- – Bottomless Barrel
Good morning, dear people!
Another scene from Shambhala:
“I could easily live in a barrel! Without any cosy blankets or lanterns! Really! No problem what so ever! And I’d even like it!” Kate looks at me somewhat sceptical.
We’re on our way back to the palace. Obi Van, the grey labrador who so much reminds one of a noble horse, Kate my doll and constant companion, and me.
At Master Hiob´s—my teacher for European history and culture, who gives me lessons twice a week—it was, once again, super exciting. But he got me moved, stirred up, and somewhat unsettled. The lesson was this time about Greek ways of life, especially Greek philosophers, at the time of Buddha’s parinirvana, just a few generations later. Apparently, life on the streets, the people, their clothes, their food and drinks in Greece weren’t all that different from those in India. But these people thought differently in many ways. There view on life was a kind of different. They referred to logos. Essentially, it was about simplifying and sorting. But Master Hiob warned that logos is a very self-satisfied tool, if I got him right. And there’s something about this logos that I don’t yet understand. I’m floating around in this term; trying to dive into it and gradually grasp more? As I do with many other “terms.”
Oh dear, Aga Hiob was especially enthusiastic and exuberant while teaching. He can tell stories in an incredible liveliness, and when he does so, he is there just for me only. It’s actually very rare that anyone around me is truly there for me and not simultaneously occupied with all sorts of other matters and thoughts. Even being with daddy, I often feel he’s thinking about something else. But when I’m with Master Hiob, he’s there. Just there, for me only. This is also due to the unusual atmosphere of his villa, which is a very special mandala. Everything there is so different from the court so much more calm and holistically.
Obi Van is supposed to be our protector, who basically leads us by the leash, though it seems that I am leading him. But he still is our bodyguard, so to speak. He is tall, bigger than me, and he is kind of proud, and… noble. His figure, together with his alert, thoughtful gaze and pace—all this means you just can’t overlook him. Without him, Kate and I wouldn’t really stand out. But the three of us together make quite a picturesque sight. Again and again, people turn around and watch us passing by.
We are used to people staring at us. Whenever I notice someones look, I kind of get on stage and start acting like a real actress. I somewhat lift my shoulders, pout my lips, or stripe my hair backwards—trying to sharpen my outline, which I very much enjoy to do. And Kate giggles whenever she notices, and squeezes me tighter.
It must be especially hard for Obi Van under these circumstances to decide whether someone is seriously threatening us. But I consider him a professional who knows what he’s doing and how to classify behaviour and movements. On longer routes there are always adults around, but the ten minutes from the court to Aga Hiob´s villa and back, those we three handle all by ourselves.
Whenever we come from Master Hiob’s, one or two particular topics from the lesson always advance – it just happens – and they fascinate us and lead to further reflections. Usually, it’s just one or two images that keep us intensely engaged and by walking it is like digesting the contents of the lessons. This is in so far astonishing, as Master Hiob always tells us so many different and small, easy to comprehend stories from a country and a time period, which I usually have to retell at the next lesson. That’s my homework, and that’s his teaching method—and, to be honest, I love it. It’s the best!
From this long afternoon about Greece, one image especially left its mark: There was someone named Diogenes who, according to the story, decided to live in a giant barrel—in those days, barrels were actually used for transporting goods; they were enormous, much, much bigger than the beer or sauerkraut barrels our merchants use nowadays. They were so tall that I could have easily stand up inside—and even with Obi Van next to me.
Now – why did this philosopher decide to live in a barrel? Did he try to lead an extremely simple life, so that it could not get worth? Did he chose such simplicity out of fear, following the motto: If you do not own anything, you can’t lose anything. But Master Hiob was of the opinion that this was not his motivation. In contrary he was a daring, diligent and energetic trailblazer even. He held audiences in front of his barrel, and students came by and gathered around. So what was his purpuse to live in a barrel?
– Extremely simple, but nonetheless a king!? –
In discussions Kate always looks for the simplest, most naïve view, which can actually be very helpful. But I do not have this choice, since I’m a princess after all.
So she’s enthusiastic about the idea of a life where you have nothing to lose, while I try to explain that such an easy life is selfish and irresponsible. For me as a princess, that’s not a trivial matter, because that is what my life might be all about. Well I am not sure about that but it could be quit possible. Anyway I do try to stay open to Kate’s position and I try to understand it—really I do—but I also insist, passionately, on my own views.
All this makes Obi Van a little uneasy. He fidgets a bit. He doesn’t like it when I argue loudly with Kate out there on the pavement, because after all Kate is a doll, and so people passing by think I’m talking to myself—which might be embarrassing for Obi Van…?
Deep in conversation, we stop at a red light at the cross-walk. We have to wait.
And suddenly we notice a tall slim boy standing next to us speaks up. He must be double of my age.
At least he is older than me, and much taller than Obi Van. But he looks friendly with his freckles around his nose, cheeky and interesting. There are colourful and compelling depths and impressions around him. He seems to handle an invisible vortex of some kind.
“Are you the princess the people are talking about?” he asks me.
“I sure am!” I reply, looking up at him, and ask in turn: “And who are you?”
He hesitates a moment, then dares and says, loudly, clearly, and rather smugly: “No you sure are not a princess! That’s nonsense. Princesses only exist in fairy tales.”
That was surprisingly blunt, to say the least? And then something happened I was a kind of used to but on the other hand it over and over again also bewildered me, because without hesitation, I reply, “Well but every person lives in their own personal fairy tale, in one way or another without knowing it. Isn´t it? And so do you!”
