Friday, December 25, 2009

About Somebody

by Ingrid Prohaska

I was in an ugly mood that day. I remember only a few days in my life when I was in such a bad mood. The sun was shining outside and it was a really warm day in early summer but I had those destructive thoughts about my life. Well with one word I couldn’t stop looking on my dark side.
Sinking deeper and deeper into the swamp of that part of my soul I thought about what I couldn’t have reached yet and why I was such a loser.
Nearly on the bottom of my black thoughts I spoke out loud, “Is there anybody on earth who really needs me?” And I started crying.
My hand just reached for a handkerchief when I heard a gentle voice saying very shyly, “Hey you, I need you.”
I was really surprised wondering who was speaking because I was very sure that I was alone.
I looked around and saw - a little figure looking at me; expecting how I would react. The figure was hardly to describe, maybe half of a meter tall, somehow transparent like a piece of fog in the form of a little human, the contour very weak, but with a pleasant charisma, somehow like-able and somehow even familiar.

"Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m Somebody,” the little figure answered, “and I need you. You can help me.”
“I don’t think that I can help somebody. I even can’t help myself.” I replied.
“But …” its voice sounded a bit sad, but then - this little figure actually started singing, “You are the sunshine of my life …”
I had to laugh, but immediately very serious again I said, “Stop singing. You make me laugh.”
“What’s wrong when you are laughing?” the little Somebody wanted to know and started singing again, “You are the sunshine of my life …”
“Stop it!” I shouted, “Don’t you see that I’m in a bad mood?”
The little Somebody looked at me very sadly. “I love you,” the little Somebody said very softly, “I trust you. And I know you can help me.” Its eyes looked at me very gently and warmly, and its words touched me.
“So, how do think I can help you?” I asked a bit more calm now.
“I know a place where a big treasure is hidden," the little Somebody said with twinkling eyes, "But I can’t get there alone. Look at me. I’m too little and too weak to get very far.”
“Yes, I see.” I answered and then I asked, “Is it possible that we met each other in former times?”
“Maybe,” the little Somebody smiled secretly.
“You look so acquainted to me.” I continued.
“Possible.” the little Somebody answered, “So would you please help me?”
“Alright then. - What do you think I can do for you?”
“Please follow me,” the little Somebody said, “I’ll show it to you.”
I stood up and walked behind the little Somebody. I didn’t know why, but I tried to imitate its kind of walking and the feeling that I knew this figure grew up more and more.

After a while we reached a lake and the little Somebody stopped, “The weather is fine. Let’s go swimming.”
“Swimming?” I asked surprised, “I thought you wanted to show me something.”
“Yes,” the little Somebody said, “Take off your clothes and jump head first into the water; I know you like the feeling when the water flows along your body and you hear nothing except the rushing of the water. I know you like just to feel the water and yourself.”
“Yes, that’s right,” I wondered, “but how do you know …?”
“So, come on.” the little Somebody said and jumped into the water.
I took off my clothes, still shaking my head of wonder, and jumped with a header into the lake.
And I enjoyed it so much. I had already forgotten what a great feeling it was for me, leaving all back and tasting the freedom.
When my head was out of the water again I looked for the little Somebody. I found it close to me kicking with hands and feet.
“Can you see the island in front of us?” the little Somebody asked.
“Yes.” I answered.
“I want to get there but I’m too weak to swim so far.”
“So am I,” I sighed.
“No, no, I believe you are strong enough to swim so far.” the little Somebody replied.
“Let me sit on your neck; I’m sure we can reach the island.”
“I guess it’ll take us at least one hour,” I said, “and I’m pretty sure - I don’t have the power to swim so long.”
“I know you can do it.” the little Somebody replied softly.
I looked at the island again, tried to estimate the distance again and said finally with a sigh, “Alright then, I’ll try it.”
The little Somebody smiled satisfied.

