After having been stranded in Hanover for six months now, I’m hitting the road again. Saying my farewells to Baukasten – the respectably shabby house that sheltered me. May the sharing of my tiny adventures here count as a gesture of gratitude.
I got to Hanover for an audition in a children’s theater play and was swiftly informed, that I got the spot. It was time to find a dwelling. After several couches at random people’s homes, I found Baukasten, a housing association for artists and broke people. It is located in a hospital complex area. The building was once a residence for nurses, who got trained at the hospitals.
In front of our house, right vis-à-vis to my window is a forensic’s place. An old orange brick building, regularly visited by a white truck full of fresh corpses. Behind the pathology is a big cemetery. On the other side of the street starts the lofty park, Georgengärten, which once belonged to local noblepeople. In our yard, a big chestnut tree is anchoring the place. A small barn leans against the tree and houses three frisky rabbits. Beside that is a trampoline. Just for fun. Along the wall stretches a narrow shack, that roofs plenty of bicycles, and marks the border to the forensic’s place.
I barely spend time at home for the first two months, as the rehearsals of our play kept me in the studio. After Christmastime, things seemingly calmed down. Winter knocked in, and I saw my fifteen-square-meter room transform into a cave. As I was spending more time home, I got acquainted with the disturbances taking place in the house. After several violating visitations from troubled ghosts, I was called to investigate the causation. It turned out, that the place was being vandalized by our neighboring corpse’s unsettled spirits. They were not only haunting us humans but also feeding off of the life force of the poor little rabbits. My ancestors asked me to call in the ancestors of place. With their help and the great support of my dear friends and colleagues, Caitlin Dodd, who happens to be a skilled Psychopomp, and Crow Grando, whose prayers reached over vast oceans, the case was eventually solved. The Chestnut tree was ready to offer their service as a portal for the troubled dead, through which the spirits were able to transition. Finally, the ancestors of place reinforced the boundaries along the walls to shield us, habitants, from further potential intrusion.
That was quite a quest, but it was satisfying to experience the eventual reconciliation, knowing that some spirits were able to find their peace. Other than being involved in ghosty trials, performing in the children’s winter plays, training as a practitioner of Ancestral Lineage Healing, and working on my Shibianta webpage, I was spending my time with frequent visitations to the park, where my friends, the crows, the trees and the lake were reminding me of the wisdom of connection. I learned from my friend Crow Grando that crows love peanuts. They surely do! Every time since then, when they see me in my varicolored jacket, they accompany me to my dear tree.
Looking back, it was quite a fruitful winter. And yet I felt often like an icicle, that is impatient for its melting. I can’t say I’m sad to leave. Quite the contrary, I’m excited to be on the move again! But I’m also grateful, for the shared experiences with this place. Thank you, Baukasten, for your shelter. May your land, the ancestors of place, and the habitants, human or otherwise, stay well and protected.
Farewell, dear ones,
Love
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