Читать книгу Kashi - Daniela Jodorf - Страница 7

1 Chapter Two

New York

The concert schedule was tight, and Paul hardly had the time to breath and relax. They started off in London, flew to Milan, Vienna, Zurich and finally Berlin. The German capital was covered by a thick coat of snow when the plane from Zurich touched ground in Tegel. Paul tried to see Berlin as any other destination before, but he could not ignore the fact that it was different for him. He saw the face of the woman who had prophesied his visit in SoHo not more than a month ago in front of his inner eye. He shook his head, strongly feeling the need to get rid of this vision, but the more he resisted it, the more alive it became. Her eyes glowed with an understanding that he had never seen in anyone before. Without expressing it in words her whole appearance suggested to him that she knew. But what? What did this woman know? His future? He was unable to say why, but he sensed that she knew more than that; something deeper and more profound, some hidden secret. And as much as he vainly tried to figure out what the strange meeting that night in SoHo had really meant, he could not fight down his fears. Yes, he had feared the woman and her self-assurance. And even though she had been able to foresee his future, he distrusted her. He felt cold and unlocked his seat belt when the aircraft had finally reached its parking position. Phil looked at him and Paul smiled.

“Ready for the ice-cold eastern wind?”

“Absolutely!” Phil gave him a brave look.

After his awkward confession, Phil had been more reserved than Paul had ever known him before. Paul had tried to cover the fissure in their inner bond with amplified friendliness. But if he was truly honest with himself, he had to admit that the gap could not be repaired. Paul did not want to judge his friend's feelings nor hurt them, but jealous admiration was a reaction he had not learned to deal with. It made him feel insecure. He had always assumed that he and Phil met as equals, but now he felt forced to realize that Phil must have had a hidden notion of inferiority from him for many, many years. Paul tried to avoid being alone with Phil now, but he was struck by a cold and stabbing pain with every act of avoidance.

The rental bus needed more than two hours to get through the heavy snowfall that had recommenced soon after they had landed to bring them to their Hotel close to Kurfürstendamm. Paul stared through the window and heard the same questions replay in his mind. Why Berlin? What is so important about this city?

He was tired and fell on his bed as soon as he had locked the door of his room. When Phil called to ask if he wanted to have dinner with him, he turned the invitation down.

“I am so tired, Phil. I have to sleep. I want to be well-rested for the rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, just tired. See you at breakfast", he lied when he once again felt the pain of avoidance.

Paul stared into the darkness. He could sense that something was waiting for him here in Berlin, some important experience or some revelation. But what kind of experience? What kind of revelation? It was not his first time in Berlin. He had been here at least five or six times. Why now?

He drifted into a deep unconscious sleep, where dreams had no space to enter. Only when the city started to wake up again, his sleep became lighter and allowed subconscious images to form. Paul was used to intense dreaming, but this morning's dream was different from anything he had ever experienced before. He saw himself in the bar in SoHo across from the clairvoyant woman again. He experienced the same situation in the dreaming state now that had actually happened in the waking state a few weeks ago. But now Paul felt much calmer, much clearer, more aware; he was able to perceive details that he had missed during the actual nightly encounter. He perceived the woman´s face, her fairly tanned skin, and green eyes, the freckles on her nose and cheeks. Now, more then that night, he was aware of her beauty and a strange kind of glow that made her skin shimmer in a golden color. Paul saw her delicate fingers and felt her touch on his hands like a burning fire of energy that was almost too strong for him to bear. He re-experienced her insisting speech and while she was talking with a slight accent, which he had not noticed that night, she felt more familiar than anyone he had ever met in waking life. Not only she knew him, he suddenly realized, but he too knew her better than any person around him. Her eyes did not let go of his and she said: "You are not the man you think you are! Awake!" His heartbeat accelerated rapidly, he started sweating and a strong energetic pain ran through his spine and his legs when he woke up tossing and turning around, hitting his head on the night table.

The next minute he became freezing cold and forced himself to get up, get into the shower and let the warm water dispel the shadows of the dream. But the water could not cast the echo of the woman´s intriguing voice out of his mind's ear. "Awake!" she commanded and he knew that she did not intend to wake him up from his night's sleep.

When he walked into the breakfast room, most of the orchestra members were already eating. Phil got up and waved. Paul said hello to everybody he passed by on his way to Phil´s table. Some of the younger musicians must have had a late night. They looked quite tired.

“Are you ready for rehearsal in twenty minutes?” he asked with a broad smile. Most of them nodded over-ambitiously.

“You look relaxed”, Phil opened their conversation.

Paul did not show his surprise. “Yeah, I had a good, deep sleep and you?”

“Fine. Just had a sandwich and went for a walk in the snow. There is something about this town that I really love.”

“Yes, I think I know what you mean. Berlin is special.”

Paul had a French breakfast, a coffee, and a croissant only, and left the breakfast room early clapping his hands at the exit to attract everybody´s attention.

“Rehearsal begins in 10 minutes in Senator Hall. Please, be on time!"

He went straight to the hotel´s largest conference hall that Emerson had rented for two additional rehearsals before the final rehearsal in the concert house at Gendarmenmarkt. Of course, the orchestra knew its program, but it was important to practice the entire concert more than once at any new city. The musicians had to adapt to climate, atmosphere, jet lag and many other phenomena of travel. And the more time they had to fuse music and the quality of the individual environment the better. And, furthermore, it was necessary to have a daily routine, no matter where, to keep them alert and connected with the music and the conductor.

The instruments had been brought to the practice hall. Yet, Paul was alone when he entered the large room. He looked around and tried to catch the special atmosphere of the place taking a deep calm breath. The hotel was built in the twenties of the past century, a historic building with high ceilings and numerous architectural characteristics of that time. It reminded him of his apartment building in New York.

He walked over to the conductor's desk and went through the score. Every note appeared as a sound in his mind's ear the instant his eyes fell on it. He remembered the night when he had written this suite. He had gone to bed early, worried about his separation from Kaya, feeling severely injured by her emotionally. The suite played in his mind and calmed it, but at the same time his emotions – the pain and the guilt - were stirred by it and grew more agitated, indomitable. Kaya had been right. He had hurt her and Sean first, maybe irreparably. It was only equitable that he was hurt, too, by her reaction and by the effects of his own decision. When he had left L.A. for New York he did not know that he would have to pay with the cruel currency of loneliness.

The ensemble entered the hall in small chatting groups and Paul woke up from the strong memories inseparably tied to the composition. “Do you want the audience to feel your hurt”, an inner voice asked him a second too late, because his entire attention was now drawn to his colleagues and the intense practice of today´s rehearsal. Before he was totally consumed by the work, he only vaguely noticed his rationalization: there is no love without hurt!

The next minute he had won back full concentration on conducting. For him, the conductor was the only one in the orchestra who had walked the road outlined by the score personally. He knew every danger, every cliff, every hole. He knew each dead end and also the beautiful spots, the peaks and the climax of the journey. He had to guide the orchestra through unknown territory every time, even though the musicians had played the piece of music countless times before. They trusted him that he was able to lead them through, and he was absolutely sure that they were capable and willing to find their way and make the best out of it.