After a while I got a bit tired and so I reduced my speed. The little Somebody noticed that and suggested, “Swim on your back. The water will carry us. I know you like that.”
“Yes, I do indeed,” I answered wondering again why that figure knew me so well, “but I can’t see where we are moving when I swim on my back.”
“I’ll guide you. Trust me.” the little Somebody said.
“Alright then.” I said and turned my body on my back.
The little Somebody took place on my right shoulder and I saw that it was looking into the direction we were going to swim.
I really enjoyed the moving of my body on the water, while I was looking at the sky watching the clouds or keeping my eyes closed and enjoyed only the moving on the water. Suddenly I hurt my head.
“Ouch!” I said, “Hey little Somebody, you promised to guide me!”
“Just a piece of wood,” the little Somebody tried to calm me. “Take it square over your belly. It’ll help us.”
I did what the little Somebody suggested. It sat down on the piece of wood now and we continued our way more comfortably and without any hurry.

Finally we really reached the island. We climbed out of the water and lay down for a rest.
“Do you enjoy our journey?” the little Somebody asked.
“Well, it is hard but I like adventures.” I answered wondering about my words because - I had nearly forgotten that I like adventures.
After a while the little Somebody suggested to continue our journey. We walked along the shore. The little Somebody with its little feet walked slower than I wanted to go so I asked if I should carry it. Somebody took place on my right shoulder.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Through the Mirror

by Ingrid Prohaska


Walking through the life
the mirror always in front of me
no view into the future
only a look into a reflection of the past.

Du und ich - ich und Du
the only thing between us is the mirror.

Just a step through the mirror
is all I have to do
landing in the present
of the other side
the future lies in front of me.

Du und ich - ich und Du
will be one right there.

Just a step through the mirror
is all I have to do
finding more I can imagine,
even Jeanny’s* waiting here,
no need for desire anymore.

Du und ich - ich und Du
is one right now.

Just a step through the mirror
was all I had to do
which side is reality?

Die Zeit steht still.

You and I - I and you
eins sein right now.

* Special thanks to Falco and his “Jeanny”
Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska

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Tuesday, December 8, 2009

The Girl in the Mirror

by Ingrid Prohaska

Recently I was asked about my life history and that reminded me on a CV written in summer 2007. That time I was attending my first english lessons. We had to do homework and should write a CV about ourselves or a person we wanted to talk about. I decided to introduce my class "The Girl in the Mirror".

I can’t remember our first meeting, but I know I met her when she was about 4 years old. There was an invitation to a carnival festivity in kindergarten. She wanted to be “Pippi Langstrumpf”. Her mother dressed her, made those typical plaits and painted freckles into her face. She looked out of the mirror and – I was shocked – and she started crying, “No, no mum that’s not me!” I really felt strange about her look.

I know I met her at the age of 10. She had a new haircut. She looked at me out of the mirror I think a hundred times that day. I thought she was really good looking. I felt like she was looking like.

I met her again at the age of 13. Her face had become spotty. I felt mercy with her, but – I didn’t like her face. I couldn’t feel like she was looking like.

I met her again at the age of sweet 16. She had got her first kiss that night. I thought, “That is a kissed girl looking like?” I missed something in her eyes.

I met her again in the age of 22. She lived together with her boyfriend. She had started a serious life, had started to wear serious clothes and had a serious haircut. I didn’t like the woman in the mirror. I felt strange about the woman I saw.

She split up, she changed the job, she started to study, she moved the apartment. She was on holiday. When she looked out of the mirror I was pleased to see her. I felt like she was looking like.

She worked too much, she had a lot of stress, she missed time for herself, she missed love, she looked for happiness. She couldn’t find what she missed. The woman in the mirror looked old, had hard features, small dim eyes, her mouth was just a line. I couldn’t stand the woman in the mirror. I didn’t want to feel how she was looking like.

She quitted her job, she took up her study again, she started to enjoy life. She was 36. When I met her that time I said, “Hey Lady in the mirror you look better!”

