Solstices

Volume 1 of the trilogy Fictional Truth

Crisalis

Cover: Logo of labyrinth-international.org, modified

Original German edition: 2011.

Translation to English: Elisabeth Alewell-Nebe

Revision of the English version: Sheila Wilson

Impressum
Copyright: © 2016 Crisalis

published by 2002-2016 Lulu Press, Inc., www.lulu.com

ISBN 978-0-244-20146-3

The door opened slowly, as if moved by an invisible hand, gliding softly and silently on its hinges until it was half open. Eight men and three women turned simultaneously, each taken by surprise, nobody saying a word. Apparently they were wondering whether the open door might bring the ongoing meeting to an end.

The meeting had by now reached its lowest energy level. The dominant men were trying to prove their point by endlessly repeating their opinions, like an endless rhetoric loop, thereby pushing differing opinions off the table. An experienced chair would have been able to summarise the outcome, and the meeting could have ended half an hour ago. However, that was not to be, evidently. They could not reach a consensus that would satisfy the company’s management; therefore everyone seemed caught in a kind of paralysis.

Charlotte had been experiencing this slowly rising paralysis inside her for some time. Before this numbness reached her heart, she decided to visualise a brightly pulsing yellow-orange light in her body. She knew that she had to act before the endless talking in circles made her lose so much energy and vitality as to make it impossible for her to have the important points manifested in the protocol. Just as she had managed to stabilise the light inside her to a warm and steady pulsing, the door had suddenly opened, silently and softly.

A shudder went through Charlotte. Tension crackled in the air and she noticed some of the men were getting nervous. They had been discussing a 15% staff reduction, even though the company was doing well, which was causing uneasy feelings in some of the participants. Charlotte sensed thoughts like 'sabotage', 'revenge' and 'spying' coursing around the room while everyone looked through the open door into the empty foyer. Suddenly there was a strong presence in the room, quite in contrast to the destructive, down-to-earth atmosphere of the meeting so far.

Before the tension could become unbearable, Muehlin interrupted the silence by snorting softly. In his function as general manager, he was not only in charge of this meeting but this was clearly his territory. He even lived one floor up in the penthouse. He gave another supercilious snort, laughing disparagingly and said, 'Don’t worry, it isn’t a vengeful ghost, but the cat belonging to my wife. I should say, to my ex-wife. She preferred to leave the cat with me. I have no idea how the beast managed to get in here.'

Ah, Charlotte thought, that’s why he’s in such an icy mood.

Muehlin jumped to his feet, pointed towards the open door with the air of someone used to having his orders followed, and barked, 'Cleo, get out! You don’t belong in here.' Cleo completely ignored Muehlin. Mewing softly, she jumped elegantly onto the table and slowly – head and tail held proudly high – marched the length of it until she reached Charlotte. Her raven black coat and white paws were reflected in the shimmering dark cherry wood of the table. Everyone’s eyes were on the cat. Muehlin gestured angrily but seemed helpless. It was quite obvious that he did not want to touch the cat, nor did he want to be made fun of. He turned abruptly and left the room, shouting for his secretary.

Meanwhile, Cleo had reached Charlotte and sat down with dignity on the table in front of her. Charlotte chuckled. She slowly lifted her hand and softly massaged the cat’s neck. At once the tension in the room disappeared. Some smiled and others started talking about their own cats and dogs or children. When Muehlin stormed back into the room, his secretary in tow, Cleo was in Charlotte’s lap, purring softly. Muehlin stopped in front of Charlotte, the secretary standing behind him with a cage in one hand. Astonished, Charlotte looked at Muehlin then his secretary, the cage and back at Muehlin, while she continued to stroke Cleo. Impatiently, Muehlin said, 'Give me the cat now, so we can continue our meeting.'

'But she doesn’t bother me at all. Why don’t you just leave her with me?'

For a moment Muehlin looked really angry and his secretary flinched slightly, but suddenly his whole face lit up. 'Okay then, why don’t you take the cat home with you? It seems to be a woman’s cat anyway.' Gruffly he took the cage and put it on the floor beside Charlotte’s chair, dismissed his secretary with a flick of his hand, and with a satisfied snort once again took his seat. 'At least I don’t have to see that cat any more. I would have had someone take it to the shelter otherwise.'

Everyone looked at Muehlin in surprise before they turned to Charlotte, slightly embarrassed. For a while there was total silence and only Cleo’s steady purring could be heard. At first Charlotte was too much taken aback to reply. She tried to gauge her feelings and felt how the warm and happy sensations emphasised the orange and yellow light. Therefore she nodded at the questioning looks of her colleagues and replied,

'Okay I’ll take her. But I must ask you to end the meeting now, because I’ll have to go and buy cat food and litter before the shops close.'

Muehlin threw an approving glance in her direction, acknowledging her ability to take charge of the situation, but Charlotte did not wait for his reaction. She carefully put Cleo in the cage, gave a few instructions to the person writing the protocol and made for the door, calling out, 'See you, everyone'.

She stopped by the secretary’s desk, leaving her phone number in case Muehlin’s wife changed her mind and wanted Cleo back.

Walking down the stairs, Charlotte became aware of the sudden happiness filling her since she had decided to keep Cleo. This happiness had defeated any lingering fatigue. Cleo contentedly sat in her cage and watched the world around her. In spite of the fact that they were in the middle of office buildings, Charlotte found a small stall at the next street corner that sold cat food and litter. In no time at all she was at the station waiting for the train to take her home. She felt satisfied and almost happy. The meeting had been very strenuous and tiring at first and she had had the feeling of being superfluous and unsuitably qualified for her job. Cleo’s appearance had completely turned the situation around.

When the train pulled in, she chose a seat by the window, snuggled into her coat against the window, put her hand inside the cage to stroke Cleo softly and closed her eyes.

She thought about her job with Synergia. Her work with one of the world’s largest management consulting firms was a safe job and very well paid. She was in charge of women’s affairs and worked as a mediator. But mediating newly formed teams and the monitoring of projects was becoming more and more difficult. The atmosphere had become increasingly rough and implementing solutions seemed to need more and more energy and time to break through the protective walls her colleagues had put up. Apart from that, the topic of sexual abuse had now made it into the highest level of the company. After it had repeatedly appeared in different media, the company management felt obliged to state an opinion and now Charlotte had been told to plan a series of seminars on the topic. At least the directors had implied that they understood this topic wasn’t to be dealt with in one single presentation. Charlotte sighed. If only she could banish the world from her thoughts for a short time..., fall into the semi-darkness of a doze for a few minutes. She felt herself starting to drift, becoming lighter, gliding into that semi-darkness.

At that moment the train stopped and two men got on, taking the seats in front of her. Their self-assuming discussion began to dominate the train compartment. Business connections, transactions, the DAX index, excellent balancing… Nobody in the train could escape their bragging. Their mobile phones kept ringing, they told their invisible employees what to do and entertained their colleagues with little jokes. Charlotte sighed and tried to bury herself deeper into her coat. All to no avail. It was not possible to drift off even for a moment. She got up to go to the loo.

On her way back she watched the men out of the corner of her eye. One man was relatively small and was balding, the other had very well-trimmed dark wavy hair. Both were wearing perfectly tailored dark suits, ties and held black laptops on their knees. The smaller man was obviously trying to impress his neighbour, perhaps due to his lack in size, by gleefully telling him how he had managed to sack a female employee when she returned to work after maternity leave. Charlotte didn’t understand the story and the dark-haired colleague obviously hadn’t understood it either, but he seemed suddenly very eager and alert. He asked his companion to explain again how they had managed that because usually the lay-off protection in Germany would protect women coming back from maternity leave from getting fired. The balding man now began to explain with enthusiasm that they just closed job contracts that did not define the tasks in detail. As such, they could claim any time that the tasks the employee was supposed to do no longer existed, and this way they were legally allowed to dismiss them.

Charlotte slowly sat down again. Unobtrusively, she put her hand on the back of the man’s seat near his head. She visualised herself invisible, connected with the energy of the fox, filling herself with love and light energy and searching the connection to the universe. When she felt warm and full, she sent the energy through the palm of her hand into the crown chakra of the man in the seat in front of her. She stopped listening to him and concentrated completely on the flow of love and understanding, straight from the universe, through her own crown chakra, her body, the palm of her hand into the man’s top chakra. She sensed his voice suddenly becoming reluctant. 'Well, at the end I almost felt sorry for her. But her husband has a well-paid job.' His colleague glanced at him with surprise.

Charlotte now put her other hand on the back of the dark-haired man’s seat and concentrated on sending love and light to his heart chakra. For some time both men were silent. Suddenly the curly-haired guy asked the one beside him, 'Isn’t your company able to afford that? I would think that given its size it should be possible to organise a replacement for the duration of the maternity leave.' The words seemed to have escaped him involuntarily. He hadn’t been aware of where they were coming from. His colleague made a startled sound. Both men fell silent, gazing out of the window and avoiding looking at each other.

Charlotte tried to keep her concentration on sending love and sympathy, but a big joyful laugh tickled in her throat. She closed her eyes to concentrate more deeply but was unable to. She stopped and looked up. The curly-haired guy was standing in front of her. 'What in hell’s name...?' He left the question unfinished, his look more baffled than angry. 'What are you doing?'

Charlotte flushed and leaned back in her seat. The laugh rose in her throat and finally broke out of her. To her surprise the curly-headed guy joined in her laughter, shook his head and went back to his seat, looking thoughtful. The two men kept silent now, but Charlotte could see out of the corner of her eye that they kept throwing anxious glances in her direction. She evidently made them uneasy. A few minutes later they agreed that it was time for a pint and they set off in the direction of the train’s dining car.

Charlotte sighed. Perhaps what she had been doing was wrong. Had she really done it in order to bring more love and understanding into the world, or had she just tried to manipulate the two men? But it was okay to manipulate people into feeling love and understanding, wasn’t it? She shook off her doubts. That was nonsense. Love and understanding could not manipulate anyone. They helped people find another piece of their true self. She was calm now and finally fell asleep and only awoke shortly before she reached Basel.

She was still sleepy when she walked along the cold and draughty platform. Suddenly she noticed someone had fallen into step at her side. It was the dark-haired guy from the train. He hesitated and now Charlotte felt embarrassed.

'How…, how did you do that?'

Charlotte smiled hesitantly. 'What did I do?'

'Well, I suddenly felt very warm inside and my heart seemed to open. I haven’t felt that good for ages. But', now he hesitated again, 'also very sad, all of a sudden, almost painfully sad.'

Now it was Charlotte’s turn to be surprised. She hadn’t expected such open directness. And she hadn’t thought that he would be able to feel so much of what had been going on. She asked herself if it wasn’t strange that these businessmen in their strict dark suits could be as sensitive as this guy and still do what they did. How could they live in a world like that and endure it?

