” The customer in the chair did not seem to be ‘almost done,’ “but in the meantime I can let my gaze slide around a bit, and let the mind get free for so long.”

He looked at the man in the chair with the fabric over his shoulders and thought:

“It’s surely a regular haircut, this heavy young man are having. The highly advanced men’s hair, you often see at the TV and sometimes on the streets, apparently not were on this client’s wish list.”

Then slid his gaze towards the mirror … and amazed… quickly back to the client’s neck. The tiny slender face in the mirror was an old man, white-or gray-haired with a pointed nose, while the man in the chair, seen from his back, was black haired, heavy bodied and about thirty years of age. His eyes slid back and forth between the two opposites, and each time the result was the same. “This I can’t explain to anyone, without they will doubt what I say,” he thought. The hairdresser asked with his middle-eastern accent the customer if he also should pare his beard. It sounded like he said bird instead of beard.

“Done,” he finally said and took the fabric of the man, after having blasted him in the face and shoulders from the front, rear and sides with a kind of hairdryer. Suddenly swirled around the hair on the floor, as if a miniature tornado had hit it and it took the shape of a small black bird. It spread the wings and flew immediately out of the open door.

The timeless closed his eyes hard to clear his mind. When he looked up again, the customer had left the salon and the hairdresser said with a gracious smile:

“Here you go sir, and it was cut 3 mm, we should use?”

He sat in the chair and the hairdresser boarded the jacket and t-shirt together in the neck, so the fabric could sit properly and switched inserts on the machine.

“Hmmm, the one you just had in your chair, had a hairstyle that required scissors, I could see,” he said to approach the problem of the mysterious customer. “Wasn’t he a Dutchman? I thought it sounded a bit Dutch when he said something.”

“What do you mean,” said the hairdresser. “I said five minutes because I just had to sweep and clean ready for you.”

“It was too much to deal with right here right now,” he thought, patting in.

Then cut No. 3 was allowed to do its job, and the hairdresser also offered to pare eyebrows.

Flammegrill.

Fra onsdag den 23. juli kl. 10.30 kan aalborgenserne nyde flammegrillede burgere fra burgerkæden, Carl’s Jr. i Storcentret...

Og Børge kan næsten ikke vente, 
hans flammende blik har en burger in mente. 
Han grilles af længsel efter smagen, 
og findes i køen først på dagen. 
Flammen på grillen gi’r smag uden lige, 
og Børge ved ligesom, hvad det vil sige. 

De første halvtreds scorer lokkemad, 
så tidligt op og et hurtigt bad.

Da dufter man godt, siger Carl Ejvind Madsen,
mens Carl’s investorer scorer kassen.
For det er vist ikke bare en grille,
når burgerne flammes, vil kronerne trille.
Vinder man ved køen én gratis om ugen,
bli’r man et ansigt, de kender ved lugen.
Børges tænder løber næsten i vand,
”mon Carl Ejvind Madsen bli’r første mand?
Måske sku’ jeg slå mit telt op på pladsen,
og komme et mulehår før Carl Ejvind Madsen.”

Pusteren.

Amor sad på en træstub og rørte i en lille gryde. Der steg en fin røg op fra gryden som indikerede, at den blev opvarmet på en eller anden måde.

”Hvad har du gang i,” spurgte en yndig lille pige i en dueblå sommerkjole. ”Hun har hverken strømper eller sko på,” bemærkede Amor og tænkte videre: ”Det er nok derfor, jeg ikke hørte hende komme.”

”Jeg har samlet urter og nektar hele dagen,” svarede han. ”Når det er kogt sammen og rørt tilstrækkeligt, dypper jeg pilespidserne i det, og så har mine pletskud deres autoriserede virkning,” tilføjede han med et stille, selvsikkert smil.

”Hvordan holder du gryden varm?” spurgte pigen. ”Jeg kan ikke se ild.”

”Jeg går altid til kulsvieren og køber et par af hans briketter, inden jeg laver smørelsen til mine pilespidser. De består af mos og mørnet kul, som han presser sammen, og når de er antændte, holder de en høj temperatur, uden ild at se, i flere timer. Så kan vinden ikke få fat i flammer, som ellers godt kan finde på at stikke af og lave utilsigtet ravage, hvor de intet har at gøre. I øvrigt er jeg kendt for at skabe en helt anderledes slags flammer, som du sikkert ved. Jeg er nemlig en kendis. Men hvem er du?”