Sunday, December 6, 2009

About a Goodbye

by Ingrid Prohaska

Today is the anniversary of my mother's death and this story is about it. I thought a lot about if I should publish it, but for me that day is much more than the day my mother died. I think being so close to death was the most important happening in my life and since that day I have a new and for me a special view on living , loving and dying. For me started a new life that day.
I will leave you now alone with my story. I hope you will enjoy reading it.

I want to tell you a story, a fascinating one, a story which is maybe hard to believe and maybe you will call me crazy, but maybe you will find a piece of hope, a piece of love.

It all started with my mother’s heart operation on 9th November 2006. It was a very bad day in fact, the operation wasn’t as successful as the doctors had expected. It was nearly midnight when I left the hospital, the words of the doctor still in my head, “She has a two percent chance at surviving the night.” But I wasn’t allowed to stay with her; they actually sent me home, but they promised to phone if her end should come.

I went to the underground, only a handful people were waiting for the last train. I walked along the platform when I heard my mother’s voice behind me somehow above, “Hallo Puppe,” she said, “was ist los?” And automatically I started telling her what the matter was. I told her all I knew about the operation, everything I did that day, to whom I spoke, where I had waited, when I had a meal, when I smoked a cigarette. I told her every detail.

That was the day when I started speaking to her. When I was with her in hospital - they had sent her into an artificial sleep - I spoke to her, I told her everything from outside, about my everyday, told her everything I saw in the moment, told her stories about our past, and I talked to her about our future plans. I was sure she understood my words. Sometimes she moved her closed eyes as if she wanted to answer.

But I also spoke to her when I was not with her nearly the entire day. I talked to her from the “Good morning” when I woke up till the “Sleep well and dream something beautiful” when I closed my eyes for the sleep.

Four weeks went by speaking to her all the time. But I never heard her voice again.

Monday, October 26, 2009

They said ...

by Ingrid Prohaska


They said
“This is her last chance.”

And a day full of hope began
with a beautiful sunrise behind my mother’s bed;
and I said – I said – I said
“This must be a good day”

They brought her into a room;
There was no sun;
and I said – I said – I said
to her, “We’ll see each other soon”

I walked around,
the time went by, I asked for her;
And they said – they said – they said
“Stay calm, not all is alright.”

I walked around,
the time went by, I asked for her;
And they said – they said – they said
She has only a little chance.”

They sent me home,
they promised to phone,
because they said – they said
“She will die.”
and I said
“No, she won’t.”

Time went by
good days, bad days
and they said – they said – they always said
“She will die.”
and I said
“No, she won’t.”

One day I asked her
“Do you want to go?”
and I felt she said – she said
“No, I don’t.”

Time went by
bad days, worse days
And I just said
“Please stay with me!”
But then I felt she said – she said
“I want to go.”

The day came
when they phoned
and they said – they said – they said
“She’s dying now.”
And I said
“No, not today. Any day but not today.
Why should she take that step?
She couldn’t come back!”

And a ray of sunshine on that foggy day
reached my mother’s face.
And I said
holding her hand
and kissing her cheek
“We’ll see each other again.”

And they said – they said – they just said
“She’s dead.”
And I said,
“No, she is alive!”
And, dear God, I hear her
when she says – she says,
“Don’t cry for me dear child. I’m with you all the time.”

Copyright © 2008 Ingrid Prohaska

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At the Cemetery's








A cemetery is a place where present, past and future meet each other.

(photo taken on the Central Cemetery in Vienna, October 2009)
Copyright © 2009 Ingrid Prohaska

Monday, October 12, 2009

Something about myself

Sometimes I have a lot of fun with myself.
And sometimes I think I should punish myself.
But then - I have to laugh ...

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

A Picture from My Photo album

by Ingrid Prohaska

I can remember only a handful scenes with my grandfather. But I can remember quite well that he took me from my parent’s home once a weekend for a walk.

I was about three years that fall, but I can remember that scene as if it had happened yesterday. I see us walking through the wood, my grandpa held my left hand. My right hand swung with the rhythm of my steps. I wore my new ocher yellow wool-coat my mother had made for me. I can see the large pine-trees around swaying and rushing with the wind and the soft pine-needle-covered path we walked on; the roots of the trees rose out of the ground and the path was even so wide that two people could walk together.

