Femina cannot remember how long she had been in the place of oblivion, nor how often she had fallen from one state of consciousness into another. Everything was unreal, blurred, a fuzzy image captured by a camera that wasn’t quite working properly. But she was not alone. Rocky is by her side, whether she awakens from sleep or slips into another state of mind, he is there. He gives her good, clear water to drink and, as she slowly begins to perceive more details, she notices that he sometimes also feeds her a small amount of green juice from a green leaf shaped into a bag. She also realises that she is no longer in the black silence of a cave, but that twilight reigns around her, full of noises, above a constant, dull rumbling thunder that causes the air and ground to vibrate slightly. She tries more and more to keep her eyes open, but she cannot tolerate it for long. It is easier for her to feel the light than actually looking at it, because it hurts her eyes. Sometimes she even believes that Wilson has taken control and is torturing her. Perhaps he simply wants to blind her. She often tries to jump up to run away, but she is too weak. She then rolls along the ground, not knowing in which direction she could actually flee, and then Rocky is at her side again and reassures her that Wilson has not found them. He calms her down again and again when, in her confusion, she does not know what is a dream and what is reality. Again and again, he tells her that they are safe and that she should just sleep for as long as she needs to. He will always be near her, she just needs a bit more time and a little more strength to get used to light and food, indeed normalcy of life; and that she can definitely look forward to something beautiful.
As her wakefulness increases and her sense of reality returns, she hears more and more familiar sounds, not just confusing and alarming ones. There is the whirring and buzzing of insects and bees, the fluttering and beating of wings, a chirping and chattering, and birdsong galore. Strangely enough, annoying insects leave her alone. Perhaps she has become so bloodless that she is not a good source of food even for the hungriest bloodsuckers. She also realizes that her bed is made of moss and ferns, and when twilight turns to night, Rocky makes a small campfire that keeps her warm despite the cool air. Only her skin feels so foreign to her, as if it didn’t belong to her at all. It is ash grey and feels strangely smooth, as if it were not real skin, but a wafer-thin film of soft soap or used wax.
All these perceptions are, of course, signs of her recovery. Her well-being is not an illusion either, it improves with each passing day. She can now drink all kinds of juices, made from plants and berries, as Rocky says. He increasingly gives her small meals, porridge-like dishes made from roots and tubers, which he prepares daily and often mixes with all kinds of greens. “Similar to vegetables,” he says with a smile. She eats fruits she doesn’t know, has never seen before, and her appetite is growing, as are the portions which she now devours with ravenous hunger; and her bodily functions have normalised too. Rocky has even made her a kind of outhouse. A little way back in the tunnel, where there are crevices in the path, he had found a suitable one to build a functional seat of small and larger rocks over it. It is only for her, because he himself can leave their current cave home any time. He does so every day to fetch fresh water and food. Unlike her, he was always capable of moving about since he had never been at the end of his strength, though, as he later admits, had become weak too.
In the first days after her rescue, he had to carry her to her “toilet”. But since she had been so dehydrated it only proved necessary a few times. However, she needed his help with walking a bit longer. Becoming aware of her helplessness and dependence on him was but a turning point. It gave her a boost of energy, just as if a dead battery had been brought back to life with jumper cables. Keeping it running afterwards was no problem since her will to live was only too happy to oblige. Of course, it did not change the fact that Rocky is her lifesaver, her guardian angel. He not only guided her through no-man’s-land, but also out of it, and thanks to his knowledge as a native of this land, he remains indispensable. Though he does not really know where they are or how to proceed, without him she would of course be lost now as good as before. Her mind says that Rocky is an extraordinary man. Her heart knows that he is a very special person.
She notices that when he renews her sleeping quarters, he always moves them further forward towards the cave exit, where he also has his quarters. He constantly instructs her to do muscle exercises and move around as much as possible. He wants to continue their escape as soon as possible. Her help, not helplessness, is in demand. He anticipates many challenges that she, probably naively, cannot even imagine.
Although she has gaps in her memory, much is now coming back to her; including the fact that she was naked in the early stages of her rescue. Of course, it did not bother her initially, as she did not even know if she was alive or already dead, only when she became aware of her nakedness it did, and she asked Rocky if he had anything for her to wear. He immediately handed her everything he had taken from her baggage when she had become unable to walk and he had to carry her. He answered her question as to why she had been naked in the first place with a shrug and a brief comment. ‘It was the most practical thing to do.’ Besides, he had to leave more and more things behind on the way, if only to conserve his strength. But he did not really undress her completely until they had reached the cave that would save them. She quickly realised that he had only done what had to be done. Apart from that, her sense of shame was unnecessary anyway. Rocky was not only homosexual, but also completely devoted to Oliver, the love of his life, with no ifs or buts. She had never been of interest to him; she was just someone who needed his help.
What Rocky had taken out of her rucksack was really only the bare essentials, but given the circumstances, she admits, it was more than enough. In this forgotten world of isolated seclusion, she actually could make do with a fig leaf. However! The rest of her belongings had been left behind in the mountain’s interior, scattered like breadcrumbs along the way through the labyrinth. Not even Rocky knew exactly when or where he began to shed the load. Later, when she asked him if he had ever thought about giving up, he simply said: “No! Giving up was not an option. He did not determine his end; nature determined that for him.”
She then also learned what was going on with her skin. Rocky had rubbed her with a homemade “protective agent” against insects. “He did not need it often, he said, because he had grown up here developing something like a natural defence. But they all used the remedy and every child learns how to make it. There were often mosquito plagues that bothered them too. ‘It not only protected against mosquitoes, but also helps against the cold,’ he added. ‘And it is simple to make it. All you need is ash and water, mix it into a paste and then rub it onto your skin’. He sure is right too regarding the protection from the cold, because even though it is the dry season, the nights here are damp and, if not cold, uncomfortably cool. They are inland, in the mountains and, on top of that, in dense rainforest, but she has never suffered from feeling cold, not even when she was naked, and not now, despite her sparse clothing. The fire that Rocky lights every evening is not too big either. She learns to make the paste herself and uses it daily, albeit sparingly and only on exposed skin areas. She hears the mosquitoes buzzing greedily around her, but none of them land on her to bite. She prefers to rub on the paste rather than put on more clothes, because those would also have to be washed, which Rocky still does for them both. Why increase his workload, he already is busy anyway. And not that she has many clothes to choose from either. Apart from a thin woollen jumper, her down jacket, two singlets, a pair of light summer trousers and a sarong, that’s all she owns in the way of clothing.