”Jeg hedder ikke noget, men nogle kalder mig Pusteren, fordi jeg puster disse små frø ind i folks hjerter.” Hun pegede på en lille pose som var bundet ind i en sløjfe på et bælte, hun bar om hofterne.

”Hvordan bærer du dig dog af med det? Hvilket våben bruger du?”

”Jeg bærer slet ikke våben, men mælkebøttestængler er gode pusterør, og når frøene suser igennem dem, bliver de smurt lidt ind i den bitre mælkesaft, hvilket vækker dem af deres årtusindgamle døs. Når de når ind i hjerterne på folk, spirer de straks, og kort tid efter kommer blomsterknopperne, som folder sig ud så hurtigt, man ville kunne iagttage det. Når kærlighedsblomsterne er sprunget helt ud, så skulle du se, hvordan folk ændrer sig. Alle typer har noget godt i sig, og lige netop på de steder slår frøene rod. Jeg skød engang frø ind i hjertet på en arrig, gammel trold, og mindre end en time senere gik han og plukkede blomster for at lave en smuk buket, han ville forære væk til den første han mødte.”

”Så er du vist fra en anden dimension, for jeg har aldrig hørt om dette før. Hvor hulen kommer du fra?”

”Nej, jeg er fra samme dimension som dig. Det der dimmensionshalløj er overtro. De som ikke kan se mig, er bare mentalt søvnige eller sovende, og tror alligevel de er vågne. Jo klarere man er i sindet, jo tydeligere bliver jeg, og er sindet helt vågent, ser vi hinanden lige klart. Jeg kommer fra Engelland og er på vej mod Sjæl-land. Herefter går turen i bare fødder til Himmer-land, hvor jeg vil nyde en himmerigs mundful nektar fra Fruesko. Der skulle være så mange smukke åndehuller, og jeg har lejet en feriesky, jeg kan ligge og sunde mig på, med den blå sommerhimmel som tæppe. Herfra har jeg et strategisk overblik, og kan afsøge hele kongeriget, nu jeg alligevel er her.”

A fairy tale.

Cupid sat on a tree stump and stirred into a small pot. A fine smoke rose up from the pot which indicated that it was heated in some way.

“What are you doing,” asked an adorable little girl in a powder blue summer dress. “She has no socks or shoes on,” noted Cupid and thought further: “That’s probably why I didn’t hear her come.”

“I’ve collected herbs and nectar throughout the day,” he replied. “When it is cooked together and stirred sufficiently, I dip my arrowheads in it and then all my shots have their authorized effect,” he added with a quiet, confident smile.

“How do you keep the pot warm?” Asked the girl. “I can not see the fire.”

“I always go to the charcoal-burner and buy a few of his briquettes before I make the magic syrup I dip my arrowheads in. They consist of moss and tenderized coal which he presses together, and when they are ignited, they burn without flames, for several hours. Then the wind does not grab flames, which otherwise may well find to escape and make unintended havoc where they have nothing to do. Incidentally, I am known to create a completely different kind of flames and as you probably know I am a celebrity. But who are you? “

“I don’t have a name but some call me The Puffer because I blow these little seeds into people’s hearts.” She pointed to a small bag which was tied into a bow on a belt she wore on her hips.

“How do you do that? What weapon do you use? “

“I bear not weapons, but dandelion stems are good blowpipes, and when the seeds whiz through them, they touch the bitter milky sap, which wakes them of their millennium old daze. When they reach into the hearts of people, they sprouts immediately, and soon after comes the flower buds, which unfolds so fast you could observe it. When love-flowers are blooming completely, then you should see how people change. All types have something good in them, and just in these places the seeds get foothold with roots. I shot once seeds into the heart of an angry, old troll, and less than an hour later, he was seen picking flowers to make a beautiful bouquet, he would give away to the first he met.”

“Then you are coming from another dimension, because I have never heard of this before.”

“No, I’m from the same dimension as you. This dimension-gibberish is only superstition. Those who can’t see me, are either mentally sleepy or sleeping, and still think they are awake. The clearer you are in the mind, the clearer you see me, and with our minds fully awake, we see each other equally clear. I come from Angelland and am heading towards Soulland. Then I travel in my bare feet to Heavenland where I will enjoy the bliss of a heavenly mouthful nectar from the wild orchid, Lady’s Slippers. There are so many beautiful places, and I have rented a holiday-cloud where I can rest, with the blue summer sky as a weightless blanket. From here I have a strategic overview, and can search the whole kingdom. Now I am anyway here.”

