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Wie Hochsensible den Alltag meistern

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Grundwissen leicht erklärt. Eine Heilweise besonders geeignet für Hochsensible

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Vom Po-Rutscher zum Mäusefänger
Wie Homöopathie Katzen helfen kann (176 Seiten)

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Wie aus einer gelähmten Katze mithilfe von Homöopathie und
viel Liebe ein echter rennender Mäusefänger wird.
Dazu gibt es bei Youtube Filmchen

Dieses Buch kann nur im Buchhandel erworben werden.
€ 12,90 Taschenbuch, € 9.99 e-book

...

Bitte beachten: Sämtliche Leseproben sind urheberrechtlich geschütztes Material und dürfen nicht ohne ausdrückliche schriftliche Genehmigung der Autorin oder des Verlags kopiert oder anderweitig verwendet werden.

Copyright © Jutta Nebel, Schirner Verlag

...

Weitere Leseproben im pdf-Format, bitte hier anklicken

Hochsensible und Feiern

Auch Hochsensible haben den Wunsch und das Bedürfnis dazuzugehören und loszulassen. Sie werden aber nur allzuoft und allzuleicht überrollt!

Hier zeige ich mal, wie sich so was abspielt für jemand wie uns.(für mich)

Ein neuer Versuch.

Ich habe mich über die Einladungskarte zur Einweihungsfeier sehr gefreut. Meine Freunde sind in eine andere Stadt gezogen. Ich weiß, daß es anstrengend sein wird, aber ich tröste mich mit dem Gedanken, daß ich ja, wenn es zu viel wird, immer noch gehen kann.

Die Adresse kenne ich noch nicht, kein Problem, der Routenplaner hilft mir...

Der Tag ist gekommen, ich muß für die Fahrt etwa 2 Stunden rechnen. Die Streckenbeschreibung liegt ausgedruckt neben mir auf dem Beifahrersitz. Ich hätte mit Bekannten fahren können, aber ich weiß aus Erfahrung, daß es wichtig ist, frei zu sein. Frei, um zu entscheiden, wann ich gehen will und muss.Wenn es mir zuviel wird!

Die Fahrt läuft ganz gut und ich habe auch relativ unkompliziert den gut ausgeschilderten Stadtteil gefunden. Die Straße finde ich auch. Und anscheinend haben sie schon viele andere gefunden, denn da ist weit und breit kein Parkplatz zu finden. Ich drehe Runden, hoffe, jemand fährt weg, sodaß ich seinen Platz einnehmen kann. Einmal habe ich Glück, vor mir fährt jemand weg und ich fahre an der Lücke vorbei, um rückwärts hineinzusetzen. Ich bin zittrig, die Sucherei ist mir schon auf die Nerven gegangen und irgendwie weiß ich garnichtmehr, wo ich bin. Ich setze völlig schief an. Normal ist einparken nicht wirklich ein Thema für mich, aber hinter mir hupt es aufdringlich. Ich verfranse mich total, stehe fast halbquer und muß wieder heraus um nochmal von vorne anzufangen. Als ich wieder ansetze, rückwärts einzuschlagen, gibt der hupende Held Gas und setzt sich vorwärts völlig schief in „meine“ Lücke. Er ragt mit dem Kotflügel ein ganzes Stück in die Fahrbahn hinein, aber das scheint ihn nicht zu stören. Auch nicht, daß er mich ganz unverschämt ausgetrickst hat.

Ich bin sauer, mache mir aber die Sache erträglich, indem ich denke: Okay, da wär ich nie richtig reingekommen und ehe mir jemand mein Auto verschrammt...

Aber nassgeschwitzt bin ich trotzdem.

Okay, nächste Runde. Nach längerem Kurven habe ich schließlich und endlich doch noch einen Platz gefunden. Eigentlich bin ich jetzt fällig für die Couch. Am liebsten würde ich den Plan Fete schmeißen und schnurstracks wieder nach Hause brettern. Aber wo ich schonmal da bin!

Jetzt hab ich doch ein ganz schönes Stück zu marschieren und frage mich so durch. Hoffentlich finde ich mein Auto jemals wieder! Aber das Laufen tut gut und ich nehme den Duft der fremden Stadt wahr. Es ist ein Viertel mit Altbauten und mit Platanen, die erste Herbstgerüche verbreiten. Ich würde mich am liebsten auf eine der Bänke setzen und die Stimmung genießen. Aber es wird Zeit!

Ich suche und finde die Hausnummer. Ein großes Holztor führt mich in einen Hof. Ich schaue mich um, etwas staubig, etwas verkommen aber irgendwie schön. Es hat Atmosphäre hier. Man spürt die Menschen, die hier wohnen, ich fühle ihr Lebensfeld, kein einzelnes konkretes, sondern eine Mischung aus allen, nicht die Summe der Teile sondern die Gesamtheit. So wie man in einem Kuchen nicht einzeln das Mehl, das Ei, die Butter schmeckt, sondern den ganzen Kuchen.