The strings had their part now and filled the entire hall with sound so rich and meaningful to him, that he could only feel and surrender to it. This was the pure beauty to him, the beauty beyond words, beyond description; the beauty of life itself, hidden in everything, every being. Paul had to fight down his tears because he was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to find this beauty in his own life, not only in music but in life itself. He swallowed strongly several times and almost lost concentration, but then other instruments echoed the theme of the strings and the emotions released him.

When he looked up, he saw an elderly man standing at the entrance. Their eyes met for an instant and even though there were more than twenty meters between them, Paul noticed that the man was moved to tears, too. But when he looked up from the score the next time the man had disappeared.

This time Paul did not dare to turn Phil´s invitation for a late lunch down. They walked through the snow, warmly packed in thick coats, hats and lambskin gloves watching their breath turn into white clouds of chimerical forms.

“Do you want to talk about it?" Phil dared to ask when they sat in an Italian bar in a small side street only a few minutes later.

“Talk about what?” Paul reacted cold and defensively pretending to concentrate on the menu.

“Something is burdening you. I am afraid it is my confession that I admire you.”

Paul looked out of the window not ready to lie into Phil´s face, but also not willing to admit that the friend was right.

“It´s not that. I told you, I am generally having a hard time.”

“Because of the fortune teller!?”

“She was not a fortune teller.” Paul almost shouted, surprised by his own emotionally strong reaction. The waiter came to take the order, and Paul wanted to stop the conversation here, but Phil did not let him off the hook.

“I am sorry. I thought she told you, you would travel to Berlin before you even knew.”

“She did, but she was not a fortune teller.” Paul tried to put into words what he felt about her. “She was more like a messenger; a person who knew me, who wanted to let me know that I will be facing a major change in life.”

“It´s still because of the audience!?”

Paul took a deep breath. “No, Phil. And that is precisely the point, why I do not want to talk about it. Because I can not explain what I am experiencing and feeling right now. I don´t even know what is wrong myself.”

“Why don´t you try. Sometimes that helps.” Phil looked at him innocently and Paul felt that he still trusted him. He cared and he wanted to honestly help. Paul was unable to turn this empathy down.

“It is not because of the audience. I mean,… the audience is not the cause of my mental and emotional turmoil.”

Phil nodded understandingly. Paul felt encouraged to search for words and explanations.

“The audience is more like a mirror. It is showing me that something is wrong with me. I want more or something else than I get and I don´t know why!”

“Is it because of Kaya?”

“Kaya? No. That is long passed. I suffered before, when and after we split. But I think the worst is over now. That is another strange aspect of the whole story: why now? Professionally, I have the best time of my life and the private waves have calmed."

“Could it be a depression or some kind of fatigue?”

“It could. I don´t know. But it doesn´t feel like an illness. It feels more like an impending change.”

“A change to what?”

“I wish I could grasp that, Phil. I dreamed of the woman last night and she urged me to `awake`.”

Phil looked at Paul seriously. “You are a lucky man. But I think you have to prepare for some things that you will not like.”

“I don´t want changes. I like my life!”

Phil laughed. "Don´t resist, Paul. Learn from your music. It keeps flowing with any change and in the end, this is what makes its wholeness, its completeness: its willingness to be anything – joy and pain, loss and gain!"

◊◊◊

They separated in front of the restaurant because Phil needed to buy a few things at the KaDeWe department store, which was only a five-minute walk from here. Paul meandered around, not ready to return to his hotel room and still fascinated by the atmosphere of the German capital. Something drew him through the park towards the Reichstag, once again home to the German parliament since 1999 - sixty-six years after it had been destroyed by a raging fire. During the long walk, Paul allowed his thoughts to flow freely. He studied the landscape, the architecture, cars, and people when all of a sudden he heard the metallic sound of a military band in his mind. He started trembling when the inner sound of the military parade became louder and stronger, and at the same time, he caught the sound of soldiers marching lock-step. There was a dark and alarming feeling in these sounds, which grew even louder when matching images appeared in front of his mind's eye. The soldiers were dressed in brownish green uniforms, reminding him of pictures he had seen from the time of the Second World War. When he looked up within the inner space he beheld long red flags hanging from the Reichstag building, showing huge swastikas, the sign of the Nazi regime. His heart started beating as fast as this morning. Paul was ready to panic again. The inner image suggested danger so strongly, that he actually felt threatened. He stopped and turned his sight to the outside world only, reconnecting with the current time and space. He followed the cars to assure himself that this was 2013 and not 1933. He looked at the people, walking, riding bikes, busily heading hither and thither. They were modernly dressed, using cell phones and drinking coffee. Paul stepped close to the street, waving for a cab. Luckily, after a few minutes, a taxi stopped in front of him. Only when he felt the cold black leather of the seats underneath him he was able to relax a little. But the inner images still held him captive.

In the lobby, he bumped into Phil.

“Gosh, you are totally pale. Are you okay, Paul?”

“Yes, no. I don´t know. I need to be alone!”

Phil was extremely worried but did not know what to do to calm Paul. He let him run into the elevator and helplessly watched him disappear behind its closing doors.

In his room, Paul fell in an armchair without taking his coat off. His heart was still beating fast and he could not control the images that swept over his mind, visions of Berlin more than sixty years old. He saw several places he had never been at knowing that they had existed at that time. Soldiers and girls dressed in uniforms practicing to goose-step. The entire city was colored by a dark, daunting atmosphere that swallowed any positive emotion and even action. It was like a nightmare he could not wake up from. After a while, he remembered the woman´s advice given on a cold November night in SoHo: “You will go to Berlin and you have to be very aware of your perceptions and your feelings. You have to listen to your inner voice. And please, do not judge your experiences. You are safe and you will be guided…!”

Paul did not feel safe, and he did not feel guided, but the woman´s voice and her words calmed him. She had warned him. Maybe Phil was right and he was a lucky man after all. "What does this inner voice tell me by projecting these pictures", he started to ask himself, immediately gaining more distance to the horrifying scenes and more strength to face them. "It forces me to look back, to see what Berlin has once been and at the same time it allows me to see what it has become – vivid, creative, a place of unity, where East and West have reunited and at the same time a modern, cosmopolitan city." He felt the strong urge to focus on the images of the past again. The atmosphere of the years before the war, the manipulation of the people by the Nazi regime and its propaganda, the preparation and training for war and the killing of millions. He witnessed, how an inhuman ideology began to rule over the beliefs of a whole nation and destroy its sanity and reason; he saw, how it began and he could think only one thought: "Thank God I was not part of this!" With this thought, the nightmare ended abruptly.

He hid in his room until the next morning. Paul did not even go for breakfast and ordered the room-service early. Then he went for another long walk through the city. He was determined not to allow fear to reign his behavior. He wanted to face the images of his subconscious mind. But today it stayed calm. No images. No visions. He walked through the streets and tried to figure out what had triggered the sequence of scenes that he had seen with his inner eye yesterday. He even passed the same place, where it had started the day before, but his mind remained unstirred.

