adventure, Community, Europe, featured, Life, Outdoor

The Spark in My Bonfire Heart

August 30, 2015

It is a summer full of June Beatles and moon light, of pistacho ice cream and poetry, a summer of hot, lazy days at the slowly shrinking lake. A summer of nightly walks through meadows full with fire flies around the lake mirroring the silver light of the moon. Suddenly, we are again eight years old, wild children with bleached bathing suits and tousled hair. Suddenly we are again seventeen in sparkling sun rays like first lovers. Summertime makes everything possible and I miss nothing as I am everything I have ever been and everything I will ever be, and as everything happens to the right time.


It is neither hasty nor boring. The summer is endless and begins somewhere in a field in South Wales, where we have pitched our tents and work on the small music and philosophy festival How The Light Gets In. What a beautiful, desperate name. During our shifts, we check side passes and greet guests, listen to speakers, musicians and poets. At night in our tent, we are still cold in chilly may nights, and we try to warm up with the woodruff liquor and stories that we tell in flickering  torch light. Your facial features are blurred, your eyes full of wonder, our feet ice cold.


After shift we dance barefootedly and boisterously to irish live music in a big tepee. The world around us spins tirelessly, faces, lights, hands, laughter, fiddle sounds. Dancing is most wonderful when it happens for its own sake, when it only seeks being lost in rhythm and being found in sounds, when thoughts die in pulse and tune. Suddenly, I am at home. Suddenly, I am one. Holding hands, we spin and turn. Loud laughter and dancing curls. This is the moment, when my summer begins and when I maybe understand a bit better, how the light gets in.


This summer will lead me to quiet a few places. I will float in open air swimming pools, my head will buzz from lesson plans and exam preparations. I will climb mountains and stand on crumbly castle walls in wind and rain.


I will overcome my fears and jump in a dark lake. I am a bit scared, but mostly relieved. I will jump in because it is unbearably hot outside the water, and because my friend Linda is already in (and she seems fine), shouting: Come on now! You can hold on to me! Soon I am in the lake, all happily, realizing: Life is almost always overwhelming, but I can do anything. Maybe it’s true that summer makes me become a bit megalomaniac. But I will later walk through moon light and fire flies and I will understand: Nothing makes my soul stronger than a triumph over my feat. And nothing fills a cup like moon light


This summer, I will sit in a boat for days, canoeing the big lake district in Mecklenburg. Time there passes slowly and quickly to the same time. Maybe this is because we don’t have any cell phones or watches, maybe this is because the lakes and forests around us never tell the time. All is one and the daily routine, that never gets boring, soothes our souls.

The nights in the tent are quiet and never lonely. We listen to the rain hitting the nylon tarp with ease. We let go and we fall into life that holds us like warm water. Your laughter and the ripple of the waves become the soundtrack of my summer.


By day, we canoe with heavy arms and happy souls until our noses are burnt red from the sun. We listen to the water gently rocking our boat. By night, we still feel the waves and our dreams blend into the silent rustling of the reed. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sing, sometimes we keep silent. After a few days, we become one with the earth around us, we are dirty, strong and alive. I collect freckles on arms, fingers and cheeks. We disappear in time and space and finally, we stop fighting. We rise when we wake, we eat when we arehungry, we rest when we are exhausted. I think a thought when it is time to think it. It is like it has been waiting for me, somewhere on the blue lake.

People like us we don’t need that much/ just someone that starts the spark in our bonfire hearts. – Jason Mraz

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