6. – Drama at the Court
Good morning, dear people!
A further scene from Shambhala:
She was so delicate; she was so gentle; she was so silky; she was so light, and now she was even crying. I looked over at my doll Kate, and despite her concern, she was really annoyed: “Do we have nannies to take care of us, or do we now have to deal with the beauty and identity problems of our nannies? Still Kate jumped down from the table, went over to Melissa, and hopped onto her lap. Melissa wiped away her tears with one hand and tried to regain her composure. Melissa wasn’t just fragile like a butterfly, she even dressed like one: Around sturdier fabrics very light, fine materials in shades of pink and pale blue fluttering. Horrible! Kate looked at Melissa’s fingers and saw the whole disaster: One of her long, pointed fingernails was torn right across. I immediately decided that it couldn’t be saved, ran over to my desk, and pulled the little nail clipper from one of the drawers. I brought it to Melissa. That was when she really couldn’t hold back anymore and burst out crying: “What do you want me to do with this? I can nowherw show up, with one nail completely cut off!” and, after gasping for air through her sobs she said: “It would be better to cover the whole top of the finger with a band-aid.” Kate nuzzled her little head against Melissa’s belly in comfort and played with her hand in the folds of the silky scarves. I couldn’t really understand the reason for all this excitement and pain, but the tears were real and they hit me, and I was close to join in crying loudly. The phrase “an ocean of tears” came up in my mind. Where had I heard that before?
Obi Van, the gray labrador, must have been somewhere nearby and must have noticed the noice. Now he peeked through the door. But he stayed outside on the threshold, as always, incredibly upright and dignified! I think Obi Van is the most majestic being in the whole house. Many days a week, we have an HMT, a „Head Manager of the Day.“ Often, a man takes on this job. But if my parents are not at home, this position can often remain vacant for days. Then the household is much more relaxed. A manager of the day tries for eight hours -one shift – to keep an overview of everything happening in and around the house. She meets in the morning with the butler, cook, handyman, gardener, and so on and so forth. The whole day is planned out as good as possible, and from then on this manager sits somewhere like a spider in her web, trying to coordinate everything smoothly with “invisible precision.” Some of them even visit Kate and me from time to time, if we’re not in a lesson. With us, they can relax and let go a bit. They carry a great responsibility, which weighs heavily on their shoulders. Accordingly, these shoulders are as tense and stiff as several layers of kindling wood. Some even like to be massaged by me, even the men. Kate tries to be of help as well. Those are big moments for us, when we can be useful together. For friends, there’s nothing better than working together on something, having a project. We knead and tap on these tense stoned shoulders. For this, we have to charge our fingers with energy and keep them shaped like claws, and everyone says I have an unusually strong grip for my age. I am only five years old? Kate and I never show how much it sometimes hurts, especially when the shoulders emanate heat or sourness. Management seems to be hard, it rises to the head and from there it gets back into the shoulders!
But not the managers, but actually Obi Van is the real chief overseer of the house, seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. He doesn’t nervously run around with a clipboard, nor does he stumble or bump into things. He stays cool and never curses. He simply keeps his posture, nose in the air like a high-tech antenna. When I watch and study him and notice what makes him uneasy, he becomes a sort of screen for me through which I can look out and, like him, perceive events and movements even in the neighboring houses. But it’s not as if he runs off if he notices something burning in the kitchen or a dripping faucet in the basement. Not at all. He stays totally cool. Maybe his hair stands up a little. Maybe just a hint! Otherwise, on such occasions, he moves even more deliberately, even more carefully. That always makes me think of something daddy once asked me: “My dragon child, tell me how to shake hands with a tree?” — Wait a moment! Careful now! Whenever daddy asks questions like this, I become especially alert. — So I tried to imagine being a very old tree. What must that feel like? Trees move and grow slowly, extremely slowly. They’re very hard, but at the same time elastic. Only a really heavy storm can make the branches sway enough to perhaps resemble shaking hands. Hmm. Finally, I replied that I would press myself against the trunk, wrap my arms around it, and hold it gently in that position for a very long time. Daddy likes to ponder my answers forever, if they mean something to him. I think he’s especially happy in such moments. I’ve even seen him cry a little on such occasions. This time, daddy said the tree would surely like that, but to make personal contact with a tree as with a handshake or a blessing would take much more time than even the longest hug. Much, much more time! That’s why you should carefully choose at least a thirteen-meter-long ship’s rope, preferably an old one with character and experience, one that’s seen a bit of the world, and not a new one from a shopping mall. You lay this rope carefully around the trunk, roughly at your own shoulder height. Once you’ve wound the rope around the tree several times, leaving only two ends of about half a meter, then you tie knots. But these knots, daddy said, are something special. The rope would stay wrapped around the trunk for many years, so actual contact could really happen, and so the knots must also be appropriate—not very tight knots, but magical knots. Daddy then promised he’d teach me about knots soon. But I know that he will ask a student or “friend,” a friendly lama or priest, to give me the lessons on the knots. That’s how it always goes. Daddy rarely has time for me! It makes me angry just to think about it!! He never takes time for me!! He is the king, he should be free to spent and divide time in any way he likes.
Obi Van, standing out there in the door frame, simply bringing a bit of calm to our little drama through his presence, reminding me of the tree. I know exactly whose “hand” I shake and whose rope I wear. He seemed to fill the room with thousands of tiny question marks, scanning everything like radar, in typical dog fashion. He didn’t make a face. I think he shuffled a little on the spot, just millimeters, but even that so slowly – like an actor living very deep into his role.
We had calmed Melissa. – Whew! – She’d clipped off tiny pieces of the cracked nail until it looked round and even again, and now she was asking for a file(!).
Obi Van turned away, and this movement could easily have been seen as arrogant toward childish problems, but I don’t think so. I think Obi Van is beyond being arrogant—though, of course, I can’t be completely sure. And this Melissa is extremely hard to be taken serious.
“Beyond”—there’s that word again. “Beyond,” thats what they love to say here at the Shambhala court. A very tricky phenomenon. And again – Oh dear—and the term “phenomenon!” Today, once again, not one stone is left on another. Hard not to slip…..
There’s a nail file in Mom’s bathroom………………
Ciao ciao
Yours, Winni the Quijote (Private Correspondent to the Shambhala court)