Family Code E-Book

Marianne E. Meyer

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 611

Beschreibung

This captivating spiritual novel is a revised edition of the autobiography "Doris Day and my Search for Relatives - Carmel Family Mystery." The reader takes part in Marianne's exciting life on four continents. Her experiences clarify that we are all interconnected and for generations, families have their value system. This code of rules, sayings and communication styles is also reflected when the family members do not know each other or are living on different continents. The bestselling author on health-care is building a bridge connecting the land of the living and the land of the dead. She shows that there is neither guilt nor coincidence or luck but cause and effect that can be poles as well as many centuries and incarnations apart. Luck, bad luck, and chance are only terms for the unrecognized law. And who does not learn will suffer. This autobiography shows how we can create our heaven on earth via health, peace, freedom, dignity and prosperity. The only thing connecting the worlds is the only meaning of life: LOVE.

Leseprobe

The information introduced in this book was carefully researched and imparted in all conscience. However, author and publisher don’t take any liability for damages of any nature that could emerge directly or indirectly from the usage or application of the data in this book.

Marianne E. Meyer Apartado 320, P-8801 Tavira

Marianne E. Meyer has already passed through many stages of life with the focus on self-help and learned: We are our own best teachers, healers, and spiritual leaders. Formerly a doctor's assistant, she later studied with a focus on family therapy and gerontology in Frankfurt. She then studied food science in the USA. The dissertation case study on immune defense and Spirulina she published in her bestseller Spirulina, das blaugrüne Wunder. The author lived 10 years in the US, intervening in Southern Hesse, Portugal, and Morocco. Until recently, she worked temporarily with maladjusted adolescents in Portugal. She is inspired by a pioneering spirit and a passionate dedication on the well-being of the people.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Visiting California after 15 years of absence

Exchange rate effect: Car dealers ticket to CA

Metaphysical phenomenon multiplication

Spirits in Hermosa Beach

Family repetition, a code from the past

Elective relatives in

Haus Tania

San Francisco's nudists and paupers

Remote relatives on Doris Day's track

From

Haus Tania

to India

Christmas trees and phosphor bombs

Philanthropic Parsis

Cutting off the tresses

Goa at long last

Dealing, healing, gambling, dreaming

Odenwald family living in the 50s

Are we the creators of disasters?

Lost in flights and Lisa's departure

Lydia's leaving & Marianne's arriving

Developing psychic powers

Perfect Psychic: Hilde bumps into John Hudson

Sermons and Neckar rides

Jocelyn Brando's writers block workshops

The

Trail of Tears

and continued chronicle

Acting class appearance

Party George and property search

Dr. Fett and our new friends

Reiki in Venice and metaphysics in Mexico

Wien in Beverly Hills & Hay in Hollywood

Dan Barton commanding the bridal

Sizzling spring after warfare winter 1991

Fire walking with Michael Big Bear

New carriers on the horizon

Easy Eye

and Malibu Inferno

George's UFO, Anza's ET and another prophecy

Attaché without a clue for taking the train

Hilde's karma uncovering

Buddhism & Reiki: Connecting past and present

Hasya and Hollywood's Poona Community

Water Code cracked?

Coming home to Berlin at last

What's on the wish list?

A little farm after all

Acknowledgments

California after 15 years of absence

Slipping back into the familiarity of a language free from the troubles of being socially befitting or sexually accurate was easy. But the ride from LAX to Pasadena in Ines' brand new BMW had not made me feel at home yet. We'd lived in the quiet Odenwald for so long. Growing older may be another factor for not using the fast lanes anymore. In the ten years of living with Peter in L.A., we had everything our ersatz-kids now own: a house with pool, fancy cars, and a good business. With the 2000charge company Ines and Wolf how he is called here made it a lot bigger, but Wolfgang told me about the constant creeping dread in his neck, that somehow it would fail.

Especially, in the US one has to be careful not to be sued. Even if you take care, the cheaters are always around the corner. Much too often, not the one who's right wins, but the one with the better lawyer. Since anything good or bad is leaping across the big pond, I just had to experience this in Germany too. A former friend whom Peter gave money for trading cars had abused my eBay account to sell a car. At the time of the deal, we were in Portugal and thus had never made any contract with any buyer nor cashed in any money. Still, I had to take back a car that I'd never touched. The first judge had ruled in my favor, but the tricky prosecuting party made it at the higher court. I now realize why my friend's daughter refused to be a lawyer and became a district attorney: The plaintiff's attorney purposely cheated me. He knew I was innocent. My solace if things go wrong is the existence of the highest court: the cosmic law. Since we can't get around this eye for an eye thing, I may have been the wrongdoer in a past life and thus have to deal with the cheaters this time.

The ride from Pasadena to Carmel was a nice change, also for the smoothly humming sports car. No way, I envy Ines for driving the route from Pasadena to LAX in her sleep. How often had I picked up guests from the airport? It's amazing, how many people had known us while living in L.A. One day after we'd a full house and no clean bed linen left, I enjoyed my solitude while restoring the house. A couple I'd met only once popped by and asked if they could stay over on their last day in California!

I'm very thankful for this, Ines.

With a twinkle in her eyes, she said:

It's my pleasure. Yeah, let's have fun. For you, it'll be a nice change, too. I truly admire your energy. Taking care of a big house with no help, two girls, a company where you are the what? Instructor. I train the employees. Oh here, let's have the best Hamburgers.

I thought TGIF had the best. Must be new. Typical white with red: stands for clean and fast. Three hours later, the M3 rushed through one of the most prolific areas of America. Steinbeck's home. Yum! Onion odor!

In the early eve, we arrived at the white Mediterranean dog-friendly bed & breakfast hotel Doris Day had purchased jointly with Denny LeVett. She may have had a similar motive as my mother who initiated building a guesthouse to have a livelihood for her son.

Ines had booked two beautiful rooms with king size beds in the Cypress Inn; mine had a view over a snug secluded patio.

I grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and opened a nut bag, abstaining from the other treat in the exquisite crystal bottle: a complimentary sherry as I'd later read in the guest book. But walking around the corner in the Carmel June breeze that felt like a gentle German January wind, I said, I should have taken a sip to warm up. Though, the red wine at the nearby crowded restaurant also helped. We had plenty of time to read all the honors the Italian chef had earned and actually, my salmon tasted excellent.

Next morn, I walked down, communed with a friendly Golden Retriever and helped myself at the breakfast buffet. The big screen above showed a scene from Please, Don't Eat the Daisies: Doris sitting across David Niven on a kitchen table. I was blown away by Doris's mimicry and moves reminding me of my mother's. My eyes filled with tears. Like a cry of remembrance flashed my mother's eyes through me. Slowly, the tears trickled down my cheeks. In the last half year of grieving, I had not cried truer. I missed my mother's loving eyes, the touch of her hand, her bell light voice she'd kept even in her 80th years.

I placed myself by the window under a photo, where Doris posed as the rambunctious, pistol-packing prairie girl Calamity Jane.

I'd read in her biography that this was one of her favorite movies, but it caused her nervous breakdown apparently from the physical “high jinks of jumping on horses, bars, wagons, and belligerent men or doing pratfalls in muddy streams...”. Her following trouble breathing with terrible heart palpitations and fear of serious illness caused her deep depression. Because she'd not appeared at the Academy Awards singing the award-winning song Secret Love got her the annual Sour Apple Award from the Hollywood Woman's Press Club.

Ines joined me, cheering me up. After taking some pics of the interior, I flipped through the Cypress Inn's service book and found a dog sitter list. If I would live in the area, I'd love to do the job too.

Later we found a shop where I got large printouts of photos from Doris's Neckar relatives. We'd posed for her on the ferry in Neckarhäuserhof near Heidelberg.

Sitting opposite the bar at Edgar's staring at the big screen and the Quail Lodge golf course I enjoyed my delicious Caesar's salad. However, the food was not my central concern. I said to Rudy, I know Doris uses to lunch here every day. I'm a relative and would like to meet her. I'm sorry, said the bartender, since about a year, Doris doesn't come anymore. Oh, bad news. However, we enjoyed Rudy Gazudy's positive energy for another while. The name addition he got from Doris. He said she'd come because I took care of her privacy. I bet it was your warm smile and the way to make people feel comfortable. I guess, we can't do more than trying to find her house.

You can see it from the restaurant terrace. Ten minutes later we thought to have found the famous dog lover's place. The light fittings had cut out bones and other dog ornaments on the wall of the large premises. Leaving a note to be back in two days we left for Palo Alto where my other ersatz-daughter awaited us.

In the eve we were pampered at the Matta house. Next morn after we'd carried all the goodies from the kitchen to the garden table I said:

Wow, just like in the ad. Piles of vitamins.

More than you use to serve? Mandira asked with a funny facial expression. I shrugged off.

Where is Madhu? Still making coffee.

I know it tastes better in those fancy coffee makers but isn't the old-fashioned way less stress and less moldy? Right.

You're lucky. Madhu is such a darling. Yesterday he really worked his ass off. Wasn't it an outstanding dinner?

Yeah, he's great in the kitchen.

With a big smile on his face, Madhu came out to us in the sun carrying two mugs of steaming brown. I indulged in papaya pieces, sliced salmon on a roll and scrambled eggs. Half through the breakfast, I began to crochet again. It's hard for me to sit still and I had promised to finish Shiv's cap.

Madhu asked, so what are we doing today?

Lose our hearts in San Francisco? I suggested. Common consensus from all corners.

How far is it from here? Some 30 miles. Just behind the door. I made the last stitchery on the cap. Waving to the 12-year-old lad in the Hollywood-swing I said: Ta-ta, done!

Madhu said: You are amazing.

Whatever that means. I walked to the lad and put the cap on his head. With braces smiling he left it on. I need a photo for my potential cap business. I got such a lovely letter from Doris thanking me for her darling cap she was wearing all winter. Since the students from Baden are doing well with their Hatnut online store born on Baden's river of Neckar I may too.

Speaking of business, Ines went to the guest room to check on her E-mails. While the kids carried the dishes back to the kitchen, Madhu said, turning down his mellow voice:

Marianne, I don't know how close you are with Ines and... do you get along with her daughters? With the Indian way of waving my head, I said, I'm okay, thanks. I just want to let you know to feel free to come to us; the flights are cheap. That's very kind of you. If I don't meet Doris on our way back, I might do that. Mandira asked:

What do you want to accomplish by meeting her? Just see her. I want to find my father's relatives. How? Good question. I thought I'd already found one in the Hollywood Hills when Ingrid had sent me to the ex-wife of Al Ruddy. He is the producer of The Godfather.

Huh? Hasya's size, physique, hair color, eyes reminded me of my grandmother's. And during the group action, she'd often pinned me with a piercing glance. It was strange when she gave me the longest farewell hug of my life. If I wouldn't have left California shortly after ... anyway, I didn't contact Hasya again. Maybe Doris knows a lot of people in the area. She lives in Carmel since the early eighties. Her friend was even mayor there.

Clint Eastwood. Uh-huh. What I experienced in Hermosa Beach ... it's too important to bury. The oddity of both my parents' relatives living in Carmel could be the trim for the tale. Huh?

I don't believe the spirits visiting were droll ghosts making fun of me. What they told me, may be of interest for all of us. In what way? The overall message was mankind can't survive if we go on exploiting our planet and treating ourselves, each other and all creatures the way we do. That's nothing new. You know the joke? Two planets meet. The first one asks: How are you? Not so well, the second answered, I've got the Homo Sapiens. Don't worry, the other replied, I had the same, that will soon pass!

Yes, our ancient old suffering is based on failed experiments of mankind with nature. Most people think after me the flood.