Meine Seele hat sich inzwischen ein bißchen sortiert und erholt. Die Haustür steht offen und ich brauche nicht zu klingeln. Ich weiß, daß sie oben wohnen, unterm Dach! Ich lasse die tschilpende Spatzenschar, die über den Hof fegt, hinter mir und tauche in den kühlen Hausflur ein. Hier sortieren sich die Lebensfelder. Aus den Türen, an denen ich vorbeigehe, während ich die knarrenden Holztreppen hochsteige, dringen Essensgerüche, Geräusche, Duft von Duschgel, Stille, Katzengeruch.

Je nach dem. Als ich höher komme, rieche ich Zigaretten und höre sich verstärkendes Stimmengemurmel und Musik. Alle diese Eindrücke spielen nun schon auf meinem Stimmungspiano, dur und moll im subtilen Wechsel. Das fühlt sich schön an und bewegt mich.

Bevor ich oben klingele, bleibe ich erst nochmal still stehen und schließe die Augen und atme tief durch. Da drin geht es schon rund. Meine Freundin, die ich jetzt schon länger nicht mehr gesehen habe, öffnet. Sie fällt mir um den Hals, ein bißchen zu freudig. Ich schaue sie an, sie hat etwas verweinte Augen und zieht mich gleich in die Garderobenecke. Es geht ihr nicht gut, sie schüttet mir ihr Herz aus, sofern das unter den Augen der anderen unauffällig geht. Ihr geht's danach besser! Mir nicht!

Ich habe plötzlich einen Wolfshunger, werde richtig zittrig, aber ich kann ja nicht gleich über die Fleischtöpfe herfallen!(das tut man nicht!)Aber es wäre besser für meine Verfassung!

Stattdessen begrüße ich hier und da ein paar Bekannte und höre mir ein paar Banalitäten (Smalltalk) an, die mich jedesmal und immer wieder aufs neue am Sinn der menschlichen Kommunikation zweifeln lassen: „Auch da?“ „Und selber?“ „Was für ein Wetter!“ „Ja und vor allem so viel davon!“

Ja ich weiß, Smalltalk kann auch anders verlaufen und für philosophische Ergüsse ist nicht überall Raum und Zeit. Alkohol kann philosophische Ergüsse enorm fördern aber ab einem bestimmten Grad ad absurdum führen, was sie dann unter Umständen schon wieder hochinteressant macht.

Aber warum muß man reden, wenn man sich nichts zu sagen hat? Um (peinliche) Stille zu vermeiden? Ist Stille schwerer zu ertragen als Peinlichkeit? Für manche offenbar!

Ich merke, ich bin schon recht genervt. Und die Musik ist mir auch zu laut. Sie verhindert auf Dauer sogar Smalltalk. Eigentlich ein Vorteil. Aber ich merke, ich werde immer zittriger, die Geräusche und Gerüche reizen mich enorm. Ich kann mich nicht einlassen. Es ist alles wie eine schwere Wolke, die sich um mich herumlegt. Ich gehe jetzt doch schnurstracks in die Küche, um mir etwas zu essen zu holen. Dort ist es auch ruhiger. Es gibt allerhand Verschiedenes zu Essen, aber ich muß wieder aufpassen, darf nichts Scharfes nehmen, was mich noch mehr reizt und finde einen leckeren nahrhaften Nudelsalat mit Kichererbsen. Der Wolkenumhang lüftet sich ein wenig.

Mit Teller und Gabel in der Hand suche ich mir einen etwas ruhigeren Platz und lasse meine Blicke schweifen. Das ist besser als Kino, weil Realität. Ich sehe Fäden zwischen Menschen, höre Dissonanzen, erlebe den verwirrenden Reiz der gegensätzlich ausgesendeten Signale, wenn jemand akustisch hörbar sagt: „Ach komm doch mal her“, aber gestisch und mimisch: „Ach bleib mir bloß weg!“

Ich sehe in einer anderen Ecke meine Freundin von vorhin verhalten heftig mit ihrem Partner diskutieren und empfinde es wie einen Schlag in den Magen. Ich spüre, was zwischen den beiden steht und es verschlägt mir die Luft und den Appetit. Ich versuche mich auszuklinken aus dem Feld, aber es ist zu umfassend, es liegt auf mir wie dicke feuchtigkeitsgesättigte Luft.

Mein Herz beginnt zu rasen, ich darf den Kopf nicht schnell drehen, sonst wird mir schwindelig.

Ich spüre wieder einmal, wie mein Seelenaufzug lautlos und unaufhaltsam nach unten gleitet, in meine tiefsten Keller.

Ich will nur noch nach Hause, egal wie weit der Weg ist und wie anstrengend!

Von nun an agiere ich wie in Trance. Teller wegstellen, den Weg zur Garderobe einschlagen, ohne Abschied gehen... Wie so oft!

Ich habe mich oft gefragt, wann es so weit ist, daß mein Seelenaufzug agiert.

