Autumn FeelingsThe last sunbeams of the long warming summer are shining once again with their full magnificence until the weakened sun gives up happiness and laughter.Do you hear the music, wandering from major to minor? In this weightlessness of nature Mr. Autumn is obtrusive like in a dictatorship.Is it the cold, the decline of joy do they make you blind? It is not so simple.Sometimes you ask yourself what a misery like in a ballad, the music slowly playing.Does love put you under its spell? But in this melancholy it never arrived.The one love He looks at you, do not lose the glance. Are you pleased? Have you make known your enormous affection?So near but so far as well like the twinkling evening star in the sky.The question how, where and when ask it to yourself or not.However, it remains the search for the eternal happiness of light.Leaves change colour from green to yellow, lose their power as well as their attraction.Sorrow and g
Autumn MelancholyThe long days fade.Autumn takes its course.In cold rough windsThe mist is blown away.Trees still hold fastTo their leaves.But the wind is drifting violentlyAnd rushes through the branches.The leaves fall fall like from afar,As if distant gardens will wither in the skies.They fall with a negative gesture.And in the nights, the heavy Earth fallsFrom all stars into solitude.The wind blows so cold, removes the leaves from the boughs.It shouts into the woods: "Good night, all you Earthen guests!"At the hill, the moon is shining; the grey cloudsDash rapidly across the valley, where all woods lament.The brooklet creeps down; From dead grovesIt carries away the leaves with half-choked whining.Never I have heard sounding a source so silently sad.The willow stands at the shore, wringing the weak branches.Softly the white moon is kissing the branches;A whisper lives in the foliage as if the grove draws to a rest.The pond calls and the willow shimmers.Her shadow glit
Night in the Autumnal WoodSlowly the sun is setting in the distance,In the sky already the first stars are twinkling.The river is shimmering like a silver band.Peace invades the whole land.Full and round the moon illumines the earth,So that it will finally become night again.But in the middle of the wood There is a clearing fair An elf is sitting under the trees Lost in musing I was sunk in better times.Silent, timeless -One with nature Moonlight in the autumnal wood.Leaves glisten softly,Music strikes upBeautiful like starlight.The whisper of the worlds,The glances of magic,And the eternity of elves,In dreams of dark ages.In the shimmering moonlit night,When the wind sleeps in the crowns,I rise from the ground,Wandering among the trees.I feel by myself that never willA human touch penetrate these grounds!And the wood stands listeningTo its own silence soundless.And I lift my arms,Looking up to the stars,Like a lovely thoughtOf moonlit loneliness.
Highly Sensitive PeopleThe first human job sharing might have been into shaman and non-shaman, with other words: HSP and non-HSP. The earliest task of a shaman or High Sensitive were probably the observation, interpretation and influencing of nature. It was HSPs who recognized the relations between man and nature, observed the weather cycles and interpreted the most favourable time for cultivation, harvesting or chasing. They were mediators between mankind and the non-human or godly world and thus some kind of a primeval priest. The conjuration of natural demons by self-created images with the help of rhythms and plastic models and the creation of communication with the higher powers could be considered as beginnings of ceremony and art. Besides the priesthood, HSPs also dominated the domain of art and science. Further traditional responsibilities of High Sensitives were the tradition and archives. In addition, HSPs often were competent in healing and health, the wholeness and life-help. Another resort was t
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