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Through Time a Flower Grows
von Anis Hamadeh, 25 June 2005
German Original

Samir went barefoot on the lawn path through the garden he had created a couple of years ago. It led far to the sea. He had planted all possible kinds of plants here, some in the open air, some under the security glass. He lingered a while in front of a group of mummy roses that were standing in bloom, just like the other roses have opened their blossoms, the azaleas and rhododendrons, too. Here in the front area of the garden the soil was most fertile and it generated fruit trees and vegetables. Samir had made different paths on which he moved, depending on the mood he was in. This morning he had departed with a huge bottle of water in his rucksack, for he intended to walk all the way to the beach. There was a cave which was particularly important for Samir. He was able to speak with his ancestors there.

This garden was full of concealed corners and special places. The morning sun had already begun to turn hot when Samir arrived at the shadowy pond which he called the Silver Pond, because it shone in silvery and golden colors when the light was favorable. He sat down on the footbridge, cooled his feet and lit a cigarette. There was no wind and white yellow sunrays were shimmering through the leaves of the surrounding tres. Would he manage to get in touch with them, with his ancestors? He listened inward and sensed his burdon, his questions and doubts which had motivated his journey. He also sensed his hope which had caused the start of the journey. Because since a couple of days Samir has been in touch with his fate again. Whatever fate that might be, he did not live aside from it anymore, this is what he realized. And he wanted to know more about it.

On the next hop of his way he encountered the marked bamboo. There were many places in the garden which he had supplied with colors and signs, partly in order to participate in the life of his surroundings in a mimicry way, partly to transform it into art. Samir loved art. On this course bamboo plants were growing in 500 meter intervals. It was a repetitive motif which today reminded him of how situations recurred over and over again while one was walking on his way. At first, Samir stopped at each bamboo and listened inward. Yet at one point he began to concentrate on how he felt in the spaces in-between the bamboo plants when he traversed them. In his family, too, he had over and over again arrived at the same place, in the conflict. He had not been able to solve the conflict and has gone on every time until he reached the same place again. He had not moved in circles, for every time it went on in a different way, yet every time he got back into the conflict, with all the pain and trouble that entailed.

With each of his paces Samir became lighter. He sensed freedom under the clear sunny sky. There were no more chains around his feet. But before he would reach the cave he would have to ban some shadows from his consciousness. His mind was distracted by the peculiarities of his father, Darth Vader. Samir now knew that his father was lost and had been lost for a long time. Latest news was that he now demanded a retroactive rent from Joana, dating back to last August. Samir had not learned until today what exactly it was that Joana was accused of and why Darth Vader did not reckon up her working time, at least. For she had worked for him the whole spell through, while Darth himself had made her believe she would get a contract as soon as possible. The apartment, too, was his idea, not hers. The whole time through he had created grey zones with which Joana was kept in dependency (who, in turn, had let it happen, a circumstance, however, that was not a good excuse). Darth had never initiated to clear the situation. He wanted to do the same thing with Samir and had taken him deeper and deeper into his hole, up to black money payments in May, just when he had accused Joana of theft, as massively as it was unjustified. Samir had liberated himself from his clutches before it was too late. He took out the water-bottle, had a swallow and moistened his neck, face and feet. There was no more faith between him and Darth. After all this he did not believe him anything anymore.

In front of the next bamboo he let himself fall on his knees, took up some dry earth with his hand and let it drizzle on the ground. His mind was clouded, because he wanted the patriarch to fall. He wanted to create a new world and in this world there was no place for violent perpetrators. At the same time it was clear to him that this attitude could bring him away from society. Darth Vader was protected by the whole family as well as by his vassals in the company. He was also protected by society. Samir had years of experience with the reactions of society when he had confronted them with the matter. It just pearled off like water from a rain jacket. He had to talk with his ancestors!

The afternoon had already begun when he reached the thicket of the woods. The night would become long, Samir wanted to have a meal. In the morning he had collected and eaten some fruits and berries on the way. Now he was looking for a strong bough and broke it off the tree. From his bag he got a cord as well as arrow tops he had prepared earlier, and a knife. Within minutes he had built himself a bow and two arrows. Behind the woods in a hollow there was a shack. When the weather was clear one could hear the breakers from over there. He intended to prepare his meal there. Samir moved silently through the woods and found some mushrooms which he collected. He held his nose into the air and then again searched the ground. For a moment he had the impression that he was not alone, that the others would be with him. He turned around spontaneously, but there was nobody. Samir sat down by a tree and took out an ocher yellow pigment which he mixed with some water. He colored forehead, cheeks, breast, arms and legs. A reddish brown color followed, he put it on his body, then a dark grey one. Afterwards he marked the tree with colored signs, watched it for a while and also colored bow and arrows. Again it was to him as if he was not alone, but there was nobody else around.