Ich spüre ihn nicht nur, wenn schon „alle Stricke reißen“, wenn ich das 37.mal meine eigenen Grenzen ignoriert und überschritten habe. So wie im obigen Fall. Nein, auch meine Beschreibung von Dur und Moll auf dem Stimmungspiano ist ein Synonym dafür.Es hebt mich subtil an, wenn mir etwas Bewegendes begegnet. Das fühlt sich an, wie ein gutgewarteter Aufzug, der lautlos auf die nächste Etage wechselt, man spürt nur den Hub. Und natürlich die „angehobene“ Stimmung. Wenn etwas mich unangenehm berührt, wird die Etage ebenso sanft gewechselt, eben nach unten. So geht es den ganzen Tag, das fällt mir garnichtmehr besonders auf. Nur wenn etwas unverhofft Schönes passiert, worüber ich mich besonders freue, rauscht mein Aufzug mit mir ab, nach oben und der Rausch, der all meine Glückshormone auf einmal freisetzt, regelrechte Kaskaden davon, endet, wie jeder Rausch über kurz oder lang - mit einem Kater. Welcome back in den unteren Bereichen! Da hilft dann nur noch der Rückzug, ins eigene Zimmer, in die Natur, Hauptsache alleine sein!

...Auszüge aus Ratschlägen:

Stress im Alltag: II. Öffentliche Verkehrsmittel

1. Wie ich schon in einer meiner Geschichten beschrieben habe, stört mich in besonders entspannten Situationen das Quietschen der Straßenbahnen und das Brummen der Busse in keiner Weise. Aber das ist eher die Ausnahme. Ohrstöpsel sind da eine gewisse Hilfe.

2. Die Enge im Bus, die Gerüche kann man nicht so einfach wegstöpseln. Da ist es sinnvoll, sich ein inneres Ziel mit Abzählen der Haltestellen zu setzen. Vielleicht kann man ...

3. Begibt man sich auf eine längere Reise, sollte man sich selbst einen Gefallen tun und vorsorgen. Hat man Probleme mit Zigarettenrauch, (im Ausland gibt es noch kein Rauchverbot) kann man ...

Veranstaltungen:

Familienfeiern wie Geburtstage, Hochzeit, Taufe, Weihnachten...

1. Da die HSP überfordert sein kann, wenn am Tisch mehrere Gespräche gleichzeitig stattfinden, kann sie entweder ihr Problem ansprechen und darum bitten, dass möglichst nur immer einer spricht und die anderen zuhören. Das geht bei besonders ...

2. Wird es zwischendurch doch zuviel, sollte der Hochsensible rausgehen, am besten allein, oder begleitet von einer anderen hochsensiblen Person, der er nicht erst groß erst etwas erklären muß, weil sie weiß, wie es ihm ergeht. Der Stress, der sich durch die Reizüberflutung aufgebaut hat, ...

3. Wird es trotz aller Vorsichtsmaßnahmen, zu denen auch da Ohrstöpsel zählen, denn wenn es laut ist, hört man ja immer noch genug, zu viel, sollte man sich nicht nötigen „durchzuhalten“ denn damit signalisiert man seinem Körper: Wenn ich durchhalte, geht es mir schlecht !

4. Es ist keine Schande, genug zu haben und zu gehen. Man sollte sich klarmachen, dass zwei schöne Stunden viel mehr wert sind als vier stressige. Andere Menschen brauchen diese Reize, um sich zu stimulieren, uns schaden sie! Wenn wir lernen, unsere Grenzen zu achten ...

5. Oft sind es ja gerade bei Familienfeiern nicht nur die äußeren Reize, die auf uns einwirken. Da wirken Emotionen, ausgelöst durch Erinnerungen, es genügt schon die Duftnote des Parfüms der Tante, die Stimmungen auslöst. Selbst wenn diese Erinnerungen positiver Art sind, setzen sie wieder Reize. ...

... steht dafür, dass es im Buch ausführlicher wird, da hier sonst der Rahmen gesprengt würde

Entwicklung und Förderung eigener Talente und Begabungen.

1. Hochsensible haben irgendwie zwangsläufig die Begabung der erhöhten Wahrnehmung. Das ist, wie jede Begabung eine Herausforderung und ein Geschenk! Manch einer wird merken, dass er ein Lied nur einmal zu hören braucht und es nachsingen und ...

2. Der optisch Begabte sieht jede farbliche Disharmonie, oder wenn an einer Grafik etwas nicht stimmt und sei der Fehler noch so minimal. Ein unharmonisches Bild bereitet ihm solche Schmerzen, und Unruhe, wie dem akustischen Typen ein disharmonisches Musikstück.
Er ist der geborene Maler, Graphiker oder Bildhauer.

3. Wer Stoffe schon an der Struktur erkennt, am Schimmer, am Geräusch, das entsteht, wenn er mit den Fingern darüber streicht und dem Geruch, den der Stoff abgibt und daraus erkennen kann, mit welchem Material er zu tun hat, arbeitet mit allen Sinnen. Und die Stärke der HSP besteht darin, all diese Eindrücke zu einem multidimensionalen Eindruck zu verknüpfen, der sogar noch die Stimmung beeinflusst. Ich weiß aus eigener Erfahrung, daß es Menschen gibt, die alleine durch das Betrachten von an sich bedeutungslosen Bildern ...

4. Daher sind unter den HSPen viele Therapeuten zu finden. Sie sind empathisch, sehen, spüren, erleben den Zustand des Gegenübers und setzen ihre Wahrnehmung ein, um zu helfen.

