Liefde in de Vijfde Wereld

Liefde, Love, Liebe, Amour, Amor

For English readers: Please be aware that only the first part of this post is in Dutch. You will find the English part under the heading And at last. The rest of this blog is written in English, too.


Een verhaal van thuiskomen, het Hopi Life Plan en Geloof, Hoop en Liefde


Mijn boek Liefde in de Vijfde Wereld is uit. Voor een gratis pdf van het gehele boek klik je op deze link



De zaden zijn in het verleden gezaaid
Waardoor ik nu deze woorden schrijf.
En jij ze leest.
Om karma te verbranden
Of om gehechtheden te bevestigen?
Je mag kiezen. Je bent vrij.

Je bent als een vogel in een kooi waarvan het deurtje openstaat.
Je kunt in blinde paniek in de kooi blijven rondfladderen
Of je kunt de roep van je vrijheid herkennen
En de kooi uit, naar grotere hoogten vliegen.
Je mag kiezen. Je bent vrij.

Waar je ook gaat,
Het Universum geeft je voeten de ruimte.
In de weidse, groene velden
Of tussen het beton en staal van de stad,
Onder een heldere, gouden zon
Of onder de sterrendeken van de nacht,
In de stilte van de eenzaamheid
Of in de kakofonie van het samenleven:
Je mag kiezen. Je bent vrij.


De Levensboom en Liefde
De Levensboom waarnaar je ooit weer terug zult keren…
The Tree of Life to which you will return one bright and sunny day…


Maar als het Universum, de Leegte of God Liefde is, als Hij of Zij onvoorwaardelijk van mij houdt, waarom vraagt de weg terug naar de paradijselijke onschuld dan zo veel vertrouwen, moed en vragen? Waarom staat er ten oosten van Eden een engel met een ‘naar alle kanten wentelend zwaard’?

De diepe waarheid is, dat het niet het Universum, de Leegte of God was Die de engel daar heeft geposteerd, maar ikzelf. Op de dag dat ik besloot het paradijs de rug toe te keren heeft mijn geest, die maar niet kan geloven en altijd vreest en vragen stelt, deze bewaker, mijn superego, gecreëerd.

Op de dag dat ik het vertrouwen, de moed en de antwoorden heb gevonden, dat wil zeggen: als ik mijn geest stil zet en leef in het nu, verandert die engel met het zwaard vanzelf in een jonglerende clown met drie gekleurde balletjes die het gierende jongetje vriendelijk uitnodigt de bioscoop weer in te gaan.


Als je de paperback verkiest boven een pdf, dan is deze verkrijgbaar bij en andere webwinkels voor 23,10 euro. Dat is de prijs van het drukken van dit boek. Of steun je plaatselijke boekhandel en bestel je boek daar!


Tot slot

Let op dat het begin van de blog op pagina 4 onderaan staat. Klik op deze hyperlink om er rechtstreeks naar toe te gaan. Onderaan de blog kun je naar het vervolg, First Flash of Eden, gaan en zo verder.

Maar je kunt er natuurlijk ook zomaar een willekeurige bijdrage uitpikken, bijvoorbeeld

And at last...

Finally, the rest of this blog is in English. Because it is meant for a wider public.

You can download for free the pdf of The Mystery of June 16 by using this link

Likewise The Mystery of June 16 has been published as an epub by Brave New Books for € 5,00. See the advertisement on this page or click here .

So, you will find the start on page 4. Therefore click on this hyperlink to go directly to the first blog.

Or maybe you might just choose a page at random, for instance

Hopi kiva

The Law of Love or how to experience that All is One

Law of Love

Delight of the Law

Law of Love

Law of Love

When nothing’s left to rely on anymore,

Only the Law of Love will remain.

The Law of Love is not about repression or dogma.

Not about rules or brute force.

The Law of Love is about how I deal with others

every step of the way.

The Law of Love gave me,

That nothing else has given me before.

No image of god, no guru, no method, no teacher

Has ever brought me greater joy and delight

Than knowing and following the Law of Love.