It happens that statements like that tumble out of my mouth. I truly don’t know where they come from. They just show up and there they are. But when I reflect on what I’ve said, I always realize that it makes sense what I just said, what pours out of me so spontaneously. On one hand it is me speaking, but still I’m over and over surprised by myself at such ocassions.
The boy swallows. I don’t think he quite gets it. He seems confused and kind of overwhelmed: “I think you’re dumb!”
Now Obi Van makes himself noticed. He straightens up and slowly turns his head toward the boy. The problem is, Obi Van may be big and often looks like a noble horse, but he never actually seems frightening. He’s just not the type of dog you’re afraid of. He could, instead, nobly sport a black bow tie, and no one would be surprised.
I simply ignore what the boy said and ask: “Will you tell me your name?”—though secretly my knees start trembling a little bit already.
In this moment the traffic light changes colour. We could cross the street now, and Obi Van gives an almost imperceptible but insistent tug.
So we start moving. The boy stays by our side.
The thing is, walking together—like dancing or biking—relaxes people and brings them closer, it eases tension.
“I’m Pete. But tell me, what are princesses, kings, and queens good for? Nobody needs them, but they still consider themselves important. I do not get it?”
I look up at him with pity—a real art, when your counterpart is two heads taller than you. Looking down kindly is easy; it comes naturally, but for me, there’s no chance here to take a superior position—no wall to balance on or anything. Nothing like that. So my acting skills are needed. I have to look up at him with compassion! The trick in acting is to become, as deeply and sincerely as possible, one with whom you want to be. So that’s what I try to do.
I look at him pitifully and ask, “Who should rule and guide the challenging powers of materialism, if not spiritual people and kings?”
Pete protests: “Nonsense! Who says something like that?”
And then again, a response just bursts out of me: “It doesn’t matter who claims something. What matters is whether you understand it and can relate to it you yourself! You have to know for yourself whether something is true or not, no one else can do that for you.” I take a few funny dance steps, like a jumping rope—that helps—and continue: “A princess learns from a very early age about the peculiarities and forms of the powers of materialism, though as a child you’re not yet affected by them so much.”
Pete is smart: “What powers are you talking about?”
I reply: “They’re based on fear and the need for security. Rules and believes for example. But as I said—you have to find that out for yourself. You’re much older than me, and these powers are probably already affecting you a lot. So you can sense them even better than I do. Just watch closely! If you notice restlessness and unpredictable whirlwinds, or when meaningless knick-knacks captivates you, then you’re getting close.”
“No!” Pete says, “I don’t know any fear!! And you actually are really dumb.” But on the other hand he sounds much friendlier by now. Something had changed. It even feels almost like we are about to become friends. Even in his harsh words, there’s something warmer now and more heartfelt an closer. Sometime during our conversation we managed to connect. That feels great and makes me happy.
“Everyone is afraid!” I say, still a little condescending, though again I have to look way up. “But one can master it. Fear has nourished the powers of materialism for as long as anyone can remember, it is taking possession of the hectic people around us more and more and shamelessly, and it is getting more and more cunning. It comes constantly up with new disguises.”
Pete opens his mouth briefly as if to say something, but then closes it and ponders.
It takes time. Pete keeps thinking deeply. His freckled brow is furrowed, and his snub nose kind of wrinkles up. He is realy cute. He’s so fiery with his wild brown curls, which might even have a hint of red. And I’d love to be nice to him, but I just can’t speak nonsense to be nice.
Finally he asks, “And what can you do about these powers?”
“Laughing, dancing and crying! That’s what you can do! Against anyone who laughs or cries, materialism is powerless. But unfortunately, laughing and crying are very short-lived! And you can’t go on laughing forever just to make sure you don’t forget it. So you need new cuts again and again. You can laugh artificially: Ha! and then again: Ha!! That cuts through materialism even when it’s not spontaneous, but you just artificial cry: Ha! You can trust me in that!
People who are totally lost in materialism can no longer laugh or cry.
And another problem is that it’s very hard to get back your laughter and tears once you’ve lost them. But an artificial ‘Ha!’ often works wonders.”
I stop and look at him sharply: “That’s how it is!”
We’ve arrived at the Shambhala court, and I am now facing Pete. Kate has burrowed deep into my coat and only her head is peeking out above my collar. All this talk is too wild and too much for her.
“But you can also invite Buddhas, yidams, saviors and protectors, goddesses, gods, and helpers—maybe you’d call them guardian angels?—and ask for their help. There are so many of them, and they are definitly able to help in finding and keeping humour and sadness. For the big battles nevertheless, you need human helpers too: like queens and kings, nuns and monks, witches and wizards. They can handle a lot. And they can be powerfully effective!”
Then I turn toward the garden gate and say, “Well, I’m here. I have to go in.”
Over my shoulder I add, “Hope I see you again! I’ll be going to school soon. But it would be great if we could see each other before then. You can visit me here at the court anny time, if you dare.”
And Pete grumbles, “Hmm…”
Behind the closed door I have a kind of a real break down. All my confidence falls apart on the spot. I’m confused and deeply upset about me and shocked by my feelings inside me. My left and right energies are flowing wildly in red an white. The officer of the day takes the dog leash from me and helps me quickly out of my bell-coat. She’s very considerate and gentle as soon as she notices that I’m shaky and agitated. I could just sink into her arms then and let myself be comforted, but instead I run to my room and throw myself onto my bed, sobbing.
I cry quietly into my yellow, cuddly pillow … Why can’t I be a freckled boy too, and run around the streets, cheeky and free and play and dance?
I want my own barrel all for myself …
Ciao, ciao
Your Winni the Quijote (Private Correspondent to the Shambhala court)