Before returning to the Hotel, Paul had enough time to stop at a little bar across the street for a strong, hot espresso. The bar reminded him of the place in SoHo, even though it felt and smelt much more European. He took a seat at the counter and ordered a Macchiato, when he saw a man´s face in the large mirror behind the bar. Was that the elderly man, who had listened to his rehearsal the day before, Paul wondered and got up to approach him curiously.

“Good morning, Sir. Sorry to disturb you. Did you listen to my concert rehearsal at the Hotel vis-à-vis yesterday?” He pointed toward the Hotel entrance on the other side of the street.

The elderly man looked at him shrugging his shoulders and shook his head. “No English!”

Paul looked at the waiter helplessly. “Could you translate for us, please?”

“My English is not the best, but I will try”, the waiter promised willingly. “Haben Sie gestern die Orchesterprobe im Hotel gegenüber gehört, hat der Herr gefragt.“

The old German looked at Paul with widely opened eyes and nodded insecurely.

“May I invite you for tomorrow's concert at Gendarmenmarkt?"

“Er möchte Sie zu seinem Konzert morgen ins Konzerthaus einladen.“

„Das ist sehr freundlich von ihm. Aber ich habe schon eine Karte.“ The man laughed.

“He already has a ticket, Sir.”

Paul started laughing, too. “May I invite you for a coffee, then?”

“Der Herr möchte Ihnen dann wenigstens einen Kaffe ausgeben.”

„Sehr gern. Aber er muss sich zu mir setzen. Ich würde ihn gerne etwas Wichtiges fragen.“

„He would like you to sit with him. He says, he wants to ask you something important.”

Paul felt nervous. He pulled a chair back and sat down, while the waiter kept standing.

“Ich kannte seinen Großvater, müssen Sie wissen.“

The waiter seemed surprised and translated the words of the German. “He said, he knew your grandfather.”

“My grandfather? Where from?”

“Ich war sein Schüler.“

Paul did not understand. Which grandfather?

The old man looked at Paul seriously and began to tell his story, while the waiter translated almost fluently.

“Your grandfather was very talented. Just like you. He played the violin like no other. But he did not compose at that time before the war.”

“Where was that?” Paul needed to know.

“Here, in Berlin!”

“I am sorry, but I have no ancestors in Berlin. You must mistake me for someone else.”

The elderly man seemed to get upset and the waiter had trouble to keep up with his translation.

“He says, he knew your mother and grandmother, too. Katharina und Susanna.”

Paul´s grandmother's name was Katherine and his mother was called Susan. Could the old man speak the truth?

“They had to leave the country during the war. But he has never again heard anything of your grandfather. He would like to know, how he coped with the difficult situation.”

“Which situation?”

The old German looked at him stunned. He took Paul´s hand and said. “Sorry, boy.” Then, he turned towards the waiter beseechingly. “Ich muss mich geirrt haben. Bitte entschuldigen Sie.“

„He apologizes. He must have been mistaken.”

The old man got up abruptly and left the bar. The waiter looked perturbed. “What was that?”

“I have no idea. He must have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I don´t know. He seemed to know you. He knew your work. He even comes to see your concert.”

“You have a point there. But my ancestors are all American. No one has ever been to Berlin.”

“Mysterious!”

Paul nodded. But he felt calm and at peace with himself. The old man must have seen someone in him who he was not. There was something scary about the mind of older people playing tricks on them, he had to admit. But this man´s wrong memories did not affect him. He gave the waiter an extra tip and thanked him for the help.

“Would you like tickets for the concert?”

“I would love to come, Sir, but I have to work. I am very sorry. Maybe next time you come to Berlin.”

“Will I ever come back”, Paul asked himself. He did not know. His future seemed more unpredictable than ever. Whenever he tried to see what was lying ahead of him, he could see nothing but a gray fog.

During the next rehearsal, Phil watched his friend closely and concerned. But he did not dare to ask Paul again if he was alright. He tried to give Paul more space and freedom by taking care of the group. Paul was able to retire to his room alone whenever he needed to.

The final rehearsal at the Konzerthaus went well. Paul had struggled successfully to gain back his inner balance for the last concert of their trip. When he took a cab all by himself that evening, he started again wondering about the old German and his weird story. Would he come to hear the concert tonight? Did it matter? Yes, somehow it did because when Paul had seen him the first time that morning in Senator Hall of Midtown Hotel, he had thought that the man´s tears had flown because his music had touched him. Paul had felt close to the man, understood and recognized. But when he found out that the man confounded him, these feelings had been fully erased. Paul had been sad and disappointed. His strongest desire had not been fulfilled. Once again.

The cab stopped as close to the artist's entrance as possible. The tour bus had not arrived, yet. Paul paid the driver and when he slammed the door shut, his eyes fell on an advertising pillar right next to him. Adrenalin shot through his veins, and he almost lost balance. The woman! The woman from SoHo! It was her. No doubt. Karen Garin was her name. She was a sitar player?! And she would give a concert here, right here, at the Konzerthaus on Monday. In two days. She was in town. His thoughts were rushing too fast to grasp.

Phil found Paul in his dressing room.

“She is here!”, Paul said in a low voice meeting Phil´s eyes in the mirror before even saying hello.

“Who?”

“The woman from SoHo.”

“Here at the concert?”

“In town. She is giving a sitar concert here, exactly here, on Monday.”

“Man, that´s hard to believe.”

“I have a ticket for Monday night. It´s true.”

Phil could not believe what he heard. “You won´t fly back with us?”

“No, Phil. I have to see her. I just have to hear her play.”

“You have never been interested in Indian music.”

“It´s not the music, it´s her. I have to see her.”

Phil had never seen Paul that spontaneous before, and he knew that nothing could hold him back.

Paul conducted the concert with split awareness. Part of it was here in the Konzerthaus, doing what he had practiced countless times, mechanically moving his arms, giving signals and holding the corpus of the orchestra together. The other half thought about the woman, her name, her profession, her life. He tried to figure out, how old she was, where she might live and why he had never heard of her. This divided awareness did not diminish his performance. He conducted just as virtuosic and flawless as ever.

Only shortly before the curtain fell for the intermission, he had a glimpse into the auditorium and tried to find the elderly gentleman. Paul spotted one empty seat in the middle of the third row. Surely this was his. Paul felt the same disappointment again that had struck him when the man had left the bar without further explanations yesterday. But he forgot the encounter immediately when he came backstage. The woman´s presence was too strong, too meaningful and too frightening. He could not think of anyone or anything else. In fact, suddenly anything else seemed meaningless and unimportant.

He fled the scene once again when the final applause did not stop. After the third bow, he left the stage, pulling the first violin in the front next to Phil. He did not care if the audience would feel disappointed. He was no longer willing to keep up the habits. After all, concerts too followed the principal of giving and taking. He was disappointed too and people might as well see how he felt. They did receive his compositions much more openly than he had expected, but still they did not see, what he tried to show, they did not feel, what he tried to describe, they did not hear the story he had told. He felt helplessly stuck in a repetitive pattern and he did not find the exit.

He almost ran back to the hotel through the freezing winter night. Huge orange trucks tried to keep the roads free from heavy snowfall that had again started during the concert. Men were sweeping and salting the sidewalk without Paul´s notice. He did not even get cold.

