When Christmas is over – or Donald`s riding on a tiger.

Ripp Corby recounts.

In the new year, the forest seems changed, as brought into a different movement by the new time. The trees fluctuate more than in the pre-Christmas period and on Christmas Eve itself. This is due to the vibration of the coming year. A strong vibration that encounters disruption, which can increase its intensity. Yes, you can also perceive this as a human being, if you walk leisurely through the forest, perceive that the forest is different than on Christmas Eve. Human beings  in the forest looks more straight at this time, in the first days of the year. Along the parallel edges of the path. The whispering of the treetops turns to a noise. This is how my friend Ripp Corby feels when he describes his encounter. He hears this noise, stops and listens. He tries to push back time by staying, similar to a statue. He wants to hear last year’s whisper swell again. He closes his eyes. Yes, the trees talk to each other. But it’s not nearly like the whispering at the end of last year. The birds chat in between. So nothing can be said about time, cannot be recovered. Maybe not at this point?

Ripp hikes on the path along the rocks that the last little ice age left in the tunnel valley 10,000 years ago, washed out by the rain and the hot summer of recent years, bared by the humus and now pointed. He walks towards the small swamp area, which is a mirror of the climate. And a quiet place with a bench on the edge. He can enter it safely, which is now dried up. The next rain could fill it up a little for a short time, but it’s not really sure anymore. Here the trees are further apart. He listens into the deserted forest.The trees talk to each other more slowly.
A huge bird appears to fly through the tops of the trees.
Ripp leans his head back. There is something. An eagle? No, bigger! Something like wrapped in a coat. A ray of sunshine illuminates this something. A figure surrounded by fluttering fabric. Jesus! I have managed to put time in perspective! Ripp describes his euphoria, but also how he quickly realizes that the noise of the trees does not fit in time. How did the person get up there? That’s at least 30 meters, where he swings at the branch. Ripp recognizes an elegantly dressed man, at least one person in a suit and vest, surrounded by an overlong black coat rattling like a canvas. Ripp sits on the bench in front of the dried-up wetlands and looks up at the person rocking in the east wind. Do I see a smile? The open coat strikes wing-like. Maybe he’s not dead at all? Maybe it’s just a character? Who are you, called up Ripp. The man seems to be laughing. The figure seems to laugh and swings in the wind. Or fidgeting? Ripp clings to the tree and looks up along the trunk. A rope is tied around the chest. However, this is not clear. Ripp zooms his face up with his cell phone camera. It is blurry and seems pale; it is too far away to gain clarity. Ripp looks around. He is alone. Ripp sits on the bench and massages his neck. Everything is peaceful. He thinks a mirage, I have to relax my gaze, look at the pond. When he looks up again, the figure is still there. Ripp has chosen „figure“ or human. Time to dial 112. Would the man want that? Or does he want to stay up there. In the place he chose for himself? I can’t leave him up there. Can? Or should I?
Why not? What is the point against this? It seems death is already there. The Poet Knausgart comes to mind, who asks in „Death“ why the deceased all have to go downstairs, in the hospital in the basement and later underground. In any case, must be invisible. Why are nuptours that the dead are not brought up, to the heights? „Knausgart,“ Cries up from the bench. Knausgart does not answer. The figure just sways in front of him. The coat looks like Trump’s, rip thinks. Can’t be! Ripp claps his hands because he doesn’t want to shout „Mr. President!“
A bird flies out loud twitching under the coat. He has something in his beak. A piece of paper.
Ripp shreds a paper towel into small pieces, grabs a few stones and lures the bird to open its beak.The note falls to the ground, Ripp grabs and drops:

„If you ride on a tiger, you can’t jump off when you like it. (Chinese proverb.)“.

„Xi,“ Ripp whispers reverently up the tree.For quite a while he stands only there, in the tunnel valley, on the edge of world affairs. Happy New Year,Jesus, Knausgart, the President and you, Xi.Over the treetops is still rest‘ as Ripp went home. But later, Honkong will be lost and  the Capitol will be stormed.

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