Suddenly he noticed something and turned his eyes fluently to the left. It was a hare, it was standing in a distance of about fifty meters, motionless and attentive, he had not sensed Samir, though. A couple of seconds later the hare looked down and snooped around on the ground. The man looked at the tree for a last time, stroking over the bark, and then bent down and moved with great slowness in the direction of the hare, fixing it with his eyes all the time. Samir approached like a snake and followed the hare into the woods...

There were only him, the others, and the animal. It was a big animal, they would be able to live from it for days. The furry skin would be for his wife who waited for him at home. He would make some new shoes for her. The pair she had now was already worn-out and she would be very glad about it. From far he heard drum-beats, they were meant to encourage the hunters and to bring them success. Samir rubbed his eyes and shook his head. There were no others around, and there were no drums. In front of him the hare disappeared in a bush. The man was now only seven meters away from the animal. He stood up behind a tree and bent the bow. While turning around the tree with infinite slowness and bringing the arrow into the right position he was able to see the fur of the animal showing through the green leaves. It would soon creep out again and hop on. The hunter closed his eyes and talked to the spirit of the hare. Differently from humans animals did not have a spirit for each individual, but one spirit for the whole kind which was the same in each token. He asked the spirit of the hare for admission to shoot it in order to still his hunger and he knew exactly when to open his eyes again. The animal tediously came out of the bush and was immediately struck by the arrow. It broke down and was dead. The hunter approached, thanked the spirit of the hare for the gift and started to empty the animal without hesitation and to attach it to the top of the former bow, with the cord that he had untied at the bottom. With this bundle he arrived at the hollow. He slit open the wrists of the fore-legs and tied them to the outside of the shack. Then he pulled off the skin with power, searched for fire-wood and prepared the hare with salt and the mushrooms. He was thinking of the cave he was going to reach in the evening.

Even if it is a murderer you have to open the door for him, if it is a family member... Samir remembered the words of Darth Vader and asked himself for how long this thinking might have been existant in the heads of his ancestors. He would not exclude opening the door for a murderer, only this sentence was really strange, like tolerating things which were not tolerable. Would they speak with him at all? He had judged upon his father. This alone. He had violated the Klingon warrior's ethos. This was not only about the Palestinian-Klingon ethos which was often explained with the circumstances of occupation, oh no, this was also concerning the German-Klingon ethos, a fine, consealed longing for the beats of former times, something which did not escape Samir's attention.

He rather wanted to think about the garden in which he was free and which he could form and shape just like he wanted to. There was nobody living here in the whole area. Samir rarely called it "his" garden, because the place had no borders. It changed into woods, meadows and beach and Samir had left his traces everywhere, shaping spaces, creating objects, digging channels and selecting plants. Sometimes the animals reacted to his art. Without effort he had moved around in the area, just doing what he wanted. After a while there were structures showing and he connected and supplemented them. In these natural surroundings he had received strong inspirations and immediately brought them back to the outside. Sometimes Samir wished that a head person would elope with him here into this garden and he would present to him all this splendidness with all the senses. He would show him the area like a museum's guide, like a tourist guide. Look, he would say, isn't it pure joy? And the touristic head person surely would agree. Yeah, Samir would then reply, it is a marvelous place. And all that has nothing to do with reason! And the head person would have something to think about.

The hunter was sitting in the shadow near the fire-place and cleaned the fur of the hare with water from the well. He would leave the fur here, together with the rucksack, when he would continue to walk the final part of his way. But right now he was still too lazy. He stretched his legs and had a nap. While his mind was running through the garden his body smiled with eyes closed. He wanted to be in this garden always, here the harmony of life was extant. It was a real world, not like most of the others in which violence had destroyed the air, as he used to call it. Other worlds might look similar, smell similar and taste similar, but it was normally so that tensions were created there so that art could not flow freely. The whole spiritual traffic was disturbed, as if the telephone was continuously busy or as if it was tapped. The humans gave up their naturality, because they believed they were obliged to. In their longing they watched movies, but this was too abstract to Samir. It was even too abstract for him to thank God for the meal, although his spirituality was monotheistic in nature. The whole was one to him, it was God. the stronger his inspirations were the more they tended to connect all things with each other and make it one infinite thing. God was not separated from the world and Samir was not separated from God.