As soon as he reached the hotel he opened his computer to search for Karen Garin on the net. She did not have a personal website, no social media account; she did not advertise herself. After quite a while he found a group of people chatting about her. The members called her "master of the sitar", a denomination that has only been achieved by Indian men so far. The group spoke of her very respectfully, and one girl called her "the only truly spiritual artist" she had ever met. Paul looked out of the window into big, fluffy, slowly sinking snowflakes. He tried to recall Karen Garin´s appearance and compare it with the judgments he read about her. She definitely was a special person. He had felt that too, that night. But he would never have found such words to describe her. "She is the modern day pearl in a long rosary of tradition that goes back to the time when the sitar was brought to India from ancient Persia", he read.

The more he found out about her, the stronger he wondered, why she had approached him in New York. She did not come to the bar accidentally, he suspected. She must have sought for him intentionally. Why did she know him? How? And how the hell, did she find him? He had never been in that bar before!

Some people had posted pictures of Karen Garin on stage with a drummer, after a concert, in a crowd of admirers. She seemed to always smile gently, but when Paul looked at the images more closely, her lips did not smile, only her eyes did. There was a gentleness in them, that deeply touched him. "Loving kindness", he thought. "She embodies loving kindness." Suddenly, he wondered, why he had feared her so much. And then he remembered: because of her self-assurance. He had feared the way she had talked to him: totally sure of herself and her message. There had not been the slightest doubt in her. A wave of coldness ran up his spine. Paul had felt this extreme certainty even stronger in his dream when she had told him to awake.

When he tried to find her music on one of the video channels, that his work was frequently posted on, he did not discover anything. One thing was certain: she was not a mainstream artist. She rather seemed to reach a small group of people, who saw more in her work, than just entertainment. For them, it had a numinous quality, a spiritual aspect that was not simply owed to the Indian origin of her instrument. He spent half of the night on the net, but in the end, the information began to repeat. He had not yet found out, where she came from, where she lived, how old she was. The only reliable information he could get was that she toured with her band, a drum, a tanpura and a violin, for four months a year, from September till January, mostly in Europe and the States, but also in Asia and Australia. And she had played in a small venue off-Broadway the night they had met in SoHo.

The orchestra had left early Sunday morning. Phil had been worried to leave Paul in Berlin.

“I can stay with you if you want… if you need me…", he suggested carefully.

“I appreciate that, Phil. But you don´t have to. I am alright and I will be alright.”

“I hope this Karen will not be a disappointment.”

“How could she. I expect nothing of her. I am just curious.”

“Just curious? I am sorry Paul, but this is more than curiosity.”

Paul laughed. “I guess your right. I will call you and let you know how it went.”

Phil just could not stop worrying. “Will you really be okay all by yourself?”

“Absolutely! Go and celebrate Christmas at home! I don´t know how long I will stay here.”

Phil hugged Paul warmly. “Take care! I hope you will find, what you are looking for!”

“Same to you!" Paul tried to smile but failed.

Back alone in his room, Paul experienced a sudden shift in consciousness. He felt much more relaxed, relieved almost, and he was very aware of the fact that he was alone - not lonely, but with himself only. “When have I been alone, except at home in my apartment in New York”, he asked himself. For a very long time, he had always been somewhere with somebody, most of the time either with his family or with large groups up to a hundred people. When the orchestra traveled in the U.S. and overseas, he was responsible for the entire group. He was more than just the musical director. He was a mentor, friend, and teacher; a father almost for many of the younger musicians. He had never felt his responsibility as a burden, but that Sunday alone in Berlin he realized for the first time in his career, that there was no balance in his life. He was always responsible: as a husband, as a father, as a teacher, as a composer, as a conductor. Did Karen Garin mean realizations like this, when she had told him to be aware of his thoughts and feelings? It was peculiar, but Paul felt as if he really was more aware now – not because he tried to be, rather because she prophesied, he would be. It seemed like her will, not his.

He liked the alone-ness and tried to explore the state of mind that came with it. He relaxed deeper, closing his eyes, feeling warmth and energy spreading in his body. His thoughts slowed down; fewer ideas, fewer plans, fewer soliloquies, fewer needs, fewer ambitions. His body felt static, almost immobile, but in a comfortable way. Paul enjoyed the relaxation and lightness. Suddenly he witnessed a strong, wide expansion in the area of his chest that seemed extremely liberating at first, but the next moment tears rolled down his cheeks and Paul started to sob heavily. He could not stop crying, for no reason out of the blue. This emotional outburst scared him. How could he lose control so completely and where did this sudden weakness originate? He did not see any reason for this acute sadness, and yet, cried over an hour. After that, he felt worn out, exhausted and very tired. He lied down on his bed and fell asleep immediately.

When he woke up around six, his mood was back to normal and nothing reminded him of the sadness, that had swept over his mind and colored it so completely, that he did not have the slightest chance to escape. His heart center felt differently though, he noticed. It was wider, more open, less weighted.

◊◊◊

On Monday Paul ran a few errands and tried to kill time in the archaeological Pergamon Museum. Even though Paul felt reminded of his favorite museum in New York, the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Fifth Avenue, where he used to spent hours in the archaeological section every year, today he could not generate the necessary interest. He got tired after less than an hour and searched for the cafeteria, where he ate a warm lentil soup and a piece of cake. He bought an American Newspaper on his walk back to the hotel just in case he would be bored later.

On the way back he watched his mind fearfully. He had passed the Reichstag undisturbed, but when he headed for Tiergarten, the sounds of marching boots of an army of soldiers returned to the surface of his consciousness. But this time, he was prepared. He tried to see the rising images more clearly, listen to the words the soldiers uttered in harsh German language, and even feel the feelings of fear and threat that held his heart ransom as soon as this inner scenario came alive. “Do these memories belong to me or to this city”, he asked himself. “How can they be so strong, so vivid, so present even today?” Paul had never had a clairvoyant experience like this in his life. When he walked through New York, the nineteen twenties did not come alive in his mind. And even here, he did not witness the time, when the Berlin wall was built in 1961; he did not see the former East Berlin, when he passed the Reichstag building, even though it had been part of the German Democratic Republic, the communist side of a Germany that was split as a result of the new balance of Eastern and Western powers after the Second World War, as the explicit demonstration of the cold war.

Now, Paul witnessed cars passing the marching battalion. Men in uniform obviously ranked higher than the soldiers, stood in the back of the cars, saluting and greeting with the right arm stretched upward in front of their stiff bodies. Paul could suddenly sense the pride of these young soldiers to serve their country; the pride of a nation that felt superior, of a race that arrogated to judge the value of human life, of other nations and other races; of a nation that believed in black and white – life that was worth living and life that was worth killing.

Today he faced his visions calmer, quieter and almost peaceful. The scenes came alive in his mind only, just like daydreams, he knew. He was willing, now, to take the time and watch them unbiased and curiously. There was no need for panic. The images could not harm him. After all, they were a historical, invisible part of this place, an indiscernible layer of life hidden beyond the actual and apparent. History had come alive for him and with less fear, he felt a sense of gratefulness arising. These visions changed his attitude toward Berlin. He was conscious of the painful past and thus experienced the presence in a different light – definitely more aware of the wounds of the city and less carefree.