She also learned why Ger was unable to help Rocky at the time of her breakdown. He had to deal with his brother. Mutual assistance was therefore limited to emergency situations, which were becoming more and more frequent due to Oliver’s condition. His physical injuries had been a problem since the beginning of their escape, but the mental confusion caused by an increasing delirium made him quite unpredictable and downright dangerous. Femina was initially satisfied with Rocky’s answer, only as her own recovery progressed more questions about Ger and Oliver arose and became important to her. She wanted, no, she needed to know why she was alone with Rocky. He then gave her a brief summary of the events: ‘Ger had only been able to bring his brother out of the ‘underworld’ with great difficulty. Oliver constantly tried to separate himself from them. Femina immediately suspected that this was not just due to increasing confusion, but also to despair and that he did not really want to be saved anyway. In the end, he had no more lucid periods, but fell into a permanent delirium, mentally incompetent, disoriented, plagued by paranoia and memory loss to the point of not even recognising his brother. Ger had no choice but to lead him along the path as best he could, tied up in a bundle, or even carry him at times. Femina is downright grateful that she was no longer consciously witnessing all this. It must have been pure horror. After escaping from inside the mountain despite all the problems and ending up in this cave, from where they were able to get life-saving water, their exhausted and broken bodies succumbed to the need for a long-overdue rest. Without exception, or so it seemed, they all fell into a deep sleep, from which, however, they had a rude awakening: Oliver was gone. Their desperate calls went unanswered. He hadn’t run outside either, as Rocky immediately ascertained. There was no doubt about what that meant. Ger naturally wanted to go back into the mountain right away, a completely illogical reflex reaction, as he himself was exhausted and, on top of that, had no thought-out plan. So he listened to Rocky, who suggested that he rest first. Oliver would certainly not get far in his condition and given circumstances. Besides, whether, how and, where Ger would find him to take care of him, would also be against his will. Given the uncertainness, this might be no rescue attempt, but simply a doomed effort. Rocky could join him as soon as Femina had been taken care of and they had gained strength themselves. Or, Ger could stay with Femina and he, Rocky, would go searching, but he too needed a rest. Ger agreed half-heartedly, but did not want to leave the search to Rocky. Unfortunately, he could not stand to wait for long either. He hurried back into the mountain much sooner than seemed reasonable. Sure, he was more rested and went with water in his emergency kit, as well as the dehydrated, vacuum-packed meals that they couldn’t consume without water, and sensibly had not thrown away. ‘But….! That was more than a few days ago,’ Rocky concluded and fell silent.
Femina could see how upset he was. When she tried to comfort him, he waved her away. Of course! After all, it was she who had prevented him from joining Ger in the search. She took his hands and squeezed them tightly and lovingly.
“It’s all right,” he said immediately, “one thing at a time. We still can wait a bit longer, and we’ll see what happens. There’s lots to do anyway. First you have to get out of the cave, get used to the sunlight, return to normal life. You have to get strong too, because we’re not in safe harbour yet, just out of the immediate danger zone.” She left it at that. What else could she add?
Her unease grows. She finds it increasingly difficult to leave everything to Rocky and begins to take on some of the work herself. Sometimes she feels she is more of a hindrance, but he never shows the slightest sign of contempt. On the contrary! He is patient with her. In fact, he does everything with care and prudence, almost stoically, one might say. How he could be a “Desperado” becomes more and more of a mystery to her.
He now leaves her alone in the cave during the day. She has asked him what he is doing, but he only says that he is taking care of their further escape route and their other daily needs. Finally, she is no longer satisfied with this and insists that he talk to her about his plans and intentions.
He looks at her thoughtfully. “Okay!” he says, “We’ll have to climb to get out of here. We are in a sinkhole. I cannot say how deep it is, but you’ll need a lot more muscle strength than you currently have. Better start training. There are enough root strands on the walls that are suitable for various exercises. Apart from that, you’ll have to climb to leave this cave anyway. Our cave exit is in a rock face about 15 to 20 metres above the ground. That means you have to climb to get in or out. But it also means your eyes have to be able to adjust quickly to different lighting conditions. Falling and injuring yourself would be the last thing we need.”
She now spends most of her time at the cave entrance and sticks to a plan she has drawn up for all her activities, including household chores, muscle training and breaks. Her discipline is paying off, as she is progressing faster than she had dared to hope. Her muscles are getting stronger, her ability to concentrate is improving, and her eyesight is getting better and better. Whereas the cave was initially closed off by a curtain of bright light, it is now just a shadow play of soft green, with even a hint of blue visible at the top. There are other advantages too, because the closer she gets to the exit, the louder and livelier everything around her becomes. Every now and then, small birds and butterflies venture a little further into the cave, but they are mainly found in front of or within the entrance area.
During her breaks, Femina sits on the moss and grass-covered floor at the cave entrance, mainly to strengthen her senses, particularly training her eyes by finding as many details as possible in the light of the day. They start to water less frequently slowly but surely. She also gets more and more used to all the sounds that flood her. She can even “switch them off” now by not listening, something she could not do in the first few days after her rescue, at least as she remembers it. Besides familiar noises, there were also disturbing ones, and sometimes everything became downright unbearable because it simply never seemed to stop. That has changed entirely. She no longer finds anything unbearable, at most overwhelming; and nothing is threatening anymore. True! It can get loud, but not having to listen helps greatly. In fact, she actually enjoys listening and savours the abundance as she has never done before in her life. Thus, sitting still is not really a break, but simply a different kind of activity.
She smiles. She is always happy too to see the little visitors who flutter and hop around her without fear. They are little chirping, mischievous balls of feathers, in all kinds of colourful patterns with inquisitive eyes. ‘They are really curious’, she thinks, the way they look and chirp at her. For Femina, they are simply the best entertainment. They are also becoming more and more trusting and, sometimes, even more brazen.
Today, a wondrous bird strayed into her room; its body velvety dark black, at least as big as her hand, with beautiful wings adorned with a broad turquoise, blue-green iridescent band that runs across its back from wing to wing and then along their contours, as if to make them shine especially bright enhancing their splendour. However, this bird flies somehow quite differently to a bird. On the one hand, it is a flapping, fluttering, then again, a swinging or swaying, and the iridescent colours sparkle like the turquoise light in a black opal gem. No sound can be heard. Only the air moves, its gentle waves touching Femina’s skin. Fascinated, she follows its flight until it settles, not far from her, on a root protruding from a crevice in the rock. Only now does she see that it is not a bird, but a butterfly. What a beautiful, utmost enchanting creature! It must have come from paradise itself having lost its way and is now confused, for what could it possibly find in this cave without much vegetation or sunlight! She stares at it and does not move. She does not want to frighten it. But then it takes off again, flutters around her and then disappears, flying straight out into the light, to whatever awaits it outside. Oh my! It was as if this beautiful creature had delivered a message to her: “Get ready, it’s time! Walk through the light! Follow me out into the sunlit fair!”