They walked along silently. Suddenly the man seemed to force himself to ask, 'Can you do that with everyone?'

Charlotte hesitated. 'Not always. And in most cases I can only do it if the person involved wants me to do it, if they allow me to do it and if they feel a need for it.'

He nodded. He seemed to understand her. 'Because, I mean, my wife..., she’s depressive. It’s very bad. Perhaps it would help her if she could feel a bit of this warmth in her heart for once?' He spoke abruptly, fast and almost as if he was afraid of his own words. The last few words were spoken with hesitation, almost like a question.

Charlotte smiled. 'Yes, I could try', she said. They had reached the exit and came to a stop.

'How would I be able to contact you?' he asked.

'You can’t contact me at all', Charlotte said forcefully. She felt him shrinking back and smiled. 'Your wife has to contact me.'

He looked at her enquiringly. 'Your wife has to take the first step. If she can’t do that, I can’t do anything for her. Then it’s simply something you’ve made her do. That won’t achieve anything.'

He looked as if he had been caught doing something forbidden. But when Charlotte offered him her card, he dared to ask, 'But how do I explain to her…?'

'Well', Charlotte said earnestly, 'just tell her what happened to you. No more and no less.'

He looked very doubtful. She gave him another nod and strode off in the direction of the tram. He stood where she had left him and looked at the card in his hand.

'Charlotte Lesab, Healer Tel. 079-8899661'.

Just a mobile number, no address. He was surprised to realize that he would very much like to know where she lived. He was even more surprised to find that it wasn’t because he found her interesting and attractive. He didn’t want to come onto her. He would like to see her again, but not for the usual reasons. He knew that there was another dimension to this.

Autumn Equinox

21 September.

Harvest Festival, Thanksgiving, Autumnal equinox

∞ Giving thanks for the harvest ∞

∞ Beginning of the dark season ∞

∞ Gradual passage from growth and birth to dying and death ∞

∞Nature’s retreat into the earth ∞

The harvest is finished. If it has been a good year, the storerooms are filled. We will have been able to charge and fill up ourselves with sun, power and energy, in order to cope with the dark, cold season. Our thanks for the harvest are perhaps laced with melancholy for the falling leaves and the dying plants. But in the daytime butterflies are tumbling for a last few hours in the warm sunshine. If you are watching a bee buzzing along looking for flowers, you might be asking yourself how much longer this bee will live. If the year hasn’t been kind and we didn’t have the chance to store sunlight and energy, you might even be full of sorrow and afraid of the oncoming cold, dark season. It is very important to be aware of this dark part in us and expose it to the last warming rays of the sun. The days are getting shorter. When we have to get up in the mornings it is still dark, the air often has a cutting edge to it early in the day. At lunchtime the midday sun spoils us with its warmth and seems to hold off winter a bit longer. We can thankfully store its warmth and light one more time, while enjoying the autumnal colours.

In times before Christianity and especially before men settled down on farms and villages, this time of the year was probably more defined by the ritual preparation of meeting with the dark force. The preparation for the dark season, the battle against impending dying and death, which in former times not only threatened plants and animals, but challenged the people as well due to the cold, diseases and hunger. People probably felt better prepared if they were strong and filled with sunlight.

Nowadays, whether caused by Christianity or by our roots in farming culture, the feast has mostly become one of thanks for the harvest. We give thanks for the rich and abundant harvest, for full storehouses. At a time when we are no longer threatened by hunger and cold, it seems reasonable to look back at the past year and think about things we can be thankful for. What were we given in abundance? Which expectations weren’t fulfilled? Is it really necessary to have them fulfilled? Is it possible that non-fulfilment is also part of the harvest? We become aware of the fact that we can’t take being well-off for granted. In other places and other times people are awaiting the nearing winter in fear of hunger, thirst and cold. This should put our anxieties in perspective and cause us to be thankful for the abundance and riches that we have.

Suggestion of how to perform a ritual: Look for a place outside where you can feel the advancing autumn. It is up to you whether you pick a field with a last few flowers, a place in the woods where you can watch the falling leaves or the edge of the woods where you can enjoy the golden leaves and colours of autumn. Sit down and concentrate on this year’s harvest. What has been given to you? Are there things you can be thankful for? Have a look at the autumnal colours, consider the process of decay and try to find out what you feel inside when you think about this slow decay. Do you find melancholy, sorrow, fear of death and illness, and of the dark season of the year? Then try to let both elements – the thankfulness and the dark – stand on their own. Give them both space without evaluating them, without labelling them or shaking them off. Take a short walk through autumnal nature and collect symbols for your harvest and for your darker feelings. Everyone bring their collection together and sit around the warming fire and eat the food which has been provided in abundance.

The next morning, Charlotte awoke restless, worn out and unhappy. She questioned her whole life, herself and had serious doubts that she had done anything useful with the time given to her. Shouldn’t she do a whole lot more good deeds in her life? Shouldn’t she share the riches she experienced with other people?

Although she was on leave she got up early to escape her inner restlessness. She fed Cleo, who had adjusted to her new surroundings quickly. She went out onto the balcony, sat down and looked down into the valley. There was a light fog in the air and it wasn’t very warm. Autumn had arrived. Cleo walked up to her and with a tiny mewing jumped into her lap and snuggled close. Charlotte wrapped her scarf around herself, put a cloth in autumnal colours on the table and spread out the tarot cards.

What did she need in her life? What was important? What was holding her back? The answer in the cards was very clear. Eight of earth – inner structure, six of air – clarity, seven of earth – loss of energy. She sighed. For her inner structure she would need a lot of self-discipline and that would probably lead to clarity. She felt indignation at the cards; she really did not want to accept their statement. She composed herself for meditation and closed her eyes.

Once she started to relax, she felt the void inside that was filled with grey, restless emptiness, full of dissatisfaction, doubts and feelings of guilt. Her thoughts kept drifting off, circling around small events, unfinished tasks, inabilities, guilt. Again and again she tried to direct her attention gently back to her breath. For a short time she once more experienced inner calm, but it was immediately displaced by an anxious, grey, disquieting restlessness. When her meditation timer went off, Charlotte stretched, sighing. What was she going to do with her precious day off? In this bad mood? Today was Thanksgiving, the autumnal equinox, the beginning of autumn. Her female friends were all somewhere else; she hadn’t made a lot of effort lately to make contact with women, ones with whom she would be able to share her spirituality and celebrate the annual cycle of rituals. That would have to change.

As it was the equinox and she had drawn two earth cards at once, it was probably best to go out into nature. Perhaps she would be able to feel the goddess again outside.

Before she went on her walk she went to the stable and visited her old gelding Voyou. He greeted her with mild disinterest. The horses were outside in the paddock and when she came out, Voyou was very clear in making her understand that she shouldn’t even think of taking him on a ride. Charlotte scratched his belly, brushed him a bit and massaged his back. When she left the stables, she noticed that the contact with the horses had helped her; some of her trust in her power was back. It was a mild autumn day, but it was still very cloudy. You had to guess about the existence of the sun rather than actually seeing it, but it was still nice and warm.

When Charlotte laced up her walking boots and marched off, she noticed that she was beginning to relax. What was today about? To give thanks for the harvest, for everything present in her life in abundance… While the leaves under her feet rustled, Charlotte tried to focus on remembering those things she wanted to give thanks for. She was fit and healthy. She had a well-paid and interesting job. She had male and female friends (who she had been neglecting in the last few months). She had to admit to having a perfect life, if only she could stop letting her feelings of guilt keep her from enjoying it. Of course, it was a worthwhile aim to encourage the good in her, to allow her empathy, help for others and generosity to grow and prosper in her life. But today being Thanksgiving meant it wasn’t so much about growth, but about finding out what she could to be thankful for.

Walking through the autumnal surroundings, she looked for symbols for all the wonderful things in her life. She had enough money for clothes, trips and travelling, even for keeping a horse. She climbed the steep path to the small chapel – she could enjoy the view over the valley, the meandering river, the small banks of pebbles and sand, the willows and alders from up here. She found thyme, absinth, oregano and golden rod, nice symbols for the healing in her life. She was thankful for being able to feel again.

The first feeling she had been aware of when, a few years ago, she had had the courage to feel her way towards the hollow emptiness inside her, had been a profound mourning and sadness – sadness for her lost childhood and youth. But combined with this profound sadness there was also the first joyful feeling – joy for being able to feel again, joy that her abdomen was managing to feel warmth again. Her heart and belly were no longer simply dead and cold, as if they were non-existent. After that had come the pain. Sometimes it was sharp and slicing, sometimes it was dull, holding her down but always, in a certain way, cleansing.

She felt hot after the climb, sweat trickled down her back, and for a while she strolled along the elevated path. She found some dog-rose berries – bright red fruits which reminded her of the rich variety in her life, and of the sun even if it was currently hidden behind some clouds. A last remaining rose blossom bent towards her and she thankfully picked it, a sweet-smelling symbol of the beauty in her life. She was happy about the treasures she had found, and noticed a feeling of relief. She seemed to be regaining the ability to enjoy life.

She jogged the short distance to the river and found herself at the edge of a small deep basin bordered by a welcoming sandy beach. Following a sudden impulse, she took off her clothes, folded them, put them on a rock and lowered herself into the river. The water was cold as ice, having flowed down from the mountains. The cold took her breath away and she fought for air as she quickly scrambled out. She stood on the beach laughing, and then went in a second time, this time more slowly. This time her body was already prepared for the cold. She held onto a rock in the water and let the current flow around and play with her body. She asked the goddess to cleanse her with the running water, to wash out all restlessness, discontent and guilt and take it with her into the depths of the sea. Again, the intense cold forced her out of the water after a few minutes.

For a moment she stood naked on the small beach and enjoyed the warm breath of autumn on her naked body and the prickling of her skin. She sent a small prayer of thanks. She felt rested and peaceful. She rubbed herself dry with her T-shirt, slipped back into her clothes, picked up her treasures and started her walk home. Lost in thought, she walked slowly, strolling through the peaceful autumn day with its soft light and the stillness of September. A few leaves rustled beneath her feet. Here, a field scabious nodded in her direction; to her left, a yarrow beckoned and a tansy glowed.

When Charlotte got home, she arranged the flowers and fruits on her altar and once more sat down to meditate. This time she felt deeply thankful. Her reality seemed to be a different one now – it had changed as quickly and as profoundly as the clouds scudding along the autumn skies outside.

While she was in the kitchen preparing supper, her mobile phone suddenly rang. She took the call but there was silence at the other end.

'Hello?' she asked, 'Who’s speaking?'

In contrast to her usual impatience, when the person at the other end didn’t answer, she didn’t slam down the phone at once. Intuitively she sensed that the caller needed her help. She was silent for a few seconds, and then she asked gently,

'Can I help you in some way?’