Young girls dressed in uniforms stood alongside the streets, waving the soldiers good-bye. Some of them cried… As unforeseen as the images had appeared, the vision stopped. First, his mind became calmer and then normal thoughts started arising again. He caught a cab at the same place where he had fled from the visions last time.

He still had half of the afternoon to kill, too much time to do nothing and too little to do something. The newspaper did not interest him. Right now nothing was as interesting as his personal experiences. He pulled out a notebook he always carried with him to make sketches of ideas, parts of scores, melodies, harmonies - whatever came to his mind during the day -, sat down in the armchair and started to write down what had happened to him since that November night in SoHo. He remembered many thoughts, many words, many scenes of the past weeks. And he had countless questions. He did not try to make sense of the events. He just recalled them and wrote them down. As objectively as he could. The encounter in SoHo, the waitress, who did not see Karen Garin, her message, his fear, his nervousness, his counter-reaction to the reactions of his audience, his need as a musician to be perceived differently. And for the first time after his divorce, he was able to acknowledge, that he did not have a family anymore. He was alone, but he still lived like a husband and a father; his family lived far away, but he still believed he had one. How could he have lied to himself like that? Was it so bad to be alone? When he reread his notes again, he suddenly felt a dynamic energy in the events that was new to him. It seemed as if within the random and incoherent events there was a pattern hidden, a plan which he could not see.

In the end, Paul had to hurry to be on time for the concert. When he reached the Konzerthaus by taxi almost at the last minute, the atmosphere was totally different from two nights ago. Tonight there were many young people, casually dressed, many of them wore hats, bandanas or turbans; more than a few were dressed in Indian clothes. Paul felt a little stiff and nervous in his neatly ironed suit. He had to stand in line to enter. Unfortunately, he was unable to understand the anxious German conversations around him. He was so out of place that he even thought about leaving. But before he could turn around, he was pulled inside with the stream of excited people. Luckily, his seat was not too far in the back and he was happy to sink and hide in the red velvet cushions.

The curtain was open. On stage, he saw a sitar, a tabla, a tanpura and a violin. He cringed and his heart fell into a faster pace, when he asked himself, what the hell he did here. He could have been back at home by now. Suddenly, he feared that his expectations were much too high, so high that a huge disappointment had to follow. This woman had become almost holy in his mind. She knew him, she could tell his future… Who told him that all of this was not just a great manipulation. Maybe she wanted him to be here right now and everything she had said and done was just a means to get him here.

The lights were dimmed and a man, dressed in a white cotton suit came on stage. Barefoot. He bowed in front of the audience and sat on a carpet behind the tabla, a classical Indian drum. He started to play a nice slow beat. The audience applauded a little bit shy. The man kept playing, obviously merging with the pulse of his drum directly. Next, a young Indian woman entered the stage. She was dressed in a beautifully embroidered blue sari and when she bowed in front of the audience, the people were stunned by her self-conscious and winning smile. She sat elegantly crossing her legs behind the tanpura, took a deep breath and began to pull the strings with her right hand, resting the left hand in her lab. This was beautiful. Paul had rarely seen such loveliness and coolness based on the perfect mastery of an instrument. He wished, more of his students and colleagues would portray such ease in the technical relationship with their instrument. He tried to impart the knowledge to them that they had to see the instrument as a part of their body; it was like a third hand or a sixth finger. Only when the musician experienced this identity, his play could be stress-less and virtuosic. This young woman had perfected this difficult art naturally.

Next, a middle-aged woman came on stage. She looked European or American but wore an Indian long-shirt, that looked a little bit awkward on her. Her charisma was totally different from the Indian girl´s. This woman appeared less confident, more rigid and much more self-controlled. She must have had an education in classical Western music. Paul could not imagine that she would find her space in this trio and conform with the other two. But when she took the violin and started playing without hesitation or even a second of concentration, he was stunned by her skill that gave him goose bumps. This music touched him deeply. Good that he had stayed in Berlin.

The three played an oriental, maybe Persian, piece of music based on the rhythm of the drum, given a hint of melody by the tanpura, which was tuned to C major, and finally taken into a flow of harmony by the violin, which was now played very gently and humbly. An image came to Paul´s mind, the vision of a river. The violins melody painted this river, flowing slowly and gently through a wide and open landscape, making him feel spacious and free, without care and without worries; carefree, but not careless. There was no sign of danger, of personal overestimation, of pushing limitations or boundaries. It was a state of balance, of harmony, of oneness with all circumstances which Paul felt, experienced, lived through within the first five minutes of Karen Garin´s concert.

The instruments fell silent. The entire room was still vibrating in the frequency of the strings and with the heartbeat of the drum. The silence was still filled with the sound vibration, the energy and the emotion generated by it. Paul allowed this energy to penetrate his body. Resonating with it, he experienced a state of absolute balance and harmony. The energy slowly decreased, the vibration began to fade, the silence became more dominant, more tangible and with it an experience of void, of nothingness. The clarity and vitality of his perceptions surprised Paul. But he did not feel the need to follow any thought. He just witnessed this amazing experience. The void spread in his body, and even though it could not have been more than a minute before Karen Garin entered the concert hall, he lost any sense of time and place. Just void, just nothingness that appeared to Paul like the background, the fertile soil of any creation, of any object born into perceptibility.

When she walked on stage, barefoot and soundless, it felt like she had come to life just here, just now, in front of his eyes, in front of the audience's eyes. She seemed to have no past and no future. She appeared like a newborn child to him, without memories, without scars, without hopes, and without fears. She, too, bowed in front of the audience, who seemed to hold its collective breath. There was no sound, no noise, not the slightest distraction. Everyone was totally focused on the silence and on her. The humbleness that she demonstrated in her moves was humiliating to Paul. He had never entered a stage like that, never bowed like that, with so little ego, with so little pride, with so little need of being acknowledged. And with that same humble grace, she sat down next to the tanpura player, crossed her legs and took her sitar playfully. People were still breathless when she pulled the first string, the initiation of a raga, that she began to play alone, slowly and quiet until she infected the tanpura, the violin and last the tabla to create a new experience of vibration and energy. Paul was not surprised when he started to realize that she told a story of innocence first, the same innocence that she had just embodied when she had entered the room. And when he felt that, he could not hold back the tears that needed to be cried, when a human being realizes, that he had lost his own innocence at some point on his way. There and then Karen Garin was a perfect mirror of innocence and humbleness. Paul was able to see these attributes of a pure soul and realize, that he was missing them completely. For the first time in his life, he could perceive his ego, the narcissistic face of his personality, that had been hidden from him totally. And at the same time, he was forced to realize, that he had traded a luminous soul against a faint self. But when and why? Tears rolled down his cheeks, when he began to identify more and more with her music and the ideas, she projected.