Every time we had a rest in that small inn in the middle of the wood. The cottage was built half of stone and half of wood; it had two levels and an open but roofed room built on the house for the guests in the warm seasons. The daily business happened in the basement, the room in the higher level was only used for festivities. So we went downstairs into the warm dark wooded guest-room. The interior was simple and practical, but comfortable enough to sit in there for a long while. Opposite the entrance door on the left hand I can see the bar with all the bottles and I can also see that small show-case low enough that I could have a look into it. There they had the sweets and also the chocolates. One of them would be mine in a few moments. On the right hand there stood the jukebox. We normally sat down on the table left the door; my grandpa under the small window and I over the corner to him. The table right the door was occupied with regular guests, all male, drinking, chatting, laughing, playing cards.

Monday, September 14, 2009

TicToc

by Ingrid Prohaska

tictoc tictoc
sink sink sink
tictoc tictoc
think think think
tictoc tictoc
a thing a thing a thing
tictoc tictoc
arrringarrringarrring!

Copyright © 2009 Ingrid Prohaska
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Saturday, September 12, 2009

The Story Of The Little Dancer

by Ingrid Prohaska

Once upon a time there was a little girl living in a small town. Everybody loved her. She was the sunshine of her family and had a lot of friends.

Time went by and the little girl started going to school. She was looking forward to learning whatever she could, because she felt she could become someone great. Sitting still wasn’t easy for her and sometimes she would rather have looked out of the window than follow the teacher. But she learned easily and so everyone was satisfied with her.

In course of time the others noticed that there was something different about her. They started watching her with suspicion. What could be the difference?

The little girl noticed that they were watching her and she started feeling insecure. She recognized that her friends were walking and running. But she was only able to move by - dancing.

Her friends felt strange about the way the little dancer moved. Some friends felt mercy with her, some others laughed at her “Look at her, she can’t move right!” The little dancer felt sad. “Why can’t I be like the others? The only thing I want is for the others to like me.”

So the little dancer began looking at her friends and she began studying, how they walked and ran. She really tried hard and she gave her best to walk and to run like her friends did. But although she tried so hard, it didn’t work. The others walked so well, that she couldn’t follow. She was always a few steps behind the others.

Time went by and the little dancer grew up. She had lost many of her friends, because she wasn’t really able to walk in the right way. She started looking for what was wrong with her. The more she tried walking like the others, the more she failed. She felt sad and unhappy. The friends she had when she was a child seemed so happy. They had their professions, they had founded their own families, they had already found their ways. The dancer tried to find her own way, but sometimes it seemed impossible for her to find her happiness.

She felt emptiness around her. But she was still dreaming about love and happiness. Her dreams became her biggest treasure. Sometimes she put on her dancing-shoes and danced secretly. All her sorrows were gone while she was dancing. She felt happy in these moments.

But time went by without finding her inside satisfaction. Although she was successful with her daily work, she always felt that she was missing something.

One evening the dancer looked at the stars. She often did this, while she was dreaming. One of the stars she liked more than the others. Its light seemed brighter than the light of all the other stars. And sometimes she thought that this one star was dancing.

"Starry Night over the Rhone" - Vincent van Gogh

Suddenly she heard the star speaking to her “Do you want to dance with me? Come on, dance with me” the star said. The dancer was surprised. “Dance with me” the star repeated “You are a dancer. And you look very beautiful when you dance.”

The dancer began to understand what had been wrong all the years. She put on her dancing-shoes and started dancing. And suddenly - she heard the music in her life.

She danced and so she found her happiness. And if she isn’t already dead, I’m sure she is still dancing today.

Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska


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Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Just a Thought ... #1



Even an imprisoned soul has the desire to bloom.