She was becoming aware of how stilted and stiff she sounded and decided to end the call. But suddenly there was a deep, very self-assured sounding female voice,

'Perhaps. At least, my husband seems to believe so.'

It took Charlotte some time to realise that the woman had answered her previous question. 'Okay, and how can I help you?'

'Well, you met my husband on the train yesterday. And…', the firm voice faltered and hesitated, obviously the speaker didn’t know how to continue.

Charlotte tried to help her. 'Ah, would you like to schedule a date for laying-on of hands?'

There was an audible gasp. 'Laying-on of hands? Ah… well, yes..., perhaps that is what I need.'

'All right', answered Charlotte, 'please give me your name and address and then we can arrange a date.'

'Christiane Löwensiek, Bergstrasse.' Charlotte knew where Bergstrasse was. It wasn’t far from her flat, near the Merianpark. Suddenly the voice became very hesitant, almost begging. 'Would it be possible for you to come tonight? I know, it’s quite a lot to ask, but…' – this woman plainly wasn’t used to ask for help, and it cost her – 'otherwise I don’t know how…'

Charlotte gulped; things had changed quickly from thanking to giving. But she promised to be there at eight o’clock. It was just after six now, so she would be able to cook herself supper and still get there round about eight.

As she put down the phone, Cleo sat in front of her and looked at her inquisitively. 'Well, Cleo,' Charlotte bent down and scratched the cat’s neck, 'I don’t know what’s going to come of it, but I can at least try'. Cleo purred contentedly, then made a beeline for her food bowl and showed Charlotte that there were more important things to life than phone calls. Charlotte chuckled: 'All right, first of all you get your dinner. After that I’ll set about making my own.'

Some two hours later Charlotte was walking towards a large, villa-like house. The garden bordered on the park and was slightly overgrown. A dog barked somewhere, but was nowhere to be seen. When Charlotte rang the bell, the heavy wooden door was opened almost immediately. Someone had evidently been watching out for her arrival.

The two women silently took each other in. Charlotte was looking at a tall, slim woman. Curly brown hair framed a very cared-for and unobtrusively made-up face. The comfortable, expensive clothing and a whiff of an expensive, dry perfume gave the woman an air of self-confidence and elegance. However her eyes, which hesitated to meet Charlotte’s, had a slightly flickering gaze and didn’t give anything away. Charlotte almost felt as if she was looking at a wall rather than into the eyes of a woman.

In contrast, Christiane was looking at a tall, strong but slim woman. She was surprised that she had to look up to Charlotte. Young, lively eyes and a face that – apart from small wrinkles around the eyes – was almost totally smooth, stood in contrast to the short-clipped hair which was laced with grey. Charlotte was wearing leisurely, comfortable clothes and only their warm, orange-red colour came anywhere near the image that Christiane had of a healer.

'May I come in?'

'Oh sorry, yes, do come in, please.' Christiane stepped back to let Charlotte pass. She led Charlotte up a high staircase. Charlotte followed Christiane into a spacious and bright living room decorated in Scandinavian style. The big arched windows looked out onto the garden, with the park in the background. Charlotte had the impression of being surrounded by green. 'Beautiful!' she exclaimed.

Christiane nodded. 'Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?'

'If I could have a cup of green tea?'

While Christiane disappeared to prepare the tea, Charlotte stood in front of the window and tried to concentrate on her inner centre. She felt unsure of herself in these strange surroundings. Her old, well-known doubts rose up. What in God’s name did she think she was doing here? Did she seriously think that she could help this woman by laying on hands? This woman who was apparently completely uprooted. With determination, Charlotte pushed back the doubts. 'Doubts are the most serious obstacle on your way,' the voice of her Buddhist teacher suddenly seemed to speak to her. 'Every other obstacle has to be examined carefully, but self-questioning has to be extinguished at once.' She smiled when she remembered how she had tried to distinguish between the self-assessing questioning of her actions and the doubts she had of her abilities. 'Doubts are destructive, they make you unsure and afraid, they paralyse you, whereas self-critical questioning is combined with interest, excitement and the wish and desire to learn something new.'

Charlotte gulped. This feeling of insecurity in her stomach and the sudden lack of energy were doubts for sure. She fixed her gaze on the large oak outside in the park, focusing on the branches and the wide, spacious crown of the tree. Her eyes followed the smaller branches and twigs and spied the darkening evening sky between the leaves. Now Charlotte asked for calmness and energy, and allowed this energy to flow through her eyes and her body, down to her feet.

As the soles of her feet warmed, she felt a slight touch on her leg. She looked down to see a large Doberman bitch standing beside her, her dark eyes seeming to ask a silent question as she looked up at her. Charlotte put her hand gently to the bitch’s neck and carefully began to scratch her behind the ears. When she turned her gaze back to the old oak tree, the dog leaned against her, barely touching her. They stood like that for some time, until suddenly the dog tensed.

Charlotte dragged her eyes away from the oak and slowly turned round. Christiane stood in the doorframe, watching the dog with a mixture of astonishment and surprise. 'What a good guard dog!' she growled, with contempt in her voice. The dog cowered and slunk away, tail between legs.

'Why do you say that, in that tone?' Charlotte asked. 'You let me into the house. Why shouldn’t the dog be friendly with me?'

Christiane went to the low table and served the tea. She shrugged her shoulders. Suddenly Charlotte got it. Christiane was lonely – and jealous because the dog had leaned against Charlotte but didn’t do that to her owner. At the same time Christiane seemed to be watching her with a lot of curiosity. In her eyes, Charlotte could see traces of aggression, which now covered the insecurity and animated their previously lifeless expression.

Her voice sounded harsh as she said, 'First you seem to have bewitched my husband, and now my dog as well. Is it my turn now?'

Charlotte could still feel the power of the oak inside her as she answered calmly, 'I don’t bewitch anyone. I can leave any time you want.'

Christiane pursed her lips in disdain. 'Is that supposed to be a threat?'

Charlotte simply shrugged her shoulders, got up and went to the door. 'I’m sorry that you made tea for nothing.' She gave a small smile and left the room. In the entrance hall, the dog was waiting for her. She stopped for a moment and scratched the bitch’s ears. She wagged her tail in thanks and watched silently as Charlotte opened the front door, closed it softly behind her and walked to the gate, where she unlocked her bike.

At that moment the door flew open and Christiane came running out, breathless. 'Listen, I’m sorry, really, very sorry. I was way out of line. Please…'

Charlotte hesitated. What a spoiled cow! Who did this woman think she was?

'Please,' Christiane was almost whispering now. 'My heart is unbearably cold.' Her eyes swam with tears. 'I don’t know why I act like that.'

Sighing heavily, Charlotte once again locked her bike and together they went back into the house. For a while they drank their tea in silence. After some time, Christiane softly and hesitantly asked, 'What will happen now?'

Charlotte looked around the room before answering. 'For a start we could light one or two candles.' Christiane found some matches and lit the candles that seemed to have been standing there unused for a long time. They had obviously been for decoration only and had never been lit.

Charlotte brought an incense stick out of her bag, but Christiane frowned and said,

'Oh, don’t use that, please. This artificial stuff always gives me a migraine attack.'

Charlotte placed the incense stick in the candle holder near the candle and nodded.

'I’ll just leave it here, maybe you’ll feel like lighting it later on.'

Charlotte scanned the room. 'It would be best if you were to lie down on the chaise-longue over there and close your eyes.'

Instantly Christiane seemed to stiffen and Charlotte noticed that the idea of lying down and closing her eyes in the presence of a stranger seemed to frighten the other woman considerably.

'You don’t have to close your eyes if you don’t want to. Just look at something that will help you to relax, for example that large oak tree outside in the park.'

Christiane nodded her consent and Charlotte took the antique piano stool over to the chaise-longue. She sat down beside Christiane where she could comfortably touch her.

Christiane became increasingly nervous.

'Nothing bad will happen to you,' Charlotte said soothingly. 'If you can’t bear the touch of my hands, please tell me at once. If anything feels wrong or bothers you, just lift your hand and I’ll stop immediately.'

Christiane once again silently nodded her consent.

Charlotte now tried to let go of all tension and closed her eyes for a few minutes. 'Calm, calm, calm,' she thought with every breath she took. She noticed that Christiane’s anxiety and tension had infected her. In her thoughts she asked the goddess for help. Softly she murmured the mantra of the goddess. When she was calm inside and felt her feet connecting with the earth beneath her, she put her hands on Christiane’s solar plexus.

At first it was a shock to feel nothing but cold emptiness. She waited for the warmth that usually rose through her hands when she laid on hands, but nothing happened. After a while, she felt a soft, hesitant tingling. It could hardly be called warmth, but at least there was a slight reaction. She visualised warmth, love and sympathy as an orange-red ball in Christiane’s solar plexus. She managed to some extent, but it didn’t stay stable and it didn’t really shine. It seemed more of a promise, like the red morning sky at the horizon on a cloudy day.

When she was sure that she wasn't going to get a better result, Charlotte placed her hands around Christiane’s head, moulding them like a shell but avoiding actually touching her hair or her head. She visualised Christiane’s crown chakra to open, letting love, power, wisdom and sympathy stream in from the universe. She imagined it to enter Christiane’s body, flowing through it, enclosing her heart, loosening the cold, empty feeling in her belly into a warm, tickling, comfortable sensation, then continue to flow through her hips and her knees to her feet and so out again.

At first nothing happened but Charlotte refused to give in. Again and again she asked the goddess for help. For a moment, her own heart suddenly felt cold and Charlotte became afraid and considered abandoning the treatment.

Then she felt the dog at her back, her warm head pressed trustingly against her spine. Charlotte felt touched and very thankful. Her heart opened and instantly she could feel the energy starting to flow. Christiane sighed heavily, put her hands on her belly – but more astonished than afraid – then let her hands fall back as she settled back down again. She was a lot more relaxed now. It seemed as if she now felt free to accept the treatment. She still had her eyes open, but now they seemed to be looking at something in the distance instead of trying to find something to hold onto within the room.

Charlotte noticed that her hands seemed to move by themselves. Starting at Christiane’s head chakra, they moved to her throat chakra, heart, solar plexus, to her cold hands, back to her stomach, the cramped tendons in her hips, to her tensed thighs, her cold knees and the weak calves and finally to her feet. Charlotte then returned once again to the solar plexus, which now pulsed steadily and warmly, before she finished the treatment. That was it.

Charlotte walked over to the open fireplace in the corner and put her hands on the cold stone floor. She gave thanks to the goddess and asked the earth to absorb all foreign energy, everything that didn’t belong to herself. She concentrated on letting all the foreign energy flow into the floor. When she got up she looked at the clock on the wall and saw that she had been here almost two hours. Involuntarily, she sighed deeply. She felt thankful. Something had changed and there was a bit more love, sympathy and warmth in the world.