True. But what can you do? We all need to know that the soul is immortal and if we lead bad lives we have to come back to our created mess. If we cheat we'll be cheated; an eye for an eye ... yeah but people don't care. Right, but finding my fathers' folks would prove my spirit experience. It would make people aware that the death of consciousness doesn't exist. Um! Don't you think if people realize they're surrounded by spirits they would lead better lives? Maybe.

I don't believe in chances. Maybe our living in California had been orchestrated by the spirit world. I don't know. My experiments with Ernst Braun and his water crystal photos made me crystal clear that souls communicate with us via water.

I don't understand. The spiritual world tries always to support us and to interact with us if we pay attention. We ... on my mother’s side ... we perceive more than most people.

Madhu said: I know, second sight, but what's the use? Oh, it can be very useful. How so?

Once, my brother was with his handball pals in Paris. They left their hotel, drove around, stopped at several places and got lost. Well?

Suddenly my brother had a 3-dimensional map of Paris in front of his 3rd eye. He directed the perplexed driver to the hotel on a different route. And via my metaphysical experience, I got information on the field of water knowledge. What water knowledge?

You'd need the background information from my new water book to help accept the concept of soul energy and subtle vibrations of thoughts or feelings crystallized in water. It only recently crossed my mind that my early love was the artistic designer of my water crystal photos. Huh? I was engaged with Edmond Dembinski for 18 months. He was a waiter, but I believed in his artistic talent and got him to the art. He had vernissages in all large European cities. So, he may have created many of my soul stars.

Huh? He passed on in 2002. Strangely enough, his art is full of signs symbolizing beauty. They are also warning signals to take care of the environment! My great-grandfather's message was all about that too.

But how do you want to find your folks?

In 1902, my father's grandfather emigrated from the Hanau area. I could look through photo albums of Victor families with German roots. I still see him clear before my inner eye. But what do you want from them? I looked puzzled. Giggling, I answered, certainly, no alimony paid in arrears for my grandmother. It's just ... when you undergo something like that ... if my ancestors had only come to greet me in our first apartment in California would they've given me the lecture of my life? Changing the subject, Mandira said: I don't remember, why did you come to California in the first place? Business reasons, but I'm not sure anymore! My thoughts drifted a quarter century back.

Exchange rate effect: Car dealers ticket to California

Most people emigrate out of economical reasons. We were no exception. You know we'd lived in the house in Frankfurt-Bergen.

Yeah, I remember the park like premises. Yep, we sold new luxury cars to Americans.

When the Dollar dropped, we were out of business. So we thought about another way to make ends meet. We'd seen a lot of rust free scrap metal on wheels in the three months we'd spend in California in the early 80s. Peter flew to L. A. and looked for suitable cars. Eventually, he was weary of the constant flying. So in 1986/87 we emigrated to L. A. and changed the country and also from import to export.

Just like that? No, before we decided to stay for good, we had a trial period. I'd have saved the rent for the house in Bergen. As a Sagittarius, I'm flexible and adapt to changes fast. But for my parents, it was easier to get used to losing us. My mother drove to Frankfurt twice a month to check on the house. Sometimes my father accompanied her, and they had little vacations. In these months, they slowly got used to the thought of having to let us go.

Where'd you go live? In motels and about five weeks at Jerry's house. What Jerry?

The Veteran who lost his leg in Germany.

Oh, I know, the guy with those blue eyes.

Yes. He hadn't even taken anything from us only the gifts from the German pharmacies. Huh? The geriatric pills from the famous Romanian Dr. Aslan worked wonders.

How'd you met Jerry? I'd kind of adopted him in the early eighties when he showed strong interest in our Mercedes convertible I'd offered on the car market in Frankfurt. We had given up our car lots, but we still bought fancy cars and sold them to dealers, through papers and magazines or at car swap markets. Jerry's fellow traveler, car dealer Jim Keller had talked him into shipping German cars to California. He tempted him with the reward of doubling his money. Aha!

At this moment I sensed the chance to scout the US since Peter wouldn't simply fly to a foreign country and explore it just for fun. No? Why not? We would never have visited India if you had not lived there. That's why I lured the Californians to our home. The words, I’ve got two other nice cars at home I'll make you a package deal opened Pandora’s box. The men followed me to Haus Tania.

Peter sold them a green sedan and took them to our favorite Italian restaurant for dinner. Next day I cooked salmon, sauerkraut and home fries for Jerry since he didn’t get fish with Kraut at the Altänchen. Why not? Good question. They were selling herring next to their fatty pork food. So he ordered fish and sauerkraut, the grease on the side, please. The waitress didn't get the joke and was offended by Jerry's order. He said: She truly seemed pissed off. How can they sell their stuff if they treat their guests like shit? I told him that Germans are used to being treated rudely. The reason you'll find in history books.

He said you have to come to the US! There you'll be treated like a king. I'd love to. Sure, come over, you can stay with us. So my cooking earned me a ticket to the Wild West but finally it was quite costly.

That I know.

I thought about our pleasant days. At the flea market on the river of Main, Jim bought some antique clocks, and I detected Jerry’s love for swap meets. During this week Jim put a bee in the bonnet by telling Peter with exporting fancy cars you can double or triple your money.

Not much later, we crossed the big pond. Peter wanted to make quick money by exporting European quality autos to the US. I suggested to test the procedure of converting to American regulations with only two cars. Sending me a ridiculing look, he said: It'd be not profitable and not worth the effort to start with in the first place. So my daring fortune hunter invested our money in mostly convertibles and shipped them across the ocean.

We followed later to keep a strict eye on the conversion specialist. Without any doubt, we had a great time with his family. We also had the opportunity to stay in the condo owned by Leonard Bernstein's brother in Escondido for a weekend. I asked Jonathan, who took care of business to get Mr. Bernstein to trade his condo with our green Panther J 72. Regrettably the deal fell through. Peter wasn't interested in taking in any real estate. He said anything immovable makes us immobile. A few months later, EPA and DOT were still not satisfied with the technical modifications and exhaust standards. Thus we returned to Europe empty handed.