(Photo taken in Vienna, 9th district)

Copyright © 2009 Ingrid Prohaska


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Saturday, August 15, 2009

Is it a Dream?

by Ingrid Prohaska

I was very tired;
I fell asleep.
I slept too long;
I woke up, my eyes still closed, a smile on my face.
My dreams had brought me good feelings,
I enjoyed them.
I felt the wind on my face.
Where did the wind come from?
My worry overcame my pleasure.
I opened my eyes and saw – the sea!

"Ship's Deck" - Edouard Manet
"Who the hell brought me on this ship?"
I stood up, walked around the deck,
nobody to see, the ship still sailing.

"Who's piloting this ship?"
I heard voices and I followed them.
I got to the bridge.

Two faces were looking at me.
“Good morning, did you have a good night?”
“Yes,” I answered, “but why am I on this ship?”
“Sorry, may I introduce myself. I’m Captain Heart, commander on this ship. And this“, pointing to the other person, “is Chief Engineer Belly. He makes sure that everything is working in the right way. We both lead you through your life. We know the sea, we know the route, we know every iceberg. But we really need a reliable sailor. If you want that job you can get it.”

Suddenly a bell was ringing.

“I’m a sailor, just a sailor, …” I murmured,
when my hand reached the alarm clock to stop the bell.
I woke up, my eyes still closed, a smile on my face.
My dreams had brought me good feelings,
I enjoyed them.
I felt the wind on my face.
Where did the wind come from?
My worry overcame my pleasure.

I opened my eyes and saw - my bedroom, the window still open.

Copyright © 2008 Ingrid Prohaska

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Tuesday, August 11, 2009

The Plum Story

by Ingrid Prohaska

She went into the kitchen and opened a glass of stewed plums.
“I think none of these plums has ever thought about the possibility of ending in this glass,” she said holding the glass in front of her and looking at the opened glass.
She really was in a very strange mood that day.
“Actually a sad destiny,” she continued while she took a spoon to eat the plums.
“First they bloomed beautiful and innocent on the plum tree. They enjoy the sun and the life, they are also glad about the rain because they know that their tree needs the water.”
She led the spoon to her mouth, looked at the plum on the spoon and put it into her mouth.
Still eating she continued, “One day after the flowering time they lose their petals and it is time to grow up to a plum. First very small and insignificant, later bigger and green. And every ray of sunshine helps the plum to become a violet-blue and sweet fruit. Could be that the plum enjoys its life.”


A break followed.
After eating a few plums she continued, “But the ripeness goes together with the decision of the further destiny. The plum could be picked from the tree and eaten – life is over. Or the plum could be picked and transported – there is still hope of a further living. But it will be – like these plums in the glass – that the plum comes into a fruit-fabric. There it will be stoned and will be put together with other its unknown plums in one of these glasses.”


Still eating the plums one after another she continued, “But it could also be that the plum is lucky, is overlooked and is let on the tree. Perhaps the plum has leaves as friends and they have hidden it. So the plum has the chance to ripe completely until it doesn’t like to keep on the tree anymore. Then the plum falls to the ground and with good luck it rolls towards a place, where it can not be found. In time its friends the leaves will follow and they will cover the plum.”
She put the empty glass on the table and ended “That plum I think is one of very few plums that has its real destiny fulfilled. It has the chance to grow up to new life, to become a tree and to give a lot of plums their lives.”


Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska

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Thursday, August 6, 2009

Four Roses

by Ingrid Prohaska

Four roses in a bottle
treiben über's Meer;
a little world, empty enough
to hold my humble head above.

Four roses in a bottle
treiben über's Meer;
no wind, no weather
can destroy them;
the little world grows up, gets more.

Four roses in a bottle
treiben über's Meer;
they smell so sweet,
the music's playing
this world is full of harmony.

Four roses in a bottle
float over the sea;
the bottle will be full one day,
my life will go down into the sea.

Four roses in a bottle
sink further to the ground;
my little world is lost for me,
gets part of a whole one now.

Four roses in a bottle
sink deep enough, the glass can break;
good feelings will possess me,
a great world will be mine - one day.