Then Christiane slowly sat up. Charlotte once again took her place on the stool next to her, put her hand gently on her shoulder and said, 'Just keep resting for a while longer.'

Christiane lay down again. 'What do I owe you?'

'Nothing,' answered Charlotte. 'I have a well-paid job at the moment, so I don’t need money. Healing, in my opinion, means passing on divine energy that was given to me. It goes against the grain to take money for something that I was given for free.'

Christiane looked at her in doubt and disbelief.

'It’s true,' she repeated. 'If I didn’t have any income, it would be a different kettle of fish altogether.'

'But I can’t accept it for free, just like that,' argued Christiane.

'Well, if you can’t then you could decide to use two hours, the amount of time I spent with you, to do some good deed, something that will bring healing and love into the world.'

'But how am I supposed to do that? What should I do? I can’t do anything like that.'

'Hmm. You could start by being tender and loving to your dog for two hours.'

Christiane frowned angrily. 'I really mean that,' Charlotte urged. 'It’s about opening your heart. You’ll feel a lot better if you do that and you’ll learn what you have to do to reach be healed. And your dog will feel a lot better, too.'

As if she wanted to prove Charlotte right, the Doberman now crossed over to them, sat down near Christiane and lightly touched her knee with her nose. She didn’t lean against Christiane, as she had done with Charlotte; it was more like a tentative question.

Christiane’s face smoothed out and she suddenly had tears in her eyes. 'Anona…', she whispered, and to Charlotte she said, 'She’s never done that before.' For a moment something like happiness shimmered in Christiane’s eyes and the dog swallowed. Woman and dog kept completely still.

But the moment passed. Christiane’s body jerked, her mouth turned down and her face became hard again. Quickly, Anona got up and fled to the corner of the room. Christiane snorted.

'Well, she can’t stand my presence very long, can she?'

'Practise,' Charlotte said softly. 'Practise opening you heart and Anona will not only put up with you, she'll come to love you.'

Christiane looked up at the word 'love'. Her eyes had such a searching and clueless expression, as if Christiane wasn’t familiar with the meaning of the word. She seemed confused and astonished and was searching for answers in Charlotte’s eyes.

Charlotte smiled and got up. 'I’ll go now. Just stay where you are, I’ll find my own way out.' She looked back before she left the room, to see Christiane sitting motionless on the chaise-longue, gazing at the old oak in the park, lost in thought. Anona was standing off to one side and seemed to be looking back and forth between Christiane and Charlotte, with a silent question in her eyes.

Samhain

31 October

Remembering our ancestors….New Year for witches and sorcerers……

∞ Transitions ∞

∞ going into the dark season ∞

∞ remembering the dead ∞

∞ looking deep into ourselves, deep into the earth ∞

If we aren’t able to shed our fear of death, we won’t be able to enjoy our life – that’s what we’ve been told. If we can’t lose our fear of death, we’ll waste most of our life running from old age, disease and death, and we won’t be able to live the life that was our original destination. Buddhist teachers recommend we contemplate death once a day. Otherwise, each day will be in vain, because we are caught in our illusions. Only by looking back from the point of death we will be able to understand how relative our reality. This knowledge opens the door to freedom, freedom of determination and narrow-mindedness.

At Samhain the veil between the worlds is very thin, only matched by that on Beltane. We can try to get in contact with our ancestors. By contacting them it might become easier to understand the inconceivability of death. By feeling the presence of our ancestors, we can overcome some of our fears. Even if the goddess might never answer our questions about why we have to suffer, fall ill, get old and die, we might perhaps be able to develop some kind of understanding, beyond all words and thoughts. Feeling the presence of our ancestors – those who have suffered, lived and loved before us – might inspire our awareness of an eternal life, might reassure us that this life is not in vain, and not without aim.

Suggestion for a ritual for Samhain: The best place for Samhain is a cave. We start our walk at dusk. If we are sure-footed we might go without a light, carefully, slowly, feeling our way through the darkness. Once we reach the cave, we sit down in silence and feel the earth surrounding us. The direction of Samhain is north, and the element of north is earth and the rocks which surround us.

Once everyone has settled down, we try to contact our ancestors. We remember them and honour them. We remember the losses of the current year, the illnesses, pain, disappointments, loss of loved ones or pets. Where are they now? Can we feel them beside us? If we feel like it, we can share our pain with those present in the cave. It is very important to speak thoughtfully and listen carefully, opening our heart and sending sympathy when others tell their tale. If we manage to share our mourning and our pain, this on its own will bring comfort and healing. When everyone who is willing to speak has spoken, we light the candles we brought along. Afterwards we place our gifts for the ancestors in the northern part of the cave and leave the cave in silence.

After the ritual we hold a feast with the food we have brought. If we decide to hold the feast outside, we light a warming fire.

Place of the ritual in the annual cycle: At the beginning of autumn we gave thanks for the harvest and for the abundance of that year. After Samhain, the dark season begins. Autumn is almost over and the days are short, cold and often very wet. It is the time for indoor activities, time to get some inner calm. In this dark time of the year, which is ahead now, we should consciously think about the darkness, retreat into ourselves, meet our fear head on, in order to be cleansed and able to light the light for the New Year at solstice.

During the following days Charlotte felt peaceful and filled with a quiet joy. She was thankful for meeting Christiane and for the fact that Christiane had healed a little. And she was really enjoying Cleo’s presence. She liked it very much when Cleo snuggled against her in the evenings, and softly stroked her face with her paw in the mornings when the alarm clock went off, as if to make sure Charlotte was awake. Often, when the cat cuddled against her, she felt her heart open and this alone caused parts of her to heal. Charlotte also had the impression that Cleo always settled down on parts of her body that were tense and where the energy flow was blocked or something seemed to be jammed. It was obvious to Charlotte that it was not only the warmth of the cat’s body that started to flow but also healing energy.

Also during those days Charlotte worked on some strenuous projects. She had published the announcement of the 'Origin and Function of Sexual Abuse in our Society' seminar series at Synergia. The text of the announcement alone had inspired heated discussions. The board of directors, who considered their company as progressive and a leader of society, had announced their participation and announced their attendance, without exception.

One night Charlotte went to bed late, dead tired from several days’ exhausting work. She slid into a terrible nightmare, which she wasn’t able to shake off. She felt herself breaking into a sweat, and helplessly tried to wake up, but she couldn’t free herself from being pulled into the nightmare. She saw herself standing, quite lost, in a yard she didn’t know. She felt as if she had been in shock for weeks. One part of her was sailing up there with the fluffy white clouds in the dark blue sky. That part seemed calm and relaxed, looking down on her, Sarah, as she stood there. The long black hair fell in long soft curls over her shoulders. Charlotte could see Sarah in her dream and at the same time she was Sarah.

Sarah held her face to the sun and asked herself why she felt so calm. Maybe she was already dead? At any rate, she didn’t have a mind of her own any more. She was at Hans’s mercy, for better or worse. She followed him mindlessly through the day, waiting for his orders. For example now, when Hans came out of the house and signalled her to come over. One short order, 'Sarah!' Sarah moved without hesitation or thinking, unable to act in any other way. For a moment she asked herself whether there was any deeper significance in this perverse game.

Hans marched towards the cellar and as Sarah followed him down the steps she watched his sun-tanned, strong neck. She knew that there was a man living in the cellar, or perhaps he was incarcerated there? She had seen him once from a distance. He probably wasn’t Jewish, but he had the aura of an intellectual person. She had been astonished to see what Hans was doing with him.

With a dominant gesture, Hans gave her to understand to wait in the first room of the cellar. Suddenly she knew by intuition what was going to happen. But she couldn’t feel sorry, nor could she feel compassion. She only felt burnt out, empty and cold. She didn’t even wonder why Hans enjoyed her being present in this. So she just waited in this warm, well-lit, grey cellar and felt nothing apart from a tiny shiver of fear. She didn’t hear anything either, but when she heard Hans’s boots on the cement floor, she knew that the other man was dead. Hans obviously hadn’t shot him, but must have chosen some silent way of killing him.

She didn’t have long to muse about these things, because now she was ordered to undress. Hans had a way of giving and enforcing out orders that suggested they were sensible – perhaps to some extent unpleasant, but for the good of everyone present. He indicated that she needed to be taught a lesson and came towards her with his fist extended. When confronted with her strength and her well-sculpted abdomen he shuddered. Then he started to punch her in the stomach. By combining muscle tensing and breathing, Sarah was able to avoid being injured but she could not avoid the pain. She suddenly had the image of the Amazon in her head, the one she had dreamed of the other night. By letting the images of this strong, well-trained woman flow by her inner eyes, she felt a new strength rising in her.

Hans became more and more irritated. He couldn’t comprehend this. His restricted way of thinking prevented him from understanding that this strength had its origin in another life, in another time. Even if he could not consciously comprehend that this breathing technique came from a matriarchal culture, he did feel something that for him was unbelievable. Confused, he stopped beating her.

While she hastily put her clothes back on, she could feel his glances and it chased anxious shivers down her back. He would punish her for her strength. When he got up she followed him out of the cellar. She kept her distance but stayed within ordering distance. Something had happened to her down in the cellar. She had been shocked out of her numbness. The pain and the tension in her stomach muscles seemed to have revived an important element in her.

Feelings of horror spread inside her. She suddenly became aware of the things Hans and his comrades were doing around her. While she was confined to the house most of the time, cleaning and serving, she was now absolutely certain that the men around her were playing with suffering, torture and death, a cruel, ghastly game with other people, Jewish people. She also suddenly realised that the insecurity that Hans had felt in the cellar, when her inner strength was revived out of the blue and became evident in trained muscles, would endanger her. It could even be her death sentence. If she wanted to survive she would have to act at once. The perverse game Hans had been playing with her had turned serious.

Charlotte woke the next morning with a dull grey fear in her heart. She was covered in sweat and felt she had to take immediate action to flee this dangerous situation. The thankful, secure feeling of the Beltane ritual was gone, along with the joy about her meeting with Christiane, and the experience of feeling the energy flow deblocked in a woman who was a complete stranger. Now only fear and a dull, terrible desperation filled her mind. Last night’s dream was clear in her mind and the memory of that led her once again to feel the horror she had experienced in her dream. It was rare for her to remember her dreams so vividly.

She tried hard to wake up completely and to shake off the dream. With a lot of effort she got up. The dream seemed to have pulled the ground out from underneath her feet. She took a hot shower until she felt warm. Then she sat down to meditate. Once she was relaxed, she became aware of the grey, dull void in her abdomen. She tried to send light, love and warmth into her belly and this seemed to ease the greyness a little, but she remained emotionally very unstable.