Hier sieht man, dass diese Begabung faszinierend und wunderbar sein kann, aber dass diese begabte Person auch besonders auf sich aufpassen muß. Hochbegabte, berühmte Künstler haben dafür ihren "Hofstaat", der sie pflegt und hätschelt und alle Unannehmlichkeiten von ihnen fernhält, wir einfachen HSPen müssen selbst auf uns aufpassen! Das ist eine große Herausforderung...

Weitere Ratschläge über Ernährung, Sport, Einkaufen, Berufsleben, den Umgang mit den eigenen Emotionen, Entspannungstechniken...finden Sie im Buch!

And here you can read parts of the book translated into english language. From time to time more parts will be translated

Wenn du zu viel fühlst. Wie Hochsensible den Alltag meistern

When you feel too much. How highly sensitive people manage everyday´s life.

Schirner Verlag, ISBN 978-3-89767-382-3

Preface……..................................................................................................7
Trust............................................................................................................15
Emily Is Too Shy…......................................................................................19
The Wind.....................................................................................................23
Scarab……..................................................................................................27
Findings.......................................................................................................31
It Did Not Work............................................................................................39
Being Needed..............................................................................................50
Water Meditation..........................................................................................54
Magic Wand.................................................................................................58
Finding Back to Life.....................................................................................64
Nils, Or the Inner Leader..............................................................................73
Out of Time and Space................................................................................79
Trust.............................................................................................................86
The Beauty of Every Day’s Work.................................................................92
You Bear Your Healing Inside You…............................................................98
Where Does this Sensitivity Come from,
What is Behind it?.......................................................................................107
“Refitting”.....................................................................................................109
Stress and Hormones.................................................................................112

General Advice….........................................................................................118
Nutrition........................................................................................................119
Stress in Everyday Life................................................................................120
Development of Special Gifts......................................................................123
Working Life for HSP……………….............................................................125
Highly sensitives and Celebrating…............................................................127
Dealing with Emotions.................................................................................133
Meditating and Encountering the Inner Child........................................... ...135

Introduction to Part Two...............................................................................137

1. Chakra Stones.........................................................................................142
2. Home Improvement Markets and Department Stores.............................145
3. Plants and Animals..................................................................................154
4. Necklaces with Precious Stones.............................................................157
5. Power-Bracelets......................................................................................160
6. Moqui Marbles..........................................................................................162
7. Implements Made of Precious Stones.....................................................164

Springtime (or a Journey to Neptune)..........................................................166
Merchants and Markets for Precious Stones...............................................168
Seeing and Sensing Energies......................................................................171
Meditation and Inner Journey
to Experience your Newfound Crystal or Stone............................................177
Epilog.............................................................................................................179
Book List........................................................................................................180

Preface

Originally, this book was intended to be a kind of storybook, a collection of stories about life and surviving. I must confess that most of the heroines in all these tales have something in common. Me!
Although they have different names, most of them are driven by the same intention: getting along with life.
I had written down all these stories somehow and somewhere, on notepads and in diaries, on sheets of paper which I found later in some drawers or maybe under the notepad and in other unbelievable places, or which I used as bookmarks. Some of the stories I had saved on my computer.
One day I had the idea to compile them all. And this happened for one reason:
I was suffering from a mental crisis and I was looking for some helpful lecture to give me comfort and to cheer me up. I visited a well-known bookshop in Darmstadt. Here I had always been successful when I was looking for material about shamanism, healing and spirituality. But on this special day I did not find what I was looking for. None of the books they had seemed to fit. Not a single book seemed to deal with my special feelings, my problems, my distress, my pain. So I had to go home and to start looking at my computer where I had saved several texts, mainly from the internet. I found one, which comforted me very much. THIS TEXT gave me what I was looking for, peace, and the chance of letting go. Seeing that this was one of my own stories, I realized that I was the one who had given me a helping hand. For this reason I started bringing all my little stories together. It should become a story-telling-book.
But this little book seemed to be without any real meaning to others, because nobody knew the intention of the writer, which was to show people how to get out of sometimes self-made traps and severe problems in life!
Nobody could know that these were stories of one person always involved with problems which do not seem to be problems to other people.
For a while this did not change, but the stories were brought together and could help me whenever I was in need of them. But one really important aspect seemed to be missing. It was the meaning.
As time went by, the amount of stories could have doubled and tripled. Life moved on, it did not become easier and it had to be mastered.
I kept asking myself why I had never ever found stories like mine. And I have been a real bookworm from childhood on. Every publication I could get about spirituality, healing, psychology, shamanism, healing with stones and crystals enlarged my private library. And also my knowledge. I felt most familiar with shamanism.
But nobody could tell me why I always felt so irritated, nervous, tired, exhausted and could bear so little. Others were doing the same things I was doing, even three times as much, and then they feel really satisfied and meet others to go to the cinema!
Why was it so difficult for me to celebrate, to let go, to enjoy life like others do? Was I wrong, was I even depressive, was I suffering from some psychological illness?
I started studying homoeopathy, became more and more acquainted with this subject matter and looked for a therapist working in this field. Sometimes I got the impression of being able to feel “normally”, of having energy, power, and strength. I made real improvements, but I also had relapses. Once, when I was almost dying of overexcitement, I looked up two words on the internet: highly sensitive.
One of the first pages which appeared was: www.hochsensible.de
There I could read, although I had actually been looking for a homoeopathic medicine, for the first time about people like me who have the same problems I have had for my entire life. These pages described “highly sensitive personalities” as HSP. They gave information about people who are, like me, very often overloaded with what is happening around them. These irritations slip unfiltered into our nervous system, which causes sometimes unbearable neural excitement.
This is what the website says:
Highly sensitive personalities are persons who sense all the time. They have, because of a physiological disposition of the nervous system, an increased impressionability for irritation. This goes for outer irritations like noises and smells and pictures just as for inner ones like memories, imaginations, thoughts...