After all my searching under the sun I never found a stable image of God,

But thankfully I found the Law of Love.

And where does the Law of Love presses and urges us to?

Treat every living creature in the world

The way you would have liked to be treated,

If you, by a simple twist of fate,

Had been him, or her, or it.

Because remember: All is One.

And still I forget about the Law of Love day after day

And bring misfortune and sorrow into my life.

O Universe, teach me to pursue the Law of Love

Instead of the petty delusions of my own karma.

The Words of the Law call for love and love alone.

Everything else that’s been said

Or written about them is commentary, manipulation

Dogma and idleness.

What I’ve got to say might be an example of that.

No War, But Peace

The Law of Love doesn´t call for war,

It calls for Peace.

It calls for delight and happiness and

For putting ourselves in the position of others,

Even if the others are our enemies

Or, like we say, just animals.

Act according to the Law.

Because remember: All is One.

The Law of Love calls for openness

And for Belief in an undreamed-of perception,

That grows on the Tree of Life far away from our dreamworld.

The Law of Love calls me,

As It calls every living creature in the Universe.

Because remember: All is One.

Back to the Garden of Eden
The Law of Love. Don’t judge anymore. Be like the child you once were. Then the cherubim and the flaming sword which turns every direction, your superego, will disappear. Painting in the Saint Barbarachurch in Bunnik, the Netherlands. Made by Wim van Woerkom (Nijmegen, March 8, 1905 – February 28, 1998)

Information on the Saint Barbarachurch

More about Wim van Woerkom

These pages are available in Dutch only. However, the page on the Saint Barbarachurch gives an impression of the context of the painting by Wim van Woerkom.

Brotherhood: Ismail and Isaac and their tiny cornerstone


Working together

It was dark and and it was raining cats and dogs.

Traffic came to a complete standstill in my city tonight.

I took the ring road and tried to get into town from the other side.

Driving downtown I saw a woman with a headscarf

And a little boy standing on the sidewalk, waiting to cross the street.

I braked and halted for them to cross over.

In the shine of my headlights

The boy waved jubilantly his hands.

The woman nodded her head and smiled happily.

So why don’t we just pause and halt for each other every once in a while?

The world would be so much more beautiful this way.

I have always thought of packlife in terms of dominance and submission.

But now I know that deep bonds of friendship and brotherhood

Are far more important.

It is like the story of Ismail and Isaac:

Working together from a tiny cornerstone

They might build Gods Kingdom of Peace.

Full Circle or how Paradise was regained for a brief moment

Today the story made full circle. As a child my father´s garden was a real paradise to me. There were trees, shrubs, crops. In between the plants there were exciting paths that nevertheless felt safe. In summer the green coolness of the leaves protected me from the scorching sun. There were animals, too, but I did not call the animals by their names. Nothing had a name yet: the plants nor the animals nor the green coolness nor the scorching sun: to me it was as if it were one. And not only didn’t I distinguish between the phenomena around me, I didn’t experience a separation between those phenomena and me either. All was one and eternal.

But one day I was riding on my tricycle in my father’s garden: back and forth. Just a few inches, back and forth, back and forth, over and over and over again.

The day before it had rained a lot and with my head bent downwards I watched the wheels dig deep into the mud. Back and forth, back and forth, still deeper into the morass.

I must have been four or five years old. Oh, I awoke in anger, so alone and terrified. I wasn’t part of the wholeness anymore.


It was an early winter morning, two years ago. I drove my wife to work. Wet snow was drizzling down. Suddenly she says:

“I know what you should do. You get off that bike, leave it stuck in the mud and start looking for a new horizon. Remember as a child, in church, what you wanted to be? Well, become that bird in the child’s hand and fly away!”

Full Circle

Full Circle
Back in the Garden, for a brief moment..

Today the story has come full circle. I was back in the village of the cinema.

The cinema has been closed for years. As I passed by I saw a child’s tricycle lying in the middle of the road. Without thinking I picked up the tricycle and put it at the front door of the former cinema.