The days that followed exhausted her. She dragged herself through each day, feeling deeply unsettled. If she was scheduled to coach new groups during the day, she almost panicked in the morning, feeling totally incompetent. It was a surprise to her that the coaching sessions seemed to be successful, no doubt due to her routine. The days cost her a lot of strength and energy and she was always glad to retire in the evenings, thinking her bed a safe place to relax. But once there, the dreams tortured her: again and again, images of Sarah appeared in her dreams.

Christiane called her for two more treatments. Once they met for a long walk through the frosty autumnal forest. Anona ran around them happily. She was perfectly obedient and Charlotte could feel the beginning of a loving connection growing between owner and dog. The long walk relaxed Charlotte and they walked in silence most of the time, only interrupted by short dialogues about their respective jobs, the nature around them or several times about Anona. Christiane told Charlotte that she had started a Tai Chi course. To begin with she talked slowly and haltingly, but she soon became more animated telling about her experiences and the people she had met there. After the walk, Charlotte once again gave Christiane a treatment and she could feel that the energy in her now flowed more constantly and that her heart chakra seemed to be slowly warming up.

The next few weeks passed quietly for Charlotte, her projects and group mediations running smoothly. She didn’t have that much work and so she submitted herself with self-discipline to a very strict sports programme and meditations mornings and evenings. By keeping this routine up she came slowly back into her own. If not for those nightly dreams of Sarah, she would have said she felt very well. These dreams deeply unsettled her and she felt herself in a very unstable emotional balance.

Then one morning Charlotte once again awoke soaked in sweat and with a terrified trembling in her soul. Images of black leather boots, stamping brutally in step, burnt behind her eyelids and reverberated in her ears. She curled her body tightly but the soaking-wet nightie clung cold and wet to her body. The fear became dull and she knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. Her troubled mind started to bombard her with worries about the work piling up on her desk and apprehension of her next presentation. She started to sweat again. Sighing – almost whimpering – she got up, took of the wet nightie, had a wash and rubbed herself warm with a towel before pulling on a warm and soft sweater. Then she lit a candle in the kitchen and made herself a cup of Pai Mu Tan tea.

The soft, hot taste in her mouth calmed her but once more the images of violence caused by people in uniform passed through her mind. She remembered women crying, children desperately sobbing, and men laughing cruelly. There was also one cutting and harsh woman's voice. But the images seemed to be slipping away, the sounds she remembered becoming diffuse. The more she tried to grasp them, the more her memory seemed to empty, until all that remained was a cold, torturing fear.

Charlotte shuddered. She lit an incense stick before the figurine of the dancing Shiva. Then she sat down in front of the white Tara in her meditation room and asked for inner peace. Cleo came in and climbed onto her lap and leaned against her belly. This small body managed to emit an astonishing amount of warmth and Cleo seemed to fill the cold empty void inside her with her warming purring. Charlotte sighed deeply, laid her hands on Cleo’s body, and closed her eyes. Although she did not really manage to concentrate, all of a sudden she felt the inner peace she had hoped for. Deep inside her there was still tension caused by fear, which made it impossible for her to concentrate fully and to let go, but nevertheless she felt peaceful enough to meet the day. Today was 31 October, Samhain, the darkest of the Celtic annual cycle feasts. As this feast was about accepting the darkness inside and outside, it was very important for Charlotte to celebrate with other women. She decided to join Barbara’s group, who always celebrated Samhain in a cave in the middle of the forest.

That evening the women gathered in the forest. There were a lot of them and Charlotte blended into the group, almost unnoticed. Despite greeting those she knew and embracing some of them, Charlotte realised that most of them wouldn’t remember her later. Her power totem in the east was the fox, whose abilities she could trust blindly. Due to the way he could blend into the shimmering twilight at the edge of the woods, she would be able to melt into the group almost unnoticed. She would be seen but wouldn’t be noticed.

When the women had all greeted each other, they started walking into the woods. Charlotte once again marvelled about all those women walking without hesitation into the pitch-black darkness on a very muddy path. They turned left in the woods and slowly started to climb down through the rustling leaves, step by step. Nobody spoke. A profound silence fell over the forest, broken only by the rustling footsteps and the occasional murmured warning of a slippery log, a big stone, or a dip in the path.

Once in front of the cave they came to a stop. Its entrance opened black and silent before them, like a huge dark throat. Charlotte shivered. Everyone filed into the cave and squatted on the floor, close together. Slowly but rhythmically, they began to beat the drums. At first it was subdued but soon the beating of the drums vibrated throughout the cave and filled it completely. The darkness was so complete that they couldn’t see each other’s faces. Darkness, a void, the bare, cold earth: only the rhythmic solace of the drums gave them hope.

Then the drums stopped. Silence. Nothing. The women kept silent too, everyone lost in her own thoughts. Samhain. Remembering those who had died this year. Thoughts about loss and mourning during the year. The void, darkness, coldness, winter, death. Seeking to honour and respect the ghosts and peers. Respect for new beginnings, which could only issue from death.

One after another the women started to talk now. Some spoke hesitatingly, several full of sorrow, others more loudly and decisively. A few managed only a subdued whispering. They spoke about their losses in the past year, of death and dying, illness and inner difficulties. They talked about growing old and old age, of fear, of their struggle to accept death, illness and age. Others talked about the hope of the promised new beginning. About their hope that the circle would fulfil itself, their struggle to understand that from pain could grow happiness, and from sorrow and suffering could grow life and joy. Often you could hear their doubts. The big question, why did it have to be like that? Why was it necessary to have disease, old age, sorrow, desperation?

It fell silent again in the cave. It seemed to Charlotte as if the goddess kept her silence about this eternal question, the one that hovers over mankind and was now also hovering above the women in the cave. The cave silently breathed blackness and dampness. Charlotte hadn’t shared anything about herself, had kept silent. She could still feel the fox inside her, watching out of sight. And her heart totem, the lynx, seemed to stand beside her, also very quiet and secretive. Charlotte snuggled against the stone walls of the cave, protected by her warm jacket so she didn’t feel the cold. She thought about her fears, about those frequently returning nightmares. Should she share those? She made contact with the earth beneath her and closed her eyes for a moment. In silence, the women began to leave the cave one by one. They would light a small fire on the hill above and share the food and goodies they had brought. That way, they would share their sorrows and console each other.

Charlotte stayed behind. Suddenly she was all alone in the dark cave. Total darkness and absolute silence surrounded her. From a small passage that led down into the deeper parts of the cave there was a cool draught. She felt fear rising in her and reaching for her heart, sensed how the endless darkness of the earth reached out for her and panic rose within her. She forced herself to breathe deeply.

'Calm, calm. Feel the earth under you. Feel the stability. Call the goddess.'

Suddenly Charlotte felt that there was another presence in the cave. Once again panic spread through her veins. She felt hands grabbing her. Something touched her cheek. Images of naked backs beaten bloody, of mass graves – grey in grey, everything that passed before her mind’s eye, only the rhythmic stamping leather boots were shining black. Then that face again. Sarah. Large, sad – no, empty – eyes. Resignation. Denial. Sarah. How did she know that this woman who kept turning up in her dreams was called Sarah? Cold shivers were running down her spine. She tried to grab Sarah and embrace her protectively, but she couldn’t reach her. Sarah only stared mutely, imploring and out of reach.

Charlotte suddenly felt a sharp, burning pain in her abdomen. Then she understood. Sarah, this woman, was part of herself, a part that suffered terrible pain and profound sorrow. Was this woman a symbol for the suppressed pain in herself, or was she a former incarnation? Today was Samhain and that meant the line between the worlds was at its thinnest. It was possible that on this day energies from other times and other worlds could get through to her.

All of a sudden Charlotte heard the women singing as if from far away. One voice stood out clearly and the full sound allowed her to come back to reality. She managed to tear herself out of her frightened immobility. 'Please Goddess, help', she murmured. She repeated it once more, this time strong and clear, 'Goddess help me'. Now the cave seemed to receive her petition. She felt power, trust and a welcoming. In a low but clear voice she recited the mantra of the goddess:

Goddess, Mother of all being,

You, who are in everything that is.

Let me feel your power.

Let me recognise that I am part of nature, connected with all beings,

Nurture me with your gifts,

Purify, fortify and heal me.

Fill my heart with love, light and joy.

Take away my fear

And release me from envy and destruction.

May your almighty presence and power

Shine in me, through me and around me

In eternity.

Amen

While reciting the mantra of the goddess, she heard a whisper at her ear,

'Write, write down the story of Sarah'.

The whisper came only once, almost inaudible, but those words fell softly into her heart. She felt relieved. Of course, that was what she should do. She took a candle and an incense stick out of her bag. After lighting both she placed them before the holy stone of the goddess at the northern wall of the cave. Then she addressed all four cardinal points and thanked the four elements. Slowly she left the cave. On the hilltop she melted into the group of women unnoticed and shed her fox identity. Now she was able to celebrate, eat, laugh and talk. Later tonight she would begin to write. She would write down Sarah’s story. The first dream was clear in her mind. She would write it down tonight and let it be the start of the story.

Whenever Charlotte found time and space in the following weeks, she wrote about Sarah. Some of her dreams were very clear before her inner eyes: the cruel games Hans and his friends played with the people at their disposal; the scene in the cellar. Charlotte did not always understand every part of the dreams. She wrote down what she remembered. Sometimes the line between dream and narration dissolved. There were times when she could no longer say whether she was remembering a dream, or whether something inside her had begun to write, if the Sarah in her had started to document her story. Charlotte was relieved to find the dreams stopped coming once she started to write down the story. She was able to sleep through the nights, and to regain strength. On the whole she became calmer and more relaxed and once again found the courage and energy to heal.

Twice she went to see Christiane. It was astonishing to watch the changes in Christiane. Charlotte was aware that it was not her who healed. She could only trigger something that was hidden in people, something that was blocked. Sometimes she could push a little, give the first shove and a person suddenly managed to get going and to start healing.

That is what happened with Thomas. Thomas was a former colleague she used to meet for an occasional beer in the pub after work. One day she was told that he was in hospital following a kidney transplant. The transplant had been successful but he had been subjected to so many immunosuppressive injections that he had developed lymphatic cancer. She had already visited him once or twice and talked to him on the phone and was therefore well aware of the bad prognosis. She had spoken to him about laying on hands and meridian massage now and again, but he had always seemed sceptical. He didn’t give the impression of wanting to be treated and he had never actually asked her about it.

When she visited him in hospital she felt an indefinable fear of being helpless and unable to do anything, not even to talk to him about it. If she was quite honest with herself she was expecting to say her final goodbye. She went up to his floor, asked for his room number and noticed how reluctantly she walked towards his door. Thomas was alone in the room. He was tired and resigned, but happy to see her. The room smelled of medicine and hospital. Thomas was pale and his skin seemed to be bloated and greasy. Outside the sun was shining on the freshly fallen snow.

