I’m like You

A story by Katharina Lamprecht

Listen to me, the water whispered, foamed, wooshed, how I hiss and sizzle, light and dull, quietly gurgling and loud and full. I am so many but you can see only one. I sing a whole opera but you just hear one voice. I change myself every second but I´m constantly the same. I give myself up any minute to find myself again at once.

Look at me, the water whispered, foamed, wooshed. I am like you.

Le nom sécret

Quand un enfant indien arrive au monde il reçoit un nom de ses parents. Ce nom n’est que provisoire, c’est-à-dire il peut changer ou être complété par un autre nom. De la part du sorcier de la tribu l’enfant reçoit en outre un nom secret qui est son vrai et propre nom et connu seulement de lui. Personne ne peut toucher à ce nom. Personne ne peut en faire un mauvais usage. Son vrai nom n’appartient qu’à lui. L’enfant indien reçoit aussi une pierre de la part du chamane. Si le sorcier meurt avant que l’enfant ait appris son nom de sa part, le jeune indien se retire à un endroit désert. Il reste à cet endroit jusqu’à ce que la pierre lui dévoile par un rêve ou une autre révélation son vrai nom. Dans beaucoup de ces pierres il y a des druses, ce sont des cavités avec des pierres précieuses. Dans d’autres il y a de l’or, et dans toutes il y a un enchantement curatif et la force du nom clandestin.

Everything Else

In a land in our time there lived a man, who read a book and found lots of wonderful stories therein. There were true and invented stories, experienced and pensive, enjoyable and painful stories. There were stories which contained stories, and such which were actually not stories. For every story he read, there occurred to him nearly five which he had either experienced or thought up himself. So the thought came to him, that a lot in the world was a story which could be healing for himself and others; he only needed to absorb the healing stories well and to forget the terrible ones immediately. Then he would learn which story he had used when and for what. So he organised his own stories which he knew, and which had become a help to himself and others, or could become so. Sometimes he noted it down when a new story came to his ears and sometimes when a helpful story occurred to him, he memorised it.

Then he saw before him in a picture the storystories of this life arranged in long shelves, as in a large pharmacy. And behind the counter there sat a man who had learnt to listen to himself and others. He was a master of his subjectspecialty. His talent was that he understood how to tell the right thing at the right time to himself and to those who visited him.

To Save the Goat

“Turn around at the next junction! We must help the baby goat!” she insisted. To the right of us was a high supporting wall behind which, in a field, was a herd of grazing goats. One young goat stood lost below the wall. Had it fallen? It obviously could not get back to the others. It stood, helpless and lonely at the edge of the road. We turned around. Prohibitive signs and one-way streets directed us to a long diversion, but finally we arrived at our destination. The goat still stood at exactly the same place. Slowly we came closer. It looked at us, looked up – and with one, nimble leap, was back with the others.

The Rolling Piano

For many years he worked as a pianist. He had experienced countless performances. What then had been his most uncomfortable experience during his concert tours?

“Once”, he related, “I noticed during a concert that the piano which I was playing was not properly secured. Perhaps the floor of the concert hall was also uneven. While I played, the instrument began to gradually roll away from me. I slid behind it with my piano stool, but it continued to roll. I slid, it rolled. Thus it went on and on, during the entire piece. Most instruments have a brake, which must be secured. If not, then God have mercy on you.”

Eagle’s Flight

I do not know whether you have ever seen an eagle. In the zoo, of course, but I do not mean that. If you see an eagle in the zoo, most of the time it looks tired, bored and sleepy. For what shall he do? An eagle is meant to fly, and this he cannot do in a cage, at least not really well. What impresses me about eagles is their strength, and how they use their strength. You might think that such a large bird would move its wings in powerful beats. But the eagle does not need this. It circles in the sky, and even though it rarely moves its wings, it goes higher and higher till you lose sight of it. How does the eagle know that it can fly? If such an animal could speak, I suppose it would not discuss the existence of the air before spreading its wings. Eagles do not ask for proof. They are content with the experience that they are carried by the air. The outcome is their proof.

Different Ways to deal with Dogs (or Life)

Today is a snowy day. Just some minutes ago I have been shovelling snow in front of the house and in the driveway. Ma neighbour who is American did the same. His two large dogs came out and greeted me happily. They seemed enthusiastic about the weather. They greeted a mother with her child just as happily. The girl got afraid and drew near to her mother.The dogs’ owner shouted to his dogs and they instantly ran back to him. He gave them a sign to go into the house which they immediately did.

“Why do these dogs run around here? What’s this all about?” shouted the mother. “They’re already going into the house. They’re nice dogs” I said. “Anyway. They shouldn’t run free! Whose dogs are they?”

I imagine that the woman tried to care well for her daughter who was afraid and that she had the very best intentions for her child. Yet, it is possible that the girl was not afraid because of the dogs. It seems to me that she was afraid because of her mother.