My Life's Script (Audio)

A journey to discovering my life's purpose.

My Life's Script

Copyright 2008 by Stefan Bolz

At one of the 'A Course In Miracles' workshops I attended, one of our teachers suggested for us to, at some point, go to the place in our mind where we had written the script for this our life. This is, of course, much easier said than done. And he knew it too. Never the less, about 12 years later, a few months ago, I thought why not try it now. I had been going into some inner landscapes with my therapist for a while and I thought this might be the best environment to try to get to a point where I could see this place, and maybe even the script I had written for my life. I had no idea what to expect and tried not to have any expectations (of course, trying NOT to have any expectations usually brings about the opposite).

So, when I sat down with my therapist, I asked her, kind of out of the blue, for a piece of paper to write on because I had this strange symbol in my head and I wanted to put it on paper. It looked somewhat like the above image and I couldn't make anything of it at first. I also had no idea what it had to do with my script.

After we went through some relaxation I started to concentrate on the image. For a while nothing happened. Then it occurred to me that I was looking at it from above. High above. And suddenly it was embedded in a landscape that I looked at from a bird's perspective. I realized that what I saw wasn't a drawing at all. It was the top of what appeared to be a large pyramid or a Mayan temple. The top was square and the image I saw was actually the entrance to a round opening, not unlike a well. The lines across the crescent shaped object were steps going downward.

And now I started to see the temple from the side. Very long stairs went straight up on the outside of the temple to the plateau. I saw myself on top of the temple looking back down the long and steep stairs. This, I thought, symbolizes my spiritual journey. "I came to this point only to go back down again?" I asked myself. This moment of frustration dissipated relatively quickly though. I was always convinced that a spiritual journey is a journey of preparation and nothing else. Climbing up the long and steep stairs on the outside of the pyramid somehow prepared me for the next step - to enter the opening and climb inside.

I followed the path toward the large opening. With large I mean about 300 feet in diameter. The pyramid itself was about 1200 feet high. The view of the valley below was magnificent. I looked at the vast opening which was basically a black, round hole. After a moment, I started to descend down the stone stairs that seemed to just come out of the wall. I wasn't aware at first that there was water - all around the perimeter of the opening and flowing down the walls into nothingness. After a while I realized that to make only one full circle would bring me way down below the line of light and into complete darkness. I started to just set one foot after another and went from bright light to twilight and into a blackness so complete, I couldn't see a thing in front of me.

I was suddenly afraid I would accidentally step off the stairs and fall. The only thing stopping me from falling was the sound of the water that ran down the wall. I could hear it next to me and realized that if I just stood close to its sound, I would probably be fine. I thought for a moment that the water was my guide - like love on a spiritual quest - guiding me and keeping me from stumbling into utter darkness.

For a while nothing happened. Just one step after another. Then, without any forewarning, the stone stairs suddenly ended and I stepped into nothingness. For a moment I was suspended, hovering in the air - until I fell. As I fell I saw that I fell from the ceiling of a massive cave. The arch of the ceiling spanned at least a mile in either direction, touching the horizon far in the distance.

There was a very intense light, like the light of the sun, streaming down from a point in the arch and illuminating the landscape below. Beams of light spilled onto the hills below. As I landed gently on the grass I looked up and saw the now very small opening high above from which I came.

I started to walk and after only a few minutes I saw a large leather bound book lying in the grass. I sat down in front of it and opened its cover. I knew that this was what I was looking for. My life's script. There was just one word in the middle of the first page. Small, lower cased, typed in 12 point font, it said "Alone". I looked at the word thinking briefly about some of the times in my life when I felt alone. It was mostly after my parents separated. I was 11 and I stayed with my father. "Alone". I know this feeling very well. Not that I experience it all the time but I am definitely familiar with its feel, its emotional footprint on my soul.

I turned the page. Again, just one word. "Separate". The white page around it made the word even more prominent. I turned the page again: "Abandonment". I turned the page again: On the left side I saw names. Hundreds of names. As I read through them I realized that these were all the people I knew. From when I was in kindergarten through school and my teenage years into adulthood and up until now. The page was filled with names, including my parents, former girlfriends and wives, my son, my sister, my friends, etc. On the opposite side of the page stood but two words: "Find me".

I turned the page again. On the left side was a spreadsheet - or something very similar to it. It showed amounts: amounts I owed on credit cards, my mortgage payments, several tax returns, bank accounts, expenses, incomes, etc. The page was filled with numbers. Basically a summary of my financial situation. On the right side again just two words: "Find me".

I turned the page again. On the left side was the drawing of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. On the right side, the same two words: "Find me". The remainder of the pages was empty. "This is it?" I thought. "This is my life's script? Alone, separate, abandonment, and 'find me'?"

I closed the book and as I looked up there was a massive cross hanging suspended in the air in front of me about 50 feet above the ground. It was made out of light, emitting a slight glow against the grey sky. As I looked around, I saw behind me a wooden bench, like the ones you find in a church. I sat down on it. As I sat there, the bench suddenly started to extend to the right. Another bench appeared in front of me, then one behind me. More appeared until there were two rows of benches, just like in a large church. I sat quietly for a while, by myself, close to the middle isle. I thought this must have been the remnants of an old cathedral at some point. No walls were left, just the benches, the altar and the golden cross in the sky.