'Let’s go outside.' Thomas suggested.

'Of course, if that’s possible.' Charlotte was relieved because the atmosphere in the room was oppressive.

'Who should forbid me to leave the room?' Thomas asked sharply and Charlotte shrank back guiltily. They walked silently through the wintry grounds. Thomas bitterly complained that they had given him medication that they knew could cause cancer, but had told him that he had to take it anyway. That now he actually had cancer and couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was a guinea pig for the physicians. One male nurse had told him that the privately insured patients were given different medication. Charlotte kept silent. She felt his bitterness, but also his resignation and his fear.

They turned automatically into the park. Sun and snow had turned it into a fairyland. The snow crunched under their feet. A robin sang its winter song. A blackbird sat in a bush near the pond and sang its beautiful and sad song. All of a sudden, Charlotte could no longer accept that life was both immensely beautiful and at the same time cruel, painful and fear-inspiring. They watched a frozen leaf sailing to the ground, its edges covered in glimmering icicles.

'One of the nurses told me that last year a patient who had terminal illness got well by watching the leaves falling outside his window. All he did was watch the leaves falling.' Thomas halted pensively. 'Perhaps, if I just stand here and marvel at these icicles, don’t do anything else…' His voice was getting quieter and quieter. 'Do you think that’s possible?'

'Yes, I think that’s always possible,' agreed Charlotte and a tingling sensation went through her body. They were silent for some time, then Charlotte pushed herself to say, 'Thomas, I would like to treat you. I don’t know if it will make a difference, but it can’t do any damage. '

Now Thomas nodded. He didn’t say anything but he did nod.

'Let’s go to my flat. I had planned to ask you to accompany me there anyway. It isn’t far.'

When they reached the flat Thomas turned up the heating, made tea and watered his plants. After drinking their tea, Charlotte asked Thomas to lie down. She sat down by the bed and put her hands on his feet. Almost at once there was a strong current that seemed to suck at her until she was almost dizzy. Her teacher had warned her of this and made her promise that if she treated people with cancer she would only ever put her hands on their feet and only for as long as it felt okay. Charlotte didn’t know if this dizziness was 'feeling okay'. She concentrated on her crown chakra, opened it to the universe and asked for light, love and healing energy and with all her might send it through Thomas’s feet, his lymphatic lines and lymphatic nodes, which were both full of cancer, up to his head.

After fifteen minutes she felt she couldn’t take any more, she had to stop. She stroked down to his feet and finished in laying her hands on the stone floor. She concentrated on letting all the energy that didn’t belong to her flow into the floor. When she opened her eyes Thomas was looking at her. He smiled and there was a small light in his eyes. Charlotte swallowed and when she began to speak she didn’t know where the words came from, but it was her voice that said,

'Thomas, whether you live or die is not decided by the physicians in the hospital. Perhaps they can’t even influence at all whether you live or die. You and you alone decide to live or die. It is probably not your conscious ego that makes this decision, but certainly your inner self. You have to decide, you have to want to live and you have to fight for it.'

Thomas looked at her wide-eyed but the former doubts had vanished from his eyes.

'You must demand to be given the other medication, no matter how expensive it is. It’s your life that’s at stake. Refuse to take the medicine you’ve been given so far.'

'Yes,' Thomas answered, and continued with increasing enthusiasm, 'I’ll ask the young assistant physician again. He’s already talked to me about it. I think he wanted to change my medication anyway, but of course he wasn’t allowed to make that decision on his own.'

'But he will be able to tell you the correct name and the dose you ought to be given, which will enable you to make a definite demand!'

Suddenly there was an atmosphere of hope in the room. 'And what’s more, you should consult my own healer, Barbara. She’s taught me, and she’ll be able to help you and treat you better than I ever could. I think your disease is beyond my abilities. I can only give you what I’ve given you today. I can’t do any more.'

Thomas seemed to understand. He was going to stay in his flat for a while longer after Charlotte left. He wanted to enjoy the feelings he had experienced and to strengthen them before he returned to the hospital and its oppressive atmosphere.

'Call me if you need my support, and call Barbara first thing tomorrow morning.'

Charlotte left convinced that a miracle had just taken place. Her whole body was filled with a warm sensation and she felt a deep thankfulness. As she went back through the park, the blackbird was still singing. Charlotte knew that she had not healed Thomas, but she had triggered something in him. Now he would seek ways to get well and perhaps he would find healing. Suddenly she realised that perhaps his life had just been saved and a bright joyful laugh bubbled up in her throat.

Winter Solstice

21 December

Earth is sleeping

∞Darkness∞

∞We light a candle in the dark∞

∞to heal and to love∞

∞May love and healing grow, when the days become longer∞

Long nights, short days. The season of darkness. We fight the cold and hold our own against the damp darkness, cold rain or fog. Sometimes we can’t accept the fact that darkness is setting in sooner every day, and we are robbed of daylight. Society as a whole is subject to apparently pointless and aimless, stressful activity as if the end of the year marks the end of everything. Is this heightened activity perhaps some kind of way of escaping the darkness? We flood our towns with lights, decoration and music and keep wondering why the darkness still remains cold in us.

The winter solstice. This ritual is not about extinguishing darkness with light and candles, but about honouring the longest night and darkness, the darkness in us. Darkness is not simply void, cold and threatening. Darkness and night consist of many different dimensions, all of which are going to be looked into tonight. Only if there is darkness will there be light. From darkness we can gather hope, if we manage to feel the darkness and respect it. Based on this acceptance, we can now light a candle, a light for healing and love. The more we accept darkness, the more candles we will be able to light for ourselves and for others.

From this day onwards the light is coming back, and daylight will last a little longer every day. We cannot really notice it yet, we can’t see it, but we know the days are continually getting longer. Our healing can grow in just the same way, our love for all beings, if we feed it enough.

Ritual for winter solstice: We form a circle. The room is dark or we draw the curtains and darken the room once everyone has taken her place in the circle. The centre point is one large candle. Everyone has brought three candles, which have been arranged to form an inner circle. We start by meditating about darkness: darkness in nature, darkness in us. What does darkness feel like if we try to feel it? It is possible to conduct this first part outside in the dark. Then we return to the warm room.

Everyone now lights their three candles: the first for a place on earth that needs love and healing, the second will be dedicated to a person, an animal or a plant in need of healing and the third candle is lit for ourselves. If you like, you can name your wishes aloud. Finally the large candle is lit: May all living creatures of this earth find healing and love.

And again there has to be a festive meal and celebrations after the ritual…

Position of Solstice in the Annual Cycle: Samhain sent us into the season of darkness. We met and honoured our ancestors, but also suffering, illness and death. This day we have reached the mid-point of the dark season, and we honour darkness. If today we can bring love, joy and healing into our world with our candles, we are laying the foundations for the returning sun at Candlemas to give a bright light to our visions, which we will use to make plans and colour our future brightly.

The snow that brightened the days in mid-November quickly melted and Charlotte found it extremely difficult this year to cope with the long, dark days. This never-ending, cold rain! If it would at least start to snow! And winter had only just begun. It was difficult for Charlotte to pass on love and joy in these dark months of the year, when she was summoned to give healing treatments. She often used candles, hot-water bottles and incense sticks and she had to concentrate very hard in order to channel light and warmth from the universe and send it through her hands to the person she treated. Fortunately not many people called on her for help and she was convinced that this was no mere coincidence.

But the first seminar at Synergia on the topic of Sexual Abuse was scheduled for this dark and, for her, difficult time of the year. On the morning of the seminar she first felt terribly nervous, but when she was finally standing in front of approximately 100 participants she felt quite calm. She suddenly felt the power, calm and energy which she always felt when she followed her inner truth, and knew she was doing the right thing. She was aware that what she was doing now was very important and good.

She started with a short introduction, more or less repeating the text in the seminar invitation, along with some more background information. She had come to the conclusion that the facts that the participants already knew would give them some degree of security at the beginning. After reading the text, most had already discussed it with colleagues and so Charlotte was able to avoid the defence mechanisms generated by unknown facts.

She reported that patriarchal, dictatorial and/or abusive structures in general only work if a person is uprooted and bare of any self-confidence and self-esteem.

'The earlier children are robbed of their self-confidence, the more permanent this condition will be later in life as men and women. Only a person that has been deeply disconcerted and uprooted will let herself/himself be completely controlled, dominated, taken advantage of and abused. This applies for both men and women.'

Charlotte paused for a minute and glanced around the room. The faces before her showed tension but were full of concentration. She told them that, in her opinion, men were almost as prone to this as women, because boys usually had less opportunity to develop their own original emotions, spirituality and inner strength.

She was astonished to note that the head of Human Resources was nodding vigorously and had to repress a smile as she went on to explain that, later on, male energy tended to inflict pain on others and thus converted victim into abuser.

'In contrast to men, women are often able to find their ability of eternal renewal and their spirituality by bearing and giving birth to children. This may include the actual as well the possible ability and creativity.'

Charlotte registered many sceptical faces, but she refused to let herself be disconcerted.

'Women experience 'eternal' life through the life given to their children, in social engagements or in creating art. Men uprooted by the patriarchy feel their existence threatened by this ability and power that women have – the so-called birth-giving envy – and therefore try to subdue women by force. Apparently this urge to subdue women can become so strong that it has to be ritually repeated again and again, such as the continuous abuse of his own daughter (or teacher of a pupil, cleric of a child in his congregation). The abuse of boys can occur either as a kind of substitute activity (the young male body as the symbol of femininity) or it can become a ritual to destroy anything male that is different, softer, more emotional, more powerful and spiritual than is accepted in patriarchalism.'

At this point Charlotte paused and glanced around the room. Most faces were watching her with concentration, some trying to look neutral or even disinterested. In the very last row a woman Charlotte had never seen before smiled at her. Charlotte swallowed and continued, Now, seven hypotheses can be postulated about sexual abuse, and I would like to discuss these with you in this series of seminars starting today.' She turned around and switched on the projector to display the first hypothesis on the wall:

Hypothesis 1:

Sexual abuse of women and girls is an important tool of patriarchal society to subdue women in society.

Sexual abuse suffered in childhood will generate a deep basic fear in women which causes them to be dependent on others, less mobile and on the whole more careful and shy. The trauma causes them to lose self-confidence and their connection to the earth. Therefore their 'foothold' or stand is figuratively and literally less stable and this automatically makes them succumb to everything stronger and male.

The body language of a victim, of a subdued person (head held sideways, permanent smile, 'I don’t really mean it, don’t be angry with me, don’t hurt me') results in the fact that women/girls that have been abused are generally treated as lower members of the group.

The room went absolutely silent. Suddenly Charlotte felt unsettled. What was she going to do now? She had counted on enraged comments, sharp discussion, even contempt. But there was only silence. The directors of a multinational company were just sitting there, saying nothing.