Ekko af stilhed.

Sølvklokker, mindre end alfelillefingernegle, 

kimer lydløst til ære for solen, månen og stjernerne. 

Klokkerne kimer i hver eneste af bevidsthedsoceanets dråber, og ved kysten glitrer solen i brændingen og punkterer skumboblerne.

Fredshymner, som ophæver tyngdekraften i alle væseners sind, komponeres uophørligt, og alt og ingentings grænser overskrides, mens solen, månen og stjernerne genskaber sidste nats drøm, forklædt som erindring i rum og tid. 

Alfa Canis Majoris.

”En hund med fjer i stedet for pels! Det har jeg godt nok aldrig set før,” sagde alfen, mens han førte sin hule hånd over hagen, hvilket fik ham til at se både usikker og forbavset ud.

”Den er kun ti uger gammel, så måske falder de af, så der kan vokse en rigtig pels ud,” svarede gnomen. Han havde fået den af en nymfe, som ikke vidste, hvad hun skulle stille op med den. Dens to søskende var helt normale, og så nuttede som hundehvalpe nu er, og alle tre var sunde og legesyge. Hundemoderen havde ikke gjort forskel på dem, måske fordi fjerene havde samme lugt som pelsene, men nymfen syntes ikke om det og spurgte gnomen, om han ville have den.

Det ville han gerne, for han kunne godt lide det usædvanlige, og her fik han da noget for alle pengene, selv om han ikke skulle give så meget som en bøjet Rigsdaler for den.

”Det er en han,” sagde nymfen, ”og han kan overhovedet ikke gø. Han gør det i hvert fald ikke. De andre to bjæffer på livet løs, men han har, indtil videre, ikke givet lyd. Ellers opfører han sig ligesom de andre, på alle måder.”

Gnomen spekulerede på, hvad han ville kalde hvalpen. Den skulle have et passende navn, der føltes naturligt, når han talte til den eller kaldte på den, men det lå ikke lige til højretøflen, syntes han, mens han betragtede den.

Den havde et smukt glimt i øjnene, og pludselig kom han til at tænke på Hundestjernen. Ja da, han skal hedde Sirius, for Sirius er himlens klareste stjerne, og kiggede man hvalpen i øjnene, føltes navnet ganske passende.

Sirius opførte sig eksemplarisk og gnomen havde aldrig før haft så godt selskab. De hyggede sig med at kaste grankogler og pinde, og Sirius afleverede dem igen lige ved gnomens fødder.

Både han og Sirius elskede at indsnuse de mange vidunderlige dufte fra blomsterne i græsset og på buskene, men en uheldsvanger dag opdagede han for sent den bi, som var i færd med at suge nektar, fra den blomst han netop duftede til, og det udløste et væmmeligt stik direkte på næsen. Det gjorde nas, og han kunne ikke holde tårerne tilbage.

”Lad mig lige komme til,” sagde Sirius. Gnomen gned sig i øjnene og fjernede hænderne, så Sirius kunne se hans næse igen. Han tænkte slet ikke på, at Sirius havde talt, for det gjorde forbasket ondt i næsetippen, og Sirius talte så naturligt, at det først gik op for ham efter et øjeblik.

Sirius slikkede ham på den ophovnede og meget ømme næse, og pist var den lige så fin som før. Gnomen følte forbløffet efter og udbrød: ”Hvad i Helgoland skete lige her? Kan du både tale og helbrede med tungen?”

”Jada,” svarede Sirius. ”Det er almindeligt på Sirius B, eller Hvalpen som vi kalder den. Alle os, som er inkarnerede fra denne ledsagestjerne, kan tale, helbrede og flyve.  Mester Lucas vedligeholder og udbygger disse evner. Du skulle overvære en af hans Darshans, hvor han bærer sit magiske tæppe. Et syn for guder. Nåmen, det er også derfor, jeg har fjer, som du sikkert har observeret. Du synes måske, det er lidt langt ude, men alt er meget anderledes der, end her. Hvalpen er over otteogethalvt lysår borte, så vi har ikke helt den samme fortid, vi to.”