It wasn’t until I walked away, that I realized how wonderful and mysterious this moment was. Thank God, because otherwise I might have taken a picture and spoiled the mystery.


I remember what my wife had also said during the car trip two years ago: ”You may believe that you are kicked out of paradise. Or you may believe you walked out voluntarily to experience life in a world with myriads of choices. In either case you may stay out of paradise or you may return at any time you choose to do so.”

For a brief moment I felt like flying, far away from the mud.

For a brief moment…

Death, grace, glory: found on a day when all of God’s promises are fulfilled

Death, grace, glory

In Lorraine we drive down another hill and I think of my father. How he had lied down on the floor in a nursing home, blood gulping out of his mouth, dying from gastric hemorrhage. An hour and a half before his doctor had called me on the phone. He wanted my father sent to hospital, but my father had refused. The doctor asked if I could affirm that my father was lucid and aware of what was going on. In the background I heard my father saying that he was as lucid as could be and that he didn’t want treatment. I asked if I should come, but my father was adamant and said I shouldn’t.

All day long he had been throwing up blood and he knew he was going to die. But he didn’t want me around. He wanted to spare me the sight. I had to respect his wish, but ever since I have been torn between guilt of not being with him in that moment of agony and gratitude for his characteristic unselfishness. It remains a note of discord in my life that will never be harmonized. My father was my brother, my friend, my closest ally.

The Coast No Cow Can Tell

As we reached the valley, I realized that the song was not only about my father’s death but also about the cow which now lay dying in the meadow. Tears were dropping from my chin on the steering wheel. As I looked at my wife next to me I saw that she was crying, too. Now there was nothing that stood between me and sorrow and relief. I had become sorrow and relief itself. Is it the real me for a moment: the child in front of the silver screen?

It is the last song of the album. The silence afterwards weighed lightly upon us as we were driving through another empty French village. We neared the last houses of the village. The road took a slight bend to the right. Around the bend a bird was sitting right in the middle of the road and it kept sitting there until we were very, very close. As if to show itself to us in all its alien-like beauty. When we were at a distance of about ten meters, the hoopoe flew up and disappeared into the trees by the side of the road.

Instantly I understood that the cow had just died and sent the hoopoe as a sign.

It was 11 AM.


Death, grace, glory

Finally we arrived at the Basilique du Bois-Chenu, which is devoted to Joan of Arc. It’s two kilometers from Domrémy-la-Pucelle where Joan of Arc was born.

Outside the church men in working clothes were putting up a stage and a huge lighting installation. A man in a green coat greeted us and said something in French. As I didn’t understand him at first, he quickly switched to a somewhat laborious English. Carefully searching for words, he explained that next weekend there was a spectacle with 200 supporting actors and a sound and light show. The show was directed by the famous Damien Fontaine who is, among other achievements, a four time winner of the Trophée des Lumières at the Lyon Festival of Lights. For a moment I considered staying longer, but alas we had to be home by next weekend.

It was such a nice gesture from a stranger though: taking time and bowing to us by speaking laborious English. (We should bow to each other more often).

Such a nice gesture on this day of death, grace, glory.


When we returned to our house on the hill, we heard that the cow had been euthanized that morning after having been examined by a vet of the insurance company.

“At around 11 AM,” the farmer said (truly, truly true of course).

That evening the glowing finger on the hill glowed sadly and gloriously in the red and purple sunset.

Death, grace, glory
The Red and Purple Sunset of the Day of our Death, grace, glory

On making gestures and reading words to a dying dog



I am always on guard in a group of people, but the gesture of an individual can move me to tears. Like in church in the old days, I shouldn’t mind words that much and pay more attention to gestures. Small gestures made unconsciously, without calculation: a father holding a little child’s hand or a grandma blowing kisses into a pram.

But sometimes words can make a difference, too.

I remember the night before one of my dogs was to be euthanized. It was the one dog that I had had since it was a puppy. I could literally read its mind. It was only eight years old and dying of cancer. That night I picked up the Tibetan Book of the Dead from my bookshelf and let it fall open arbitrarily.