Charlotte once again glanced around the room and hesitantly said, 'Well, I thought, perhaps we could…'

At this moment the woman sitting in the last row came to her rescue.

'May I make a suggestion?'

Charlotte nodded gratefully. The woman hurried along the centre aisle and stopped in the middle of the room.

'I suggest we form groups of five to discuss these hypotheses. Each group should try to decide whether they can basically agree with the hypothesis or whether they generally disagree, and give a short explanation of the reasons.'

With that she marched towards the first rows of chairs and organised the turning of chairs to form groups of five that could then start to discuss the hypothesis at hand.

The room was suddenly filled with the noise of chairs being dragged around. The tension had evaporated and everyone started to talk at once. Suddenly Muehlin appeared at Charlotte’s side and grumbled,

'I wasn’t informed that our colleague Ms Rottach was sharing the organisation of this seminar with you.'

Before Charlotte could even open her mouth to answer, the woman herself hurried across the room and called,

'Ah Muehlin, look there are only four people in that group over there. Would you please join them?'

She nudged the slightly surprised Muehlin towards the farthest corner of the room and turned to Charlotte.

'Rottach, Elisabeth Rottach. Glad to meet you at last, Ms Lesab.'

Charlotte smiled, 'My pleasure, and it’s Charlotte. You can’t imagine how glad I am to meet you. I haven’t got a clue who you are, but you saved me just now.'

'Oh, you’d have managed, but I’m always glad to be of assistance. The seminar has been super up to now. Excellent texts. Did you compose them yourself?'

Charlotte just about managed to nod in agreement before her co-worker rushed away again to join a discussion group herself.

While everyone was engaged in discussion Charlotte put up several flip charts. Half an hour later, when the discussion seemed less lively, she asked the different groups to come to the front and write down why they agreed or disagreed with the hypothesis. In the end, 16 out of 20 groups wrote their results on the flipcharts. Five had flatly rejected the hypothesis, saying it was 'not detailed enough, too farfetched, not in any way logical, not understandable.' Seven groups had actually accepted the hypothesis and took Charlotte by surprise with their reasons: 'seems logical, explains a lot, daring hypothesis but worth looking into, makes sense.' The remaining groups had written down 'indecision, perhaps', or 'we are not sure'.

Charlotte ended the seminar for the day. 'I would like to thank all of you for taking such an active part today. This is not about who is right or wrong, or whose opinion gets through. This seminar is simply about talking about abuse, to break the taboo status of this topic and to enable the participants of this seminar to form their own opinion.'

She was applauded a bit, but the room emptied fast even the directors left very quickly. While Charlotte was packing up she wondered if she would receive any feedback from the management. Probably everyone would have to consider what they had heard today. Once again, Elisabeth Rottach appeared beside her.

'You were wonderful, Charlotte. Congratulations, you have my respect. Such a difficult topic. Our directors are completely out of line again. First they burden you with such a difficult topic and then they disappear after the seminar without a word.'

She snorted, enraged, 'typical, absolutely typical! I had voted against you holding the seminar. I thought they should have hired someone from outside the firm. But you have managed very well. I don’t think it could have been done any better.'

Charlotte looked at her questioningly. 'Who..., where do you work?'

Elisabeth Rottach laughed. 'I’m the head of the staff council, located in Frankfurt. I only returned from a six-month stay in the United States a fortnight ago. That’s why we haven’t met before. I’ve been very keen to meet you! Well, I have to go now. If you need any help whatsoever, before, during or after the seminars, or any other time, please call me.' Charlotte thanked her and finally gathered the rest of her things together.

During the next few days there was no follow-up. Charlotte’s direct colleagues hadn’t been invited to the seminar as only the department heads had been sent. Charlotte told her colleagues about the seminar, but the directors kept their silence and so far she hadn’t got any feedback about whether they had liked or disliked the seminar.

She was looking forward to the winter solstice ritual. Christmas stirred up many difficult, painful or at least diffuse feelings from her childhood. She knew that many people felt like that and so she was looking forward to being with like-minded women to celebrate the feast of love and light in this dark season of the year. When the women of the annual cycle group celebrated the winter solstice on 21 December she was happy to take part. She enjoyed the warm atmosphere among the many women and for the first time in many weeks she really felt like herself again.

When it was her turn to light her three candles, the three good wishes came to mind at once. The candle for a place on earth that needed healing she lit for the oceans which were abused, polluted, maltreated and contaminated. The candle for another person who needed attention and healing was lit for Thomas. As she was about to light the candle for herself, she hesitated. She didn’t know what to say. What did she want to light a candle for? Her hands automatically went through the moves and when the candle caught she heard herself saying, 'For my inner child. I wish you healing, I wish you warm feelings, joy and love in life.' Suddenly she had tears in her eyes.

The women around her were silent. Then Barbara, who was leading the ritual, asked her, 'And how are you going to help her? How are you going to assist her?'

Charlotte was confused. She swallowed and shrugged her shoulders. She looked at the candle’s small flame. Yes, how? What could she do? Suddenly she knew. 'I’ll write down everything I remember. I’ll write down what I remember from childhood!'

Barbara nodded her agreement. That seemed to be the right thing to do. Suddenly Charlotte realised that writing down the Sarah dream hadn’t been enough. She would have to write down her own confusing and partly painful memories, too.

She used the Christmas holidays to sit down with her laptop and write about everything she remembered from her childhood. She wrote in the third person to avoid being overwhelmed by mourning, pain, rage and despair. At intervals she went for walks, went out for a meal with her friends or met in one of their places for a meal or a cup of tea and Christmas biscuits. Suddenly the darkness no longer bothered her. And by the time New Year’s Eve came she had written quite a bit. She reread it from the beginning. Perhaps she would now be able to leave some of the pain behind. That would be a good ending for the year.

Childhood

Charlotte was a quiet and obedient child. She liked to play alone and would wander through the meadows for hours lost in thought, sit at the small creek listening to the murmuring water, or walk through the small stretch of wood near her parents’ house. One of her favourite occupations was to sit and keep very quiet, and when she had managed to reach the land of silence, she would start to talk to animals.

She knew that it was something that you didn’t tell the adults, but she found it quite natural to talk to animals. She knew by intuition that she wasn’t strange or different, but that the others had lost something. The animals knew too. They knew how to distinguish between humans who understood and humans who didn’t understand.

Charlotte’s best friend at that time was Alfons. Alfons was a boxer dog with spit running out of his mouth, but she had quickly got used to that. She had also got used to his short, almost hard coat. Alfons loved to play in the big sand pit as much as she did. Of course he loved to dig up the damp sand where she had just built something. But they quickly came to an understanding, with areas for digging and areas for building. When Charlotte had to go home for lunch, Alfons accompanied her to the street corner. She made sure that he had safely crossed the road before she went in for lunch.

One day, Charlotte’s mother was in the kitchen making lunch. She asked Charlotte who she had been playing with that day. 'Oh, I was playing with Alfons. He’s my best friend.' Her mother was absent-minded and only wondered why someone would call his child Alfons. While she concentrated on her cooking she only half listened to Charlotte telling her that Alfons didn’t understand why he couldn’t chase the horses and why he shouldn’t kill a mouse. He had killed the mouse anyway and she had been angry with him for two days.

Gradually her mother began to understand. 'So, Alfons is a dog?'

Charlotte nodded. 'A boxer. Normally I don’t like boxers, but I like Alfons.' Charlotte’s mother was too busy to worry about her daughter thinking she could talk to animals, instead of playing with children of her own age.

After lunch mother and daughter went to the stable together. Her mother was very much in a hurry to get the mucking out done and prepare the horses’ food that evening. Charlotte tried to explain to the horses why her mother was sometimes so harsh. She didn’t really mean to be; she was just so pressed for time that she was always in a hurry and therefore she couldn’t communicate with them. When she wanted to talk to them Charlotte had to stay quietly in a corner to build a connection.

She and her mother had arrived at the stable in such a flurry that the horses had closed up at once and didn’t want to talk. It took some time before they reacted to Charlotte. Her mother didn’t understand that and reproached her irritably. 'Charlotte, I rush around all day. A huge amount of washing is waiting for me at home, which I have to iron after supper. And all you do is stand around and stand around with your head in the clouds. Off you go and throw down a bale of hay.'

So Charlotte had to break off in the middle of the conversation and she saw that the horses completely lost interest then. Perhaps she could come alone tomorrow and she could try again then.

The next day Charlotte went by the stables after school. She had told her mother that she would prepare the stable for the evening right after school because she had got out early that day. It would save time in the evening so her mother liked the idea. Charlotte worked quickly to be done with the chores she had and so have time for the horses later. At first the horses completely ignored her after having found out that she didn’t have any food on her. Perhaps they even remembered the non-communication the day before. When she was done with her work she quickly filled up with fresh water and swept the floor. Then she leaned against the large oak tree and studied the horses.

Primo stood apart from the others. He wasn’t eating, he was slumbering in the sun. She seldom managed to get a connection with him. Yesterday he had completely turned away when it became too hectic in the stable. Charlotte thought she would try to fly first, then it would be easier to get a connection.

She closed her eyes. She felt the spring sunshine on her black jumper and on her face. The tree behind her felt rough where she placed her hands. She let herself fall deeper and deeper into the tree until she felt as though she were sinking inside it. Then suddenly the lines between the tree and herself began to dissolve and the ground under her feet seemed to duck away. She seemed to be float in the empty space. She called it flying. She felt warm, light, weightless, free – the feeling couldn’t be described. Whenever she managed to fly, the world was okay again.

Suddenly something changed. She could feel something tugging on her leg. She could feel something pressed lightly against her trousers, something warm. She smiled. The horses, it must be one of the horses. When she opened her eyes a bit she saw Primo standing in front of her. The other two horses were looking in her direction. She didn’t fully open her eyes, she just included Primo into her circle. They stood in wordless connection for some time until she heard loud shouting.

Charlotte saw her mother waving impatiently. 'What are you doing? Lunch is ready, I’m waiting, and you’re standing around dreaming.' Charlotte quickly collected her things and jogged over to her mother.

Her mother asked again, 'What were you doing? Did you at least manage to finish the work in the stable?'

Charlotte nodded, 'I thought Primo wasn’t well, so I wanted to watch him for a while.'

'If he isn’t well, we need to call the vet,' her mother said. 'it’s no use you watching him. Let’s see how he is tonight.'

On Sunday afternoon the whole family went for a walk. Charlotte ran ahead. At first she had tried to tell her father of her new friendship with Alfons. But her father was absent-minded and kept forgetting that Alfons was a dog. He asked for the second time if he was in her class at school and if he had the same excellent marks as she. When at last he understood, he seemed to be amused that his daughter thought she could talk to an animal.