Karen Garin was like a magician, who knew exactly what the human soul needed to see and hear, what it longed for the most. And she gave that to everybody in the audience. Nobody was left out, everybody was included, because she communicated on and about a level of being that was part of everybody – the essence of human personality. Paul knew that she was not speaking of the ordinary, everyday personality. No, she was speaking about a refined, grown and matured personality, who had learned its lessons in life and evolved. She created the blueprint of a character, that had shed its masks and healed its wounds; a personality, that was not afraid of its vulnerability nor its strength.

Karen Garin changed into a faster piece that spoke to Paul of courage, of the need to leave the old, the deeply carved line of life that one had wandered upon for so long, making one blind for the new, the refreshed, the invigorating energy of life itself. Paul was totally lost in the music, fully identified with the experiences he uncovered in this mystical orchestras play. Easily his emotions and perceptions flowed and changed with the music. Now it turned darker, more dramatic and melancholic. A feeling of loss spread within him, the loss of the old and the struggle for openness and the new. A wistful look back to the scenes of life and the characteristics one had left behind ignited a painful phase full of fear. Was it right to leave the path that had been tread by millions before? Was it safe to leave it? Was it worth it? What would one win and what did one lose? Paul felt the hesitation accompanied by countless counter-thoughts which did not quite have the power to pull the wanderer back because he did not have a choice. He was constantly pulled forward toward a state of light and wholeness, of innocence and humility, a state of purity and self-knowledge. Karen Garin suggested that after the stage of pain and fear, courage was not needed anymore, but something else had to grow: faith, trust and the ability to let go. And – really – Paul felt relieved, carried by the flow of the music, which was again set by the violin. This was what he loved this instrument for. There was so much power in it, so much strength, zest, and hope. Paul was stunned by the influence the music had on his mind. Gladly he surrendered to the inner voyage the orchestra offered. It was the voyage of the soul, from darkness to light; the ancient, archetypical travel that fairy tales and myths, dreams and movies, great epics and fantasies spoke of. He had often heard of it, but never felt and experienced its importance and meaning for his own life.

The music grew more dense, compressed, condensed almost. The energy was building up, calling for a relief, the final letting go. Karen took the audience to its limit. But when the relief came, it was so sweet, so healing and so full, that the preceding tension was immediately forgotten. Instead, ecstasy took hostage of people's minds. Pure bliss; a beatitude that was purely spiritual, not physical. And with a last turn, a final twist in the storyline this bliss converted into a tranquil peace that concluded the evolutionary cycle. The person had returned to the soul, reunited with its essence, come home to its origin. He had become, what he had always been – a spiritual being.

Paul felt totally at peace when the music faded and Karen Garin – once more – allowed the silence to fill the room. This time the quiescence was stronger, louder almost, more alluring. The non-sound of the void was vibrant and energized. Paul could feel that it was resonating on a high frequency; the highest he had ever experienced. His mind was clear and calm and totally aware, yet detached. He felt more like an observer now than like a participant, and as such he noticed that Karen Garin had achieved, what he wanted to accomplish so desperately: she had made the numinous tangible and visible. The silence after her orchestras play was so strong that barely anybody could fail to see its beauty, its strength, its holiness. She truly was like a magician, who played the instrument of the human mind. Yes, she played the sitar, but with this string instrument, she reached deep into the human psyche all the way down to the level where experiences originated.

Paul did not wonder why and how he was able to see and understand all this. He did not doubt the reality of his experience, nor the meaning it had for him and everybody around him. All he felt was gratefulness. This experience was miraculous because it seemed like the answer to a prayer, he had not dared to pray. Karen Garin had shown him what needed to be done to make the language of music understood by everybody. She had shown him how everybody was able to experience the story that the musician wanted to tell with his music. The gap between the last tone and the audiences clapping seemed timeless. When the lights were turned on, Karen Garin put her sitar aside and stood up gracefully. She came to the edge of the stage and bowed deeply, appearing even more relaxed now. The applause was frenetic. Karen smiled and pulled the violinist in the front. People stood up and some even started screaming. Paul wondered when this hall had last seen a rapture like this. One musician after the other joined Karen in the front of the stage now. Paul was so touched and excited that he clapped louder and louder. Somehow it was clear that the orchestra would not sit down again to play another bonus piece. Once the clapping would ebb, they would leave the room. And surely because of this the clapping did not find an end. People did not want this moment, this experience to end. But nonetheless, the inevitable end came. Karen left the stage first, followed by the other artists. Only now people in the audience began to look at each other and some started to talk and discuss their experiences immediately. Paul did not want to hear any of this talk and fought his way out.

He needed to talk to her. He tried to find somebody who could lead him backstage. But people were pushing toward the checkroom, and he was caught in the stream. Outside, he tried to reach the back entrance, where he had entered the Konzerthaus only two days ago. People were pushing against a barrier. One of the security guards looked at Paul and he took his chance to speak up.

“I have to talk to Karen Garin! It´s important.”

“Sure. Everybody here wants to.” At least he spoke English.

“She asked me to come here”, Paul said not quite honestly.

The security man laughed. “I am sorry. But we can not let you in.”

“Do you know where Mrs. Garin is staying?”

“No, I don´t. Look, Sir, I told you… There is nothing I can do for you.”

Paul pulled his card out and wrote a note on the back: Midtown Hotel, room no. 263. Need to talk to you! He gave the card to the guard. “Please, she needs to receive this!” The guard grinned, but Paul did not care what he might think about him.

◊◊◊

“There is somebody waiting for you, Sir”, said the concierge, when Paul returned to his hotel only fifteen minutes later.

Paul looked around the lobby.

“A lady. She is sitting in the left corner back there.”

Paul´s heart started palpitating. He still moved like in a trance. Everything seemed bigger, louder, faster, stronger. His nerves seemed to be extremely sensitive, and he felt the need to retire to his room alone. “Is it her”, he asked himself, when he thanked the concierge and walked in the direction he had pointed to. “It must be her.” It was her.

She sat on a brown couch and watched everything very attentively. Long before he had approached her seating corner she had spotted him and got up. She did not smile; in fact, her expression was very serious. Paul´s heart was still beating up to his throat and he could not think clearly.

“Did you get my card?” he asked feeling like a fool.

She ignored his question. “I have been waiting for fifteen minutes!”

He was not sure if her statement was intended to be an accusation. How could that be? Did she leave the Konzerthaus long before him?

“I came here right away. I have given my card to one of the security guards at the back entrance. I needed to see you after this… after this… experience.”

She sat back down, and he walked around one of the huge sofas and sat across from her, not quite sure if she approved. She was so self-confident again, that it felt almost rude and arrogant. Her behavior definitely made him feel insecure and stupid, like a little boy who had come to school too late. Paul was sure that her way of communicating followed different rules than the ordinary. But he was too slow to figure out how he was supposed to talk to her. She looked at him silently, with a calm mind and a calm heart. He was unable to read her thoughts. He could not figure out if she liked or disliked him. She seemed totally neutral, neither sympathizing nor disapproving. He could hardly bear the silence, but he forced himself not to talk first. She was not fighting with him, not trying to struggle him down in a game of power. No, she was just looking at him, watching him closely, as if she had a question in her mind that needed to be answered before she would talk again. The waiter was his rescue.

“Would you like a drink, Sir?”