He extinguished the fire, attached the water bottle at his belt and put the lighter into the pocket of his trousers. The journey went on. In this hollow, too, and all around it Samir had planted flowers and shaped places. Some of it was already crumbled away, other parts, like the objects made of piled-up stones, were standing there like before. Soon he reached the grassy hills which changed into sand dunes later on. Standing on the hill he sensed the ocean breeze in his face. From far he heard seagulls cry. Had he not been here before, in very early days? Hadn't there been a village right here, in former times? with houses made of stone and flocks of sheep moving over the dunes? And over there, hadn't there been a harbor once and hadn't he himself departed from there with ships and later returned? Samir did not know, vague faces appeared in front of his inner eye and he could not coordinate them.

Before he entered the grotto Samir had the ocean wash the color off his body. The entire beach was void of people, the sand still hot in the evening light. Here in the bay there was space enough for a couple of ships, without question, but there were none. Nothing, no fishing people, no conversations, not one thing created by humans, at all. Samir was one part of this world, like the waves around him and the sand below his feet. The last sun rays dried him, then he entered the cave and lit the torches he had deposited in a hole in the wall. The grotto had several rooms, Samir had explored them when he was here for the first time. It was a magic place. The room, in which he now distributed the torches, was furnished with fine sand. On the front side there was a wall with paintings dating back to a different millenium. The man ran his fingers over the wall which was almost even and had a cosy smell. Without knowing the reason for it, Samir was certain that this was a place where people in very old times had contacted their ancestors. What kind of secret was it that the first humans had knowledge of? Or was it in reality only craziness and imagination? An intoxicated exaggeration and broad misinterpretation of some alleged signs. Could be. But what about the actual experiences of the involved people? There was subjectively something, something substantial, or wasn't there?

Samir beat a rhythm into the sand with his heel. In order to open this place up he had to move it. He had to go into the trance. With every forth beat Samir hummed a tone that he modulated until it was equalized with the reverberations in the cave. He was experimenting with the tone, added an upward beat and let the rhythm enter his head which now was jolting forth and back like in a dance. He saw the flocks of sheep again on the juicy hills and some people in the periphery who seemed to talk and to joke. He zoomed closer to the scene and realized that he was one of those people himself. He was wearing sandals and a sand-colored gown, on his head a headscarf. His alter ego was about sixty years of age, he was drawing something into the ground beneath him with a narrow stick. Two children were sitting around him, shouting comments and and asking questions. He talked to the children. In his vision Samir was unable to see what it was that was drawn onto the ground. Suddenly the other one lifted his head as if he had noticed something. Without any motion of his lips the other one spoke: "Many thousands of years ago we came to this place and there are many thousands of years ahead of us." The expression in his face was powerful and calm. Samir could see inhis eyes, they were clear and merry. He looked into them for a long spell of time, absorbed the picture, never wanted to forget these eyes anymore. In them was liberation, was home. "Through time a flower grows." The hills disappeared, the sheep slipped white and hurriedly over the earth and dispersed. The area moved away from him, he turned around, rediscovered the tone and articulated it rhythmically, using it this time as a brake, until he brought himself back into the illuminated cave and fell on the ground in exhaustion.

This must have been one of his ancestors, Samir thought. He had not really talked with him... or did he? Wasn't it as if the other had told him about the existance of different times, times in which there had not yet been this tension in the air? In former ages, when people still had questioned their impulses instead of denying them. When they had still been searching for truth by losing control in a trance and not in the putative control of a system with coordinates created by themselves. Even the Holy Scriptures came into being with trances, such a thing would not remotely be possible without. How were we to understand religion when religion was nailed to words and rites in the attempt to press the world into a scheme and to deprive it of its vitality in fear of some kind of punishment which nobody could explain too well? Every book, Samir thought, was an abstraction. It could be used to think around the corner with it and to justify all kinds of things. This was not what the book was about, Samir was sure. He wanted to understand it in experience, he wanted to experience the world, himself and God, rather than to read about him. The way was still long.

When Samir was back in the city he wore a suit and had his hair cut. He talked about the things about which the city people talked and replied in a well-behaved way when they asked him whether it was true that artists were always big egoists, too. But he rather liked to tell them about a garden that stood in bloom and about a gardener who was living there.


Continued in Part 5: "The Day When Fear Disappeared"

Index page: Samir's Adventures