When she sits down with Rocky and tells him about it enthusiastically, he looks at her thoughtfully and finally nods in agreement. He too believes that it was at least a sign, if not an invitation, to leave the safety of the cave.
“I’d rather be there when you decide to do it, though,” he says. “Knowing you, you’re not going to be patient, even though that’s exactly what I advise. Your eyes are certainly not yet quick enough to react immediately to light and shadow. Therefore, impatience can be costly. Apart from that, even though there are no large wild animals here that you need to watch out for, you still have to be very careful where you reach, where you step, or even what you step on to. There are small creatures, spiders and, scorpions too and, of course, snakes, both large and small. Many of them are poisonous and will attack immediately if they feel threatened. The vegetation is thick and the ground is full of roots, even on the path to the water, which I have already trodden down a little. You also have to grab leafy root strands when climbing. There may be things hiding in them. Being slow here means being cautious.”
They have never discussed these circumstances before, but now it is unavoidable. He looks at her closely again. He is right. She no longer wants to be stuck, but she also does not want to depend on his presence for an outing. He has enough else to do anyway. Besides, she prefers to make her first descent alone. That way, she can take her time without feeling pressured, however conceited that may be. She assures him that she will strictly follow his instructions; he just has to tell her exactly what to look out for.
“All right,” he says and continues: “The descent has three sections along intertwined roots and loose lianas. I’ve been able to connect strands so that they function like a kind of rope ladder. You’ll find the first one on the right side of the cave. It’s the longest of the three. Don’t worry! Nothing is really difficult to handle. They’re not unsafe, just a little loose in places. I’ll show you how to start the descent, if you like later today, or before we go to bed. The other two ladders are about the same length, and shorter than the first one. It’s a bit tricky to find the steps because you can’t see where they are. You rather have to feel your way. That’s the really difficult part. But a few times up and down and you’ll get the hang of it. Of course, the first time… I’d rather be there with you. Well, …”, he pauses for a moment. Then he begins to smile as if he has seen something delightful. “I already told you that something wonderful is waiting for you. I’m sure you’ll agree.” He does not want to say any more, even her insistence doesn’t help. “No, no! Let yourself be surprised!” He remains silent, only his smile deepens.
As nice as that may be, she feels concerned too. How sure is she that her muscles won’t let her down? “Stop! One step at a time!” she thinks. “One loop at a time!” After all, fear has never been a good teacher. With or without Rocky, anxiety, fear, she has to overcome them by herself.
“As for you wanting to be there… It depends on how long you leave me alone,” she suddenly breaks the silence.
“Hmm, yes, indeed,” he looks somewhat surprised. Seems, he has to collect his thoughts, before he answers hesitantly: “You’re never really alone. I’m within earshot and would definitely hear you if you called or screamed. But…., I’ve found a shaft, which will be the way to get us out of here…, the entrance lies hidden behind a curtain of water. Despite its noise, my hearing is pretty good. I spend most of the day there to work out and secure the easiest climbing route, as good and as quickly as I can. Without help…, – that’s difficult, of course. But we cannot stay here because the rainy season is coming, meaning, we better get going sooner than later. If we could divide the daily work load, that would already be a big help. Unfortunately, the shaft is narrow, sheer vertical at first. When you look up from the ground you can see a small patch of sky through the branches and leaves high up above. You’ll see for yourself later but to give you an idea of the scale, – you know the huge trees that grow here? After all, we look directly into the green chamber of foliage of one of them right in front of our cave. That is what we are in for, like going up one of these trees. Climbing the solid near vertical rock walls will be very demanding, at least for the first initial part. About halfway up the shaft begins to widen, suggesting the rest of the ascent to become easier.” He pauses briefly before making a final statement: “I can only hope that Ger and Oliver will be back soon.”
This is the first time he has expressed anything close to hope regarding the two. She just nods, avoiding any further questions. It is obvious that his concerns are more than simple worries. Climbing the shaft, let alone with an ill person, then make headway in the jungle when everything is soaked with water, it is pointless to pre-empt what may occur. But it makes it all the more important to help as best she can.
She changes her daily routine again and finds that there aren’t enough hours in the day. Household chores, especially preparing meals, are not so easy with the utensils available. Many of the roots, tubers and seeds have to be peeled, crushed or chopped. This takes time, as does sorting the seeds. She lays out a lot of it to dry so that they have a good supply for later on when they set off again. Whatever Rocky brings with him and asks her to do, he explains exactly how and what needs to be done, or what to avoid. Despite the difficulty of having to use some ‘tools’ made of stone, along with a few items that Rocky was able to salvage from their already meagre camping equipment, she gets used to it faster than she had feared at the beginning. It is almost an advantage that she knew little about kitchen matters, because she learns now a different way to cook, all the more interesting and useful indeed. But above all it teaches her that simplicity has nothing to do with primitiveness. There is essentially really nothing that cannot be appreciated. It includes a pot, not too big, not too small, just right for any kind of cooking. It undoubtedly deserves a place of honour. Of course, Ger took most of the leftover camping equipment with him. He needs it, not them. They don’t lack anything here anyway, thanks to Rocky, of course. He impresses Femina every day anew. Through him, she now understands what it means to be at one with nature. He literally is the true son of Mother Earth, and he loves, respects and honours her. Wherever their escape has taken her, Femina finds that she lives in abundance, even better than ever before; at least she feels that way. Everything from her old life, faded into a vague memory, appears to have been full of unnecessary things. Perhaps that old life had been just a dream anyway; perhaps even a nightmare, because there is an unease about it, or within it, something that still weighs on her, something she cannot name, or put her finger on. Although she believes she has actually left everything behind in the mountains, this something, this inexplicable heaviness, is definitely present. It usually dissipates quickly and leaves no trace in her thoughts, but it also returns again and again. Be that as it may, whether dream or reality, both blur into one another to flow away into some nebulous realm that she cannot, or perhaps, does not want to penetrate. She finds it liberating; and that is all she wants or needs. In fact, the same applies to everything else. Nothing remains, neither longing nor desire, and neither the past nor the future are important. She is simply happy to let thoughts drift across a blue sky like individual clouds that disappear without a trace somewhere, just as they appeared from somewhere else.
In the evenings by the fire, they mainly discuss practical matters, or it is about imparting knowledge, Rocky’s knowledge, to be precise. He greatly stimulates her curiosity about him and his culture. However, the talking is kept to a minimum. They both enjoy sitting quietly by the fire. Femina feels like she has a ticket to a daily evening concert. There is never silence here, unlike inside the mountain, where she experienced real, almost perfect silence. There, she could not only hear the silence, she perceived it with all her senses, could feel it with and through her body. Initially it seemed to be a deadly silence, but it was just a deep stillness after all, for there were sounds, albeit extremely rare and so subtle that silence became deafening silence where each and every whisper of sound was so amplified that her whole body was listening and able to perceive. Out here, on the other hand, there are only quiet moments, as subtle, and hardly noticeable, because too many voices and noises swallow them up as swiftly as a swallow catches its insects in flight. The world out here is a loud world. Now that Rocky always sets the evening fire at the cave entrance, she calls it her box seat, the best of all for the evening concert. She enjoys sitting in the warming glow with its gentle flickering flames while letting the day ring out.
