3. – Aga Hiob
Good morning, dear people!
Another scene from Shambhala:
Twice a week, I go accompanied by Kate to see Aga Hiob. He is one of daddy’s “friends” and teaches us about European history and culture. Master Hiob’s villa isn’t very far away from our royal court, so we can easily walk there. And usually only Obi Van accompanies us, unless we’re taken by one of the housemaids or a kasung. The kasungs are the versatile security service or you could even say the police officers of the realm. I prefer to go with Obi Van, our grey labrador. He sees himself as the secret, true boss of the courts security service. Once, I wanted to go with Kate alone, and Obi Van completely lost it. Until then, I had never seen him act so childishly dog-like. He ran and romped around, howled, and tried to rip apart a slipper. Whew! What a scene!
The head kasungs are not happy if “only” Obi Van, “a stupid and conceited dog,” accompanies us, and it caused several heated discussions already. But eventually, amala put her foot down and simply decided that Obi Van was perfectly sufficient to accompany Kate and me for those few meters to Aga Hiob’s residence. So now, I always solemnly put a collar on him, and off we go. These walks are just wonderful! When we’re out on the streets, Obi Van is convinced that he is leading Kate and me on a leash and not the other way around, for he protects us and ensures nothing happens to us.
What I love most about these walks through the colourful world of streets, gardens, passing cars, and pedestrians is the completely normal people from Halifax. Usually, we are constantly surrounded by loyal, sycophantic, and some particularly ambitious and eager Shambhalians. Most of the time they pretend to go light and easy, but in real dealing with me they often seem confused and neurotic, especially while serving in a particular role at the court. They tend to stumble over their own feet so to speak.
Because we are still young only very rarely we get a chance to meet ordinary people. By the way, that’s also a reason why I’m really looking forward to finally going to a public school. Next year, it will happen. That is going to be great!
So, we enjoy these walks over to Master Hiob, and it always passes far too quick. We’d love to observe these people much more. I met some with deep deep worry lines etched into their faces, and I nodded to them and smiled and did send heartfelt wishes for courage and poise. There is a woman ahead practically hurrying forward. It’s not really walking or running anymore, as if two forces are fighting within her: one pulling her back like an invisible, strong rubber band, the other pushing her energetically forward, so her body leans far ahead, almost like a speed skater on the run. Her head is always a step ahead. That’s funny, even though the woman doesn’t look happy at all and certainly not like she’s exercising. Why is she like that? She must be suffering. In all the people I meet on the street, I notice disharmonies – unusually rigid and crusted. That’s incredibly interesting, but it also awakens our sympathies. I’d love to stop at each one and ask them about it. Have explained what is going on? But Obi Van would not find that funny! He would pull and maybe even bark angrily. Whew! Sometimes, his sense of duty, care, and punctuality can be pretty annoying.
Today I’m wearing my beautiful, soft bell coat. Simply great! Okay, you might ask why I like looking like a gantha – a ritual bell? – but the material is both at the same time light and firm, with a silk lining that hugs me and caresses with every movement. I feel elegant and powerful in it, and safe and secure. I’d love Kate to get one, too, but for now, she must make do with her anorak, which is also quite chic, with a little crocodile painted on it.
Obi Van with me and Kate on the leash seems to please the people on the street. They turn to look at us. Many even greet: “Hello!” Or: “Hello, little princess!” Without Obi Van, they probably wouldn’t even notice me, but the three of us as a team, and I in my loden-colored bell coat that is quit something and some people even stop to look after us and whisper. I think we mean good luck to them. Oh, if only we could be of good luck to them and bring them deep happiness that would be great!
Every now and then I have the strong urge to give someone advice because it would be easy to help some of these people to feel much more happy and at ease. But, unfortunately, that’s not possible, since it would be far too extraordinary if a little girl said, “Stretch and twist your back for fifteen minutes a day, and you will soon feel much better,” or “Don’t eat so much! Overweight is making life extra hard and painful!” Kate is so shy, she would never think of addressing anyone, but the two of us often talk about how we might help this or that person.
What always affects me again and again is that people out there apparently don’t know or even notice their personal spiritual protectors at all. Why do they ignore their closest, most personal confidants and helpers? Are they missing a certain senses to do so?! Is that why people say, “They have lost their senses?” Honestly, I don’t really understand that phrase at all.
But still it’s wonderful! I enjoy this path to my lessons with Aga Hiob. I’m filled with anticipation for the master’s thrilling stories and quicken my steps. He can be so funny and blissful and meaningful at the same time.