Now, one by one, people appeared on the benches. There were colleagues of mine, present friends, my parents, best friends from high school, my son and his mother, my girlfriend and her daughter, a few clients of mine, some people I only met once in my life but had some kind of a connection to, and others. The 'church' filled with people before my eyes. It was the most beautiful thing to watch. Everyone sat there in deep reverence. The faces I looked at were completely free of any fear, conflict, or sorrow. There was no pain in them, whatever each of their situations had been before. There was, on each of the faces, a deep expression of gratitude, honor and love. Gone were any past conflicts, hurts, wounds, and disappointments. It felt that on this holy ground we were on, where we all came from did not matter. Our past never was, and all of us were in a state far beyond our small selves. Each of the faces was so incredibly beautiful that I started to cry. There was nothing between us except complete understanding that we were not separate, that abandonment was impossible and that we could never truly be alone.

I sat there for a long time looking at the faces, being deeply touched by the expression of utter love on each one of them. Slowly, out of nowhere, I heard a chorus in the background. It wasn't really singing. More like a humming. One single note from all of us reaching towards the heavens, uniting everything within its glorious grace.

A Best Friend's Final Hour (Audio)

A short story about a man and his dying dog.

A best friend's final hour

copyright 2008 by Stefan Bolz

A friend of a friend, his name is Tom, had a Golden Retriever, who was his best friend for over 10 years. From when he was a puppy, Tom would take him down to the river and play with him there. The dog loved to jump into the water and they always had a beautiful time together. For the last few months, Tom’s dog was sick. He had cancer and the vet had told him that there really wasn’t anything he could do. The dog wasn’t able to walk anymore and in the last couple of days he just lay there, unable to eat anything. Tom always talked to him and asked him how he felt and what he could do to make him feel better. One morning he felt that it was time to put his dog to sleep.
Heavy heartedly he carried the dog to his car and drove towards the veterinary hospital. On his way, he got the strangest sensation and decided to go down to the river one more time. When they arrived, Tom took the dog out of his car and carried him to the shore, laid him down onto the sand and just sat there next to him for a few minutes. After a while, the dog lifted his head. He looked around and to Tom’s surprise he sat up. Then he started to walk around and finally he went into the water to swim. They started to play like in old times and Tom threw sticks that his dog fetched. They were very happy together and it was almost as if Tom’s dog became a puppy again. After a while, the dog sat down next to him and they just looked out at the water. Then he laid down, put his head into Tom’s lab and after a few minutes he died.

You Are Perfect (Audio)

The thought "You Are Perfect" vs all the others I have about myself.

You Are Perfect

copyright 2008 by Stefan Bolz

It happened on one of my recent evening walks. The path lead down a beautiful country road alongside a meandering stream, passing a pond that was completely still that time of day. The sun was just about to set, spilling its warm light into the trees behind me. As I walked, I thought about my life and all the things I had done and all the things I did not do. The projects I started and never finished. The relationships that came and went. Things I could have done differently. I should have gone to college, I think often. Actually, I did go to college - and stopped about 15 credits before graduation. I will finish one day, I am telling myself. I'm not unhappy in general. But there is this nagging feeling that I could, that I should have done something more with my life. Something substantial. Something accountable. I live uncomfortably way below my potential. At least that is part of what goes through my mind on any given day, just below the surface.

As I looked at the constant stream of thoughts which seemed to come out of nowhere as part of an endless chain of disturbing truths about myself, I suddenly - as if opening a door - had a completely different thought. This thought seemed very quiet, like the still pond at the end of my road. It didn't move. It didn't come nor did it disappear in a flash only to be substituted by another. It stayed. It radiated. Like a butterfly on an aircraft carrier. Amidst the chaos that was my conscious mind it stood.

"You are perfect".

It did not contradict all the other thoughts from before. It completely eliminated them altogether, without leaving a trace of them behind. "You are perfect". The power of this simple statement brought tears into my eyes. I started to sob. Walking down the road, my dog sniffing the ground next to me, I couldn't stop crying. I felt the absolute truth of this statement. I knew at that moment that it was true. That this was, in fact, the only truth about myself. The joy that accompanied it, the utter relief that whatever I had thought about myself prior, had no meaning at all, made me weep. "Don't change anything about yourself. For if you do, you are denying that you are perfect and you will give your thoughts a reality they do not have. Do not change anything. For if you do, you forget that there is nothing in you that needs to change."

This 'episode' lasted about two minutes before 'the others' came back. Twenty F-15 fighter jets landed on the aircraft carrier, completely unaware of the butterfly. The sound, in contrast, was deafening. The butterfly, however, wasn't even aware of them. Quietly and unmistakably, he continued his song: "You are perfect".

Who do I listen to? Who will I listen to? What do I want to believe about myself? What voice do I allow entrance into my mind? There are but two and only one of them is true.

The Scale

Copyright 2007 by Stefan Bolz

Forged of iron, cast thousands of years ago, the scale is at least 600 feet high and built into the outer skin of a massive cliff. It hangs there, embedded for eons into the mountain. There are two gigantic arms with small platforms on either side, each just big enough for one person to stand on. The arm I am standing on lies at least 150 feet below the midpoint. The sheer drop of the cliff disappearing into nothingness below evokes a slight sense of being suspended in mid air. I look up. Way above me, I can see the other platform. Laura stands on it. The fog around me feels cold against my skin. I can see that Laura's side of the scale is in bright sun light.