Her eyes enjoy the darkness too. She can also see much better in the dark now than she ever could, and without pain, as is still the case in too bright daylight. Apart from that, no evening is like the previous one, no evening concert is the same, and it always takes place in a festive atmosphere, under intensely shining stars that sometimes flash through the canopy of wind-swept treetops as if they had lost their way. But the real magic comes from the glitter and sparkle of millions of fireflies dancing in swarms through the night. Only the moon seems a bit capricious. She has never seen her here. Of course, she has never really seen the sun either. Both reveal their presence only through their light.
Femina’s anticipation begins at dusk, when the turmoil of the day subsides, which, despite her regained strength, tires her. For a while, during the twilight, it actually does become quieter. Femina feels as if she is listening to the world exhale. Between breaths is a brief moment of calm, quieter at least than during breathing. To Femina dusk seems like the final inspection round to ensure that the concert hall is truly ready before the doors open to let the waiting crowds in. Paradoxically, or perhaps precisely because of this, the twilight hour has an invigorating effect on Femina. It fuels her anticipation and excitement to enter the mysterious world of nocturnal creatures, with whom she seems to have more in common than she ever considered. As in the caves, she continues to perceive everything not only with one sense, but with all her senses. That is, she hears and receives vibrations. She now understands that, strictly speaking, most perceptions are just vibrations to which not only she, but all organisms react; and all, in the course of progressive growth, for practical reasons alone, build a system of perception with special sensors that serve as highly efficient receiving stations. This is truly economical and rational. It also explains why she feels tired in the evening, because even though she now pays less attention to the noisy events of the day than she could when stepping out of the silence of the mountain, all these vibrations, consciously perceived or not, are present and continuously flow towards, into, and through her, so that at some point her body has no choice but to react with fatigue. From this perspective, dusk is a “breathing space”, a phase of transition in the course of daily cycles. However! Her curiosity about the night-time world is simply too great to give in to her body’s desire. It will have to wait a little longer for its rest than it would prefer.
The synchronous functioning of her senses with her intellect is also made clear to her in another way, namely in context of the performing arts where stage settings combine hearing and seeing: ‘Scenery-set- backdrop’ or Background noise/sound set! In this case, sounds combined with scenery on a stage direct mood and emotional responses! These thoughts won’t let go of her like inquisitive children not satisfied with one single answer. She better gives in right away instead of letting them nag her: Sound and backdrops are theatrical tools. They create ambience, atmosphere. They need not be, nor are they meant to be permanent. They are always interchangeable. Nature does exactly the same thing. Only there it is better named background sound/noise imagery. That too creates and determines mood and ambience, giving rise to feelings, never to remain permanently, always changing. The difference between the two is that in nature it happens in the sense of ongoing events, not as an act of arbitrariness like in men made theatre. What emerges or is created by nature is always uncertain. There is no artist who can or has control, or could even have control over nature’s creative forces. Everything moves, continuously and foremost unpredictably.
It is an interactive theatre if you like. Nothing is locked in routine. Not the scraping of many feet, nor the flapping and fluttering of many wings, nor the rustling and whispering of trees and leaves. Nor is the chirping, the buzzing or croaking of the large and small societies conversing with each other, no matter how close or far apart they are. And in between, there are also unpredictable voices or calls. Some of them appear longing, others sound rather like warning signals. The highlight, of course, are the singers. The spoken word seems not to exist. Instead, there sure is a musical language, where every piece of information, every conversation, every exchange consists of sounds whose specific vibrations create moods and trigger feelings. Indeed! The same applies to words, the basic units of human language. She wonders how animals react to this. Femina herself finds some languages more melodious than others. Thus, it is a subjective feeling, and it is probably not different for animals. It is a pity that she does not understand their way of communicating. Whether or what the skilled singers convey to each other, or whether they sing real songs out of joy, she will never find out. She believes they do both. For her, there are just melodies, enchanting, amazing, deeply moving, or simply something that makes her prick up her ears. Femina is but convinced that questions and answers are flying through the air. Over what distances, of course, remains a mystery. Like so many other things, she cannot even know, like if, or what else is going on around her because, at least in a physiological sense, it is imperceptible to her. One thing is certain, however: the world presents itself to her in audible sound/noise images. Harmonious or not, she can only according to her ability discern and perceive a certain spectrum of vibrations, meaning, a lot more is going on than she is aware of. She pauses: enough with all these insatiable thoughts! Why not just enjoy the evening, that’s the point after all.
When they go to sleep, Rocky brings the remaining embers into the cave, where they continue to glow until morning, when he rekindles them. He, and now she too, always make sure that they do not die off. Lying down to rest, she always falls into undisturbed sleep quickly from which she awakens with the first light on her skin. She never remembers her dreams, if she has any at all. She does not even know if she really slept. Perhaps, being awake is the dream and the time of sleep is another reality, or true reality, which she simply cannot remember. Without concrete evidence, she cannot say. What is certain is that her body rests, indeed must rest. It needs regeneration since it follows the natural cycle of the tangible matter of which it is made. After all, she too is a child of Mother Earth, earth matter that is, which of course also has its own consciousness. However, although her earthen body belongs to her, it is part not all of her, nor is it her only or even entire consciousness. She experienced this once demonstrably so in an extraordinary event: She literally saw her body sleep while she walked through her living room to retrieve an item that she had misplaced and could not find while working on a complex assignment during the day. Tired, she went to bed, leaving business unfinished. Though it demanded a solution she felt mentally too exhausted to carry on. She fell asleep right away but woke and rose again while her body kept sleeping soundly and undisturbed. She was fully aware of everything in this bizarre waking state. She knew where the object was, retrieved it and by leafing through her work notes, she also solved the work problem without her having to think further more. She found this state highly amusing too and even watched her body, peacefully breathing, for a little while. But then she too went back to sleep again, like remerging with her body. The experience was, of course, profound and consequently of lasting significance. Her mind had been as awake as she had only known it to be when she was physically awake. This made it clear to her that she was more than ‘just’ a body of earthly matter. In everyday life, of course, her body is the boss. He ensures her survival and, with his help is she actually able to enjoy her manifestation as a fully aware conscious being in a body of matter with sensory perception. But her immaterial, her mental/spiritual nature has another dimension than coarse matter has. Integrated into the body, and consciously and unconsciously existing within it, she can only truly unfold when matter exhausts itself taking out time to regenerate, or when she knowingly releases herself from binding structure so that her spirit can fly freely. Her subtle substrate, the so-called spirit, lives according to different conditions and unfolds only to a limited extent if the solid structures of matter do not loosen their grip or give way. However! She is grateful to both body and mind, for both serve her well in this life. Whether or what her spirit is doing or planning, she cannot say at present. She, or let’s say her mind, the mediator, only knows that she as the whole embodiment is growing and her spirit’s capacity is far from exhausted. But it must find its way through unknown territory.