This higher capacity for irritation makes highly sensitive people get more information than “normally” sensitive people do. They can realize things like subtle changes in their environment more strongly than other people do, and so they can give valuable information to others. In the texts on the website you can find information on the advantages which result from the increased receptiveness for these irritations...

I know these advantages very well! I have described them in several of my stories. It is a wholeness of understanding situations, the ability to build, without forcing it, connections in a spontaneous way and, in consequence, to recognize the things behind.
It also means, through listening to music, looking at a picture, or watching a movie, to get into a very intense state of feelings. I myself sometimes get flashes of goose bumps when listening to music with a special emotional background attached. I can play on a piano of emotions when I listen to such special music.
Sometimes I do this when I feel stuck in my emotions. Looking at a series of pictures I can experience mood changes. Although what is in the picture is really unimportant, this can be caused just by the composition of colours. Smells of freshly mixed roughcast opens a door to my childhood, because a lot of very positive experiences are connected to this!

The opposite is the case with the smell of petrol. I get instantly travel-sick when I am sitting in a car which smells of petrol. That opens a door to my childhood too. This may happen also to normally sensitive people, but HSP get more impressions by all sorts of situations. And these impressions form a multidimensional overwhelming picture which helps to realize more, to understand more, to connect to more, and to recognize more that is behind a situation!

Quote:
In our modern culture high sensitivity may have unpleasant effects on the lives of highly sensitive people, especially when it comes to over-irritation. What may not be disturbing to others, like loud music, or strong smells, can be strongly stimulating to HSP and very stressing! Most people can just ignore loud sirens, glaring lights and strong smells (perfume, smoke) while HSP feel strongly disturbed and become overexcited. In such a status one becomes overwhelmed by the flood of information that has to be dealt with.
Because of the higher irritation HSP get tired and exhausted more easily, and so it is very important to find opportunities to regenerate oneself...

These aspects are also very well-known to me. I recognized myself in this text and started to see a bit of hope. So I am not so strange? Am not extraordinary, not wrong? There are more people like me?
But why?
And before my typical circle of thoughts could start in my mind, I found page: http://www.hochsensibel.org/

There I could finally dive deeper into the matter of being highly sensitive.
And from this point on my story telling book started to make sense.
These are all stories of a highly sensitive person. I wish people to find themselves in these stories. People who are desperate, like I had been all the time, on the way to find themselves...
To know that one is not sick but just different, and especially that one is not alone in this condition and with this gift, is a really big relief!

I am going to start with a story which goes way back into my childhood times. I invite you to read and feel. If you experience some resonance while reading it, maybe you do not need the explanations anymore.

Was dahintersteckt... What is behind it

She never was a wild child, never. She rather seemed more adapted, but very sad and she was often weeping. Her mother always told her: Why don’t you smile a bit, what shall people think of us?
She loved Mohrle, her black cat, which had nibbled at her birthday cake at her seventh birthday, because she was used to get the hard pieces of the cake every Sunday. This time Mohrle took the pieces herself, more daring, and thus very different from Elli.
Elli could never clearly express what she wished or didn’t wish, because she didn’t know it exactly. She was always hoping that others would tell her!

Elli got sick when her uncle Günter, who she loved because of his curls and because he wished her to comb them, when this uncle arrived with his VW-Beetle, which was reeking of petrol, to take the whole family for an excursion. She got travel-sick in this car every time.
It didn’t help to say – but she wasn’t really sure if she had said it or if they had listened to her, however, it didn’t help to say that she didn’t want to go with them. She was too young to have any idea or any chance to make a decision.

Elli had never been able to let go, she always had to keep control. Control of herself, control of circumstances, control of her wishes, feelings and reactions. She always had to function. If that was not possible and she tried to express her feelings and impressions, she just heard:

That’s just your imagination...
Put yourself together...
Don’t let yourself go...

So she always made the experience not to trust her own perception and feelings.
Elli only felt confident on safe solid ground. If someone lifted her for a surprise, she was yelling with fear!
She tried to swing, like other children did, but she got sick instantly, same situation like in the car.
She tried to enjoy sitting on a carousel – with the same result. She always tried to become a little lighter through all this, but it didn’t work. The only possibility was riding. There she felt secure, felt carried, felt sheltered. And when she fell down, she would mount the horse again.
From this time onwards, she refused to join the family for excursions.
She preferred to visit the horses.

Elli grew up, had her highs and lows in life. But there was one problem which she never lost, the fear to lose the solid ground under her feet. She still didn’t find the one important thing in life –trust!

