Landing 4

It was snowing when she got off the train at Leer. She wasn’t familiar with it; it hardly ever snowed in her hometown.

It felt like a beautiful greeting, completely fit for Christmas, she loved it, she wanted to jump up and down with little squeals of joy like a happy toddler and catch snowflakes.

She shrugged happily, picked up her sac voyage and headed to hotel HF in a light, almost dancing, pace.

She had already made reservations and soon she was in her room. Everything looked beautiful, arranged with good taste, and welcoming.

She unpacked and tidied her clothes neatly and then she decided to take a stroll in the town.

Maybe she would find a canal and walk by it or wander in the town. She didn’t have a plan, she would go wherever her feet decided to take her.

She made sure she had her little notebook and a pen in her purse to write down street names and spots that stand out, anything that could help her trace her way back to the hotel in case she walked too far.

It was well into the evening when she returned to her room, showered and got into bed, tired and smiling, remembering every minute of the day; the lighting decorations, the groups of children caroling on the streets, the delicious meal.

The holiday cheer was spread everywhere and the old houses and streets looked like they had jumped out of a fairytale.

She had the strong impression of belonging here since the beginning of time, where everything brought joy to all her senses, feeling that the genius loci, the spirit of the place, welcomed her soul.

When she opened her eyes again it was late morning, actually noon, of Christmas Eve and she couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so well.

It was too late to have breakfast in the hotel so she went to a cozy Eiscafe she had spotted in Mühlenstraße the previous day, just 3 minutes away from the hotel.

She enjoyed a hearty breakfast- so hearty that a lunch would be completely unnecessary; it tasted even more delicious by the impeccable service of the cafe’s friendly staff.

Back in her room, she opened her laptop and dutifully transformed in written words everything she lived so far in this magic town. Along with her feelings and thoughts.

It was dark outside when she finally stopped typing. She wanted to go out there again and be a part of the town’s life.

It was the first Christmas away from her homeland and, most importantly, the first time she was on holidays alone, free to carry herself according to her very own decisions and wishes.

Dressed warmly, she walked up Mühlenstraße turning right this time.

After a few minutes, sooner than she expected, she stopped dead on her tracks: before her, taking her breath away, stood majestically Michaeliskirche (St. Michael’s Church), the gothic masterpiece she’s been meaning to visit as she was a huge admirer of gothic style in architecture.

She wondered if there was a church service right now… yes, of course, it was the evening of Christmas Eve.

Would it be a problem if she went inside?

She was born into a different religion but she had never been pious and in the last years she wasn’t even religious anymore; the barren interpretation of her country’s clergymen combined with people’s hypocrisy appalled her.

All she knew was that she had no evil in her heart and, without realising it, she went inside.

She uncovered her head, took her gloves off, put them in her bag and looked around.

She gasped at the sight of the candlelit church full of people, then she heard the pipe organ for the first time in her life.. amazing!

As she couldn’t see an empty seat in the dim light, she moved further and stood by the wall. Music always was for her soul and spirit what blood was for her body.

Listening to the pipe organ made her feel as if she was retreating deep in herself, in a secret sanctuary where she was to be part of a mystagogy. She was safe there, she surrendered trustingly to this imposing music, allowing it to reach her heavily wounded core…mending, cleansing, purifying, healing.

In the silence that followed she experienced a moment of being weightless and sinless.

Then the choir -and the congregation along with it- started singing Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht (Silent Night).

She loved this song- hymn since the first time she listened to it, in her own language, when she was so little that she was hardly speaking.

She was told that she would listen to it carefully for a few minutes and then she would cry, being moved.

Then she learned it in English. Regardless the language, she always got deeply moved.

Now she was listening to it in its original language, the one that created it and gave it to the world.

The emotion of listening to the people around her singing it devoutly “as one mouth, one voice” (in her language’s version) brought tears to her eyes.

She leaned against the wall and let the song take her healed soul outside of her, to be one with these people, to be in a state of no place and no time, feeling something that was not peace or love or freedom, because it couldn’t be described by any word of the existing languages.

She got a glimpse of the Truth and realised that she was made of Light.

After the echo of the last notes faded away, she left the church and headed to the hotel feeling that her feet didn’t touch the ground…

… unaware of the man following her.