Kashi. Daniela Jodorf

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