Буркан с вятър (A Jar of Wind)

В Китай живял човек, който уловил вятъра в буркан за консервиране. На всички посетители той казвал: „Имам го. Той е там.“ Мнозина идвали и отново си тръгвали, клатейки глави. Не бяха усетили никакъв свеж вятър. Някои го питаха: „Какво ще правиш с празния буркан?“

А той обясни с гордост: „Когато имам нужда от вятър, просто отварям буркана и веднага през стаята преминава прохладен вятър. Например, когато през лятото приемам гости в таванския си апартамент: „Уф, тук е горещо“, въздишат те, а аз казвам: „Само миг, това веднага ще се реши“. Едно движение на китката – и в стаята се разнася свеж вятър. Или пък ако нещо гори, докато готвя, с един буркан вятър всички миризми бързо се разнасят“. Няколко души казаха: „Тогава отворете буркана!“

Но той отговори: „За Бога! Тогава целият вятър ще изчезне. И какво да правя тогава с буркана?“ Човекът държал прозорците затворени, за да не може някой заблуден полъх на вятъра да преобърне буркана и да го повали на земята. След смъртта му отворили буркана.

В него нямало нищо друго освен застоял въздух. Отворили прозорците. За първи път в стаята нахлул свеж въздух.

Тази история на английски език (This story in English):

От: Стефан Хамел: Стръкче трева в пустинята, впечатляващо 2012 г. (From: Stefan Hammel: The Blade of Grass in the Desert, impress 2012)

Книгата е достъпна в моя онлайн магазин. The book is available in my Onlineshop.

На 27 и 28 октомври 2025 г. в София ще проведа семинар за терапевтично разказване на истории.

Повече информация можете да получите от Българската асоциация по хипноза и хипнотерапия (БАХХ).

С най-добри пожелания
Стефан

Милостив (Mercifulness)

Говорихме за музика. „Ухото е милостиво“, каза тя. „То чува това, което е замислено, а не това, което всъщност се свири.“ Жената, която каза това, беше учителка по пиано. Беше преподавала на ученици в продължение на десетилетия и се беше замислила как ухото и мозъкът обработват музиката. „Ухото е милостиво“ – повторих аз. „Как искате да кажете това?“ Тя каза: „Когато слушаме музика като публика, тогава заличаваме грешките. Чуваме това, което се има предвид. Това, което пристига в съзнанието ни, е завършената мелодия. Изпълнителите и учителите обръщат внимание на грешките, но публиката чува музиката“.

Тази история на английски език (This story in English).

На 27 и 28 октомври 2025 г. в София ще проведа семинар за терапевтично разказване на истории.

Повече информация можете да получите от Българската асоциация по хипноза и хипнотерапия (БАХХ).

С най-добри пожелания
Стефан

Słoik Wiatru (A Jar of Wind)

A big thank you to Aleksandra Piatek from Poland who translated the story “A Jar of Wind”.

W Chinach żył pewien człowiek, który złapał wiatr do słoika. Do wszystkich odwiedzających mówił: „Mam go. On jest w środku”. Wielu przychodziło i odchodziło, kręcąc głowami. Nie czuli żadnego świeżego wiatru. Niektórzy pytali: „Co zamierzasz zrobić z tym pustym słoikiem?”

On wyjaśniał z dumą: „Kiedy potrzebuję wiatru, po prostu otwieram słoik i natychmiast przez pokój przechodzi chłodna bryza. Na przykład, gdy przyjmuję gości w moim mieszkaniu na poddaszu latem, narzekają: ‘Uff, jak tu gorąco’, a ja mówię: ‘Chwileczkę, zaraz to załatwię’. Jeden ruch nadgarstka – i świeża bryza przechodzi przez pokój. Albo gdy coś się przypali podczas gotowania, jednym słoikiem wiatru wszystkie zapachy natychmiast znikają”. Kilku powiedziało: „To otwórz słoik!”

Ale on odpowiadał: „Na miłość boską! Wtedy cały wiatr ucieknie. A co potem zrobię ze słoikiem?” Człowiek ten trzymał okna zamknięte, aby żaden zbłąkany podmuch nie przewrócił i nie rozbił słoika. 

Po jego śmierci otworzono słoik. W środku nie było nic oprócz stojącego powietrza. Otworzono okna. Po raz pierwszy świeże powietrze przeszło przez pokój.