I started reading to the dog:

Dazzling Bright Light

Be not fond of the dull, smoke-coloured light from Hell.

That is the path which opens out to receive you because of the power of accumulated evil karma from violent anger.

If you are attracted by it, you will fall into the Hell-Worlds; and, falling therein, you will dig yourself deep into the morass of unbearable misery, from where there is no certain time of getting out.

That is an obstruction on the Path of Liberation, look not at it; and avoid anger.

Be not attracted by it; be not weak.

Believe in the dazzling bright white rays of the Light.

I understood that these words weren’t meant for my dog. My dog was a playful, happy fox terrier who hadn’t known anger. It was a time during which I myself fed the malign wolf way, way more than the loving wolf.


Yes, it’s true: we live in a Universe that is ruled by the Law of Cause and Effect. But sometimes this Universe holds its breath to give way to the Grace of God. We wouldn’t stand a chance if it were otherwise.


In this bleak winter of existential loneliness (not a trace of the Big Painter, even the candles in the alcove of my mind have dimmed) there’s nothing I can do than sit by my window and wait for God to come by in the words and the melody of a song, a spring bird that lands on my windowsill or, yes, the small gesture of a grandpa scratching his head in amazement. Is that all there is to life in this world? It seems so. But it isn’t forbidden to keep dreaming of a Pure Land where God manifestly walks with us every single step of the way.


Whenever I get impatient with the imperfections of my species and myself, I  try to remember what my old dad said: “Neither you nor the others have created yourselves. That is an advantage as well as an disadvantage. The clear advantage is that if humans were only slightly able to create themselves, they would have made of themselves unbearable, self-indulgent gods which wouldn’t allow imperfections neither from themselves nor from others. That’s the First Sin.

But we were driven out of the Garden and allowed to become human. We may make errors or may not make errors. We grow by our imperfections, the shadows cast in front of us. The disadvantage is that this growing takes a million reincarnations, over and over and over again, and a hundred thousand wars and famines. But we can’t have it all, you know. We can’t have freedom and perfection at the same time. Thank God there’s forgiveness.”

On making gestures
Grace as a wormhole

Madonna in the Dark Alcove Of My Mind

On Sundays my parents used to take me to Holy Mass, even though I was still very young. In a way the weekly gestures of the priest swaying his aspergillum, his arms spread wide over the sacred host, his fingers subtly making the sign of the cross, marked the passing of time to me. Until then I had floated around in a vacuum where time didn’t exist. Sunday’s mass was like a levee in that vacuum to which I returned every week. But there was also another presence at that center: lady Madonna

Madonna watching me

I was fascinated by the gestures, though, not by the words. As soon as the priest started to preach my glance strayed to the Madonna which stood in a side aisle. Candles were burning in front of the statue.

The Madonna held a child that seemed to be floundering in her arms as if it tried to escape from her grip. In his left hand the child held a bird.

As the priest’s words floated unabsorbed high above me in the nave of the church, I wished I was that bird.

As time goes by…

I have not been back to that church ever since I was ten years and I don’t intend to go back soon. I’m too scared to destroy the perfect image of the candles, the loving countenance of Mother Mary and the floundering child with its bird. Mother Mary is closer to my heart than abstract concepts as the Big Painter in the Sky, God or the Universe.

I reckon Mother Mary understands us, having gone through the same tribulations as we do.

Often I ask Her to give me some of her warmth and mildness in my voice as I speak to others. Some of Her peace, gentleness, simplicity, the radiant look of Her eyes when I meet other human beings.

However, I don’t build my castle on a force from outside. I believe in the Rock in the Dry and Weary Landscape of my Interior, where there is no water.

Sometimes the Rock disappears under the sand.

Don’t despair then.

Only those who are unaware of the Rock inside, never doubt its existence.

Madonna in the Dark Alcove of my Mind
The Madonna burning bright in the Dark Alcove of my Mind