Читать книгу: «Kashi», страница 3

“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.