Special thanks to love, hope, joy and humor.
Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska


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Tuesday, August 4, 2009

The Dark Side of the Wall

by Ingrid Prohaska

I felt very bad that day and so I decided to have a walk into the nature to get out of my bad mood. I didn’t think about where I should go and ran around just following my nose. I reached a wall and walked along it. It was shady on this side of the wall and so it was cold. I longed for sun and warmth and the desire of getting to the other side of the wall grew up.

I walked along the dark side of the wall, hoping that I could find a way to get to the other side of the wall, the light side. I looked for a door or a hole to get though or a suitable place to climb over the wall. But I wasn’t successful.

In time I felt tired and cold; that not enough it had started raining and the rain got worse. I found a dry place under a tree. I sat down, snuggled myself into the coat to warm myself, listened to the raindrops falling on the leaves and closed my eyes.

I saw me walking along the dark side of the wall, hoping that I could find a way to get to the other side of the wall, the light side. Suddenly I found the door. It was easy to open and I got into a very beautiful garden.

The garden was very big, I couldn’t see an end. I saw large blooming trees and a seemingly endless meadow full of flowers; one flower more beautiful than the others; birds were singing; the sun was shining and warming me. I took off my coat. I enjoyed what I saw and what I heard. I felt that everything was alright.

"Meadow in the Forest" - Hans Thoma
“You’re welcome;” I heard a female voice speaking ,“I’ve expected you.”

I turned around and saw a Lady. She was very beautiful and she had these bright eyes, eyes full of life and full of love.

“Me?” I answered surprised.

“You followed your dream, didn’t you?” she replied.

“What a beautiful garden,” were the only words I could find.

“You did a step into your dream,” she explained and continued, “You can stay as long as you like. But before you leave the garden again please pick one of these flowers and take it with you.”

“Isn’t the flower dying when it is picked?” I asked her sorrowful.

She smiled and answered, “The flower is living as long as your dream is living.”

Although there were flowers everywhere it was an easy choice for me which of all these flowers I’d like to take with me. I stepped into the meadow and picked one flower. I felt that this one belonged to me. I held it near my chest and smelled its sweetness.

“So take care of your dream flower,” she said and repeated, “Live your dream and the flower lives too.”

I opened my eyes and I felt warm. I had a smile on my face. I looked around and saw my coat beside me. The rain had stopped, the birds were singing again. My right hand lay on my heart and my fingers were still holding the imagined flower.

I stood up, still smiling. The dark side of the wall wasn’t as dark as before. This imagined flower seemed to lighten the darkness. I continued my way easily and full of hope.

Copyright © 2008 Ingrid Prohaska

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Monday, July 27, 2009

Lonely Heart

by Ingrid Prohaska

Lonely heart
where are you now?

There was a day
I thought you hurt me;
I sent you away,
didn't want to feel the pain.

But now - today
I really miss you.
I know I was wrong.
Please come home!

Copyright © 2009 Ingrid Prohaska

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Sunday, July 26, 2009

About a Drop-out

by Ingrid Prohaska

On that Friday afternoon I drove my car on the highway out of the city. A lot of others did the same, so there was a lot traffic, but it worked fluently.

After a few miles I noticed the brake lights of the cars in front of me. The traffic stood still and so I had to stop my car.
I looked around. In front of me cars as far my sight could reach. Left of me cars and behind me the number of cars got more and more.
I looked out of the window on the right side and saw the nature. And although I had driven that highway several times I had never seen the beauty of the landscape beside the highway before.

I saw the fields and the meadows, a small forest and a brook winding its path through the scene. Far away I noticed a village; I could see the tower of the village-church. And I saw a country lane leading to the village; a single car was driving there seemingly slowly.

Suddenly I felt locked in and a desire of being part of that scene in the landscape instead of being part of the scene on the highway and in a crowd of cars arose.