Before we left the USA, Peter appointed Max Högele to sell our cars. He had a tiny house with a fenced lot in Venice between Lincoln and Strand. Our fellow countryman was rather into smoking pot. His eyes popped out of his head after choking attacks. Max only sold a champagne metallic Mercedes convertible to a film director at Twentieth Century Fox. For Max, selling this car seemed to have been too much work. So he chose an easier way, taking off with another SL and was never seen again. The rest of the cars we had to ship back to Europe.

Yes, I remember.

Then we started on the roller coaster ride all over again. When the Dollar was at its peak, we had enough money back to buy a new Mercedes and got bank credits for some more. They sold like hot cakes. When the dollar dropped again, we imported vintage cars. Then we figured it would be more fun to emigrate to L.A. and change from import to export. What did you do with your furnishings?

Some of our furniture we were able to sell. The rest landed in my mother’s huge bedroom and the adjacent attic. Both our tomcats had to stay in Michelstadt until we bought a house. Back in California, we found an apartment in walking distance to the beach. With plenty of cash, we were like most Germans not used to plastic. So we had no credit line and the manager said, you need somebody to vouch for you. Peter wanted to pay for months in advance. Sandi said that won't work. Finally, Jerry guaranteed for us.

Peter's partner Bernd Bonello was the founder of the Markt, a German magazine for classic autos. He lived in a rented trailer in an exquisite trailer park in the harbor area in Newport Beach. Peter didn't want to squeeze his 6.3 feet in such cramped conditions. We think differently today since life is taking place mostly outside. Back then we preferred our apartment in Hermosa Beach. We were happy there. I'd go for it even today. Since everything's in walking distance, supermarket, post office, library, bookstore and tennis courts. Apropos, I saw Steffi a 5 min ride from us in Manhattan Beach beating Martina and ranking #1 for the first time. I also snapped the baffled Martina in her typical cleaning specs stance. The only disadvantage of living in the bay area is the May gray and the June gloom, due to the marine layer. Too often, the sun loses her battle against the murk, while victorious just a mile inland.

Facing the pool from our sized living room, it was quite entertaining and Peter's belly, grown during the weeks without sports, melted. Except for the bed, we had the used furniture from our friend Hans-Jürgen's liquidated law office in Beverly Hills. He borrowed us a fancy leather couch, an antique flap table, 2 lamps and two stylish seats. Some household goods, I took from Jerry's garage. To repay him for having us, I systematized it so at least his silver Mercedes did fit in. The relentless California sun can be especially harsh on this metallic color. I worked all day, stapling the bargains our friend had hunted for by strolling through the swap meet. Jerry made me take anything of use for us. What a great feeling of freedom after 35 days of using our friend's space. Though, it had been mostly only nights due to the long ride from and to work. I loved my first walk-in closet. We even had a German speaking Torrance policeman as a second manager. The nicest cop, I'd ever met. Walter's mother lived in Bavaria. Our first manager was a petite lady in her late fifties. She always carried a slight vodka breeze like a streaming banner behind her. If I wanted the key to the gym, I'd to go to Sandi but didn't want her to feel caught in the very act of boozing.

In these days, I learned a lot about the American way of life. We used to consider the Yanks as being wasteful, but it is just the system and the way things are handled leading to wasting energy. At first, we were astonished about the 850 dollars rent for a 1 bedroom apartment. Our flat in Frankfurt was larger and less expensive, but we had to pay extra for electricity, heating and water. Of course, if everything is included we use more. I wasn't much different from the US citizens. I indulged in a bubble bath almost every winter day, possibly the reason I had prophetic and past life dreams more than ever. At least Goethe used spa therapy because he realized that the heavenly messages had flown better.

In the morning, we used to walk to the beach and had breakfast at Good Stuff. Peter drove with his red Mustang Convertible to the office right after. I did some housework and shopping first. One morning at the checkout at Von's, stacks of the same book caught my attention. I recognized the famous actress on the front page and was stunned: Shirley McLaine writes, too! Impulsively, I bought Out on a Limb and took the printing to the office. My spontaneous actions had accelerated after my connection to the Reiki energy, a millenarian old cosmic healing system, rediscovered by Mikao Usui.

Following the initiation, I sensed a strong feeling of being as if a different spirit accompanied me. From stop light to stop light, I forced my streamlined convertible forward.

A feat feeling centered in my body like in my childhood when I'd fallen in love with my cousin's toy cab. Passing through the tunnel of LAX airport, my heart extended to higher spheres. I'd arrived at home again. There was no doubt in my mind we had done the right thing coming to California. I only missed seeing my mother but our letters crossed the Atlantic three times a week, and she'd planned to visit us for one or two months every year.

Metaphysical phenomenon multiplications

At the office, I flipped through the pages. Wow! The woman has guts, writing about her experiences with spirits and extraterrestrials. That could take away her career. What would I have to lose by informing my fellow students about my unlikely? In California, almost everybody can tell stories about own metaphysical experiences. Riding on the crest of the health wave, I had quit drinking coffee and alcohol as well as eating meat. In the library's computer, I found more than one hundred studies on coffee. Alas, I had not searched for one that makes one get off the black poison without withdrawal symptoms.

My main foods were salads and vegetables. I got pimples, which I never had in my youth. Later, I accepted them as detox symptoms. Back then, I blamed the L.A. smog. I had more prophetic visions than ever. Most true dream contents became a reality in the following days. Also, so-called coincidences began rushing through my life with metaphysical speed. I thought about someone and right away he or she called. One morn I woke up with the remnants of a dream and asked Peter: Do you know an Oliver? Nope.

I dreamed about a young man named Oliver.

Well, I guess I better watch out ... no joke, he showed me a one page commercial for a stereo sound system in the Stern magazine. It was himself, dressed as a bird seller. A few days later in the office Bernd said, I've to pick up Oliver from LAX. He wants to work for us. An hour later, a tall blond man arrived showing us the very photo I saw in my dream.

