Comparable with nothing
The skin of a mother
On the outside of the upper arm
Cool like a clam shell
At the morning sea
In these arms without a purpose
The layers flake off
And before me
In the warm palm
As a pulsating
As a new
As a fresh
As a beginning
For two months I have been living on a small island in the North Sea. It has not been so easy to find an apartment here, but I was very lucky: the house in which I live is surrounded by very large pastures and open spaces where cows and horses graze. In all directions it is several hundred meters to the next house and I have wonderful wide views from all windows. I can watch rabbits, pheasants, ducks, herons, very large pigeons, birds whose names I don't know and a muskrat. There are no lanterns around, so it is very dark at night and very quiet. Very quiet.
There are 7 windows in my apartment.
In a world where it is possible to experience something like sexual abuse, the only option for me was to forget those experiences immediately and forever. I buried them deep. It was a matter of life and death. It was a matter of my survival.
I have done six apprenticeships in my life so far. First, I became a nurse. Then I graduated from high school and studied business administration. I have a degree in business administration. Later I did a neuroscanbalance training over 6 years and after that I was a fine motor trainer. A few years later I did a 2-year coaching training in Konstanz. I am now also a coach. Then I did another 2-year training to be a Holistic Cancer Counselor after that. Currently I am on the Possibility Management trainer path. I am a PM trainer. In addition to that, I have some other smaller specialized trainings. With all these skills that I have acquired throughout my life, I can work anywhere in the world. Anywhere. In every small community there is a nursing service that would hire me immediately, because there is a nursing shortage almost everywhere in the world, as far as I know.
There’s a part of me that knows the way things are. That thinks about itself and the world and other people in a specific and unique way. It thinks it has understood what is right and what is wrong. That judges, evaluates, accepts and makes decisions. This part also knows exactly which places it is better not to go, what things it is better not to do, where it is particularly dangerous. When it’s time to retreat or rush ahead with my sword raised. Possibility Management calls this part, which can perhaps also be described as personality, belief system or comfort zone, the Box.
I live alone. By that I mean that no other person lives in the flat where I usually sleep. Sometimes other people visit me. They do not have a key to my flat. I hear the doorbell ring, I open the door and they come in. But after a while those people leave. That is because their home is a different set of rooms where they usually sleep. It is an unspoken agreement that those other people will leave after a while. I can count on it and it works.
This article makes no sense and actually you don’t need to read it. Because there might nothing here that will help you. No knowledge that you can do anything with. There is no single aha-moment. There is also no famous door through which you can walk, which I show you or which I open for you. No non-linear answer, no possibility — unfortunately…
“I hate when a few drops of water run down my forearm towards my elbow when I wash my face over the sink. I hate it!”
“I hate when I order a latte macchiato and the coffee and milk is already mixed when the waiter brings it to me. I hate it!”
To write an article, you need to be creative, focused and clear. This last sentence is a story. To write an article, you have to write an article. That last sentence is true and it makes me angry. I feel angry because something inside me says, “Not everyone can write an article! At least you need to be focussed.” The focused part of me replies, “It’s just a story. To write an article, you have to write an article. Just like you have to bake a bread to bake a bread. Just like you have to fix a car to fix a car. Just like you have to jump off a high-rise building to jump off a high-rise building…”
An acquaintance of mine is a toolmaker. That profession is now extinct. Toolmakers worked in the metalworking industry. The profession developed within the context of industrialisation, when in addition to the usual tools, which were rather roughly worked, there was a need for tools that could meet special requirements. They were used, for example, in the field of metrology and were manufactured with a precision of a fraction of a millimetre.