Solstices. Crisalis .
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Her reality seemed to be a different one now – it had changed as quickly and as profoundly as the clouds scudding along the autumn skies outside.
While she was in the kitchen preparing supper, her mobile phone suddenly rang. She took the call but there was silence at the other end.
'Hello?' she asked, 'Who’s speaking?'
In contrast to her usual impatience, when the person at the other end didn’t answer, she didn’t slam down the phone at once. Intuitively she sensed that the caller needed her help. She was silent for a few seconds, and then she asked gently,
'Can I help you in some way?’
She was becoming aware of how stilted and stiff she sounded and decided to end the call. But suddenly there was a deep, very self-assured sounding female voice,
'Perhaps. At least, my husband seems to believe so.'
It took Charlotte some time to realise that the woman had answered her previous question. 'Okay, and how can I help you?'
'Well, you met my husband on the train yesterday. And…', the firm voice faltered and hesitated, obviously the speaker didn’t know how to continue.
Charlotte tried to help her. 'Ah, would you like to schedule a date for laying-on of hands?'
There was an audible gasp. 'Laying-on of hands? Ah… well, yes..., perhaps that is what I need.'
'All right', answered Charlotte, 'please give me your name and address and then we can arrange a date.'
'Christiane Löwensiek, Bergstrasse.' Charlotte knew where Bergstrasse was. It wasn’t far from her flat, near the Merianpark. Suddenly the voice became very hesitant, almost begging. 'Would it be possible for you to come tonight? I know, it’s quite a lot to ask, but…' – this woman plainly wasn’t used to ask for help, and it cost her – 'otherwise I don’t know how…'
Charlotte gulped; things had changed quickly from thanking to giving. But she promised to be there at eight o’clock. It was just after six now, so she would be able to cook herself supper and still get there round about eight.
As she put down the phone, Cleo sat in front of her and looked at her inquisitively. 'Well, Cleo,' Charlotte bent down and scratched the cat’s neck, 'I don’t know what’s going to come of it, but I can at least try'. Cleo purred contentedly, then made a beeline for her food bowl and showed Charlotte that there were more important things to life than phone calls. Charlotte chuckled: 'All right, first of all you get your dinner. After that I’ll set about making my own.'
Some two hours later Charlotte was walking towards a large, villa-like house. The garden bordered on the park and was slightly overgrown. A dog barked somewhere, but was nowhere to be seen. When Charlotte rang the bell, the heavy wooden door was opened almost immediately. Someone had evidently been watching out for her arrival.
The two women silently took each other in. Charlotte was looking at a tall, slim woman. Curly brown hair framed a very cared-for and unobtrusively made-up face. The comfortable, expensive clothing and a whiff of an expensive, dry perfume gave the woman an air of self-confidence and elegance. However her eyes, which hesitated to meet Charlotte’s, had a slightly flickering gaze and didn’t give anything away. Charlotte almost felt as if she was looking at a wall rather than into the eyes of a woman.
In contrast, Christiane was looking at a tall, strong but slim woman. She was surprised that she had to look up to Charlotte. Young, lively eyes and a face that – apart from small wrinkles around the eyes – was almost totally smooth, stood in contrast to the short-clipped hair which was laced with grey. Charlotte was wearing leisurely, comfortable clothes and only their warm, orange-red colour came anywhere near the image that Christiane had of a healer.
'May I come in?'
'Oh sorry, yes, do come in, please.' Christiane stepped back to let Charlotte pass. She led Charlotte up a high staircase. Charlotte followed Christiane into a spacious and bright living room decorated in Scandinavian style. The big arched windows looked out onto the garden, with the park in the background. Charlotte had the impression of being surrounded by green. 'Beautiful!' she exclaimed.
Christiane nodded. 'Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?'
'If I could have a cup of green tea?'
While Christiane disappeared to prepare the tea, Charlotte stood in front of the window and tried to concentrate on her inner centre. She felt unsure of herself in these strange surroundings. Her old, well-known doubts rose up. What in God’s name did she think she was doing here? Did she seriously think that she could help this woman by laying on hands? This woman who was apparently completely uprooted. With determination, Charlotte pushed back the doubts. 'Doubts are the most serious obstacle on your way,' the voice of her Buddhist teacher suddenly seemed to speak to her. 'Every other obstacle has to be examined carefully, but self-questioning has to be extinguished at once.' She smiled when she remembered how she had tried to distinguish between the self-assessing questioning of her actions and the doubts she had of her abilities. 'Doubts are destructive, they make you unsure and afraid, they paralyse you, whereas self-critical questioning is combined with interest, excitement and the wish and desire to learn something new.'
Charlotte gulped. This feeling of insecurity in her stomach and the sudden lack of energy were doubts for sure. She fixed her gaze on the large oak outside in the park, focusing on the branches and the wide, spacious crown of the tree. Her eyes followed the smaller branches and twigs and spied the darkening evening sky between the leaves. Now Charlotte asked for calmness and energy, and allowed this energy to flow through her eyes and her body, down to her feet.
As the soles of her feet warmed, she felt a slight touch on her leg. She looked down to see a large Doberman bitch standing beside her, her dark eyes seeming to ask a silent question as she looked up at her. Charlotte put her hand gently to the bitch’s neck and carefully began to scratch her behind the ears. When she turned her gaze back to the old oak tree, the dog leaned against her, barely touching her. They stood like that for some time, until suddenly the dog tensed.
Charlotte dragged her eyes away from the oak and slowly turned round. Christiane stood in the doorframe, watching the dog with a mixture of astonishment and surprise. 'What a good guard dog!' she growled, with contempt in her voice. The dog cowered and slunk away, tail between legs.
'Why do you say that, in that tone?' Charlotte asked. 'You let me into the house. Why shouldn’t the dog be friendly with me?'
Christiane went to the low table and served the tea. She shrugged her shoulders. Suddenly Charlotte got it. Christiane was lonely – and jealous because the dog had leaned against Charlotte but didn’t do that to her owner. At the same time Christiane seemed to be watching her with a lot of curiosity. In her eyes, Charlotte could see traces of aggression, which now covered the insecurity and animated their previously lifeless expression.
Her voice sounded harsh as she said, 'First you seem to have bewitched my husband, and now my dog as well. Is it my turn now?'
Charlotte could still feel the power of the oak inside her as she answered calmly, 'I don’t bewitch anyone. I can leave any time you want.'
Christiane pursed her lips in disdain. 'Is that supposed to be a threat?'
Charlotte simply shrugged her shoulders, got up and went to the door. 'I’m sorry that you made tea for nothing.' She gave a small smile and left the room. In the entrance hall, the dog was waiting for her. She stopped for a moment and scratched the bitch’s ears. She wagged her tail in thanks and watched silently as Charlotte opened the front door, closed it softly behind her and walked to the gate, where she unlocked her bike.
At that moment the door flew open and Christiane came running out, breathless. 'Listen, I’m sorry, really, very sorry. I was way out of line. Please…'
Charlotte hesitated. What a spoiled cow! Who did this woman think she was?
'Please,' Christiane was almost whispering now. 'My heart is unbearably cold.' Her eyes swam with tears. 'I don’t