I look down. A thick rope, tied to the underside of my platform, disappears far into the clouds below. I am almost certain that something is attached to the other end of the rope. Something heavy. Something that holds my part of the scale down. I am certain that should the rope and whatever is attached to it be gone, my end of the scale would come up and the two platforms would equalize.

'I have to get down there and see what’s on the other end of the rope,' I think to myself, as I start climbing. The rope is thick and covered in green, slimy algae. The platform is now above me, disappearing fast as I slide down the rope. Right now, I cannot see anything but fog and the cold green rope in my hands. It is as if I glide through cotton balls. There is stillness and an absence of any kind of sound. I wonder for a moment how I will ever get back up when suddenly my legs loose contact with the rope. I slow down and see that the rope has ended. I now hang on its last foot. Nothing at all is attached to its end. I realize that I have to get back up but I know that I will fall. My hands slide downward. Fear of falling from this height turns my stomach into a knot. I try to hold on to the rope but to no avail. As I fall I know that it is the rope that is letting go of me and not me of the rope. I have no choice in this.

I fall into the clouds. Faster and faster until I land with a big ‘thump’ in a huge pile of leafs. As I look up, I see my sister standing there. I’m in Germany, in a park inside a castle overlooking the city I grew up in. My sister looks at me for a moment then she helps me up and gives me a big hug. After a long time she says: “It’s okay now. I’m okay now. I’m fine.”

I can feel her words resonating within me. They are warm and comforting, like a blanket and a fire in a cold night. And then it clicks: When my parents divorced (I was 11 and my sister was 6) my sister went with my mother and I stayed with my father. For some reason I always thought I had to keep her up in the sun, make sure she’s okay, and make sure she is safe somehow. That I was down in the shadows was fine with me. “You’re okay now, and I am too,” she says. “We’re both okay.” She gives me another hug. A strong sense of relief washes over me. And suddenly I’m back on the platform of the scale. My part is still in darkness in the shadows and Laura still stands on the upper platform. I know what I have to do. I have to loosen the rope. I kneel down, untie the knot and watch it fall into nothingness.

I stand up. Slowly, almost unnoticeable at first, the massive scale begins to move and my end of it is being lifted upward while Laura’s part moves down. We are still about 300 feet apart but we are slowly leveling off.

Eventually, the two arms of the scale equal out. It is exactly at that position of the scale and only at that precise moment where it is very easy to step off. In fact, this is the only position where both can step off the scale entirely. And that is what we do. I step off. All the way on the other end, Laura steps off as well. We stand on our own side, still about 300 feet apart but connected through two walkways which meet a few hundred feet in front of us. I start walking. So does Laura. As I walk, I look back. The massive scale rests in perfect equilibrium. Behind it and way below, lies vast, open, flat dessert. A magnificent sight. As I turn in the direction I am walking, I see that there is grass around me. The path I walk on leads through lawns – green, cared for lawns. I can see the point where the two paths meet. I walk toward it and arrive there. So does Laura.

From here, the path leads into the mountains, gently moving upward, visible for miles until it disappears from sight. 'Looks good', I think. ‘Not so bad after all,’ Laura says. ‘You go ahead, I’ll stay here for a while,’ I tell her. She nods and starts to walk and I watch her disappear behind a curve further down the path. As I stand there, I suddenly hear a low crackling, splitting sound behind me. I turn. At that moment, cracks appear in the stone before me. Gaps emerge getting bigger and bigger until the massive scale brakes off the mountain where it has been set for eons. With a thunderous sound it breaks, separates from the cliff and, after hanging suspended for an endless moment, it disappears into nothingness.

10 feet away from where we stand is now the cliff. There is no turning back. There is only one direction to go towards, only one path to follow. Where I have found safety for so long, there is just an empty space. No sense to stand there anymore. And with that I turn, my eyes fixed on the path before me.

One step. And another. And another.

No More Crumbs (Audio)

An essay on accepting not too much from life but far too little.

No More Crumbs

copyright 2008 by Stefan Bolz

There is a line in A Course In Miracles I find myself thinking about often these days: "You don't expect too much from life but far too little". As I look at myself, I realize that, right now, I am accepting crumbs. I have to admit that, by and large, I am content with the scraps and left overs of life. I am cowering under a table filled with everything imaginable, but waiting for pieces here and there to drop to the floor. Barely enough to survive yet not quite enough to live. I mean this on all levels. Emotionally in relationships with others. Physically with money and work. And spiritually. I am too embarrassed and too ashamed to stand up and join the beautifully set table in the large magnificent dining hall of life. All my brothers and sisters are there. This meal, provided to us by love itself, has everything we need and plenty of it. But my thoughts still evolve around the idea that I am not a prince amongst princes but a thief, unworthy of lifting my eyes and beholding the sheer beauty of life's promise. I can barely function in this self proclaimed state of being. How could I? I am not made to cower. I am made to stand up with my head held high - not to distinguish myself from others but to join them in their magnificence. I am not made for scraps. I am made to accept my inheritance, my glorious self, our glorious Self. I could join my family at the table. But right now, I'm angry instead. Angry at the crumbs, angry at the ones who drop them, angry at myself for letting me get to this point of unrewarding existence within my tiny kingdom of lies. They are lies, for at some point I traded true magnitude for littleness. They are lies because I am content with scraps so I can blame 'them' for not giving me enough. I accept the lie within me that it is my fate to live this way. Who am I to get up and take my rightful place at the table? Who am I to betray all the others who are down here with me waiting for scraps themselves? Who will I be without this gaping hole within my soul? This reminds me of Emmilou Harris's song 'Orphan Girl': "But when he calls me I will be able to meet my family at God's table. I'll meet my mother, my father, my sister, my brother. No more an orphan girl.
Truth is, it is freedom I fear. It is love and it is freedom. It is true happiness that sends cold shivers down my spine. I am accepting crumbs, for my inheritance as a child of God is too threatening for me to accept. 'It is time for the frog to become a prince', a good friend of mine once told me. I am still waiting... waiting for a miracle to come. But while I wait for myself, I declare here and now that I will no longer accept the crumbs but that I will rather fix my eyes at the empty chair at the table. That I will stand up and accept my true identity: a prince, beloved son of a loving Father within a Kingdom ruled by Love Itself.