”Du sagde, du også kan flyve?” Gnomen kiggede måbende og tvivlende på ham. Sirius begyndte at baske med ørerne mens han lod halen rotere, hvorefter han, både elegant og selvsikkert, ophævede tyngdekraften uden mindste besvær.

”Der er mere mellem himmel og jord, end vi gnomer har kendskab til,” tænkte han, og smilede så pludselig ved tanken om, hvad han sikkert kunne overraske Sirius med.

For gnomer kan også et og andet, som nok vil få mange til at undre sig, men flyveører har de ikke og heller ingen hale. De kan såmænd bare gøre sig usynlige ved at sætte højre pegefinger mod næsetippen. Men det føltes ikke som noget særligt, for det var man jo vant til, og hvis ikke Sirius havde lynfixet hans næse med sin magiske tunge, ville der nu også være gået nogle dage, før han kunne udøve denne kunst igen.

Men sammen ville de to kunne sætte verden på den anden ende og få mange til at tabe både næse og mund.

Snip, snap, snude, og Alfa Canis Majoris er meget langt ude.

"A dog with feathers instead of fur! I have never seen that before," said the elf as he led the palm of his hand over his chin, which made him look both uncertain and astonished.

"It is only ten weeks old, so maybe they will fall off and there will grow a real fur again," said the fairy. She had received it from a nymph who did not know what to do with it. The two siblings were completely normal, and as cute as puppies are, and all three were healthy and playful. The dog’s mother made no difference between them, perhaps because the feathers had the same smell as fur, but the nymph did not like it and asked the fairy, if she would have the puppy.

She would, because she liked the unusual, and here she got her money's worth, even though she did not have to provide as much as a bent penny for it.

"It's a he," said the nymph, "and he can’t bark. He does it at least not. The other two bark a lot, but he has so far not been heard barking. Otherwise he behaves like the others, in every way."

The fairy wondered what she would call the puppy. He should have an appropriate name that felt natural when she spoke to or called to him, but it was not that easy to decide she thought as she watched him.

He had a beautiful twinkle in his eyes, and suddenly the fairy came to think of the Dog Star. Yes, he should be named Sirius. Sirius is the brightest star in the sky, and looking at the puppy’s eyes the name felt quite appropriate.

Sirius behaved very well and the fairy had never before had such good company. They enjoyed themselves by throwing pine cones and sticks, and Sirius dropped them again right at her feet.

Both she and Sirius loved to soak up the many wonderful scents of the flowers in the grass and on the bushes, but an ominous day she discovered too late the bee, which was about to suck nectar from the flower she just sniffed at, and it resulted in a nasty plug directly on the nose. It hurt, and she could not hold back the tears.

"Let me see," said Sirius. The fairy rubbed her eyes and removed her hands so Sirius could see her nose again. She did not notice that Sirius had spoken, because it did damn sore at her nose tip, and Sirius spoke so natural that it first dawned on her after a moment.

Sirius licked her on the swollen and very sore nose, and then it was just as fine as before. The fairy felt amazed, and said, "What in Helgoland happened right here? Can you both talk and heal with your tongue?"

"Yes-yes," said Sirius. "It is common on Sirius B, or The Puppy as we call it. All of us reincarnated from this companion star, can talk, heal and fly. Master Lucas maintains and develops these skills. You should participate in one of his Darshans where he wears his magic carpet. A sight for Gods. Well, that's also why I have feathers, as you've probably noticed. You may think it's a little far-fetched, but everything is very different there than from here. The Puppy is about eight and a half light-years away, so you and I don’t share quite the same history."

"You said you can fly?" The fairy looked astonished and skeptical at him. Now Sirius flapped his ears while he let the tail rotate and then, both elegant and confident, he repealed gravity without the slightest difficulty.

"There are more things between heaven and earth than we fairies are aware of," she thought, and then she suddenly smiled at the thought of how she could surprise Sirius.

For fairies can also do a few things that probably will cause many to wonder, but flapping ears they don’t have and no tail either. They can just make themselves invisible by setting the right index finger against the tip of the nose, but it did not feel special, because they were accustomed to it. Now had Sirius cured the nose in lightning speed with the magical tongue, else there would be gone some days before she could exercise this art again.

But together, they could put the world on the other end and get many to yawn of wonderment.

Snip, snap, snout, and Alpha Canis Majoris is still very far out.