I hadn’t thought about what I did, when I turned the steering wheel to the right and drove my car towards the slope. I heard some horns trying to alert me while my car was rolling down the slope. I reached the bottom of the slope and felt the car setting up. The car rolled out on a meadow. I opened the window and sighed relieved.

Finally I reached the country lane I had seen from the highway.
I felt the air on my face and leaned back. The noise of the traffic on the highway got lower and the sound of the nature was going audibly.
The feeling of freedom replaced the feeling of locked in. I enjoyed moving again and I was looking forward where this path would lead me.

Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska


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Sunday, July 19, 2009

The Step

by Ingrid Prohaska

I had a dream
full of good things
dreamful things.

One day
I did the step
into my dream.
It was wonderful.
It is wonderful.
No doubts, no fear,
all I had wished.

But -
what I got
was finally
the fear of waking up again.

Copyright © 2008 Ingrid Prohaska


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Monday, July 6, 2009

A Visit to Mister Greenleaf

by Ingrid Prohaska

“May I invite you into my garden?” Sometimes we spoke over the fence, like neighbours often do, but this was the first time Mr. Greenleaf had asked me to visit his garden.

I always had troubles with my plants and Mr. Greenleaf was known as the man with the green thumb. I told him about my problems and so I came into his little paradise.
I went on a stoned path. Beside the path were flowers, each more beautiful than the others. You could feel that he really loved his work in the garden.

“Follow me” Mr. Greenleaf went towards his glasshouse.
“Oh, what a beautiful flower!” I said when I saw this flower. I thought, it was the most beautiful plant, I could see in his garden. “What is your secret?” I asked.
He smiled “Come with me.”

We went into the glasshouse and stopped at a sack of seeds. He took a handful seeds and let them ran through his fingers. “They all have the same genes” he told me “you can handle them right or wrong.”
He moved his arm to follow him. He stopped at a table. Many pots stood on the table. “First you put the seed in a pot with good earth. The earth outside is too hard for a seed. The seed’ll have only a very small chance of sprouting.” He chose a pot and while he hold the pot with his right hand, his left hand moved into a big pot with good wet earth and he put the earth into a small pot. Then he put the seed in the middle of the pot and pressed it with his thumb into the earth.

“So, this seed has its chance” he smiled. “But now all depends on our care. Give the seed enough water, but not too much. Take care that the air is wet enough and that the seed gets enough sun. It needs warm air. Handle the seed with care, do it with love, give the seed time, be patient. If everything is all right, a few weeks later you’ll see a sprout. It is always a great pleasure for me when the sprout appears. But this is only the beginning. The sprout also needs the same care. Handle the sprout with care, do it with love and - don’t laugh at me – I always speak to the sprouts.

A few weeks later you have seen the sprout grown up. Now you can put the pot outside during the day. But bring it inside for the night. It could be too cold for the plant. Keep patient and keep handling the plant with care, give love to it and well – speak to the plant.

You’ll see, a few weeks later you can see the first flower buds. The plant is now strong enough to put it outside. Continue to handle it with care, give love to it and – maybe speak to it.
One day the buds will be open and you will be happy. The flower will give you a lot of pleasure; you will see.

So, all over I tell you: Be careful, you can have seeds with the best genes. If you don’t handle them with care and love, they only have a little chance to become what they could have become.”

Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska

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The Story Of The Musician

by Ingrid Prohaska

There was this great music in the house. You know, that kind of music that makes you shiver, that kind of music that conquers your heart.

My steps got slower. I really wanted to know where the music was coming from. I was planning on leaving my apartment, planning on leaving the town. So I spent a lot of time in the staircase, moving up and down the stairs to carry my things into my car. And so I had heard this music several times that day.

Following the sound I suddenly stood at the right door. I didn’t know how long I had stood there to listen.
I didn’t know exactly what happened and how it was going to happen, but suddenly I saw my finger on the doorbell.

A middle-aged man opened the door. He was a handsome man and he had this really bright eyes. You know, that kind of eyes that let you staring at somebody, that kind of eyes that make you bounded.

