Towards the Fulda spring-Of stone and water

 On a drive towards Prichsenstadt we stopped at the spring of the Fulda, which at that point is but a tiny creek, but becomes a prominent river later on. The spring is situated in the Rhön region of Germany, a volcanic geological formation in the middle of our country. It is a beautiful landscape with rolling hills, the highest of which is the "Wasserkuppe" with a height of approx. 950 m. That we visited also, of course, and the reason was not entirely all a laughing matter, more of a smile with some tears in it. It was a great sunny day, bright and warm, with birds singing, and we finally stopped by the spring.

 Can´t remember this picture, (Drui took it;-)), but it shows the atmosphere of that day.

 Near the spring there grew a big and ancient tree, an ash spreading its prominent branches over the peaceful place near the spring, which was set in rock. We took in the atmosphere in deep breaths... and we had a laugh and a smile. I collected some rocks, and we "sat by the spring on a fallen log";-) and had a delicious snack of bread and smoked sausage.

By the spring we met two elderly women filling a truckload of cans with water and having a chat about spiritual ways and natural spirituality in general, ecology and good food. Funny, how places like this attract a certain crop of people... we had a chat, too. They mistook us for "Celtic" souls at first glance... which was a bit of a laughing matter;-). Not that we did not believe in reincarnation, mind you*ggg*, but we are far older than that*ggg*. But no offence taken, and none given*g*. In fact, we had a nice chat together and we learned that they took the mineralic water home for drinking and cooking. We need not be told twice, so we filled up some PET soft drink bottles we had in the car boot, and had a delicious drink of water.

 So next time we will bring some larger cans, too. And, I mean it;-): I have never quite tasted a water like this, with a rich flavour to it, iron, salts and other elements, that it made me feel my hair growing (back;-)).

 Looking along a hiking trail that passes on the ridge. by that tree. The ground was muddy and swampy even, and the soil was rich and dark.

 Twoflowers tourists basking in the sun*ggg* to the mild soundtrack of the gentle water flowing and dancing over ancient stones. There was a certain air of magic around the place. What, magic? Superstition? The devil?*ggg*

 I think this is a great example of how that thing works: There were no explosions, nothing falling to the ceiling, no demons or sprites springing up like jack-in-the-box. Nothing especially funny or wonderful, eh?

But there was wonder in the air. The simple silence and the peace of the sun and creation in the whole. It was that ancient tree, which was just a tree. It was that ancient spring, which was just a spring, just water. It were the ancient rocks, which were but humble rocks. It was the warmth, and the beautiful colours of the sunlight, which were no different to ten thousand and more summer days. And yet, there was this magic. It was a magic that told that everything could have its place, that flowers grow, and water flows, that time passes, and while there is nothing one could propably do about it, one must not, in turn.

This magic is subtle. It cannot be felt in a rush. It cannot be made to bend to one´s will. It is the power of nature, of creation, a power that must not bear any name. And if you give in to it, it will heal your soul, and you will find out that this is the power that made your soul in the first place. It is much more than the humble rocks, the water or the tree. They are but part of it all. They have been given names, but do we understand even them? I daresay not.

 But we must not understand. If I would want to calculate a simple underhand throw of a ball by physics or mathematics, I will get to the very limit of my capabilities, the forces involved are so complex. But any child can catch a ball thrown at it in play. There is another perspective we tend to forget or glorify: That of love, of play, of the "second sight", which is but another form of seeing things.

We forgot how to see. For seeing with your heart rids you of many fears we are laden with. And there are, let´s call them "forces", in our society not interested in people without those fears. People, and peoples with fear are easier to control, and their power always is a power "over" something, a dominion over something. Even if humans set this spring in rock, they will never fathom it, at least not water in general. We as humans can cut down that tree, we can make something out of it, but even so, we will never fathom it, for we cannot understand it. Due to this lack of understanding, we brought the world into the mess it´s in. And we realize with terror that a sandstorm on the surface of Mars with temperatures of -274 degrees Celsius are nature, too, and that even there bacteria can live-while we can not. Not loving creation will only destroy our species-but not nature in itself. This renders us utterly powerless, and we know it, and this leaves us with a horror vacui we try to fill up with gadgets and gimmicks and overcivilization.

 All the while trees grow in the warm sunlight. It is a laughing matter.

I do not want to say we managed to let it all be, but we took in the atmosphere. It is very difficult - and outright ridiculous - to call it anything more than that. We savoured the magic. We drank the water, but only until we were thirsty no more. We sat there, took in the sun and the shade and the song of the water and the peace above the warm rocks. We spared a thought for the spring and those who could not be with us-and it was with love we remembered.

 That simple can be natural spirituality. Of course, you can buy big books with fancy embellishments, magic wands and concoctions, you can wear a ton of amulets and pray to a thousand Gods as advertised, and if it does you any good, walk that way. I do not know if what I believe could be called "pagan". I have looked into the abyss, behind the masks. That does not make me a better individual, and it made my life all the more difficult. I treat the Gods-and all of them, mind you, with the respect their worshippers deserve. But I guess I have seen a glimpse, a tiny one, of that what might be the truth. And even that tiny glimpse was far greater than any names could indicate. It does not act or think in human categories, it cannot even be understood.

But it must not, too. It is like the ball being thrown. We want to calculate its flight, but noone has asked us to do so. We simply have to catch it with the joy of a child.

And thus we left, back to the road, and the sun. But a part of us we left sitting by that spring.