(From: Stefan Hammel: The Blade of Grass in the Desert, impress 2012)

The book is available in my Onlineshop.

Kind regards, Stefan

“Hammel Digital” – AI assistant for utilization and supervision

I asked an AI developer to build me a chatbot with offers for therapeutic interventions based on my manual for therapeutic utilization, among other things.

The prototype has been refined and improved over the last few months.

You can find the AI assistant for Utilization and Supervision embedded in my

🔗 Blog.

If you feel like it, you can play around with it (e.g. ask: “my client suffers from moth phobia and tinnitus, how can I help her therapeutically / do you have a story I can tell her) and write me what positive / negative experiences you have had with it and what you think should be improved.

The AI also works if you speak to him in other languages.

I look forward to your feedback 📧.

Your Stefan

The Blade of Grass in the Crack

The story “The Blade of Grass in the Crack” can be told in many situations described by patients as hopeless. It illustrates a fundamental principle of systemic therapy, namely that it is important to identify anything which may be useful, no matter how innocuous, and multiply it until it becomes a force which can hold its own against the stresses which at first appeared unassailable. The story can help clients who have resigned themselves to a situation – and their therapists – to adopt a searching attitude and identify solutions which previously appeared impossible.

The prisoner said, “Last night I dreamt that a blade of grass grew in a crack in our dungeon, just where the shaft of light which comes through the spy hole in the door hits our wall. It was watered by the moisture which drips from the dungeon roof and the walls. The roots grew stronger and forced the crack open a tiny amount, and a second blade of grass grew from these roots, right next to the first. Then we hung a belt on the door so that its silver buckle reflected a little light onto the second blade. This grew as well, and its powerful roots widened the crack a little more. We repeated this process again and again until the stone was surrounded by grass on all sides. When a year had passed, we pulled out the weeds, and the light shone through the cracks. We braced ourselves against the stone and pushed it outwards with all of our strength, inch by inch over the course of a day. Then we climbed out through the hole and were free.” “It’s a shame there’s no blades of grass growing in our dungeon,” sighed his fellow prisoner. The prisoner who had just related his dream stared at the wall for a long time. Then he asked, “And what do you think that is?”

Healing Fairy Tales

Pixabay

Do you know about healing fairy tales?

My colleague Allison Quaid designed a beautiful website which can show you how to develop your own fairy tale as a story that can help you or others with traumatic experiences. On this site you will also find examples of such tales which you may find useful to read or tell to yourself and others. Curious?

Find out about the power of healing fairytales on

www.healingfairytales.com!

Le loup de mer et le loup de terre

Un jour, le loup de mer reҫu la visite du loup de terre. Les deux se connaissaient déjà depuis l’école des loups. Le loup de mer avait parcouru le monde et vécut beaucoup d’aventures et il rentra chez lui riche de trésors et d’expériences. Le loup de terre était resté chez soi dans sa tannière. Il rencontra une louve de terre et eut des louveteaux de terre. Et maintenant, il a beaucoup de petits-louveteaux et des arrière-petits-louveteaux, et tous sont devenus de vrais, bons loups de terre.

«Parfois j’aimerais refaire ma vie», dit le loup de terre au loup de mer. «C’est la même chose pour moi», dit ce dernier. «Je ferais beaucoup de choses différemment», dit le loup de terre. «Oui, moi aussi», répondit le loup de mer. «Je naviguerais les océans», rêva le loup de terre. «Je me marierais», soupira le loup de mer. «Je vivrais des aventures», expliqua le loup de terre. «J’aurais des louveteaux», dit le loup de mer. «Je serais un loup de mer riche. J’aurais vécu des expériences  périlleuses et magnifiques, dont je pourrais raconter les histoires», dit le loup de terre avec enthousiasme. «Moi, j’aurais des petits-enfants et des arrière-petits-enfants qui m’aimeraient et qui s’occuperaient de moi quand je serais vieux et malade», assura le loup de mer.

«Et ce serait moi qui serait maintenant assis avec toi dans cette tannière de loup de mer», continua le loup de terre, « …et moi avec toi… », rajouta le loup de mer. Le loup de terre hocha la tête : «Et puis maintenant tu me dirais : “Parfois, j’aimerais bien refaire ma vie” et moi, je répondrais : “Oui, c’est la même chose pour moi.”»