Charlotte found the walk exhausting. Whenever she was on her own or with the pets she walked cross-country, on a whim. They walked wherever no farmer, ranger or game warden was watching and shouting. Today they were walking on official paths and that was always a bit boring.

It was more interesting for Charlotte when they passed the large riding estate. They were holding a big riding competition that day. They all went in and watched the jumping competition for a while. Charlotte very soon lost interest and turned to the training paddock. A rider was fighting with his white mare. There was no way the mare wanted to take the jump. She even refused the smallest jumps. The rider became furious and punished the horse hard.

Charlotte moved near to the paddock fence and the rider and mare stopped right in front of her. Charlotte plucked up courage and spoke to the rider. 'She can’t jump today, she doesn’t feel well. She feels dizzy.'

'Oh,' said the rider, a very astonished young man, 'and how do you know that?' At the same time he was furious with himself for listening to such a small brat at all. Quickly he looked around so see if anybody had seen him speaking to the child.

'She told me just now. She said she’d like to jump, but she can’t'.

The young man snorted. 'Very funny. If everybody just did what they wanted, where would we be then?'

Charlotte was shocked and turned around and walked back to her parents. Shortly after that the white mare and her rider where called into the ring. Charlotte watched as the mare took the first two hurdles quite well, a bit slow perhaps but using all her strength. The next jump was a big combination. When taking the middle jump, both rider and mare seemed to hang in the air before crashing into the jump.

There was chaos: splintering and snapping wood, horse’s hooves, the rider’s arms and legs everywhere. The ambulance came. Charlotte tried to find out if the mare had been hurt. Her parents wanted to leave as soon as it turned out that the rider hadn’t been seriously hurt. He only had some bruises. The mare was led limping out of the ring.

Charlotte was sad and her mother tried to console her. 'I don’t suppose anything bad has happened to the mare. She’ll soon be well again.'

Charlotte cried, 'But that was mean of the rider. The mare explained she didn’t feel well and didn’t want to jump. Why didn’t he listen?'

Bewildered, her mother looked at her for a moment and became thoughtful. What was the girl talking about? Had she started day-dreaming again?

As they were leaving, the rider was sitting near the Red Cross tent. He waved Charlotte over. He seemed to be shaken, still in shock, so he was more open and softer. For a while he looked at Charlotte without a clue of what to say. Suddenly he said, 'Well, I should have listened to you, shouldn’t I? How did you know?'

'But she said it quite clearly!' Charlotte spoke low and fast, to avoid her parents listening and making fun of her again.

'You can talk to horses?' The man looked at her, bewildered and sceptical. At that moment, with the experience still fresh in his mind and his hurt mare standing beside him, it almost seemed possible that something like that existed. Charlotte looked rather resigned. Didn’t he know that anybody could do it, if they only took the time? She went up to the mare and caressed her damaged leg. She told the horse how sorry she was that she hadn’t been able to prevent the accident from happening. The mare softly touched her with her nostrils. Charlotte once again stroked her neck and then followed her parents.

The man called after her, 'If you like, come and visit our stables some time. You know where we live, don’t you?' Charlotte nodded her goodbye. Yes, she had seen the mare in the paddock there.

In the following week she went to the Brauns’ stable a few times. The rider’s name was Robert, Robert Braun. His wife Sabine was very nice and she didn’t seem to have a problem with Charlotte claiming to be able to talk to horses. It was obvious that Robert had told her about Charlotte. Whenever Sabine saw Charlotte she waved and even invited her into the kitchen twice for a cup of hot chocolate.

Very soon Charlotte understood that she could tell Sabine everything that the animals had told her. She was allowed to go into the stables or the paddock whenever she wanted. Sabine would always listen carefully to what Charlotte was saying. Sometimes she watched Charlotte thoughtfully, remembering her own childhood and long-lost memories.

Robert’s mare was called Sabrina. Charlotte thought it was funny, having Sabine and Sabrina. Sometimes the mare whinnied softly when Charlotte entered the stable or the paddock. Robert always seemed to be a tiny bit jealous, because Sabrina was his favourite horse and she never greeted him like that. His open-mindedness with respect to Charlotte’s communication abilities was short-lived. He wouldn’t be taken in by such childish games. The whole thing had been a coincidence. Although Sabrina recovered quickly from her pulled tendons, she would never be able to jump again. The vet had diagnosed that the damage to the tendons would heal completely and she would be able to be used on cross-country rides and take part in dressage competition, but show jumping competition would no longer be possible.

On a rainy day in July Charlotte decided to pay Sabrina a short visit and then go on to her own horses. Due to the bad weather the mare was in her box and she didn’t have any food. Charlotte ducked into the corner of her box and Sabrina told her, in a bad mood, that she wanted to be out in the paddock and if that wasn’t possible then she would at least like to have some hay.

Charlotte hesitated. Up to now she had never been up on the hay loft. Even though nobody had explicitly told her, she knew that she wasn’t allowed to feed the horses whenever she wished. She silently walked to the ladder and climbed up. There seemed to be nobody up there.

She sat down in the aromatic hay for a moment. She would fly for a tiny moment. That couldn’t do any damage. Then she would give Sabrina some hay and go home to her own horses to feed them. She closed her eyes and almost at once the fragrance of the hay mingled with the space and freedom of the light. She floated in the wide, empty, light space. After a few minutes she noticed that something had changed in the atmosphere of the stable and she quickly came back to the aromatic hay. When she opened her eyes Robert was looking over the edge of the hay loft.

'What are you doing here?'

'I…,' Charlotte began, feeling guilty. Robert seemed to be somewhat fascinated. Charlotte wondered what he might have seen, or indeed what could be seen when she flew. Robert pulled himself up into the hay loft with one fluid move.

'I’ve always wanted to ask you how you do that.'

'How I do what?' asked Charlotte.

'I mean, what do you do, when you talk to horses?'

Charlotte considered for a moment whether she should tell him, then she decided to. You never knew. Sabine was open to it, perhaps he was as well. She felt flattered that the grown-up Robert had asked her about it. She placed a hand on her heart.

'First of all you have to grow calm here, completely calm and after that open up completely, as if you wanted to take the horses inside as well.'

Robert looked astonished.

'Then you just have to ask them silent questions and listen to their answers.'

Suddenly Robert grinned. 'Where exactly do you mean?' He leaned over to her and put his hand on her heart. 'There?'

Charlotte slowly nodded, feeling suddenly uneasy. 'Is that right?' asked Robert, starting to let his hand move in circles with a slight pressure. Charlotte was confused and terrified and wanted to escape.

'So, if you can’t really teach me, I’ll just take what I want!' With that he pressed her into the hay with one hand while he covered her mouth with his other hand. Charlotte started to kick and wriggle and squirm herself free. She was in a panic. Never before had she noticed how unpleasant Robert smelled. One hand still covered her mouth firmly, while he pressed his knee into her stomach to hold her down. With his free hand he undid her trousers and pulled them down. Then she felt a horrible pain between her legs.

From then on she floated under the ceiling of the hay loft and watched all that happened from above. She saw Robert, who was suddenly behaving like an animal and boorish, her own small, trembling body, the aromatic hay and the old pieces of furniture standing in the corner. She concentrated on the furniture.

It was some time before she went back into her own body lying in the hay. Robert was gone. She sat up and wiped away the tears and took some hay and wiped some unpleasant-smelling slime off her T-shirt and her belly. She shuddered with nausea. She quickly put on her trousers. Her legs and the place between her legs burnt like fire. She was also bleeding a bit. She remembered to take an armful of hay for Sabrina and climbed shakily down the ladder.

Sabrina didn’t pay her any attention when she came down. She would have liked to cuddle against the mare for consolation, but the horse seemed somehow irritated and turned away from her. Charlotte felt filthy. Burdened by guilt she tiptoed out of the stable. The yard was empty.

Ignoring the burning pain between her legs she mounted her bike and cycled on to her own horses. She fed them, moving as if on auto-pilot, and then opened their stalls to let them out. She leaned into Patrick, the most faithful of them, and started to cry. Although Patrick stood patiently, she couldn’t get any connection with him. He was very confused and just patiently stayed where he was. Charlotte had never before felt so alone. A vast fear seemed to take hold of her. Her abdomen felt cold and without life and Patrick seemed to feel that as well. He tenderly touched her belly with his nostrils, but then he turned round and walked out into the paddock, following the other two.

Charlotte slowly walked home pushing her bike along. Her mother had just returned from shopping and was very busy. Charlotte started to cry and ran towards her. Suddenly everything burst out at once. 'Robert has…' She didn’t know what she should say. What had he done? There were scattered images in her head, of how she had lain in the hay, how she had sailed under the roof of the barn. Enormous sobs racked her body. Her mother didn’t understand.

'Yes I know. He’s going to sell Sabrina. She’s his horse, and he’s entitled to do that. She’ll find a lovely new home and she won’t have to jump any more.'

Charlotte only cried harder. ‘But, he mustn’t…,' she began hesitantly.

Her mother stopped for a minute. She looked at Charlotte more carefully. The dirty trousers, the hay on her back, the completely confused face of her child, and the smell. What did that remind her of and why did Charlotte have blood stains on her T-shirt? Charlotte’s mother felt something dark and dangerous rising up inside her. She saw herself as a small girl; she suddenly felt big, raw hands on her arms and legs. She felt the panic rising and gasped. She had to stay calm now. Just because some almost-lame horse was going to be sold, she mustn’t overact. She pushed the thoughts away before they could surface. She put her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders and said, 'Come on, it's all right. It’s okay. I’ll make us some lunch now and then you can lie down for a bit.'

When Charlotte lay in bed later on, she tried to suppress the recurring images in her head. She tried to fly again, but whenever she had almost managed it, Robert’s head suddenly appeared in front of her as it had looked over the edge of the hay loft. Her abdomen was so cold and it felt like it was being cut off, that she couldn’t manage to generate a warm feeling in her heart and in her belly.

Charlotte never again went to visit Sabrina. The thought of meeting Robert in the yard was too horrendous. One day someone told her that Sabrina had been sold. She felt burdened by guilt. She hadn’t even said goodbye to her.

Somewhere deep inside her she noticed that something wasn’t quite right, but she didn’t know what she could do about it. The other day she had hit Primo when he didn’t want to follow her out of the paddock. The horses, in fact animals in general, didn’t talk to her any more. She felt cut off and alone. Her friends in school also seemed to draw back from her. Charlotte wasn’t really surprised. She didn’t like herself any more. She found herself disgusting, dirty, impure. When they talked about the different religions of the world in school, she understood at once what people meant when they talked of impure persons. She was one of them now. It was a certain comfort to her that the pastor said that Jesus loved every man, woman and child, even if they were impure; that he even tried especially hard to take care of them. That would probably include her then. She didn’t understand how she was supposed to follow the