On Friday, May 13, 1988, we flew back to dissolve our house In this night, I conceived. I knew it at once. In the following dream, strangely enough, it was on Mother's Day, I took our blond boy to my former prof who also headed the Family Counseling at the Jewish Community. Günther glanced at him: Is this your boy? Yeah, he caused me no pain at all. Three months after the dream, we visited friends at a pond site near Limburg. I held my belly and said, I'm expecting a son, but Peter said, he only wants a girl, a boy he'll throw into the garbage. I knew he didn't mean it. Peter often says strange things. He must have been reminded of his wild sons he had to take care of when he was still a kid himself. Talking rubbish may be an Aquarius thing, too. Modern Talking Dieter Bohlen, also born in early February proves it every week on TV.

Whenever I said to my mother, I'm not sure if I can stand this forever, she soothed me, come on let him talk, other than that he's a good sort.

Our rich friend Karl-Dieter said don't worry, if Peter doesn't want the boy, I'll take care of him. An hour later, the problem was solved by itself. Or by me? Could I have avoided the miscarriage? Had I forced it subconsciously? I was standing on one side of a wooden board. Kids jumped onto the other side forcing me to hop up abruptly. I felt a pull in my lower abdomen and our son I had named Jan Jasper went back home waiting for our return.

I'd asked myself if I'd only imagined this. But whenever a person had tried to read from my hand, he or she said you've two children, the incise on the root of your little finger shows it. I remember another time missing my menses for 3 months. When I did my apprenticeship at the emergency doctor I had to do a lot of x-rays without radiation measuring devices.

On Friday eve I put on my just finished sweater in a red, gray and white material mix. It was pitch dark and time to leave for the reader circle when Carlo with a drumming staccato of his paws demanded the kitchen glass door to be opened. I left the lighted living room. Energy conscious I didn't switch on the light when entering the kitchen saying: Why don't you go upstairs you lazy son of a gun?

Our two tomcats had the freedom to leave the house through a gap from the bedroom door. Of course, it was easier to order me to the kitchen than to get up the steps and down on the tree attaching the garage terrace. I opened the glass door a bit, waited a few secs and closed it again. Passing the kitchen table, I felt something warm on my chest. Touching the area, I noticed the wet and detected the attacker on the table, peeing at me. Pissed off Carlo had developed this attitude when our landlady Margot Weber next door made a shrimp salad for a party. Carlo had smelled the seafood and meowed his heart out. She had opened him and filled a bowl with milk. Carlo took this as an affront and approached her brand new couch. With his lifted tail he discharged a strong jet onto the floral print. Instead of ranting and raving, Mrs. Weber got quite excited by realizing the reason. She laughed her heart out and rewarded him for his nasty behavior with a few shrimp!

Of course, this reaction made Carlo adapt the pissing manner in order to get what he wanted. I hurried up and changed. I could not show my new sweater but had a funny story to tell. With the German edition of Out on a Limb, I'd purchased for my mother, I headed for my last literature group meeting and was curious about my former fellow students and our hosts' reactions.

Günther and Gisela sort of represented our progenitors. Sometimes, parents have problems granting their kids the freedom to stand on their own feet. Members of other groups may have disengaging difficulties, too. Günther Feldmann, one of the faculty members of the Goethe University in Frankfurt may have established the reading circle so he could see the most familiar of his students twice a month. During a colloquium, he invited me to the Friday eve's literature event he had set up with his life companion Gisela. Had I also joined out of detaching problems? When the joy regarding the tops diploma grades had faded, the connection to the Uni seemed lost. As long as I was still able to look in the known faces, I kept a part of the university activities, the solidarity spirit, the stimulating discussions, and the feeling of being young and free.

Sitting around the table, amply set with plates of cakes and cookies the initial small talk started. Günther ended it with the query: who has anything to read? I said, I'd like to read a few pages of Shirley MacLaine's book Zwischenleben (Out on a Limb). Gisela said, why, I didn't know she writes, too. I like her acting. So she may be a good writer too. Yes, and you'll be one of the first Germans to learn something different about her. The paperback in German just came out. As an awakening sensitive, she steadily reflects upon her life. Shirley came across spiritual helpers and friends who guided her to greater consciousness. I started reading the part where the medium Kevin Ryerson went into a trance, and two different ethereal entities came through. In distinct speaking demeanor expressions, they answered Shirley's questions and wonderfully explained the meaning of existence.

Perplexed silence followed the reading. Some of the attendees intently studied their cake plates others kept their eyes closed in brooding mode. A minute passed. We could have heard a pin falling. While reading, there was also no single sound of impatience: no chair shifting or clearing of throats. So at least the subconscious was engaged. Nobody seemed to have been bored. Yet the unspoken question hovered in the air and was readable in the consternating faces. Why did she confront us with this? What has it to do with our reality? Was it a mistake to release this other world on them? Had I expected them to share my enthusiasm about the power of the universe and men? Not even Professor Nietzsche from Basel was understood when with Zarathustra he released his second sight onto his startled equals.

My friends were partly atheists or agnostics, skeptic individualists. If they'd ever been worshipers caught up in concepts and liturgies, they'd outgrown it. I'm not against any religion if it helps people to radiate love and goodness, but the senses of most mortals seem extinguished. As if they have lost trust in their inner wisdom and listening to their inner voice. The only jurist of the group digested the amazement first. Why'd you choose this reading?

It's my reality right now. I thought since we are going to live in California and I may never see you again, I wanted to show you a side of me, you had not known. The spiritual is part of life, not only the things you can see and touch. Or how do you explain that: I dream about an occurrence and a few days, weeks or months later it happens just like envisioned. Why! That happens by chance, said Wolfgang.

What chance is it, when my mother at age 12 dreamed about the death of an old neighbor and the next day she had died and everything was like in her dream.

Okay. But what's the use?

