Direkt zum Hauptbereich

What is sacred?

This is a text, which was first published on Valley Haggards page Life in 10 Minuntes. A great page from a great writer and I always feel proud, when she chooses to publish one of my pieces. The text is about one year old, so dating back to April of 2017, but funny enough, it still is totally true. I am even less moody 😘


What is sacred?
I read this headline today. It was the title of an inspiring piece of writing by Linda Laino, a wonderful artist and mutual friend of me and my friends from Richmond. It got me thinking.
What is sacred, for me? 
Deep down, I always knew, that the sacred was everywhere, that it was the underground of human life, of my life in particular.
Still, it was difficult for me to reach. 
At times, I felt, nothing was sacred. And I wasn’t even depressed, at least not diagnosed, ever. I was very moody, though. I accepted it. My moodiness and the impossibility to reach the sacred.
When I first came to Richmond, I joined a poetry group, which was one of the most inspiring and satisfying writing experiences (therefore sacred), I ever had. My friend Susan, at whose house we regularly got together, out in the West End, was on Prozac. She said, it had saved her life. For months, she tried to convince me, moody as I so obviously was, to also take Prozac, or maybe Lithium. Both were supposed to be great. I don’t know, but I was stubborn and German. I felt, my moods were part of me and also a huge lesson. They taught me truth every day. Somehow, my moods were sacred. I did not want to numb them. Since they seemed to reach deep down into my soul, dragging out all that stuff, I dealt with from the past: my alcoholic, suicidal father, my negative, always complaining mother, the fact, that nobody would ever be able to love me, I mean: E V E R!
The moods, arising from all this, plus my tendency to fall for rather complicated and negative men, fed my poems, my writing in general, but also my learning.
O.k., o.k., if anybody would have told me, that it would take about 25 years to get through all this, I might have decided to listen to Susan. I don’t know. I always thought, that the truth was close, basically a days‘ journey away. This faith, it was also sacred and got me through this long journey.
The moods, the ups and also the downs, the tears, the gnawing on the past, the hurt, the pain, the anxiety, the fear, the hysteria, the darkness – they all were sacred, to me. They taught me all I know today, about life and what it’s worth.
They were my path. Sacred. One lesson following the next.
What is sacred?
Maybe to be here, as a human being, capable to learn so much, to feel so deeply. Sacred is also the moment, in which I understood, that the past is the past, now and here, only kindness matters.
In particular are sacred all those moments, I spend on my yoga mat, also the ones with friends, soulmates, my children, the writing moments, they are very sacred, also the meditation. The moments in nature, and of course, travelling.
I started a habit, some years ago, filling a glass jar every year with notes, every time, I felt especially happy. It should be called „the sacred jar“, because in fact, I fill it with notes of all the sacred moments. I have a tendency to establish rules. My rule here is: each time, you put a note in this years‘ jar, you are allowed to take one out from last years‘ jar and enjoy it.
Every note revokes pure bliss. Sacred. 
By the way: I am not moody any more. Not so much, at least. Going through all my moods, not numbing them, was a journey. I am glad, I traveled!
(c) Susanne Becker



Kommentare

Beliebte Texte

Writing at the Fundacion Valparaiso in Mojacar, Spain

„…and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.“ Mary Oliver


I am home from my first writing residency with other artists. In Herekeke, three years ago, I was alone with Miss Lilly and my endlessly talkative mind. There were also the mesa, the sunsets, the New Mexico sky, the silence and wonderful Peggy Chan, who came by once a day. She offers this perfect place for artists, and I will be forever grateful to her. The conversations we had, resonate until today within me. It was the most fantastic time, I was given there, and the more my time in Spain approached, I pondered second thoughts: Should I go? Could I have a time like in Herekeke somewhere else, with other people? It seemed unlikely.
When I left the airport in Almeria with my rental car, I was stunned to find, that the andalusian landscape is so much like New Mexico. Even better, because, it has an ocean too. I drove to Mojacar and to the FundacionValparaiso and I could n…

Could I hold you in my silence

Could I hold you in my silence, where words no longer mean inner certainty, mean anything.
It is this moment, caught in midair. What is, is good & the only gift, we can offer each other, is to let go of every word - a prison, unable to catch the inner landscape, vast like the mesa, the ocean.
A million words can never say, what I want to tell you. Can never say, what I want to tell you.