Until that day. She was 44 years old, out of work, discouraged, and, like so often before, on a walk through her beloved nature, alone, just accompanied by the wind and a buzzard, which sailed right above her head, and the sun, stroking her cheeks.
An old lost garden, very familiar to her, offered her gifts like pears, apples, blackberries and – a swing! Today the swing was whispering to her: Come on, rest on me, swing with me!
And she dared! First very carefully, slowly, then stronger, with flying hair, with her feet right into the blue sky, all the time checking her feelings...laughing out loud, wild like a child!

For 44 years, her whole life long she had been waiting for just this moment, almost giving up hope that this moment would come.

In this story the child emerges, the inner child.
From its point of view the story is seen and written down. My inner child that is longing to remain a child, and to act like a child even at the age of 44 or more. Highly sensitive children sense! They have lots and lots of antenna with them. They sense the feelings of all the people around them, especially those belonging to the family. They can feel what is between the parents. Problems of all kinds! There is no chance to hide them from these special children! The worst these parents can do to their children is to lie, to say: you’re just imagining this. Because the child feels with all its senses what the matter is. And when the parents refuse to tell the truth the child becomes insecure, starts to think of being wrong, its feelings being wrong, its perceptions being wrong.
It unfortunately learns not to trust its own impressions, its feelings, and its own needs. When Mom or Dad or the teacher say something, they must be right and I must be wrong will be its conclusion.
How shall such children ever trust themselves in the future? Such a child becomes puzzled. It cannot deal with the flood of information, which will overwhelm it and which seems to be so wrong (in the others’ eyes). This is so confusing that the nervous system gets overexcited. The little person starts to suppress all this incoming information.
It starts to retreat, it lives more than before in its own world and becomes very lonely. The suppressed feelings turn into a strong sensitivity and this sensitivity shows up in problems, maybe like allergic reactions, sickness on ships, in busses and cars, and on swings!

The kids get from early times onwards diagnoses of disturbed psychic abilities and disturbed behaviour.

These children naturally realize feeling much better when they are alone in nature. They are often unable to make decisions. For instance being asked if they want to take the teddy or the doll with them, they want others to decide for them. They do feel what they want, but they have learned and experienced not to trust their own feelings.
These children love animals very much, because they do not value and doubt. They are just there to be stroked and loved! And they give love unconditionally.

This story shows that one can learn to let go and trust, even when being grown up. Especially to trust one’s own feelings and observations. This is the most important thing, and one has to come to this point sooner or later!

The beauty of every day’s work

She worked in a two-man business, together with her beloved .They were together on tour doing cleaning work. This job was not so bad. Over she developed an ability to clean the steps in a kind of meditation. My teacher Michael Barnett gave me the advice “Do it as a meditation”. Wiping each step from the left to the right, breathing in, taking a step backwards, breathing out, wiping from the left...and so on.

After several times she found that she could distinguish the houses from each other by their smell. There were some places which seemed cold to her, clammy and repelling. Others, with wooden stairs, smelt warm and homelike, especially when the sun came in and melted the wax and oil, with which the steps have been treaded in all the years and years to tend them.

In art nouveau houses Martina was always fascinated by the tessellated floors which were mostly in the entrance area. These houses gave sensory effluvia of old stones, roughcast and the linoleum that covered the wooden steps. The smell of linoleum aroused scenes of her childhood. She had learned to make prints with linoleum, after having cut a picture into this material, and she could still hear and feel the sharp feather graving lines into it.

Especially in summer, when it was really hot outside, she enjoyed to work in the cellar, where she felt wrapped into the cool atmosphere. There were typical smells too, cold, wet or muddy. One could also find corners which seemed full of fungus; in other corners one could find the perfume of old apples and potatoes. She enjoyed playing this piano of senses a lot.

In winter it was always very hard to work with water. Although they had their warm water with them in the car and used good rubber gloves, always being wet and cold is not that pleasant. But the work had to be done and thanks to her habit of working in a meditative way she was always inspired by new ideas to personal growth.

Both of them shared a big passion: psychology and astrology. Moving from staircase to staircase, she asked him questions about astrology because he knew a lot about it. They started linking planetary constellations and aspects to stories of people they knew. And so they were always involved in brilliant discussions and theories.

Mostly, except for hot summer days when she enjoyed the cool air in the cellars, he did the work there, and was cleaning the yard, while she did her meditative job, wiping the step from the left to the right, breathing in, taking a step backwards, breathing out, wiping from the left...and so on.
And there she had the most fascinating ideas, they came straight into her head, after wiping the first two or three steps and he, watching her eyes, noticed that she had new ideas, thoughts, which she would tell him on their way to the next job. Thus, working times became enjoyable times and the cold seasons were to endure.

The warm days were really the better ones. They did not have to go straight from the car into the houses but could take a little time to have a little chat in the backyard with the housekeeper or play with a straying cat. They took their meal, which they had brought from home, enjoying the sun and exchanging their findings.

Once, it was Friday afternoon and they were ready to do the last job for that week. He placed the car on the backyard, filled the buckets with water and soap while she was having a little walk around the yard. She was working here for the first time, but this time she took more time to have a closer look. It all seemed to be kind of bewitched to her in a very nice way. One could say it looked sordid. The windows were hung by that kind of old curtains used by old ladies. They seemed to be very dusty.
There were flowerpots, in good condition, and little bric-a-brac figures, also dusty and bleached by the sun and the years. They seemed to be given by loving children’s hands and taken by loving mothers’ or grandmothers’ hands, standing here, speaking of a forgotten past.