Oh, it can be very useful if we listen to our inner voice. It just happened the last time when we flew back to Germany. Peter walked with the suitcase towards the car and was about to open the trunk. I shouted, put it in the backseat. Why? Dunno. Peter didn't listen and broke the key. That's a coincidence! I still think it's a belief. Belief! If you wouldn't know anything about the metamorphosis of a red caterpillar into a fluttering moth, would you believe, if I tell you by showing you a larva that it'll turn into a beautiful butterfly?

This reasoning yielded admitting sounds and shining eyes. So why should we not be able to incarnate in different bodies, too?

What difference does it make if I know or not? The difference is, if you know you've to come back, you'd stop living like after me the flood. If cheaters or murderers would know they'd to come back and live through the same misery they've caused their fellow humans ...

Superstition, there is no proof. Would the world not be a better place if we knew good and bad comes back to us? Would the tormenter not think twice if he knew, he'd be the victim next time around? That's the meaning of an eye for an eye. As a legal expert, you should know earthly justice often errs. That's different.

Isn't it a relief that there's a properly working universal law? Whatever we do is gathered in a kind of library. Nonsense. I bet, in a few years, you'll change your mind.

I don't think so. I thought like you before. You may have just gotten rid of your internalized Christian or Semitic principles, and now I come with such! But don't we all recognize the works of Fowler, Piaget, and Erikson? So?

They show that only the ones reach the highest stage of the conscious life, who actively go on to search for the truth. In California, you can talk to everyone about the metaphysical who can mostly offer their own occult experiences. I met a young woman who's uncle appeared to his widow as spirit and told her about the whereabouts of important documents she then found. I also met a woman who had an operation by an ESP surgeon. Nobody said anything. I felt rejected. At least I had expected some regard and to have gained respect all these years as an earnest person. Daniela cleared her throat and said:

Em, I didn't want to talk about this outside the family anymore. Huh? I've also prophetic dreams: mostly accidents and other negatives, but I'd never prevented anything by telling my friends what I saw in my nightly visions. So I don't speak about it anymore only to Herbert. With his nodding, the former reverend cleared his Swiss-born psychologist wife. Of course, he had witnessed Daniela's metaphysical experiences as Peter gets to know mine all the time.

Daniela said, there's something else: Whenever anyone in my family dies, a crystal glass in my vitrine breaks apart without touching it.

Eagerly I said, a similar experience had Renée, my friend's daughter. She was 12, when a box of bird feed flew in a high bow from the shelf, rattling down to the ground. Renée screamed, Uschi hurried to her room. What's up? Something terrible must have happened. I think a spirit has thrown the box. An hour later the phone rang, and Uschi learned about her stepbrother's passing. By the way, when Uschi was her daughter's age or even younger, she felt earthquakes thousand miles away.

Once, when I stayed overnight, I saw her grabbing the rail of her bed, looking odd and asking, didn't you feel that? Some hours later, in the news, another temblor was announced. All these experiences seemed to have no effect on our friends. They had not generated our knowledge by experience, so they were confused. Maybe, they'd not recovered from the archetypical fear of the witches terrors. But it cannot be denied that globally psychiatrists and parapsychologists demonstrate that prophecies lived up to and mediumistic transmissions from the ether help to master certain situations and ills. E. g., Ian Stevenson did studies with kids who spontaneously talked about their past lives and showed connected psychological and physical characteristics.

Of course, our group of 10 persons may not be representative. But if two out of ten have mediumistic abilities a good guess might be millions of Germans avoid being laughed at. Why do US citizens have more self-confidence than Germans? This is certainly due to the different socialization. Poverty and hunger were less known among the many self-sufficient US farmers. Looking at the Kraut's history controlled by gangster governments, their state of mind must not be questioned. The German serfdom towards authorities and institutions is based on historical injustice: outrageous deliveries of small farmers to feudal men. Even now few people can afford to own land. But German counts can still count on millions of taxpayers euros if they cannot afford to restore their castles. Biographies from "good old times" state how intelligent and professional people in degrading ways had to fawn to get a badly paid job. Germans used to discipline and order learned to obey and act according to orders; for corrupt seducers an invitation for manipulation.

The two lost world wars and twice the loss of savings by currency reforms were not conducive to generate confidence either. The date of the last reparation payment from World War I was on October 1, 2010, to the day exactly 12 years after my father had left his body. What have the Americans so far paid to Vietnam for reparation? What have they paid to the thousands by the defoliation agent orange physically and mentally crippled Vietnamese? NADA! They constantly repeat the shame of the Holocaust in films and reports without ever coping with the genocide of Northamerican natives, still treated as second-class people. US students learn about their "superiority" in school. A friend was brought up in the US. For her, it was hell to visit Dachau with her school class.

Germans reappraise their dark history instead of suppressing it. An anniversary day of shame would do US citizens also good. To compensate the half a million Vietnamese, who like the man in the photo suffering from the consequences of Agent Orange, would be long overdue. Since the poison is still in the food cycle, it is estimated that even two to four million people are affected by the sequelae. There is no point to sue the almighty US or corporations. The Europeans, should they be as stupid as to agree to the Free Trade Agreement with the USA (TTIP) without ifs and buts will learn it too. To sue for damages is a US domain. How it goes knows every child. Those of the young Americans who do not yet know what they want to study take law. On the other hand, complaints are hardly in the interest of the traditionally subservient South Vietnamese and their economic dependence on the USA. Justice should be called for by a global community. But the US itself did not pay the 2.4 billion US dollars for military and paramilitary actions in and against Nicaragua despite being sentenced to pay by the International Court of Justice in The Hague. The US themselves sent judges to the Court. Doesn't mean superiority integrity?

And why are Germans different?

The indoctrination of hundreds of years had stirred up anxiety and benumbed the inner voice. But we better pace angst-free, healthy and happy through life. Instead of listening to priests, politicians, physicians, scientists and other authorities we better trust our feelings. Searching people are in the catch-22 situation because the church conceals a lot and scientists are avoiding to prove the soul. The above psychiatrist Stevenson, as well as Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and Raymond A. Moody and few other scientists count to the laudable exceptions. It will be beneficial for humankind if science finally includes the spiritual in all research fields. Let's hope we don't need another Sodom and Gomorrah to wake up and build a heaven on earth.