Rocky is always up before her. She usually lets him go before she gets up. Not today! She wants to see him climb down the ladder and he is already ready to go. She jumps up, even feeling the urge to follow him, but then she is sensible enough to just watch his descent closely instead of recklessly giving in to her urge. He should do his work unhindered, and she wants to eat something and do what needs to be done before she starts climbing herself.
She always prepares for the next day’s meals, especially breakfast. It generally consists of all kinds of seeds, ground and crushed. With fresh herbal tea, which Rocky brews every morning on the newly stoked fire, they can both eat their breakfast independently, and as they please, as porridge or a soup, mixed with berries or fruit. By now, she knows the quantities that are enough for both of them. This means they can have something warm to eat quickly and without much effort as soon as they get up. Whether porridge or soup, both are extremely filling and tasty to boot. Their other meals are lighter, containing more herbs and other greens or tubers that Rocky brings home every day and which are then cooked in their pot, roasted or eaten raw, with or without the seed mixture. There is no lack of variety, and because all is processed and consumed as prepared, there are hardly any house guests, such as insatiable ants or other creatures.
Femina takes her porridge and settles down outside the cave, close to the edge of the rock face. She feels much more confident since she saw Rocky make the descent. It is still twilight. Moist air lingers between the trees she is looking straight into. Tiny drops hang from leaves, grass and rocks are wet. “It will be slippery if I set off now,” she thinks to herself. She postpones her descent until later, when the morning dew has disappeared.
As she eats, she listens to the morning voices. Hazy veils rise from the depths. As more and more follow, they turn into mist and then into a dense milky white fog right before her eyes obscuring her view completely. The world suddenly becomes formless. Even the ground on which she sits seems to lose its mooring, leaving her with the impression that she actually floats. Soon, she will no longer know where she was. But all passes as quickly as it did arise. Bright light begins to spread and a few rays of sunshine pierce through the leaves. Gradually the air warms. Nevertheless, it will take a while before the moisture will dissipate. She goes back into the cave to do some housework. Indeed, her climb can wait.
It is mid-morning when she begins her descent. She avoids looking down and concentrates on what needs to be done. Rocky has done a great job Finding hand- and footholds is really no problem, except that it requires patience, just as he said. However, she can only hope that any small creatures disturbed by her search will quickly scurry away. Actually, feeling her way is easier for her than looking for it, because the view downwards is limited anyway and the tangle of leaves plays tricky games with light and shadow. She has to be careful too not to slip up. But she also enjoys the whole thing and entertains the idea that she will soon be climbing up and down the rock face like a climbing animal, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Then she will also be able to devote her attention to those things that she neglects now, namely the indescribably magnificent and beautiful clusters and cascades of flowers and blossoms that hang over rocky outcrops, grow out of crevices and grooves in the otherwise smooth rock face, or entwine themselves around lianas. Some exude exotic scents, some have taken residence between wood strands, their own roots entangled in them without any soil. She can only register much of it from a limited angle and cast a superficial view, but smells tempt her to pause and look around. Although everything challenges her curiosity, she hurries on. She wants to continue on her voyage of discovery at ground level.
Finally, on solid ground, she finds herself surrounded by big tree trunks. Some have rough barks, others are as smooth as if they had just lost their shirt, and a few others are covered with moss and lichen. In between, she sees scattered fern trees and palms growing out of the dense undergrowth. Everything strives upwards, some to heights she cannot even estimate. Even from her cave, she cannot really discern the crowns of the giant trees in front of her.
She follows a narrow path through waist-high ferns that leads to a clearing. It is as if she is walking through a green passageway, at the end of which there is a revelation. She can also hear all the sounds again that had fallen silent during her descent, but now flood her all the more insistently. The constant dull rumbling that she had heard and felt in the bowels of the mountain is back again. It awakens memories that seem to have been lost but obviously were deeply ingrained into her mind even before she fell into the state of unawareness that still exists now as an empty space in her memory. She feels air and ground vibrating just as they did back then. She recalls Rocky suspecting that there was a waterfall somewhere, but they didn’t talk about it any further, because one can suspect all sorts of things. Obviously, he was right, though she did not care whether there was a waterfall or not. The only important thing for her was that they may find water to keep them alive. But now she is very curious indeed, if only because, in addition to this rumbling, there is also a rushing sound accompanied by a cheerful gurgling and splashing, and Rocky has repeatedly hinted that she can look forward to something especially beautiful.
She quickens her pace, only to be reminded of his warning to pay attention to the ground. Her foot gets caught and she lands with her arms and legs outstretched in a tangle of damp leaves amidst fern fronds. It is a soft landing, but she jumps right back up, remembering Rocky’s warning her about the poisonous inhabitants, which, startled by the sudden disturbance may prepare to attack. It sure is better to return to her cautious step-by-step approach keep eyes on the ground.
It is only a short walk anyway, and soon she stands at the edge of the clearing, in awe by the beauty of it. From the towering rock face opposite her, a spectacular waterfall pours down from a height of at least 20 metres spilling over an invisible rock lip. Its water lands in a relatively large, almost round pool, framed in by a smooth, shiny black rock wall with a few overhangs from which water also sprays. On the adjacent sides, rock slabs of varying sizes lie and pile up, merging into round ridges and flattening out, appearing like resting arms on both sides of a relatively wide opening, from which water flows in several small cascades down into a second, lower-lying smaller basin, which releases a small stream that gurgles and splashes over polished rock pieces and colourful pebbles of all sizes towards her, only to quickly disappear between plants and low bushes, so that she cannot follow its course. Nor can she hear its rushing noises for long. What remains is the familiar rumbling rising up from below. There must be another waterfall, a mightier, underground one that, collecting water inside the mountain from unseen sources, grown far more powerful than the one above, thunders down into unknown depths. Only that could really explain the dull rumbling and far-reaching vibrations.