Presence (Audio)

A short essay on the presence within us that lies beyond the veil.

Presence

copyright 2008 by Stefan Bolz

There is a presence within us that we, in our day-to-day experiences, are completely unaware of. It is as if it does not exist at all. A veil so thick and seemingly heavy lies between us and our awareness of this presence that we usually do not think of its existence at all. However, it is there. I am not talking about God. In a way I am, but not in the usual sense. I am not talking about religion. I am talking about an experience. Words are too limited to express it because naturally they are in general used to describe something on this side of the veil, something familiar. For example, if I would say that this presence makes me joyous, the word would evoke a feeling that is known. Joy in connection with a person, a thing, a circumstance, etc. However, the joy that comes with experiencing this presence is completely different from everything I have experienced before. Freedom is another such word. Love yet another. At some point I realized that the experience of 'being completely forgiven' comes the closest to describing it. And yet it falls short of its magnitude. Many mystics have, over the centuries, tried to express this presence - with no success whatsoever. Sometimes though, suddenly, while we drive our car or talk to someone or stand at the register at the grocery store, we get a sense - not more than a whisp of a fragment of an ancient melody and for a moment we are lifted beyond the veil and we remember... Then the veil drops again and we forget within seconds. But this moment is the closest we can come to eternity in this world. There is nothing like it in our experience here. We try - desperately sometimes - to have this experience through romantic relationships or within our family. It does not work. A lot of times, the relationships we have are part of the very veil that keeps us from the very thing we long for. So, basically, our whole life passes by us and we are so busy with everything trying to generate a feeling of happiness and peace and the absence of conflict. But in truth, the only thing we are doing is keeping the door closed to the other side of the veil. Sometimes we think death gets us there but death is still, like everything else, on this side of the veil. But how do we get there? How do we pass through the veil and experience this ever loving presence within us? In short: We have to want it. Nothing else makes it appear. We must want to go through the veil to see the other side. We must want this experience more than anything here. There is no other way. And in order to do that we first must recognize that nothing here has the ability to make us truly happy. We must begin to question what we thought brought us peace and joy in order to open our mind enough to let in the true peace and joy that awaits us beyond the veil.

Der Dom (The Dome)

Copyright 2007 by Stefan Bolz
Ich stehe in unter einem hohen Dom. Die Oberfläche der Wand ist glatt, schwarz, und uebersaeht mit winzig kleinen Lichtern. Wie der Nachthimmel mit Millionen von Sternen blinkt, schimmern die Lichter in der dunklen Decke und tauchen jeden Zentimeter der Kuppel in weiches Licht. Mein Ruecken ist gegen die Wand gedrueckt. Auf der anderen Seite der Kuppel, ca 300 meter enfernt, sehe ich eine Gestalt. Ich kann nicht erkennen wer es ist. Meine Arme sind seitlich ausgestreckt und, als ob durch eine magnetische Kraft, gegen die Wand gepresst. Es ist mir unmöglich, sie zu bewegen. Aus der Ferne muss es so aussehen, als ob ich entweder gekreuzigt wurde oder als ob ich denjenigen der naeher kommt, mit offenen Armen begruesse.

Die Gestalt beginnt langsam aber stetig auf mich zuzukommen. Ich spüre Liebe die wie Wellen von der Gestalt ausstrahlen. Es ist nicht so sehr ein Gefühl. Mehr eine Erfahrung, so allumfassend, dass alles andere, meine Vergangenheit, meine Gegenwart und Zukunft, meine Identität und meine Selbstachtung, alle ihren Sinn verloren haben, ohne dass jedoch Leere zurueckbleibt. Die Grenzen des "Ich" sind nicht mehr vorhanden. Tränen steigen in mir auf und laufen über meine Wangen. Stetig kommt die Figur näher. Mir ist ploetzlich bewusst, dass ich versuche mit aller Kraft meine Arme zu bewegen, sie von der Wand wegzubekommen. Mit jedem Schritt den die Gestalt  in meine Richtung macht, werden meine Versuche intensiviert. Jetzt sehe ich, dass die Figur Jesus ist. Er ist schon auf halbem Weg zu mir und je näher er kommt, desto mehr ich versuche, meine Arme zu bewegen.