In the next window there lay a fat black and white spotted cat, pressing its head against the fly screen in front of the open window, purring because pleased about the attention.

Behind this building used furniture was standing around, and a car without its licence plate. The wild flowers and the weed were growing round these objects and gave them a romantic touch. In the midst of a big town! Martina moved back into the direction where she had come from to finish her work for the day. But suddenly her eyes were caught by a corner of the yard where the wind had blown dust and leaves into a heap.

A pigeon was sitting there, not very unusual in a big city. But this animal seemed to be very weak. Martina moved slowly and gently into its direction to have a closer look. It looked like one of this grey doves one can find everywhere. But one detail was different, it wore a ring! You belong to someone and this person is waiting for you, she whispered.

The bird hardly moved. Martina took it up. The little one seemed to be very indifferent to what was happening with and around it. But it didn’t seem to be sick, because then the feathers would have been sticky, but they weren’t. Maybe you are hungry, Martina murmured and took some bread crumbs from her box.
The bird was not moving, it was not at all interested. The sun was burning down on both of them.

Ooohhh, you are thirsty, Martina added. She brought a bottle of water from the car. But where should it drink from? So she had to have an idea! And she got one! She screwed the cap from the bottle and filled it with water. That little one didn’t know what to do with it.
Once Martina had seen how young chicken can be brought to eat. One has to knock on the floor with one finger to imitate the parents’ picking. This is what she did then and put her wet finger on the dove’s beak. Now the bird understood her. It moved its head to the water and with one draught it emptied the screw-cap. The same thing happened once more. Suddenly the eyes started to shine. The bird’s and Martina’s also.

The bird now started to bring its plumage into the right order. Now the bread crumbs became interesting.
Martina had realized that in the meantime a black fat male cat was straying around their edge with hungry eyes. Maybe it didn’t want the bread crumbs so much. That meant the bird had to start flying home.
Martina stayed for a while, offered more water and food and then took the bird into her hands to say goodbye. It looked to her with clear, shiny eyes, without showing any fear. She threw it into the air, it started to fly with flapping wings, turned a round above her and choose its direction home.

Martina’s beloved had watched both of them for a while, moved away with the bucket and did his work without saying a word. When he came back to her, her shiny eyes were telling enough, there was nothing to add.

The most beautiful part of that work was the homelike feelings which developed working in these houses and backyards, where my inner child could be there. So I was able to endure the at times hard conditions.
And the best thing was learning to enjoy the work, thanks to the wise advice of my beloved teacher Michael Barnett: Do it as a meditation!
Thus I was able to block the outer irritations from penetrating me, and inside I was able to unfold and get genius ideas.
Being mindful and letting go, all in one.
The result of such processes shows every day and every moment in new ideas, new witnesses, which help me to grow.
The mindfulness shows when I see what others do not realize. The dusty charm of the backyard full of waste and grown over with weed and wild flowers reminded me of Sleeping Beauty, sleeping for a hundred years, and in the dusty windows the bric-a-brac figures seemed to emanate love.
The pigeon was the voyager in big trouble on its way home, and I have been the protector which saved it from being eaten. Just for this one time. This all fills my heart with a warm feeling of love...

 

Highly sensitive and celebrating

 

Also highly-sensitive People have the desire and the need to belong and let go. They are, however, rolled over too easily and too often!

 

Here I am going to show in a few situations, what is happening for someone like us (the way I experience it)

 

A new try.

 

I was very happy about the invitation to the inauguration ceremony. My friends had moved to another city. I know it will be exhausting, but I am consoling with the thought that if it gets too much, I can still go.

The address I know not yet, no problem, the route planner helps me ...

 

The day has come, I have to expect about two hours of driving. The route description lies next to me on the passenger´s seat. I could have travelled with friends, but I know from experience that it is important to be free. Free to decide if and when I want to go. As soon as it gets too much for me!

 

The ride is quite good and I have found the well-signposted district relatively uncomplicated. I also found the right street. And apparently lots of others have already found it, because there is no parking lot for me. I move around, hoping someone is driving away, so I could take his place. Once I'm lucky, I am going to pass the gap to go backwards. I'm shaky, the search has already got on my nerves and somehow I do not know where I am. I am completely wrong. Normal parking is not really a topic for me, but behind me it is obtrusive. I totally fucked up, almost half-way up, and I had to get out again. As I begin again, pushing backwards, a honking hero behind me gives gas and sits down completely obliquely into "my" gap. He juts into the road with the fender, but that does not seem to bother him. Not that he'd tricked me completely.

 

I'm angry, but I make the thing bearable by thinking: Okay, I would never get right and before someone scrambled my car ...

But wet sweat I am anyway.

 

Okay, next turn. After long bends I finally found a place. Actually, I am now due for the couch. I would like to throw the plan of visiting the party and push it straight back home. But otherwise, I am already there!