Snail and Vole

A story by Katharina Lamprecht

A vole watched a snail, which dipsy-doodled along a path and asked her: “Why do you crawl so arduously back and forth? Doing that it takes you much longer to get forward”. The snail sighed. “That’s true, but I always look on both sides of the path for something to eat. When I´m on the left side I keep thinking, that there might be better food on the right. When I´m on the right side I think the same and therefore go back to the left. I´m always afraid that I will overlook some yummy greens”. The vole understood perfectly. “I´ll help you. I´m a big taller than you are and walk in the middle of the path, that´s a good lookout. You can stay on the right side and in case I see something worth coming over to the left, I´ll let you know”. And in this way they went on. The vole saw many lush and juicy herbs on the left side, but it didn’t say a word. Because now, giving all her attention to just one side of the path, the snail found enough treats. After a while, as the snail discovered that she found enough to eat, she thanked the vole for the help and went on by herself. Just following her path.

La flor en la isla

En una pequeña isla en medio del océano extenso crecía una hermosa flor amarilla de oro. Nadie sabía cómo había llegado allí, porque en esta isla no había ninguna flor aparte de ella. Las gaviotas venían volando para contemplar este milagro con asombro. “Es linda como el sol”, decían. Los peces venían nadando. Levantaban las cabezas encima del agua para admirarla. “Es linda como un coral”, decían. Un cangrejo salió a la tierra para mirarla. “Es linda como una perla en el suelo del mar”, dijo. Y todos venían casi cada día para admirar esta flor.

Un día, cuando volvieron para contemplar la flor, se encontraron con que los pétalos dorados de la flor se habían vuelto marones y secos. “Ay de nosotros”, dijeron las gaviotas, los peces y el cangrejo. “El sol quemó nuestra flor. ¿Quién ahora nos refrescará el corazón?”. Y todos se pusieron tristes.

Pero algunos días más tarde apareció en lugar de la flor una maravillosa bola de color blanco tierno. “¿Qué es eso?”, preguntaron los animales. “Es tan blando como una nube”, dijeron las gaviotas. “Es tan ligero como la espuma de las olas”, dijeron los peces. “Es tan fino como el resplandor del sol en la arena”, dijo el cangrejo. Y todos los animales se alegraron.

En este momento un golpe de viento barrió la isla y sopló este milagro blanco dispersándolo por ella en miles de copos. “Ay de nosotros”, hablaron las gaviotas, los peces y el cangrejo. “El viento ha dispersado nuestra bola. ¿Qué alegrará nuestro ánimo ahora?” Y todos estaban tristes entonces.

Un día por la mañana, al levantarse el sol sobre la mar, allí en la luz dorada matinal relucieron cientos y cientos de hermosas flores color amarillo de oro. Entonces bailaron las gaviotas en el cielo y los peces en el agua, y el cangrejo bailó con sus amigos una danza de rueda en medio de las flores, y todos se alegraron.

(Por Stefan Hammel, traducción: Bettina Betz)

Midsummer Night’s Dream

Another beautiful story by Katharina Lamprecht

One day, it was Midsummer and the Swedish days where as long as the dinner table for the king’s birthday. A wise old moose on his evening stroll met a young boy, sitting on a moss covered tree trunk, sobbing deeply. The old moose stopped and looked at the boy who did not notice him because of all his despair. Not until the moose nudged him with his soft muzzle did the boy raise his eyes. And just in front of him he saw the big brown eyes of the moose. He saw in those eyes all the stars in the heavens that he could not see before on this Midsummer night. So big, so deep and so endless the eyes seemed to be that he got the feeling he could just take a walk right into them. The stars where so beautiful, like jewels, iridescent and glittering in all colors he could imagine, scattered like the crumbles on grandma’s apple-pie, big ones and small ones, thick and thin ones, each of them meaningful and unique. At the sight of all those treasures the boy got the feeling he was surrounded by good friends, who bestowed upon him potency and love.

So they stood for a long time and looked at each other, the young boy and the old moose. Then the moose blew his warm and soft breath through the boy’s hair, turned around and faded into the forest. The boy looked after him for a long time, as if in trance, and only after a while did he discover that his infinite sadness had transformed. It was still there but all of a sudden there was also a happiness and cheerfulness. And he somehow felt that this had something to do with the stars he had seen in the fathomless eyes of the old moose.

He turned around and walked back home. And whistling happily away he kicked at the stones that laid on his way.