Plötzlich sind sie frei, und ich schlage sie um meinen Koerper in einer Umarmung, als ob ich mich schützen wollte. In dem Moment gehen alle Lichter in der Kuppel aus. Die Tausende und Abertausende von kleinen Sternen erloeschen. Völlige Dunkelheit umhuellt mich. Ich stehe, meine Arme um meinen Körper geschlungen, in völlige Schwaerze gehüllt. Es ist vollkommen still. Ich kann nichts sehen, nichts hören. Nur Dunkelheit.

Seltsamerweise fühlt es sich tröstlich an. Kalt, suspendiert irgendwie, aber beruhigend. Aber ich kann nicht so bleiben. Ich bin gar nicht hier. Wo ist hier? Zu lange habe ich in der Dunkelheit ausgeharrt. Zu lange habe ich gehofft dass das Licht kommt.

Langsam und vorsichtig, als ob ich die Luft um mich herum nicht stoeren will, oeffne ich meine Arme. Es ist, als ob ich mein Selbst der Dunkelheit um mich herum oeffne. Als ich den Punkt erreiche, an dem meine Arme fast gestreckt sind, zieht die Magnetkraft sie zurück gegen die Wand. Der Sog ist fest und kontrolliert. Es tut jedoch ueberhaupt nicht weh. In dem Moment wo meine Arme die Oberflaeche der Wand berühren, geht das Licht wieder an. Es gibt keinen Knall, keinen Blitz.Die Lichter gehen einfach an und alles ist wieder in sanftes licht gehuellt.

Das Licht ansich ist weich. Freundlich. Fast Troestlich. Mir wird aber auch klar dass ich innerhalb der Reichweite des Lichtes keinen Platz habe um mich zu verstecken. So stehe ich da, meine Arme geöffnet und meinen Blick auf Jesus gerichtet, der nun langsam wieder in meine Richtung geht. Wellen der Liebe. Ich weine, sehe ihn nur schemenhaft und in Farben und Licht getaucht. Als er näher kommt, drehe ich meinen Kopf zur Seite. Als ob ich in einem Zahnarztstuhl sitze und, kurz bevor die Hand mit dem Bohrer meinem Mund erreicht, ich meine Kopf drehe und so versuche, das Unvermeidliche zu vermeiden.

"Bitte, komm nicht näher.” Ich flehe ihn an. "Bleib wo du bist." Die Wellen der Liebe sind überwältigend. Unendlich gross, unverständlich und völlig unüberschaubar. Er hält an, steht still. "Geh zurück", sage ich. Ich möchte so gerne meine Arme wieder von der Wand wegziehen, aber aus irgendeinem Grund tue ich es nicht. "Bleib einfach stehen und beweg dich nicht,” denke ich zu mir selbst. Ich schaue ihn an, 30 Meter entfernt. Traenen stroemen ueber mein Gesicht. Ich höre mich flüstern: "Nein, bitte, nein, ich bin noch nicht bereit. Ganz und gar nicht für dich bereit oder für das, was du vertrittst. Ich bin nicht bereit, ich bin nicht bereit, ich bin nicht BEREIT! "

Und in diesem Moment trenne ich die intensive Liebe von mir. Ich schiebe sie weg, zwinge sie sich zurueckzuziehen. Und plötzlich, scharf wie tausend Messer, spuere ich eine Traurigkeit, die so vollständig ist, dass es keinen Raum für irgendetwas anderes gibt.

Und so stehe ich unter den Sternen, mein Rücken gegen die Wand, die Traurigkeit wie ein Knoten in meiner Brust, unfaehig ihn hereinzulassen, unfaehig die Liebe so sein zu lassen wie sie ist.

Wie lange ich hier stehen werde weiss ich nicht.

Wie lange ist ein Moment in der Ewigkeit?

The Dome (Audio)

A vision of a brief encounter with Jesus in a Dome.

The Dome

copyright 2007 by Stefan Bolz

I stand inside a high dome. The surface of its walls are smooth, black, with tiny little lights covering them. Like the night sky with millions of stars, blinking, shimmering against the dark ceiling and illuminating every inch of the dome in soft light. I stand with my back against the wall. On the other side of the dome, about 300 feet across, stands a figure. I cannot make out who it is as I look at it. My arms are stretched out sideways and pinned against the wall as if held by a magnetic force of some kind. It is impossible for me to move them. From a distance, I must look either as if I am crucified or as if I am welcoming whoever comes to me with open arms.

The figure starts walking toward me - not fast, just steadily. I can feel waves of love emanating from it. It is actually not a feeling at all. It is an experience so all encompassing that everything else, my past, my present and future, my identity, my self as I know it, has lost its meaning, without leaving a vacancy. The boundaries of "me" and "I" are no longer in existence. Tears rise up within me, push themselves into my eyes and run down my cheeks. Steadily the figure comes closer. I become aware, suddenly, that I am trying to move my arms. I’m trying to get them off the wall. With every step, my attempts become more intensified. Now I see that the figure is Jesus. He is half way across the large dome and the closer he comes, the more I try to get… my arms… to MOVE!!!

Suddenly they are free and I wrap them around myself in an embrace as if to protect myself. As I do this, the very moment my arms loose contact with the wall, all the lights in the dome, the thousands and thousands of little stars, go out. Complete darkness engulfs me. I stand, my arms wrapped around my own body in complete blackness. There is no sound. I can’t see him or hear him any longer. Pitch black.