 

Now I have a pretty piece of a way to march and asks here and there for the right way. Hopefully I'll find my car ever again! But walking is doing well and I perceive the smell of the strange city. It is a town with old buildings and with trees spreading the first autumn smells. I would love to sit on one of the benches and enjoy the atmosphere. But it's time!

 

I search and finally find the right house number. A large wooden gate leads me into a courtyard. I look around, something dusty, a little rotten but somehow nice. It has atmosphere here. You feel the people who live here, I feel their life-field, not a single concrete, but a mixture of all, not the sum of the parts, but the whole. Just as a cake does not taste the flour, the egg, the butter, but the whole cake.

 

My spirits have sorted and recovered a bit. The front door is open and I do not need to ring. I know they dwell above, under the roof! I leave the chattering sparrows that sweep across the yard behind me and dive into the cool house floor. Here, the living areas are sorted. From the doors I climbed the creaking wooden stairs, food smells, sounds, smell of shower gel, silence, smell of cats.

Depending on. As I got higher, I smelled cigarettes and listened to reinforcing voices and music. All these impressions are already playing on my kind of inner kind of mood piano, major and minor in a subtle change. That feels nice and moves me.

 

Before I pounded up, I stopped again and closed my eyes and breathed deeply. It's all about it. My girlfriend, whom I have not seen for a long time, opens. She flung her arms around my neck, a little too joyful. I look at her, she has some tear-stained eyes and pulls me right into the cloakroom corner. She doesn´t feel good and pours out her heart, as far as the eyes of the others go unobtrusively. Now she is better, but I am not!

 

I suddenly have a wolfish appetite, I'm going to be really shaky, but I can not go right over the meat pots (you do not!) But it would be better for my condition!

Instead, I talk here and there to a few acquaintances and listen to a few banalities (small talk), which each time and again let me doubt the meaning of human communication: "Also there?" "And yourself?" "What a Weather! "" Yes and especially so much of it!"

Yes, I know small talk can also be different and for philosophical effusions there is not space and time everywhere. Alcohol can promote philosophical effusions enormously but can lead to a certain degree ad absurdum, which in some cases may make them again highly interesting.

But why do we have to speak when we have nothing to say? To avoid (embarrassed) silence? Is silence harder to bear than embarrassment? For some, obviously!

 

I realize I'm quite annoyed. And the music is too loud for me. In the long run it even prevents small talk. Actually an advantage. But I notice I'm getting shivering, the noises and odors irritate me tremendously. I can not get involved. It's all like a heavy cloud that's around me. I'm going straight to the kitchen to get something to eat. There it is quieter. There are all sorts of different things to eat, but I have to be careful not to take anything hot, which makes me feel even more overwhelmed and I find a delicious nutritious noodle salad with chickpeas. The clouds seem to lift a little bit.

 

With a plate and a fork in my hand, I am going to look for a quieter place and let my eyes wander. This is better than any movie because it is reality. I can see threads between people, hear dissonances, experience the bewildering charm of the signals sent out in opposite directions, when someone says acoustically, "Oh come here," but gestically and mimically: "Oh just leave me!"

I can see my girlfriend of earlier behave violently with her partner discuss and feel it as a blow in the stomach. I feel what's between the two, and I feel like losing my breath and my appetite. I try to disengage myself from the field, but it's too comprehensive, it's lying around me like thick damp-saturated air.

My heart beats fast, I can not turn my head quickly, or I'll get dizzy.

 

And again, my soul elevation slips silently and inexorably down into my deepest cellar.

I just want to go home, no matter how far the ride will be and how tiring!

From now on, I act like I was in a trance. Put the plate away, leave without saying goodbye ... like I did so often!

 

I often asked myself, where is the point when the elevator of my souls starts working.

I do not only feel it when "I'm going to take all sorts of things" when I've ignored my limits 37 times. Just as in the above case. No, also my description of major and minor on the inner mood piano is a synonym for it. It makes me subtle when I encounter something moving. This feels like a well-maintained lift, which changes silently to the next floor, you only feel the throw. And, of course, the "raised" mood. When something touches me uncomfortably, the floor is just as gently changed, just down. So it moves the whole day, that does not bother me at all. Only when something unexpectedly beautiful happens, which I am especially looking forward to, my elevator rushes with me, up and the feeling of being kind of high, which releases all my happiness hormones at once, rightfully cascades of it, ending like any intoxication sooner or later - with one Hangover Welcome back in the lower areas! Then only the retreat, into the own room, into the nature, will help the main thing alone!



Diese Leseproben wurden aus dem Ursprungsskript erstellt. Daher ist es möglich, daß der Wortlaut nach dem Lektorieren im Buch nicht genau so wortgetreu erscheint. Jedoch weiß ich, daß meine Lektorinnen sehr einfühlsam gearbeitet und den Sinn nicht verfremdet haben. In diesem Zusammenhang herzlichen Dank an Heike Wietelmann und Susanne Hühn und die Übersetzerin Tamara Kuhn!

Bitte beachten: Sämtliche Leseproben sind urheberrechtlich geschütztes Material und dürfen nicht ohne ausdrückliche schriftliche Genehmigung der Autorin oder des Verlags kopiert oder anderweitig verwendet werden. Copyright © Jutta Nebel, Schirner Verlag

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