But all around, wherever she looks, she sees rock walls, barren or partially covered by roots, leafy vegetation or flowering plants. There is no valley, nor any gorge. As Rocky said, they are in a sinkhole, larger than one would normally associate with the term, but a deep one nevertheless, closed in, seamless and impassable, as befits a sinkhole. This enclave could only have been created by water a very very long time ago. She is also certain that despite its size it would not be seen from above, not even if one were to fly over the mountains. It must once have been a huge cave, whose softer rock had been gnawed away by the water until finally everything collapsed and only the rock skeleton remained. The rubble was then slowly but steadily ground down and washed away, a never-ending process that is still taking place here, as well as in other areas of these mountains, at least that is what she assumes. After the big cave-in and wash-out the next step in creation is of course vegetation, slowly covering everything it could, was bare, or offered empty spaces. It created a magic place; anyone would be in awe with.
Femina cannot get enough of the scenery. The clearing houses some palm trees, smaller trees and all kinds of bushes. The branches are full of pods and berries, fruits and flowers, where large and small butterflies, bees and all kinds of insects find abundant food. And of course, there are also countless birds of all sizes and colours. They too get their fill, gathering in small groups, all around and high up in the numerous treetops. Residents and visitors alike, who perhaps even come in droves as if on a fixed schedule, create a bustle of activity since the tables are set for all. There is certainly no silence here. It is more like a school playground full of children at lunchtime.
She jumps over round pebbles and climbs over stone and rock ridges up to the first pool, discarding her already sparse clothing in an easily accessible spot to dive into the green waters. It is cold but soft as silk. What a joyful day, what bliss, what a day of renewal! It is not only her skin that rejoices. She rejoices with every cell, on every level and in every way. She enjoys the green of the water, its intensity changing towards the centre, which can only mean that it is deepest there. This is confirmed as she swims towards it, because at first, she can clearly make out the bottom, but as she approaches the centre, the bottom disappears beneath her. She swims towards the waterfall, which causes at the site of impact patterns of waves and ripples on the rather calm surface of the pond elsewhere. The commotion is not of such excessive or dangerous strength that requires to keep a safe distance or avoid the waterfall altogether. This confirms, of course, that this waterfall cannot be blamed for these mountains’ unrest. They have probably come to an area of the range that contains a water-rich cave system, and more likely than not they have reached the outskirt, not yet being already in it. There may be many more sinkholes around, theirs just being one of them, albeit an old one, for who knows how long it took to create this idyllic world. Sure, Rocky may know more, and she will ask him, but it seems almost certain that their escape within the mountains is a dead end. They have encountered a barrier, with a clear warning not to seek an escape route that way. Obviously, Rocky realised this already. Be it as it may, she better devotes herself to the pleasure of basking in the water and enjoying paradise, instead of thinking too much. Only fools see no pleasure in perfection for they understand nothing of uniqueness, nor what to do with it. Sure, perfection cannot claim universal validity since everything is just an expression, albeit a possibility, always offering opportunities too that one may or may not enjoy. She, at any rate, knows exactly how she wants to use this one.
She swims, dives, sprays fountains of water and does happy somersaults, creating more waves than the waterfall does, and the dragonflies buzz back and forth in a hurry to find out more about the new game. The sun even throws gold and silver coins through the holey roof high above them, sparingly, but it creates short-lived sparkles on the pond and the waterfall too, which has otherwise no rainbows on show.
When her fingers and skin become wrinkled, she leaves the water. The air is warm, as are the round backs of the stones. She sits down next to her things and waits patiently until she dries off before getting dressed. But even then, she remains sitting quietly, smiling to herself and virtually motionless, like the little lizards that gather on the rocks around her. A feeling of unity with everything flows through her. She feels life in everything, even in the stone she is sitting on. She also talks to everything without saying a word, and everything talks to her. She hears music, sounds that float above all other sounds. Everything merges into a single feeling of love, pure love, nothing but love, love from which everything arises, everything grows, everything is. It is the primal force, it is Genesis, it is life itself that can unfold.
One of the large colourful butterflies flutters towards her and settles on her head. She feels its antennae on her forehead and laughs, because she understands that it wants to get to know her and find out if she is edible. A large green parrot sits down next to her, squawking curiously as it eyes her and then tugs at her T-shirt. He is obviously amazed by the strange feathers she wears. He chatters even more in laughter and soon others of his kind fly over, probably to find out what is amusing him so much.
She does not know how long she has been sitting there when she sees Rocky emerge from the left side of the waterfall, not far from her. Agile, supple and silent like a big cat, he moves towards her, disappears briefly behind a rocky ridge, an area above out of sight, only to see soon after his naked brown body plunge headfirst into the water like an arrow. Splashing, spluttering, just like she did before, he comes up and dives under again and again. He waves cheerfully at her. After a while, he swims to the shore, climbing up the rocks, briefly disappearing again. She remembers the story of Adam and Eve. Too bad that the two lovers could only understand their bliss after they had been expelled from paradise. They could have spared themselves a lot of troubles. On the other hand, without knowing the opposite, there is no appreciation of paradise.
Rocky settles down beside her. ‘Did I promise you too much?’ he asks after a while. She looks at him a bit puzzled.
“Oh! No!”, she says then with a broad smile, “it’s even more beautiful than you could ever have described with words.”
He nods and falls silent again.
“Do we really have to leave?” she finally asks. “I don’t want to go back to a world that has become as foreign to me as night and day are foreign to each other. You already taught me so much. Don’t you think I could survive here on my own if you’d rather leave? Ger and Oliver haven’t come back yet either. Don’t you think I could even be a great help? I’m happy here. Even the possibility of an early death doesn’t deter me. Nature is around me, within me, I am one with it. I can only find that here, nowhere else. I neither want nor need anything more. No one wants more than to be happy. But it is virtually impossible out there in that other world to even recognise what happiness actually means. Here it is easy to understand that happiness is within you. You don’t have to chase after it. It simply is a matter of course. “
“Oh Femina,” he says, taking her hand and patting it affectionately. When she turns to him, he looks at her pensively and continues: “You no longer fear death, having just freed yourself from its embrace. But now you fear the world more than is good for you. Now you are afraid of getting caught in its web and you fear to be unable to escape.” He lets go of her again and turns silently towards the water. She does the same.
Strange, how deep green the water suddenly has become, how little sunlight falls through the leafy canopies, how loud the waterfall is and, how many voices begin to fall silent. The word ‘fear’ echoes in her head sent from one bony wall to the other. It dissipates the calm she has and seeks to keep. ‘Fear?’ Indeed! He is right about that. But ‘of life?’ Not with that! Although her thoughts are unsettled, she ultimately understands what he has said. Even if she has no need for the world outside, a life controlled by fear makes happiness fleeting and dependent on circumstances. What makes you happy is then determined by external factors. Even paradise here is then nothing more than an idyllic refuge, a happy circumstance which, like all circumstances, changes, indeed must change. That is not a happy life, only the illusion of one. She sighs.