It feels oddly comforting. Cold, suspended somehow, but strangely comfortable. But I can’t stay like this. I’m not even here. Where is here? Too long have I lingered in the dark, too long have I hoped for the light to come.

Slowly, carefully, as if not to disturb the air around me, I open my arms. It is as if I am opening my self to the darkness around me. As I reach the point where my arms are almost stretched out, the magnetic force pulls them back toward the wall. The pull is firm and controlled. It does not hurt at all. The moment my arms touch the surface of the wall, the lights come back on, all at once. There is no loud noise. No flash of lightning. The lights just come back on and everything is illuminated.

The light itself is soft. Kind. Gentle. Almost nurturing. But make no mistake. For within its reach, there is absolutely no place for me to hide. So, I stand there, arms open, looking at Jesus who slowly starts walking toward me again. Waves of love. I am sobbing, at times seeing only an outline of color and light and not him. As he comes closer, I turn my head away. As if sitting in a dentist chair and just before the hand holding the high speed drill reaches my mouth, I turn my head, trying to avoid the unavoidable.

“Please. Don’t come closer.” I beg him. “Stay where you are.” The waves of love are overwhelming. Vast. Incomprehensible. And utterly unmanageable. He stops, stands still. “Go back, ”I say. I so much want to pull my arms from the wall again but somehow I don’t. “Just stay there. Don’t move!!!”

I look at him 30 feet away, tears streaming down my face. I can hear myself whispering, “No, please, no, I’m not ready. Not at all ready for you or for what you represent. I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I’M NOT READY!!!”

And with that, and cutting through the intense love, pushing it away, forcing it to stand down, there is suddenly sadness, so complete, leaving no space for anything else, and piercing me like a thousand knifes.

And so I stand, under the stars, my back against the wall, sadness clenching my chest, unable to let him in, let love be what it is, accept it, become it.

How long I will stand here, I do not know.

How long is one moment in eternity?

Brueder (Weihnachten) (Brothers (Christmas))

Copyright 2007 by Stefan Bolz

Schaut mit mir, Engel

Schaut mit mir heut nacht

Die Sterne leuchten heller

Der Himmel leise wacht

Die Suche endet heute

Und Trauer ist nicht mehr

Wir entfernen uns vom Tode

Gehn durch die offne Tür

Wo du und ich sind Brüder

Und keine Feinde mehr

Wo wir unser Versprechen halten

Nicht in Kampf und Krieg

Aber in der Liebe die er uns gab

Und in seinem Herzen hielt

Und in dieser Liebe, mein bester Freund

Können wir nicht entfernt voneinander sein.

Brothers (Christmas)

copyright 2007 by Stefan Bolz

Watch with me Angels
Watch with me tonight
The stars are slightly brighter
The heavens filled with light

Tonight the search has ended
And sorrow is no more
Tonight we step away from death
And through an open door.

Where you and I are brothers
And enemies no more
Where you and I fulfill each others
Promise, not in war

But in the love He gave us
And held within His heart
And from this love, my dearest friend,
We cannot be apart.

Eagles

Let us soar amongst eagles and leave behind
everything that is small within us

Then let us arise and take our rightful place
amongst princes, not thieves

And let us go further than we have ever gone before

And let us be true to one another

And let us be free

Adler (Eagles)

Copyright 2008 by Stefan Bolz

Lasst uns wie Adler in die Luefte steigen

Und alles was klein ist in uns zuruecklassen

Dann lasst uns uns erheben

Und unseren rechtmaessigen Platz einnehmen

Unter Fürsten, nicht Dieben

Und lasst uns weiter gehen als wir je zuvor gegangen sind

Und lasst uns wahr sein miteinander

Und lasst uns frei sein

Ancient Landscapes (Audio)

This is the audio version of 'Ancient Landscapes'. Enjoy!

Ancient Landscapes

Copyright 2008 by Stefan Bolz

"I am somehow drawn to ancient landscapes", I hear myself say to Julie, my therapist. On my way to her practice I thought about it but couldn't figure out why it came to me. In our sessions we had explored different inner landscapes, usually connected to a conflict I was experiencing or an issue I was working on. That morning, before I arrived at her house, I realized that I had no idea what to talk to her about - or so I thought.

So we spoke about a couple of things like my work and my son's visit and my girlfriend. About an hour into the session, I hear myself mentioning the ancient landscapes to her and that I somehow felt drawn to them. There was nothing specific in my mind. No imagery, no picture of old pyramids or anything similar. Julie, my therapist, asked me if I wanted to close my eyes for a minute and see what comes up. Usually, for that, I'd lie on her table and we go through this process a bit differently but we didn't have that much time left and I really wanted to see where this ancient landscape was and what it meant, if anything.

So I closed my eyes and for a while I waited for an image to show up. It didn't. Nothing happened until at some point the words "before time was" appeared. I told Julie about it and that I felt that the ancient landscape I was referring to might have been there before time was. This was obviously an oxymoron because how can something exist - a stone, a tree or a forest - before time existed? Without time there is no growth and nothing can start or end or be at all. Those and other thoughts came through my mind in a split second. But I felt that there was something else there, something I had missed or hadn't understood properly.

