Gerkenstein

Winterberg-Neuastenberg (51.166193 | 8.480668)

At eye level with the sky

Viewpoint above Neuastenberg with a wide view of the mountain meadows, the Wittgensteiner Land and Hessen.

Today into the forest and meadow cinema. On the Gerkenstein above Neuastenberg is a kind of picture frame, as big as a garage door, a square of solid wooden beams. In front of it on the mountain side are three cozy forest sofas. Instead of popcorn, there are sandwiches from my rucksack. I take off my hiking boots, let my feet get some fresh air, lean back and wonder what kind of movie is being shown today. First of all, just this still image: gently sloping meadows, neat fences, a mosaic of spruce groves and deciduous woods, curved contour lines whose color strokes change from dark green close by to blue pastels in the distance.

Quite nice, I think, but now the main movie could start. There is a quiet impatience in the audience, which today consists only of me. But there, movement in the scenery. Enter from the left: A woman leads a horse by the reins. They walk along one of the pasture fences, the two-legged woman walking at a leisurely pace, the four-legged friend carefully placing hoof after hoof. Doesn't he look a bit like Winnetou's black stallion Iltschi? Is she, in breeches and high boots, the horse whisperer? The two head towards a shelter, the horse is tied up and the woman begins to groom its coat with a brush. Long, gentle yet powerful movements. In the absence of distractions, I simply look, look and relax, look and let go of everything I had brought with me to this place in my head until the grooming is finished, the woman lashes a light brown saddle and mounts. She quietly exits the picture to the left.

That must have been the opening shot, I think, strangely no longer impatient. My eyes now wander more slowly through the picture. They notice how the fresh green, young grass on the meadow in the foreground fights for its place against the light brown stalks from the previous year. The whole thing in slow motion, how else? Two poplars, solitary trees in the meadow, neighbors for many years, seem to be whispering to each other. The spring wind makes an appearance, intoning a soft whisper, background music for a chainsaw solo, in Dolby Surround quality of course. I remember a satirical photomontage I saw recently: a man is walking through a forest, wearing one of those artificial-reality glasses on his head that look like chunky black ski goggles; in this case, however, the front and the entire inside are missing. In other words, the man is only wearing an empty case and sees the trees, bushes and grasses in the highest image quality and even 3D - with his OWN EYES. Here and now. No medium necessary, just direct observation.

It slowly dawns on me what's so special about the movie theater I'm sitting in. The wooden square in front of me frames a screen onto which I can project my own inner images. A landscape as a projection screen for a movie of which I am the director and sole spectator. It is perfect for this because it is not spectacular and action-packed. Instead, it is wide, open, light, with subtle color compositions and accompanied by a restrained soundtrack. A cinematic meditation for the eyes and ears. I realize how often my attention is completely captivated by external events, as eventful as possible, distracting me from the perception of thoughts and feelings within myself. But is it really true that the outside world is so much more attractive than my inner life? Don't I sometimes avoid feelings of emptiness and loneliness by throwing myself into the small and big dramas of everyday life? Doesn't slowing down do me good to realize that some of my inner films are already running on their thousandth repeat? Especially the ones with the worry scripts and fear plots?

Switching off helps. I can't remember how long I sat at the Gerkenstein. Time had stretched far beyond the horizon. As I put my hiking boots back on, put my rucksack on and slowly walked the short section back to the Rothaarsteig, all I could think was: "Great soul cinema!"

Author: Michael Gleich