“May I”, he asked, noticing that she had a glass in front of her.

She nodded, still not smiling and granting him relief from his inner tension.

“A gin tonic, please", he ordered. She did not show any reaction, neither approval nor disapproval. Paul was confused, almost losing the ability to know what he wanted.

The waiter sensed his hesitation. “A gin tonic, Sir?”

“Yes, please.”

When the waiter had left, she finally started to talk. “How was your time in Berlin?”

“Interesting. Different. Scary. More aware - like you have foretold.”

“Any daydreams or visions?”

How could she know? He got scared. He wanted to run. But again he forced himself to calm, to relax and to wait what would happen. He was not in control of this conversation, he knew. But he also knew that he had to stay and go through this.

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

Paul hesitated. He did not really want to talk about this.

“I am sorry, Mrs. Garin, but I am not sure if I want to talk about this. I hardly know you!"

Now she smiled for the first time this evening. It was a beautiful, bright and innocent smile that reflected the same artlessness that he had noticed at the beginning of the concert.

She took a deep breath before she answered. "Of course you don´t know, if you can trust me, Paul. But you don´t have to. You just have to be a little curious and you should have liked my music."

Paul swallowed heavily, feeling eased again by the presence of the waiter, who brought his drink. He needed time before he was able to take the glass and drink with her.

“What do you want from me”, he asked bluntly, sounding ruder than he intended to.

“Nothing!” was her immediate and surprising answer.

“Why have you talked to me in SoHo and why are you here now?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Absolutely!”

“Please, correct me if I am wrong… You are a very successful, internationally renowned composer and violoncello player. You have won several prices and you teach at Juilliard School. You are divorced and you have felt more and more dissatisfied with your work lately. You have discovered your loneliness and the need to be seen and heard beyond normal acknowledgment. You often feel misunderstood by your audience and you have been searching for ways to change the perception of the people who listen to your music. But there you have come to a limit, an invisible barrier that you can not cross…”

“How do you know?” he asked staggered by the accuracy of her description.

“I have felt your need…" An expression of worry, kindness, and empathy flew over her face.

“You have felt my need? I don´t understand.”

„I have seen you. There was a feeling of despair around you, of hopelessness and the impulse to grow, to learn, to climb higher on the ladder of evolution…”

“You have visions of other people and you know who they are and where to find them?” Paul could not believe what he heard.

She laughed. “Not always. I only see people who need my support, who are in syntony with me and the path I represent.”

He felt like a parrot when he repeated: "You are representing a path? What kind of path?"

“Listen, Paul. I know that this sounds weird to you, but I really just want to help. I was called to talk to you and show you a way out of a painful life situation, to open the door to an opportunity. But you cannot choose this with your intellect, with reason and logic. You can only choose it intuitively. Your experiences here in Berlin may help you to decide. Life has a lesson to teach you. Are you curious enough to find out, which lesson and courageous enough to overcome many obstacles?”

Her words triggered the memory of thoughts he had had only a few days ago. This whole situation was strange, but for a moment Paul was absolutely sure, that he was in syntony with her. She was familiar to him. And the more he relaxed and listened to her words without defense, the more she felt like a long lost benevolent friend.

“Your music…” Paul wanted to describe his feelings during her concert, but it was difficult for him to find the right words. “Your music spoke to me. I mean, I could understand every image you were drawing, every single feeling, each experience you described. I saw innocence and humility, I saw the desire to grow, the need to leave the old, I experienced courage and curiosity, I was confronted with obstacles and despair, with setbacks and doubts, with fear of the new and unknown. I met trust, faith and the ability to let go and then I was carried into a space of luminosity, of pure bliss which dissolved into peace and emptiness. I knew that you were talking about a spiritual journey, but I had no idea why I knew this. I have never come in touch with spirituality.”

Her entire look changed, while she listened to his helpless attempt to explain his experiences. She did not show if he had interpreted her music according to her intentions. But she seemed to like what she heard. Her expression now showed a mild and kind interest and Paul realized that beneath her coolness, her detachment, there was a warm and loving nature. When he saw this, his fear vanished completely. For the first time, he felt something like sympathy for Karen Garin. Yes, he began to like her. Obviously, she knew of things, that he had never heard, never even dreamed of.

“Do you want to walk this path?" she asked with a warm, full voice. "Do you have the courage to walk towards the unknown, where suffering and pain are the thickest walls you will have to break through and in the end, you will have to die to yourself?"

“How do you make a choice, if you hear such promises?” he asked ironically.

“It´s not so much a choice, Paul. Things have been set in the timeless realm, everything will happen on its own accord. You can only oppose your destiny or walk in consent with it.”

A strong wave of energy ran through his entire body. She was right! This was not a moment of choice, yet it was a crossroads, a turning point in his life that challenged him to be brave enough to leave the known and walk towards the unknown.

She took her glass and looked at him. “It´s set then.”

He had not said a word, but he nodded barely visible.

While she put her glass back down on the table, she rose. She was wearing jeans and a silk shirt in turquoise. Her straight hair looked strong and shiny. She was very slim, yet not skinny. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a card.

“Here is my address in Varanasi. I will be back home next week. Meet me there."

She was ready to leave.

“Varanasi?”

“Yes, I live in India. If you want a change, this is the perfect place to begin.” She smiled broadly turned around and left.

He remained in a catatonic state of immobility, his body frozen, just like his mind. Only his eyes were able to move around the bar-like hotel lobby. People were talking, drinking, but he could not hear their voices. It was a remarkable scene, like in an old silent movie. Countless actions happened simultaneously around him and he sat on the sofa in the back, witnessing everything totally detached. The waiter approached his table with a glass on his tray.

“Mrs. Garin ordered another drink for you, Sir!" He pronounced her name in a French way and it sounded beautiful. Paul had never thought about the origin of her name.

“Do you know Mrs. Garin", Paul asked the waiter.

“Yes, Sir. She is always our guest when she is in Berlin."

“She stays here at the hotel?”

“She has checked out earlier.” The waiter nodded and left him with his gin tonic, the strange immobility and the expanding experience of detachment.

Her suggestion was crazy. He would not go to Varanasi for sure. Next week was Christmas week. He had to return to New York, because his son wanted to visit him after the holidays, and he had to work on the Shakespeare soundtrack. He was not free to go anywhere at anytime. He had too many responsibilities and obligations. When he sat in the hotel lobby, Karen Garin´s idea seemed so off reality to him that he did not even have to think about it.

He sat at the same place until long after midnight. Another drink helped him to relax again, but there was a subtle tension that the alcohol could not dissolve.