What a ridiculous, even cruel game fear wants to play with her! It wants to stop her, mislead her, wants stagnation instead of action. It actually deludes her into believing that she can only be happy if she stands still. But what is possible, what can be and what will be, it will happen either way, with or without fear. Fear is an important tool when it comes to matters of survival, but it is completely useless as a travel guide, a prophet, or fortune-teller.
However, there is indeed a reason why her fear is appropriate. Wilson is a serious danger. Even though he may believe they are dead, his informants are everywhere, because he is the actual ruler and power broker of this area; he controls everything, land and people. She pauses. No, no, she does not want a new merry-go-round of thoughts! Wilson is a danger, no doubt, but that’s no reason to lose herself in assumptions that may not even eventuate. That’s it, end of story!
Nevertheless, her thoughts don’t leave her alone, which can only mean that something inside her is still searching for clarity. Is it perhaps a question of guilt, namely why she finds herself in this situation in the first place? No way! She wanted to drift through life, to no longer put down roots. Ending up here is a good result, no, it is more than that, she is blissfully happy, in a way not experienced before as far as she remembers. Ah! Putting down roots! Is that the sore point? Indeed; it means standing still, only for a different reason than being afraid of moving on. Why indeed should she want to go back to a life where there is more ugliness than beauty, more discord than love, and where stupidity replaces insight? Being afraid of such world is only logical; staying and putting down roots is clearly the better choice. Interesting! Being afraid to move on and putting down roots are one and the same, just for different reasons? Hm! Then it must be more about being able to let go. Yes, that’s it! That is the sore point!
A wave of energy suddenly rises up inside her. She cannot tell whether it comes from the ground, the stone she is sitting on, or from herself; it is simply there and pushes up her spine with tremendous strength. She straightens up, her back straight as a candle. She reaches for Rocky’s hand and squeezes it. They both laugh out loud. “Come on,” he says, “let’s gather what we need before we make ourselves comfortable at home.” She has no more questions. With every breath, in every moment, she lives without a before or an after. It is! And that is more than enough.
He shows her how to make a carry bag out of ferns and palm fronds. The relatively soft but strong stems are woven into a long handle that is placed over the forehead and then runs down her back, where the bag can hang or be moved around freely. This leaves the hands free for whatever they are needed; in her case, not only for gathering fruit, but also for climbing up to the cave with a full bag. Of course, it requires a lot more practice to match Rocky’s skills than she has, happily letting him finish her bag after he finished his. Overall, these bags are simple to make and very practical, particularly since their size appear modest, but their bellies stretch and more can be carried than one may think.
Femina collects fruit, berries and seeds, under Rocky’s guidance, of course, and as befits an apprentice. Some are so inconspicuous that she would not consider them be valuable food for humans too, not just for birds or other animals. Some shrivelled pods are real nutty delicacies. The same goes for the fruit. Some look tempting, others smell inviting, but not all of them deliver what they promise. The inconspicuous ones, on the other hand, may taste sensational. But would she dare to eat them without knowing? ‘What the farmer doesn’t know, he doesn’t eat,’ her grandmother used to say, often refusing foods that people brought her from the city. Of course, that changes quickly if you are dying of thirst and hunger. When the ultimatum is life or death, reason fails. You no longer ask questions, you devour anything, whether it looks appetising or not. She can vividly remember a situation where she would have drunk any liquid just to quench her thirst. And she wasn’t even dying of thirst! A bunch of lychees saved her from making a fatal mistake back then. Their escape through the mountain had been far more dramatic; but her memory is merciful; she has no recollection of it.
While Rocky goes in search of fuel, she begins to dig for edible tubers. This also seems to set her mind free to ponder about things. She wonders whether, or which herb, has enabled her to recover so quickly, but she comes to the conclusion that it is probably due to all unspoilt foods she gets to eat here. It is the proverbial elixir. It strengthens her, not only physically, also mentally and spiritually. In fact, everything contributes, then and now: the knowledge she is being fed beside the plants that provide healthy nutrients, and also the seclusion, away from the big wide world. Even the silence, indeed the complete dissolution of familiar realities while being inside the mountain, all plays a part in this, serving as a prerequisite for her miraculous resurrection. In fact, everything she has experienced has been and continues to be enriching her life and furthering her growth. But it is only in this sinkhole, untouched, left to its own chances and constraints, that she feels the powerful forces of Earth running through her body as she has never experienced before. It enables her to cross boundaries now which she had previously accepted as existential barriers and considered insurmountable, but which have now become flexible and passable. She crosses thresholds that served as taboos, self-imposed but also indoctrinated, chaining her life to structured reality thus making its dominance appear natural, always preventing her from stepping through the ever-open gate into the realm of “immaterial existence” without doubt, or fear of losing something, suffering harm, or even doing the wrong thing. It is but a step into freedom which remains hidden by ignorance because ignorance insists on knowing but does not know freedom. Ignorance also claims that spiritual essence, if it existed, would only run parallel to solid matter existence without any connection; it could therefore not be accessible though, in fact, they go hand in hand. For the ignorant mind it is paradoxical and pointless to even consider taking a step to the side. Seeing the spiritual aspects of life as unproven or at best, as a parallel existence, a side-step would lead nowhere.
Generally, our mind, in this context, our cognition, does not see “expansion” as progress; it thinks linearly; it moves forward. Lateral thinking is simply an aberration, distracting it from its path. It therefore resists. On top of that, it finds it difficult to accept that it is only partially responsible for anyone’s existence, namely the material, the tangible and therefore the “real” side of life. But what is perceived as reality is limited and, strictly speaking, the conscious mind falls for this illusion that it has helped to create and now follows. The ‘functional mind’ must and will always reject what it cannot, in the truest sense of the word, “grasp”, meaning, the poor mind has a dilemma; as the cognitive rational mind it sees itself as the ruler, though it is not. The Will, the companion from the mind’s creative/spiritual “free world”, always has and always will wander alongside it. They are not the same, nor do they have the same tasks or goals. Cognition sees the Will as a troublemaker who does not abide by the rules it prescribes. They therefore do not always go hand in hand, just walk side by side even at loggerheads with each other leading to multiple problems. The biggest is the dilemma about coexistence. Both “mind entities” have to live with each other.
Femina inspects the tuber she has just dug up. It is large, plump and feels healthy. Smiling, she puts it aside and starts digging for the next one.