(c) Susanne Becker

Anke Stelling, Schäfchen im Trockenen

"Wir sind Opfer. Und unseres Glückes Schmied! Wir machen uns gut in egal welcher Kulisse, sind die Protagonisten unseres Lebens."


Anke Stellings neues Buch Schäfchen im Trockenen habe ich verschlungen. Es ist großartig geschrieben und mit seiner Handlung so nah am Leben dran, wie man es selten findet, an dem Hier und Jetzt von mir und vielen meiner Freunde, die mit Kindern und der existentiellen Unsicherheit mitten in Berlin, mitten in einer großen Stadt in Europa leben, wo Neoliberalismus und Kapitalismus die Werte vorgeben und man, plant man schlecht, auch sehr leicht unter die Räder kommen kann. Vielleicht vor allen Dingen dann, wenn man sich dem Leben mit Chuzpe und offenen Armen, voller Vertrauen, ein wenig ausliefert. Hier springe ich vom Zehnmeterbrett, mach' mit mir, was Du willst, Du verrücktes Leben!
Resi ist Schriftstellerin. Sie lebt mit ihrer Familie in Berlin und hat ein Buch über ihre Freunde geschrieben, die im Rahmen einer Baugruppe ein tolles eigenes Hau…

what i learn here, qué aprendo yo aqui, was ich hier lerne (a poem, una poema, ein Gedicht))

what i learn here 

language is my playground
but also:
i learn beyond language
no words needed
words can be a wall

everything is a poem
a piece of green glass
age is a myth
a rock
a snail shell
my face is your face
my face is a cloud
is a poem
could i put a coat
of my words around you
it would be a poem

what i find here
now i am very clear
the object of art is freedom
the subject too

never for money
always for love
can we share this?
yes: because poetry
is in everything

qué aprendo yo aquí

la lenguaje es mi patio de recreo
pero tambien:
aprendo más allá de lenguaje
mis palabras no son necesarias
palabras como un muro

todo es un poema
un vidrio roto verde
la edad es un mito
una piedra
una concha de caracol
mi cara es tu cara
mi cara es una nube
es un poema
yo me vesti con mis palabras
como un abrigo
sería un poema

qué me encuentro aquí
ahora soy muy clara
el objeto de arte es libertad
el sujeto tambien

nunca por dinero
siempre por amor
podemos compartir eso?
si, porque la poesia
esta in…

Floßfahrt

Eine Zeitfalte insgesamt, Bruchteil des Sommers, auf dem Wasser verbracht, umgeben von Freundschaft, geschwommen in dem milden Wohlwollen des sich Kennens seit ewig. Nichts kann einen mehr aneinander aus der Fassung bringen. Man hat alles schon gesehen, bis auf den Eisvogel, der mit einem lauten Kreischen zwischen den Bäumen eintaucht.
Wo jeder er selbst sein kann, ohne Rückspiegel, ohne Notbremse.
Die Kinder springen vom Dach, in die Tiefe eines neuen Sees, kopfüber, täglich den Wagemut bestätigend, der eine Freundschaft ermöglicht, die alle Zeitfalten entlang gedauert hat. 
(c) Susanne Becker

Hermann Hesse - Das Glasperlenspiel

Es gab Momente, da verstand ich nichts und wollte das Buch einfach beiseite legen.
Das Buch! Das Glasperlenspiel von Hermann Hesse, sein letzter und umfangreichster Roman, sein Alterswerk, erschienen 1943, in zwei Bänden (ja, das Buch ist sehr dick!). Es lag in meinem Stapel ungelesener Bücher, seitdem ich circa 20 war. Ich habe noch die alte, dunkelgrüne Suhrkamp Ausgabe. Gekauft in einer Buchhandlung am Opladener Markt, die es schon lange nicht mehr gibt. Begonnen habe ich das Buch gefühlt zehnmal, und immer wieder beiseite gelegt, weil ich einfach nichts verstand. Einmal bin ich bis Seite 100 gekommen, weiter nie. Ich beschloss dann, dass man vermutlich doch alt sein müsste, um es zu verstehen, Alterswerk eben! Jetzt bin ich einigermaßen alt und ich kann den Erfolg vermelden: Diesmal hab ichs geschafft. Ich bin durch!

„Versenkung und Weisheit waren gute, waren edle Dinge, aber es schien, sie gediehen nur abseits, am Rande des Lebens, und wer im Strom des Lebens schwamm und mit sein…