His room was cold and empty. He went right to bed, trying not to think of the amazing events this day had had for him. He quickly fell asleep, easily drifting into the deeper levels of the subconscious mind. He still felt detached and aware when he entered the astral realm where dreams originate. Paul saw himself moving in a landscape that was new to his dream-world. It appeared old, ancient almost, or timeless. He sat on the barren sandbank of a huge river, looking at a city with medieval appearance that spread along the slowly flowing stream. He felt totally relaxed and wondered why. Paul knew, that he was dreaming, and he remembered everything that had happened in the waking state within the past hours. The dream-city was fully alive, he could see people moving along the river and into many tiny alleys that seemed to lead into a labyrinth of small streets, deeper into the heart of the fascinating town. Bells were ringing and the mooing of cows was blown across the waters. Next to him, crows were picking puffed rice greedily, battling for the largest pieces. He took a cracker out of his jacket, broke it into pieces and held one piece in his right hand, softly wooing the crows. They looked at him intelligently, gently waving their heads, not sure if they could trust him. He laughed. “They don´t trust me like I do not trust Karen”, he thought. One crow seemed curious and hopped forward to check him out. He kept very quiet and did not move. The crow came closer and really dared to fly on his outstretched arm. It looked at him once more and took the piece of cookie speedily from his hand. Then it flew off, but the next crow approached him immediately, being more courageous than the forerunner. The crows flew off when a bark with an elderly man approached the sandbank. The oarsman had just reached the shore, when Paul got up, held the wooden vessel and climbed into it. The old man smiled softly, strongly rowing back toward the other side, where he had just come from.

“I am glad, you have decided to come", the stranger said to Paul. "I am the spiritual elder brother of Karen and she is your spiritual sister. She has great knowledge of the human soul and the deepest secrets of music. For us, music is not so much an art, but a science, a spiritual science that can lead one to realize the Self."

The man rowed firmly while he spoke and the bark moved quickly forward. They had already reached the middle of the river and came closer and closer to the monumental buildings in shades of red and sandstone color on the other side. Paul looked back towards the sandbank. Only then he realized that the city, he was looking at, had to be Varanasi, the place where Karen Garin had just invited him to.

“And like any other spiritual science, the science of music is the science of pure love!”, he spoke in a soft adjuratory voice.

Paul experienced a strong sensation of energy in his entire body, but most of all in his chest. The boatman´s words had a direct effect on Paul´s inner state. This man was so special, so alive, so gentle, so benevolent. He did not show any sign of the aloofness, that made it so difficult for Paul to trust Karen Garin.

“It can purify the mind and the heart and lead to the ultimate realization. But – and I am sure Karen told you so – at first the purification process can be very painful. Many hidden sufferings will emerge from the subconscious mind, many unknown secrets that the psyche has locked into the dark room of repression. Acknowledging that what the psyche did not want to accept, leads to a liberation of life-energy and an opening of consciousness, which is indescribable.”

The boat had reached a small wooden pier. The man tied his boat to the rotten woods and climbed out sportively. Paul followed him curiously. They reached a small hut made of bamboo sticks and canvas at the end of the ramshackle quay. Blankets and cushions were draped on the ground of the tent and Paul spotted a sitar in the back. The boatman got on his knees and crawled into the far back of the little hut. He took the sitar and brought it to Paul.

“She is yours now, Paul. Take good care of her. This is the instrument, which will liberate your soul.”

Suddenly, Paul held his cello in his hands and passed it to the old man who in turn handed the sitar over to him. “From now on, you cannot follow your ego anymore, your worldly desires. You can only follow your soul, which will lead you to the soul of music. In the end you will discover that both are one! Inshallah, brother. Go with God now. You are safe, trust me and learn to trust Karen”

Paul woke up feeling calm and deeply relaxed. His mind was at peace, and he wished this state would never pass. He could not remember, if he had ever felt as serene, as safe and secure before. He was bright awake at three o´clock in the morning, got up, put on a warm sweater and took his computer back to bed. He needed to know if the place he had just seen in his dream really existed. The dream had been so realistic and authentic, very vivid and touching. It almost felt like he had traveled to that place, rather than dreamed of it.

He quickly found images of Varanasi, the old city along the Ganges, the broad and slowly flowing river, the wide sandy bank on the other shore. It looked exactly the way he had dreamed it. The feeling of calmness grew when he flipped through the images of the ancient Indian town that showed the same ochre, red and orange colors that had dominated his dream images. He recognized several houses he had seen in his dream and the wooden rowing boats looked exactly like that of boatman. Paul tried to remember if he had ever seen pictures of Varanasi before, but he did not have a clue. And even if he had seen the town in the north-western India in the past, he still would never have been able to describe it as accurately and detailed as he had experienced it in the dream. This distinction was important. Paul began to see a meaningful message in his dream – a call to follow Karen Garin´s invitation to India.

Strong fear captured Paul, a fear so existentially threatening, that he did not find a better response than flight. He got dressed carelessly, put on his coat and cap and ran down the staircase, out of the hotel into the dark and empty streets of early morning Berlin. He did not care where he ran, he just wanted to get away, knowing that his action was futile and yet not being able to stop. In his mind images of Karen Garin, sitars, the boatman and Varanasi mixed in an endless stream of images that he could not stop willingly.

It was five in the morning now, and he began to feel exhausted from the long aimless walk. “Berlin”, he thought desperately, “what have you got in store for me?” But to his own surprise, he did not wish, he had never come to Berlin. It was good to be here, and it was right, he felt. He slowed down his exhausting pace and began to perceive the outer world again. The apartments were still dark. People slept undisturbed, he thought jealously. “Why am I so much afraid”, he asked himself. “What is so frightening in my experience, that I need to run from it? I don´t want to change”, he thought again. “I don´t want my life to change.”

He had had a strong resistance to change since early childhood. He had been five when his family had moved to a new neighborhood in Boston. Paul had refused to go outside for more than a month. Only when school had started he had agreed to go, but not because he had given in. This is why his divorce was so painful for him, too. Paul had thought he would be with his family forever. The possibility of change did not occur to him, and when it was impossible to avoid, it felt like a devastating defeat. "You can not run away anymore", his inner voice told him. "This change is – more than any other change before – the most important one in your life. If you allow it, it will set you free!"

It was decided. He would go to India. He had to give it a try. What could he lose? One sentence of last night's dream echoed in Paul´s mind: “From now on, you cannot follow your ego anymore, your worldly desires. You can only follow your soul, which will lead you to the soul of music.” And – truly – for the first time in his life, Paul felt, that he followed the real needs of his soul, searching for openness, curiosity, growth, and evolvement. He left the worldly path and stepped on the spiritual road of growing inner awareness without knowing where he was heading.

Paul walked into the Indian embassy to apply for a tourist visa before midday. When he picked it up in the afternoon, his flight to Delhi was already booked for next Monday. Paul had decided not to return to New York before. He only had to make a few important phone calls, first of all with his son. Sean took the change of plans more coolly than Paul had expected.

“Don´t worry, Dad. My friend David invited me to his house in San Diego. He lives right on the beach, and we can go surfing anytime. Mom said you would be too disappointed if I don´t go to see you in New York, but honestly Dad, New York is terrible in winter. I am not too keen on skating in Central Park. Next time you should come to California."

Paul laughed, feeling assuaged. “You are absolutely right, son. I will come as soon as I am back from India.”

“What are you up to there anyways?” Sean wanted to know.

“I have no idea!”

“No concert, no composition for Bollywood?”

“No. This is a private trip. I have been invited by a sitar player.”

“Wow. A private trip. Have a good time, Dad. And see you in L.A.!

“See you, Sean. Love you!”

“Love you too, Dad.”