Then I saw, almost in a close up, a couple of old stones overgrown with moss. As I pulled back, I realized that I stood in the middle of what must have been an old foundation. The stones were almost completely grown into the ground. Grass covered the soil. Judging by the outline and size, it must have been an old church or chapel at some point. For some reason I had the distinct feeling that the ground I stood on was very holy. Holy in the sense of clean, untouched, undisturbed - and very old. Another thing was very interesting for there was absolutely no sound. It wasn't just the absence of noise. It was complete stillness. Nothing moved. The spot and its immediate surroundings felt suspended. I realized, when I spoke to Julie about what I saw, that I was barely breathing. My breath was completely quiet. As if I almost didn't need to breathe at all. For a second I panicked and thought about what if I stopped breathing altogether. But that passed.

I could feel the ancientness (if that's a word) of this place. It did feel as if it had been there before time was. And then something very unexpectedly happened. As I looked at the partial wall in front of me, where I surmised once stood the altar of the church, suddenly - and I can't describe this any differently - the walls began to rebuild themselves. But not with their original materials made out of stone, granite, plaster and wood. No. The walls rebuilt themselves out of light. As if the stones had merely the shape of a stone but were not made of stone at all but of pure light. After a while, the church walls reached the ceiling, closing the gap until what I saw was the most beautiful building imaginable, with all the details like moldings, figurines and ornaments completely intact but made not of their usual material but out of light. The whole building had a soft glow to it. It was slightly transparent but looked very solid. And yet not solid in the usual sense. Clearly defined, very strong, but transparent.

What I saw was a perfect representation of what had been there originally. And what was broken, fallen down, deteriorated by eons of time, was still there - untouched and unchanged. As if everything that exists in time, still has its original shape from before time was. The image of the finely outlined church made of light, against the grey sky, was magnificent.

Then, for reasons that escape me now, I thought about chocolate kisses. Bear with me for a moment. I'll get there. My girlfriend sometimes puts little Hershey chocolate kisses on my desk in my office. A while back I found some of those kisses made not of chocolate but of clear hand blown glass. I gave her one and kept one for myself. Last week mine somehow fell to the floor and the tip broke off. I was upset for a moment and asked myself, naturally, what that was all about but calmed myself down after thinking that this was a bit silly.

Now I saw this broken piece of glass in my mind on the mantle piece of my living room. And overlaying it was its perfect shape made out of light. Nothing was broken, it was still there in its intended form and it was absolutely beautiful. I couldn't really grasp the meaning of it all but I knew that it was significant. Then I thought that our body and everything we see and feel and touch, has a perfect representation that is made of light. Our families, our past, our cars, a blade of grass and a tea cup have - unseen for us - a perfectly intact representation of itself overlaying it. Relationships that seemed to end or were destroyed or broken, are still intact in their original form. The body of a sick person has its perfect light form still present. And things we destroyed, people we hurt, parts of us that were damaged, are still there, untouched and far, far beyond destruction.

I thought about the twin towers and the beams of light that are now visible there. At that moment, I saw the original buildings, complete in all their details but made out of light, still towering over Manhattan in absolute beauty that was beyond this world. Destruction, as much as we try sometimes, as much as we all want to destroy others and ourselves, is impossible. For what is, what was there before time was, cannot be destroyed.

In closing, I think about the 2-line summary of A Course In Miracles (a 1200 page book outlining a very substantial and complete spiritual path for living in our time). It says there: "Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists. Herein lies the peace of God”

The Plateau (Audio)

This is the audio version of 'The Plateau'. Enjoy!

The Plateau

copyright 2008 by Stefan Bolz

It is the hour just before dawn
The sky is cold and grey
Before me, the Tundra extends into infinity
A high plateau—isolated, vast and raw
I stand next to a low fire, looking out onto the horizon
Eleven, maybe twelve years old
A tent not far from me, on the other side of the fire pit

Inside lie my parents
They had just died
My mother passed last night from a short, violent fever
My father’s body is still warm
He died this morning, about an hour ago
His agonizing screams left with him

The chilling wind cuts into me
Complete isolation covers me
Wraps its arms around me
Holds me
Holds me
Won’t let go

Das Plateau (The Plateau)

Copyright 2008 by Stefan Bolz

Es ist die Stunde kurz vor dem Morgengrauen

Der Himmel ist kalt und grau

Vor mir erstreckt sich die Tundra in die Unendlichkeit

Ein Hochplateau – rau, abgeschieden und unermesslich gross 

Ich stehe neben einem niedrigen Feuer, den Blick auf den Horizont gerichtet

Elf, vielleicht zwölf Jahre alt

Nicht weit von mir, auf der anderen Seite der Feuerstelle, ein Zelt

Im Inneren liegen meine Eltern

Sie sind tot

Meine Mutter starb letzte Nacht von einem kurzen, heftigen Fieber

Der Körper meines Vaters ist noch warm

Er starb vor etwa einer Stunde

Seine quälenden Schreie vergingen mit ihm

Der kalte Wind schneidet in mich

Einsamkeit bedeckt mich

Schlingt ihre Arme um mich

Hält mich

Hält mich

Laesst nicht los

The Door (Audio)

This is the audio version of 'The Door'. Enjoy!!