At the university, we had acknowledged the reputable Swiss scientist's work. So, at the end of the eighties, when her research results had been published in the LA Times, I'd been certain that the world would recognize there's no dying. Dr. Kübler-Ross proved that we only change the life form. She sat on beds of dying persons, usually kids who like their family members were involved in disasters, mostly car accidents.

On the verge of making their transition, she asked them about their experiences. For instance, the kids said: Mama and Peter are waiting for me. The dying only named family members who were already on the other side and never the ones who survived the accidents. Many of the studies on deathbeds had been witnessed by hundreds of students in the auditorium. The scientist had also sat at the deathbed of a dying woman who was blind for many of her last years. When her time had come, she was able to see again and answered questions about the color of the scientist's blouse and the amount of buttons it had. Dr.Kübler-Ross had proved beyond a reasonable doubt that though our frail bodies someday will turn to dust, our spirit never dies. Her research results may not be common, but many of us have personal experiences about this natural event. My mother told me, that as a toddler I talked about strange things, though she had not remembered anything. I recall at least one happening, I certainly tried to tell her. I'd gotten a glossy colorful ball on my 2nd birthday and hopped out of the house with it. Passing the steep street off ours, I saw a girl down on the corner of Hieronymus St. making a sign to throw the ball. I thought she wanted to play with me, so I dropped it. The girl lifted her apron, caught my lovely present and vanished northward. I was shocked, beside me. Abruptly hovering above, I emotionless looked down on the little girl and figured there's nothing left to do for her than to go home.

I don't recall ghost meets, but my grandnephews had contacts with spirit relatives: Tall Moritz with Oma Maria's half-brother Christian who lost his life in the Russian campaign. For two years Jonas (right) had gotten in touch with Simon, a brother lost as a fetus. Jonas made me happy when he was talking about his older brother Simon. Someday I also may see my kids whom I lost. Jan Jasper would be 28 now. In Jon Mc Gregor's novel "If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things" I read about a Buddhist temple south of Tokyo with hundreds of rows of similar looking little Buddha statues and all have names. Mother's go there when they'd an abortion or lost a fetus or a newborn. They bring tiny clothes, sweets and little gifts. Though the temple may be fiction, I visualize me going there for Kai and Jan.

In a Donahue Show, in the eighties, I learned about this process of babies developing further in the ether: A surgeon lost a little girl on the operating table. She came back saying: I've been in a beautiful park with my dog and my older brother. The doc who knew his patient was an only child asked the girl's mother. Blankly, she said, I had lost my son as a baby, but I'd never told my daughter about it.

Spirits in Hermosa Beach

Back on the Pacific Coast, we enjoyed our new habitat. It was a mild Californian winter day when Peter left the apartment while I allowed myself a little time after the domestic work and drove to a secondhand bookstore. Studying the book’s backs, I grabbed one on automatic writing from the shelf when the adjacent booklet by Lynne Palmer fell right into my hands. The title Your Lucky Days & Numbers awakened my curiosity. The astrologer writes, in a house with #11 or the total of the digits respectively, the chances to experience t he occult are utmost. People who live there are used to be interested in utopia research. Not only our house number 1820 amounted to 11 we also lived in apartment 11. No wonder, I thought walking back to the Toyota. For the first time, I consciously checked on the number plate: 1 ESP 660! Wow! Why hadn't I realized this earlier? The three letters accustomed in California were: ESP! The shortcut for Extra Sensory Perception referred to me. And the total of the digits amounted to 4, Peter's birth number: adding day, month and year and cross count. So it seemed our first car had chosen us! Ever since our license plate numbers were fitting us.

Entering the apartment a Freesia smell swept over me! Walking through the rooms, I wondered about the floral scent. No flowers anyplace. Somewhere I'd read the floral smells announce a spiritual visitation. But nothing happened all evening. I woke to a knocking. Sleep drunken, fussy and panicky, I realized that the dawn had not even begun to cast its shadows. Did I hear wrongly? Who could want anything from us at this ungracious hour? All kinds of Kafka’s obscure and threatening descriptions were rushing through my gray matter. Without any warning, a medium aged woman in white and a lean elder man appeared in the door frame of our bedroom. The female’s mellow round face surrounded by medium blond curls stood in striking contrast to the man’s oblong one with graying dark brown hair, bushy eyebrows and side whiskers. The woman pointed to the tall man in anthracite pants and light blue shirt and said: That's him. He adopted the name Dieter Victor and used to live in the Carmel area.

Instantly, I knew this was my great-grandfather! Ad lib, I began a lively conversation without saying a single word. Whenever a question started forming in my mind, the spirit visitors answered in a split second. Their vivid descriptions of the meaning of life, the ongoing projects on other heavenly bodies and the careless way we treat our nourishing planet touched me deeply.

Humankind straightens rivers and causes flooding. Mining is ruinous exploitation. Mortals must be conscious of the fact that the earth needs its coal and metal for the water to become fully developed and for the soil to mature. There is free energy available not harming the planet and its living being. But this natural power is suppressed by calculating, irresponsible and ignorant individuals. With the continuous use of fossil combustibles, chemical herbicides, and genetically modified foods humankind is withdrawing itself from the foundation of life and ruining the earth. This concerns the inhabitants of many other planets since with the destruction of a planet the universe loses its equilibrium.

Moved by the overwhelming abundance of data about the inexhaustible wisdom and simplicity of all things of creation, I thought about writing down everything I grasped. At this moment, the ethereal woman said, we must go now. Pale light shimmered through the break of the negligently drawn bedroom curtain. All of a sudden an icy cold wind inflated the fabric like a sail at high seas. Both spirits vanished as abruptly as they appeared.

Quite confused, I looked around and wondered about the sudden bright daylight when Peter's terrified voice reached me.

What's wrong with you? He'd bent over me.