Then we stroll again and walk more slowly, as far as Obi Van allows, and continue to happily watch people. Sometimes we even turn around, and then it’s our turn to whisper to each other, for example, if someone’s clothes, hats, or way of walking are especially odd or irritating.
And there we are! We hurry through the open garden gate. We jump over the uneven, rustic stone slabs – an obstacle for anyone approaching the house – and stand right in front of the heavy, dark oak door. I firmly press the golden, round bell button. Kate giggles in anticipation, because now the von Reventlow must be coming soon to let us in. She simply calls him “Glasses,” because he can’t stop fiddling with his glasses. This thin, tall, nobleman simply cannot leave his glasses alone for even a moment.
And it’s true, the door opens, Obi Van, slightly out of breath, stands up straighter and more important than ever – he always looks like a noble steed then – and indeed: the Duke von Reventlow stands in front of us. A tall, pale, and seemingly very sensitive, long thin man, with wild blond curls. Always making tiny little movements, as if invisible grains of sand strike his face and neck, almost as if he’s in a slight sandstorm. And naturally, no sooner has he opened the door, than he pushes his steel glasses even closer to his eyes with a finger and looks at us. “Ah, the little dragon princess, punctual as always” – and then thoughtfully – “and her watchful guardian.” He is without doubt a particularly sincere and nice man, but also strange. He almost glows a little from inside. And behind the unsure and odd manner of his is something very strong and alert as well.
He looks at us … and keeps looking … and a long time passes, and he still doesn’t let us in? Cautious and weighing.
That’s getting silly! I’m the princess here and he’s Master Hiob’s secretary. So, please step aside! I pull Kate closer and simply march past von Reventlow into the lobby. Otherwise, it could have taken forever before he finally moved and formally invited us in. By now, I’m quite at home in the villa. While von Reventlow is still closing the door, I’ve already gotten rid of my shoes. My little handbag with my purse lands in one of the bowls at the foot of the stairs, where Aga Hiob’s guests have to lay down their weapons. In this case, weapons include purses, phones, jewelry, powder compacts, watches, keys, and the like. Upstairs with Master Hiob, there are to be no weapons or any technical instruments. There’s not even a computer up there. For communication devices, there’s a special room downstairs: the “ahrimanic,” whatever that means. Since everyone uses the word with a bit of a smirk, I think it’s meant as a joke. The “ahrimanic” is Maike’s domain, and von Reventlow goes in and out as well.
But Kate and I, we are guests and want to go upstairs for our lessons, which first means: lay down your weapons.
In front of the shelf with several large shallow clay bowls for weapons, there is an oak bench for at least five people, and you’re actually expected to sit down there first, in silence, to calm down.
Right behind the door, there’s also a coat rack, but not for me; I don’t even notice how I shrug out of my gantha after unbuttoning it and just let it drop. And off I run, up the first steps, holding Kate tightly.
Obi Van knows his place downstairs in the lobby. Obi Van, whom you usually only see standing, lies down there on a distinguished, always clean, dark cotton blanket. I think this blanket is specially laid out fresh for my protector every time. Very dignified! He likes that. He likes the attention. At court, I’ve never seen him so modest. He seems somehow more relaxed whenever he is here.
Von Reventlow can’t stop me, but I do know some of the house rules: I don’t run past the water bowl at the seventh step without holding a hand over it on a side table and pouring some water from the clay jug over it. First one hand, then the other. There’s even a little guest towel, but I simply dry my hands on my skirt as I run up further. A few steps higher, there’s an incense burner of dark metal with four dainty, curved legs, inside which some coal is glowing. I take a few crumbs of myrrh from a little Chinese dish and toss them onto the coals. Without waiting to see the effect, I dash further upwards.
A few steps higher, I come across a fascinatingly simple flower arrangement – a bamboo tube as a vase – with only a single bloom and two grasses, nothing more. Stunning! I can hardly believe it! I could cry. This encounter touches me, hits me deeply, and for the first time, I really pause — I do breathe out —
But I am longing to finally reach old Master Hiob in his radiant room and his gruffly warm manner.
For when you enter Aga Hiob’s domain, the sun always rises. It’s wonderful up there. The upper floor has three rooms, but they are not separated by doors, so it almost feels like one big room. In one room, the walls are lined with bookshelves, and in the next, a larger one, Mr. Hiob usually sits on his platform and workspace when I arrive. The platform is simply a very large bed, just unusually high. It’s so high that I have trouble climbing up. So Master Hiob leans far forward and holds out his hand. We both pull. Made it. We’re there.