The Door

copyright 2007 by Stefan Bolz

A vast, green landscape. Endless fields and hills. The sun sits behind a large block casting a shadow on the land I walk on. As I come closer I see that the dark block is a door. Massive, ancient, at least 30 stories high and as wide. When I reach it, I sit down, leaning my back against it. The wood radiates warmth, comfort, heated from the sun on the other side. When I look toward the direction I came from, I see an ocean of human shapes in the distance. I can identify faces. My family, friends, clients, co-workers and strangers, all walking together toward the door. Their shapes are dark and distinct.

I get up, step away from the door and turn towards it. Their two massive sides open slightly, building a small gap in the middle, just large enough for me to look through to the other side. The same landscape. A mirror image of the one I’m standing on. The only difference, it is drenched in light. I see the same people there. Family, friends, clients, co-workers and strangers. Shapes of light, almost indistinguishable. There is a chorus, slightly below my ability to hear, easily dismissible, coming from the light shapes. Utter and complete joy radiates from them. For a moment I hear the song, a hymn, inviting me to join in, to add my voice to theirs.

My hands touch the doors. One hand on each of them. There is the slightest push, ever so gently pressing against the palms of my hand. “No”, I think quietly. The pressure lessens. The massive doors respond to my smallest wish and close. I sit down again, warming my back on it. There is no rush, no urgency, no time. Just the comfort of the knowledge of where I am always and where we all are, here and in eternity.

No Blood (Audio)

This is the audio version of the essay. Enjoy!

No blood

Copyright 2007 by Stefan Bolz

There is no blood flowing to it. I have nothing to say. Too deeply emerged in my own thought process. And what comes out is flawed, always the same, circling around an identical theme, repeating itself endlessly. I am not really ready to write. Not at the point where it spills out, overflows and rushes from the well and onto the lawns of my mind. Sometimes I think I’m not ready to share, hording thoughts like sheep, vigilant that none of them escapes into the world. There is a time for it all. Now is the time to listen, to apply, to slowly make progress. Now is a time to undo. To correct. To do nothing at all.. The courage to do nothing, the courage not to change anything, the courage just to look… and wait… and to judge it not.

To accept the simple truth that there is nothing inside of me, or you, that needs to change; that calls for a response other than, ‘you are now as you have always been, my beloved brother.’ How do I awaken from this nightmare of isolation and despair? I do but recognize that what is changing, what is bound to time, what I see or hear or touch or what I still believe, does not effect eternity, does not effect my true identity at all. I am now as I have ever been, forever free of slavery of any kind, especially the self imposed, the one that keeps me prisoner within my own dark cell.

The doors are barred no longer. The guards have long since left this darkened tomb. My mind is free to follow my own promise, given by my Self before time was. The promise that nothing I think or say or do or fail to do, can change eternal love. I but believe a lie that seemed to be the truth for such a short period of time that no trace of it remains to linger still, to keep me separate and apart.

And now we say ‘Amen’. For You have come to show us that what has life can never die and what is love is changeless in eternity.

Ice Cave (Audio)

This is the audio version of 'Ice Cave'. Enjoy!!

Ice Cave

Copyright 2007 by Stefan Bolz

I am kneeling, cowering, on the cold smooth floor, my hands over my bold head. My feet are black from dirt. They are cold, haven’t been warm in a long, long time. A single ray of sunlight streams from the small opening high up in the cave’s ceiling. A prison cell. Isolation. Abandonment. Cold fury.

Most of the day I spend in the shadows, glancing at the beam of light, too afraid to go there and too afraid to stay. The instant I can bring myself to enter its radiance, I cower to protect myself from its tremendous heat and brightness. My eyes are closed, my hands and arms give little shelter and protection from its merciless intensity.

Love—Pure, uncompromising love—entering, no,
forcing its way into each and every open pore of my body. I will not look up. Here is my home, my very existence, my protection, my armor and my life. I will forever stay. My feet almost disappear into the surface of the ground. What is to gain in looking up? My eyes will bleed and blinded I will go back into the shadows from which I came.

I will not lift my eyes. I will spend eternity in here if I have to, longing for the light but too afraid to break the spell I placed upon myself.
Freedom lies not there but in here. Here, down here, I am free, for only in darkness sure protection lies.

But I have longed. I have longed since I can remember. How can I long for something and be utterly afraid of it at once? My hands are covering my ears, trying to still the sweet, sweet melody the light emits. Please let me go. I can not reach the opening high up in this my self proclaimed imprisonment. For if I could, I would close it and no ray of light would disturb my ‘peace’. So I could live forever in darkness undisturbed.

How long? How long until I will allow myself to stand, to lift my eyes and arms to welcome my most precious, most beloved self? I do not trust its gentle voice, its soft whispers. Words so ancient, spoken so long ago that I forgot their loveliness. I forgot the breath of air, the filling of my lungs with freedom’s scent. I forgot so long ago that I turned love into my enemy, freedom into imprisonment and hope into despair. ‘I love you’, it whispers, like the summer wind caressing a field of flowers in the setting sun. ‘I love you for I am you’. There is no meaning in these words.

There is too much meaning in these words.
For if I would speak them, there would be no turning back, not a single thought were to remain. My past would be gone, my future would be no more and now would be all there is.
Do I dare? Do I dare to even let the possibility, the slightest consideration enter my tomb?

Who would I be?
How would I be?
Would I be?