Results from Experience
When Experience Images Color the View
Do you still remember The Neverending Story? When Bastian was lying on the floor in the attic and suddenly began to live inside the story? Today I want to take you with me into another world. A world of colors, images, glass, and light. Into a sphere, like a snow globe, made of countless windows. Some reach all the way to the ceiling, some are hardly larger than a hand. On every pane lie colors. Images over images, layers over layers, some barely visible, others so strong that the eye immediately gets caught on them.
In the middle of the hall, a table with a glass of water, brushes, old paint trays, remnants of red, blue, yellow, green. Anyone who has ever painted with watercolors knows this moment. At first, the water remains clear. Then color loosens from the brush, is rinsed out, returns again, until at some point everything falls into this tired brown that looks like too much mixing.
But this sphere looks different. Mixed colorfully, the individual colors show themselves and connect into endless color spectrums and shades. Quite differently than expected, the colors hardly blend into one dull, murky whole. Colors over colors remain brightly individual. The images of experiences that line up over experiences hardly manage to darken the colors. These many challenges in experiences over experiences should make the gaze heavy, should they not?
Yet even on your pane, where especially many images lie, the streams of light fall through as though the images were painted from colored glass.
The glow shines through all the colors, takes their edges with it, breaks at certain places, briefly loses itself in darker surfaces, and finds a free passage beside them. All these windows, one whole life's work. Some areas carry old images, others almost only the clear glass of a windowpane.
Some images pull the gaze toward them; others remain in the background. In one window you recognize images that remind you of overwhelm. It carries heavy, opaque colors with color edges. Beside it, one with strong lines in which anger lies. Sadness lays itself softly and deeply over another windowpane. Higher up, a window appears with images of contentment. It is barely painted; the sky blue from outside shines delicately through the images and lets them radiate in a very particular energy. Here, an image: a Christmas gift as a small child, you were so happy and radiant, the remaining surface emptier than expected, and precisely because of that so bright that the gaze only slowly finds its way in.
Now something begins to shift. The empty no longer appears poor. The full no longer appears final. The dark pane stands there, takes its place, carries with dignity the colors of the story from which it arose. Memories that had to be carried contain only this one place. Beside them, other things remain open; light draws above them and below them the glow moves. The whole stretches across the entire sphere, much larger than your gaze can grasp.
The colors begin to move. They shift and clear the view toward a window that looks like a very old, worn wooden window from ancient times. The images there are even closer together and layered over one another. Some have stains; others are so faded that hardly anything can still be recognized. Where the gaze searches too long, stories arise almost by themselves. Was this image there first? Did that one come later? Does this color belong to this experience, or has another one laid itself over it? Look, on the old wooden windowsill there is something lying there. It glows faintly, as though the shimmer came from the wood fibers themselves. These are words that allow a voice of the field to be perceived.
♾️✍🏼 Yes, surely it makes sense to look at the dark window for a moment, to see what you still recognize and what of it you might be able to lay down, hand over, or destroy.
But this image does not function only on the material level. It does not become darker and darker and darker like the dirty window you never cleaned.
Every time you have worked on these challenges and found forgiveness and redemption in a situation, this image is deleted from the energy. The colors dissolve, and the window becomes a little brighter.
For this, you do not need to search for it and find it. You do not need to occupy yourself with taking them all down and sticking back up what you cannot yet resolve. In your energy, it happens as if by itself. ✍🏼♾️
These words sound light, almost too light, when many years of something else have been learned before. In many therapeutic spaces, the path lies in looking back, in finding again, and in reliving what had disappeared from the foreground.
Inside the sphere, a dark pane begins to shimmer. Yet there is no image visibly lifting away. There is also no hand taking anything down. No origin that has to be found. And yet the glow changes. The darkness loses its density. The edge blurs into the light behind it, and what just before had seemed dark and heavy has dissolved.
Inside the sphere, it begins to grow dark. The room changes its temperature. The colors lose their clear edges. The floor appears deeper, the dome higher, the sphere welcomes the night. A deep black night can hide everything that gives safety and orientation. Contours blur, images fade, paths recede, the horizon dissolves. Only the moon still stands high above the sphere. Does it take anything away from the darkness? Does it give something back to it?
It illuminates the many colorful images very gently; now they are almost matte and colorless, barely allowing anything to be recognized. That is all it can do. In that lies its entire strength.
The night remains night. Black remains black. Yet the experience that turns it into threat slowly lifts away from the images. All the hunger, the losses, consequences, and the pain. All the worries about shelter, food, protection, future, and health. In the darkness, all the images lose their colors until they are hardly perceived anymore, except as danger.
Yet the human being creates threat out of a night. Creates danger out of darkness; uncertainty becomes loss. And out of pain grows a story that lays itself onto a window and colors the glow.
Moonlight cannot turn this into a bright meadow. It does not simply erase the darkness. Yet it is able to show that beauty and peace can stand within it as soon as evaluation loses its grip. With its radiance it gives the stars their sparkle, and a windowpane that only moments ago seemed black suddenly carries depth.
The sphere remains still.
For a moment, only the glow remains. The windows, the night, the moon, and between everything this thought that results from experience sometimes feel much older than the experience itself.
Results from Experience in Old Rooms
You know, it reminds me so much of my hypnotherapy training. These dark fields appeared again and again. A huge playground of inner paths, doors, rooms, cellars, attics, inner children, old images. So much can be opened with hypnosis. So much receives meaning. And sometimes I stood inwardly in front of a meadow over which grass would long since have grown. Yet the method asked me to tear the meadow open again.
My teacher keeps saying: In every experience there are raisins. Yet raisins that have been lying in the earth are no longer tasty, and they do not let new plants grow either.
This answer may carry a certain cheekiness in it, yes. Yet honesty just as much. In the sphere, it receives its place. For the words that reached me here from the field are, in their own way, also quiet witnesses for certain images. Those that need no new stage. For stories that need no further rummaging. Some windows have carried their colors for so long that the origin of the single brushstroke hardly finds meaning anymore.
Energy works differently than the mind. It does not leaf through old archives. It does not search for a number on every experience image. It knows connections through color, vibration, nearness. It works through the way one image resonates inside another. When forgiveness arises in one place, an old color loses its hold in another. When redemption happens in an experience today, an image grows brighter that has long been buried under the grass.
This is how results from experience arise. An experience rarely remains merely an experience. It takes on color. It gains nearness to other images. It becomes part of a window through which later one looks. From this grow reactions, expectations, fear, caution, sometimes also trust. The human being often holds as reality only what has been confirmed through so many layers. Results and experience have a colored energy. They can arise from protection, from pain, from survival, from love, from a time in which only what was available then was possible. They deserve dignity. And they may change when the light falls differently through the panes.
In the center of the dome stands a window, almost empty. It carries hardly any color, hardly any image, hardly any story. The gaze might pass it by because there is so little to see. Light falls through. Very simply. What may feel to you like an empty window becomes an answer for all images, one that needs no explanation.
What remains of an experience when its evaluation loses its grip?
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