Mr. Hiob is obviously thrilled to see me, just as I am happy to have arrived. He laughs: “Hello, my little whirlwind! – It’s wonderful that you’re here! Your visits are honor, joy, and a blessing for our little world here.” That might sound a bit formal, but Master Hiob says things like that, and it always sounds totally normal, not stilted or forced at all.
„It’s lovely to be here!“
To his left, among many variously sized boxes and bowls and between piled-up books, there’s a hard, purple clay bowl, full of colourful gems, also a few glass beads even, and old coins. I don’t think the stones are very valuable, but they are pretty and exciting. When I sit down, he usually pours the contents of this bowl in front of me, and we play and rummage in it during the whole lesson. He chooses stones and looks at them, interested and thoughtful. We discuss colours and forms.
Master Hiob sits upright, pretty far back against the wooden back of the platform, cross-legged on top of a blue soft cushion.
Sometimes, when I arrive, he’s lying with his legs stretched out, leaning against the lightly carved back wall, reading. There are always a few newspapers around, and illustrated magazines with movie actresses on the covers. I’d love to take a look at them sometime – I’ve never come across such magazines at court – but there’s never any time, because I’m here to study.
Kate always only participates passively in the lesson, even if Master Hiob occasionally has her sit next to him and fiddles with her. Ah, if only I had a blue or red school uniform for Kate! It would suit her splendidly.
The lessons with Master Hiob always have the same pattern. Master Hiob tells me stories, mostly about children in Europe. It’s as if he has travelled all over Europe. He himself is English, and of course a Shambhalian as well. But as far as I can tell, he also knows all the European countries very well, and by now, I have a detailed idea of the map of Europe. So he tells stories, and whenever I come, I first have to retell the stories from the last or penultimate visits. He listens attentively and looks at me encouragingly. He himself loves to gesture with his hands and feet, so I do the same. I think he’s an old man, but since he waves his long arms around – and not only that, sometimes his whole body moves as he tells stories – he makes a very youthful impression. While I’m telling stories – he calls it “homework” – he never interrupts me, only helps if I look at him searchingly because I can’t remember what happened next. Sometimes he tells me the same story again – slightly altered – and he adds something new, he kind of likes to shift narratives. No wonder he knows so many stories, considering all the books he owns. Though I can never be sure if he isn’t recounting something he just read in one of his magazines on the Royals and important people, because sometimes his stories sound like that somewhat.
Von Reventlow comes in and asks in an exaggeratedly formal way: “Is everything satisfactory? Would the young princess like a lemonade or a juice?” Van Reventlow himself is always drinking Coca-Cola! – Von Reventlow is crazy for Coca-Cola. – But to me he always offers water or juice! Master Hiob seems to be drinking tea all day long?
Now von Reventlow gets some what restless, because the doorbell downstairs rings and Obi Van barks. “Go ahead!” says Master Hiob and winks to drive him out, and off von Reventlow he is.
“So, my dear princess, tell me what we talked about on Tuesday.” I hate it when he says “we.” This “we” seems a silly habit to me, very superficial and a cheap attempt to ingratiate himself. On the other hand, I’m here with Aga Hiob, the “Duke,” as daddy calls him, and who knows how many “wes” he has up his sleeve and whom he includes in that?!
So I’m a good student and begin retelling the story of young Hornblower, who wanted to escape from England to the mainland in his little sailboat. Anyone who knows Master Hiob knows he loves using “sailing” and “escaping” with double meanings. That’s a quirk of his, and he likes to leave the question open, for as long as possible, which meaning is the leading one. He’s quite a peculiar man, a bit mad even, even though you disregard his exotic stile, dressing and appearance, which always reminds me of visitors from Japan, who are sometimes received at the royal court.
When I finish telling the story, it gets quiet. Master Hiob had his hands folded the whole time, resting on his right thigh. They hold two or three of the gemstones. He still doesn’t move. He says nothing, but becomes calm and spacious. We let the silence affect us. Outside, a few birds are chirping. They must be late birds, since winter is coming soon.
Together, we become more and more open. Nothing else happens. I love to run around, and I even tend to be impatient. But with Master Hiob, I can easily enjoy those endlessly long moments calmly and motionless, and Kate also holds in and pauses.
That’s a wonderful openness, and a memory comes to me:
Me, all alone on the wide and open sea,
in the sky just a few, small clouds;
Loneliness;
a playful silk scarf around my neck – yellow with little red stars –
with an empty stomach;
the feeling that I need to keep going;
and with a shining, blissful heart…
… Oh! Ah! There is a harsh wind blowing out here…
Ciao ciao
Yours, Winni the Quijote (Private Correspondent to the Shambhala court)