“So! The greatest productivity comes from cooperation,” she continues to ponder. This is already confirmed in her digging work, because if her arms and hands, her intellect and will, indeed her whole body, if they did not work together, there would be little to eat for dinner today, or any time at all. Of course, this can be called coordination, a physiological condition, but psychologically speaking, it is peaceful cooperation. Consequently, it can be said that only peace enables progressive life to unfold. She smiles. Her thoughts amuse her. Let’s see what else they have in store. Ah, work and labour! As said before, productivity is highest when work is done cooperatively. In stark contrast stands the dysfunctional workforce which leads to poor work satisfaction and outcomes. Inhumane conditions that turn work into labour. There, short term profits can be made but it costs dearly. Pushing people and animals alike to their limits ruins them. Looking at what happens to one’s own body under constant strain, it will always give in, give up, or drop out altogether, sooner than later or even suddenly. If you do not care about yourself, or if somebody else pushes you without care, that is abuse and you have to say no as it only will ruin you. Femina takes a look into her memory box. Did she ever experience abuse? Sure as, you cannot prevent attempts, but to let it go on is a poor decision.
She shakes off this rather unpleasant topic and returns to her original train of thought about mind and will. So, the rational mind must deal with reality, while the Will has the task to explore. That is, one cultivates the fields, while the other seeks new ones, for the same purpose, or for something innovative. Conflict hinders them in their work, always making them unproductive, if not angry too. It is definitely better for both to remain reasonable. But that requires discipline, and control, preferably, self-control. Unfortunately, these are no birthday presents; instead, they require hard work. Discipline, insight, being honest and set limits to oneself is extremely challenging, but it is always worthwhile, particularly when it comes to work efforts, team work and compromises. Going back to the negotiation table is better than going to war! There, you may lose more than just an arm and a leg.
But what is control all about? It comes into play always and everywhere. People discuss it, demand it, strive for it, evaluate it, either as something good or bad. However, there is only one thing everyone agrees on: without control, nothing works.
She hears Rocky calling. They should slowly make their way back to their cave. She replies that she just wants to finish digging up this tuber and then wash everything clean at the stream. “Okay,” he shouts back. “No problem! Just saying, we’ve probably gathered more than enough.”
Femina briefly considers whether it is worth digging up this last tuber. She already has a few dug up, and this one is quite large. But since it is already half exposed, she decides to get it out. She also tries to pick up her train of thought again, but she can’t quite manage it. The stream of thought is now more like a restless brook. Where was she? Oh yes, control! Or will? Whatever! Perhaps it was all about conflict and being right since the mind insists that it is in control, while the Will imagines that it does not need control. Neither are they right, nor necessarily wrong; the cognitive mind is supposed to set limits and the Will is supposed to question them. But that is precisely the crux of the matter: neither should override the other. Above all, the Will likes to believe that he is (all-) powerful authority. He is generally a demanding companion. The cognitive mind is therefore quite right to set limits on him, which in turn leads it to see itself as the (all-) powerful judge.
Femina shakes the soil off the dug-up earth fruit. She also seems to be shaking some illusions out of her thoughts. They like to snuggle up and flow unnoticed with the stream. Illusions! It is really easy to fall for them because they are such inconspicuous travel companions.
She inspects the tuber. This one is something special. It is almost perfectly round with a fine, smooth skin. There are no worms in it for sure. Illusions are also smooth and shiny, but their skin is porous and there are always worms inside. It is simply necessary to get rid of these mental parasites. They pretend to offer clarity, but only create chaos, not just for individuals, but for entire societies, as paradoxical as it may seem. Intellect and Will are like two dogs on one leash, taken by their owner on a walk. They pull him constantly in one or the other direction. The person still believes he is in control because he holds the leash, mistaking illusion for reality. Illusions distort reality. They allow truth to be ignored, giving rise to division thus propagating conflict. This is fatal because it turns peace into a mirage.
She wipes the showpiece tuber clean, as far as she can with her earthy hands, wiping it much longer than is really necessary. She seems to be stuck on a point that holds her captive being important to her: Peace! Although important for everyone and everything, it never seems to work out. Somewhere in the world, there is always war. The cause is usually obvious, visible to everyone, if only they really would want to look. It is division that contaminates and prepares the ground where war is at home and from which it can thrive. Mind you! All conflicts start with oneself. Who hasn’t been at odds with the self? And since every society consists of individuals, no society can be peaceful if individuals are incapable of making peace within themselves! What’s more, living in peace does not mean living under control, but be in control. It requires to take on personal responsibility and exercise self-control; only then can one live in peace, with oneself and as a society. Fundamentally, wanting to live in peace is a completely natural thing. Literally everything, be it the cosmos or the living cell, all strive for equilibrium, for balance, seeking a state of calm in which energy consumption is at its lowest. The word “peace” is the spiritual synonym for balance, defined linguistically by humans, but not understood in terms of its meaning. Well! The pursuit of peace, or balance, is essential and applies to everything, not only to organic life. Naturally, organic life is not a finished product either, but a journey of development. Its foundation is homeostasis, which, in a broader sense, is the physiological expression of the same cosmic principle of balance. Every physicist will confirm that the cosmos always seeks the state of the least energy consumption, and every physician knows that their patients can only survive if dynamic equilibrium (homeostasis) is maintained. Different names for the same principle is to blame for the confusion!
She stops cleaning the tuber and laughs. The tuber will not become any cleaner, no matter how long she continues to rub it. But her thoughts have become crystal clear. Gratitude floods through her. The dominance of binding structures has found its end. Her body is no longer her master, but her companion. She feels free as never before. She has no desires, can let her soul dangle and allow her body to enjoy the euphoria of life, knowing that these are only states and circumstances. She has found her peace. Perhaps not forever, but entirely at this moment.
She gathers the tubers and hurries to the stream, where she washes everything thoroughly. Only now does the large tuber shine beautifully in its deep wine-red, smooth skin. Rocky confirms that it is a special earth fruit, not an ordinary tuber and not easy to find. It is highly prized among his people and it is not only eaten fresh, but also preserved and kept for special occasions. He laughs and is already looking forward to the meal.
They climb up. Halfway, he pauses and listens. He signals her to do the same, because something caught his attention. He is not sure if it is coming from their cave or from something nearby. In any case, she should stop at the next rock ledge and wait for his signal before she follows. He wants to find out what is going on. They now continue climbing with particular care. It applies more to her than to Rocky, because he moves like a cat anyway.
While she settles down on the narrow strip of grass, he continues climbing. She listens intently for any strange noises, but hears nothing more than the usual sounds and the barely audible ones made by Rocky. Soon she can’t hear those either. It does not take long and he calls her, but with a tone in his voice that makes her extremely curious. She climbs as quickly as she can. Then she hears another voice, faint but clear: GER! Ger is back! A flood of mixed emotions overwhelms her. GER IS BACK! With Oliver? What about Oliver?
With all her strength, she hurries on. Whatever awaits her will soon be revealed. Only one thing is certain: everything has suddenly changed. Hoped for and desired, but also associated with melancholy. Her life here can no longer be the same. It is over. Once upon a time there was…….