Why? You looked dead. You didn’t breathe.

Didn’t you see those two? Peter looked at me doubtfully. I must have scared him. Just what had happened? I heard a knock and was upset by the disturbance. The beings in the door frame. Why had Peter not seen them?

Somewhere, I guess it was in the Steiner writings, I had read: Everything below on the material level also exists above. I apparently once again had left the physical plane in order to communicate on the immaterial one. I faintly remembered the long marches to the line keeper’s lodge when I was a little girl. On one of those, my grandmother Maria had told me about her having a different father than her siblings. I could not remember any specifics from what she had said and picked up my red day book from the desk next to my bed. But, considering the mass of information, there was not much left in my mind from the lecture of my life. I even wasn't certain anymore if I remembered my ancestor’s name correctly. However, it made me aware that there's no dying truly that we still go on living, just without the ballast of the body.

Shortly after, my mother called: If you want to have me, I could come to visit you beginning of February. Oh, good, I'm glad. Me too, but I've to be back for Andreas' confirmation. When is it? March 13. Hey, I still have an open ticket. I think I'll fly with you. Oh! Good. For how long? Two weeks at the most. Peter needs me. Better than nothing.

We purchased a custom made couch that turned into a very comfy double bed with an extra thick mattress. We were delighted about those sofa manufacturing stores. We took the model we liked best, choose the fabric and the best mattress and paid not more than an ordinary couch would have cost in Germany. But it wasn't my mother who initially slept there but a customer from Tokyo.

The young dentist had bought a Mercedes convertible from us the previous year and wanted to visit us in Frankfurt. Reaching the house on the hill, our former landlady told him, the Meyers moved to California. He said, no problem, I'll visit them there. I want to buy jet skis anyway. Another funny coincidence with Japs: Marita and Willie, another happy customer couple who became good friends after buying a Mercedes from us. We had purchased it from the Japanese embassy. Some 300thousand kilometers later two Japanese car engineers bought the car for more than it was worth just because it had a high mileage. They wanted to study the wear of the engine, axle shaft, gear etc. My numerology study results: Willie's birth number is a 6, the luckiest one.

Ma arrived two days before Peter's birthday. Long before the dawn, I heard her rumbling in the kitchen. I groped for my glasses, put them on and tiptoed tiredly to her. She held her forearms under the faucet and let cold water run over them. On the gas flame stood a pot with water. Is it the jet lag? I glanced at the clock: It's only five!

Jesus, that was close. My mother's dramatic voice alarmed me. What's with you? I forgot my heart pills in the morning and in the evening. Why? Flying westwards it was never dark. I've not thought about taking them she said with a forgiving smile. Jeez! couldn't feel my pulse. You know how I realized it was serious? You tell me. In a dream, I'd seen picture frames ... pretty broad oval ones with people laughing and dancing. They lured me to come. Ma made the typical sign with her index finger.

All of a sudden, I realized ... these people were dead relatives and acquaintances except for Elise. It was in her house in Schönbrunn. I said no, not here with Marianne. I pulled myself together ... oh, Jesus, that was close. I said: What a nice start in America. Indeed.

Do you need anything? No, it's okay now. I could massage your arms, I said while my heart was swamped with love. No, it's okay. I've taken a pill already, I'm fine. Go back to sleep. You too. Just a short round. Later, we'll go to the beach. I'll show you our town.

Two hours later, we had a hearty breakfast with soft boiled eggs, smoked salmon, cream cheese, yogurt, bagel, and coleslaw. What's that? It tastes good! It's shredded cabbage, carrots, onions, sour cream, mayo, and spices. You can have it everywhere. Yummy. We should be able to buy that at home, too. Works like a broom I guess. Yeah, perfect jet lag food. Water and walking help too. Let's get some air. Stepping down to the pool area, I said, here you see our freshly cleaned heated pool. When Peter sees people sitting in the whirlpool, he hotfoots in his swimsuit, grabs a towel and whoosh splashing falls in the circle.

On the bark-covered path, we walked towards the center of Hermosa Beach. A few neighbors walked their dogs. A young woman stretched her long legs on a bench. Another jogger passed by. Ma said, well huh. I like it here. I'm going to walk every morning. I wish we had such a dog's path. Yeah, it's nice, in the old days, it was a railway. I pointed to the tennis courts on Pier Avenue. Those are our community courts. Everybody can play for free.

Really? Yep. Each town provides for some playing fields to their citizen's disposal. Isn't that great? You pay less tax and get more for it. Yes, but how about social security and health insurance for everybody? I don't know. I don't have any at the moment either. Michelle, the 20-year-old daughter of our car converter got monthly $200 for her two kids living with her at her parents' house. I guess, she'd gotten more money if she'd lived on her own. That was funny, she went to her daughter's father and asked him for alimony. Without any money but with her second daughter Sarah in her belly she came back home.

Look there, our library: also cost-free. We only pay a few cents if we keep the book longer than agreed. Marveling the perfect serve of a player, I said look, only two courts are occupied. We never have to wait. Why don't we play a game in the afternoon?

You think I can handle it?

Sure! You play badminton. It's not much different. Minutes later, we reached the pier.

Now, I'm going to show you the memorial of one of the Challenger victims.

The teacher? No, not the woman, but I know Mrs. Jarvis, the astronaut's wife. I pointed to a round structure. That's it. We can sit there for a while. How did you get to know that woman? We have the same yoga teacher at the adult education center. Here we are, Gregory.

This man lived here in Hermosa Beach?

Yes, like a lot of interesting people. We could visit two right away. Herta from Wiesbaden. She's married to Wayne Haedrick. Nice couple. We can visit Herta in her little art studio. She makes copies from original paintings.

Is that allowed?

She does it for the artists, they pay for it. How's she doing it? If I got her right, she gets the effect by the light-dark contrast between the free basis of the sheet surface and the picture itself. How'd you got to know Herta?

Oh, well! Another coincidence for the album. When we were in Germany last October,