Gutmourning Carlsheaven...

I can’t remember having heard the Churchbells ring, this morning. A bit late, but outdoor just in time to catch the pink-red sun rising over the Reinhardswald heights. In the river valley to the South: “Carlsheaven” sleepy white town still dressed in its nightshadows. Some smoking chimneys, frosty silence, a jay lands shrieking in the Oaktree, silence again.

Comforted by tea and a quick Oaktree excercise, I left for a short morning round down to the river. But as happens so often it turned out slightly different...First I climbed uphill along the steep footpath leading to the higher country forest road - our little “haute corniche”. From there you could see the misty red sun rising slowly through the distant morning veil.

After staying a while in deep wonder at the roadside, I walked on and down again and took another forest road which appeared to give no panoramic view on the rivervalley below. So I had to find my way back to the “right” place on a lower forestal roadcorner. But I took the "wrong" track: steeply dowhill ending on the edge of a near abyss…

Finally after climbing up again I got the “right way” under my feet. Until here no Zen, no Tao of the short ‘mourninground’. Holy Shit! This is all little ego-nonsense talk about “right&wrong” paths&roads&tracks. Forget it, your Holy Tao-thing: at any point in time & place you could have returned home or followed whatever track, true? So, laughing again I went on, walking and breathing, relaxed&playfully, looking around, and attentive not to stumble. Gladly coming home again for breakfast...