“Excuse me, Sir” I whispered, “I heard the music coming out of your apartment and I want to ask you, who had written it. It is my last day in this house and I’d like to buy the song. Could you please tell me the title and the name of the composer?”

“Oh,” he answered, “I’m sorry, but I think, I can’t help you. This music isn’t available. You can’t buy it.”

“Oh,” my eyes fell, “what a pity, I really have fallen in love with this music.”

A smile crossed his face, he looked at me, as if he wanted to know, if he could trust me.

“You’re going to leave this house?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m going to leave the town,” I answered.

“So, if you want to listen to the music …”

Steps were heard somewhere in the staircase and in a short time someone would pass us.

“So, come in, if you want to.” He said quickly. I didn’t think about what I was doing in this moment and suddenly I was in his apartment and he closed the door behind us.

“This music isn’t available.” he repeated “It never has been published, but if you want to listen to it, I will play it for you.”

He took a chair for me to take a seat. I nodded and sat down.

He went to his piano and started playing. I didn’t know how long I had sat there. This magic music conquered my heart and I felt every cell in my body was swinging. I had closed my eyes and even didn’t want to open them after the music was over. There was a great silence.

I didn’t know how long I had sat there. I felt a lot of emotions and I felt tears running over my face. I opened my eyes. He was still sitting at his piano staring at me.

“Why,” I stammered, my hand moved the tears from my face, “why…?”

“You want to know, why I have never published the music?”

I gave him a nod.

“Well,” he said, “it’s like my child and I don’t want to throw it away. If I let it leave, other people would take possession of it, they would analyze it, they would value it, they would finally destroy it.”

“You are able to write such a great music and still are so full of fear?”

I felt ashamed about my open words and my eyes went down.

“Well,” he said and I could hear him smiling, “I know what you mean, but …”

“This music is able to reach hearts, you should let it become free!”
I was shocked about my words, talking to a stranger in this way.

He was still smiling, but I noticed that this magic brightness in his eyes was gone.
“We’ll see” he said, while he stood up.

A few moments later I was back in the staircase. The door was closed again.

I left the house, I left the town.
A few months later I came back to apologize, but he had left his apartment and nobody was able to tell me where he had been gone.
I have never seen this man again and I have never heard this music again.

Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska


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Sunday, July 5, 2009

Now you are free

by Ingrid Prohaska





Now you are free, she said
and sighed relieved.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was waiting
to see what she would feel.

You can leave your cave, she said,
you needn’t hide anymore.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was wondering
how freedom would taste.

You’ll see the sun,
you’ll feel the rain,
you’ll reach the stars,
you’ll lose your pain.

Memories came back
about a time where she hadn’t yet
seen what he was going to do.
Happy moments had got a veil,
the brightness had gone,
the world had become pale.
And a love had died
like a flower without light.

Try to understand, she said,
find your way to forgive.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was crying
why did he do that to me?

It was not my fault, she said
seemed not to be his.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was hoping
for a renewing spring.

When -
I’ll see the sun,
I’ll feel the rain,
I’ll reach the stars,
one day – I’ll lose my pain.

Copyright © 2009 Ingrid Prohaska

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Saturday, July 4, 2009

Daybreak in Fall

by Ingrid Prohaska



One day it happened.
Fear hit me in the face.
"Not with me" I thought, and called for satisfaction.

Daybreak in fall in a glade in the deep forest.
There stood eye to eye
on one side - Fear. Evil experience the second;
on the other side - I. My second was called Self-love.
We chose our guns, the duel could begin.
One, two - I heard the leaves rustle under my feet,
three, four - my knees felt weak,
five, six - "kill the fear, kill the fear",
seven, eight - "before Fear kills you",
nine, ten
I turned around;
a shot was heard;
I fell to the ground;
Fear disappeared.
A nightmare gone,
a dream fulfilled.
Freedom came to me;
Self-love helped me to my feet again.

And if you say "This story is fiction!",
I answer you "How real is fear?"

Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska
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