04/10/2020. France. Brittany. I lie on the mattress and look at the sky. So, if the tent didn’t block my view, I would be looking at the sky. Yes, this time my home is a tent. In the garden of friends.
The day is drawing to a close. It’s Sunday. And there, too, Großstadt-Pocahontas falls out of the norm: Today was working time. Großstadt-Pocahontas is changing. Travel has an impact. Privately as well as professionally.
It’s good to part with old thought patterns. It is less good to notice what patterns are so burned into you that are difficult to solve. It is the patterns that shape you from an early age. Which are deeply anchored, here and there do mischief. Stories that weren’t told to the end.
And then with all the stories in the world I am thrown back on my own. Much of what I experience, I also notice in the life of others, just in a slightly modified form. We have so much in common and then we often no longer see the wood for the trees. My story ties in with yours. Or yours in mine? An invisible network connects us all. Our stories are interwoven. Some in beautiful harmony with one another. Others full of knots and confusion.
In order to understand the big complex, I like to get a picture of the small things. As for me. What I can grasp. What influences me. So I think of my own story.
I am in the tent. Light rain and wind create an atmospheric background noise. The refreshing air literally brings a breath of fresh air into the action.
Großstadt-Pocahontas is getting a makeover. In the background there is digital construction and changes. Desperate and celebrated. The website is about to move. It’s time to leave the nursery and grow. To go into the unknown. To risk something. To put your own ideas into practice.
That’s how it is professionally at Großstadt-Pocahontas. And a story also wants to be told in private. The own. And that story leads back to the family. And even deeper. To the roots. To chapters that haven’t been finished.
We are all connected. And above all with the story of your own family. I notice from whom I have the love for nature, for flowers. I see who gave me the gift of going through life with an open view. With humor. Clear and thoughtful. I know who kicks me in the ass (probably more unconsciously than consciously). And I realize what a hodgepodge I am, full of quirks that are basically not mine.
For a while now I’ve been removing the shadows of the past. They are the shadows of others. Shadows that don’t belong to me, but they are part of life. At least it was them. The shadows are disappearing. Little by little it gets lighter. Now a shadow comes up here and there that wants attention. I give some. And it goes away.
The past is always part of us. Even if it happened, we can clean up the past in the Now. Bending things. Heal. Make up for something. Bringing a breath of fresh air to an old story.
Fresh air is always good. In your own story as well as in the world. For a couple of days the air in Brittany was not only fresh but also extremely strong. Stormy nights in the tent. That was something new. If the wind had been a little stronger, it would carry the tent and its contents away.
Now a story calls that wants to be continued. That wants fresh air. It’s time to pack up the tent and move on. On October 9th it’s time to say goodbye to Brittany. Slowly it goes towards home. To the home of my ancestors. This story just needs a breath of fresh air.
