I am the discoverer of Plato’s Atlantis; others did not know the Biblical system of the eonian times and could not identify Atlantis. But I do. Atlantis is complex theology, not history or archeology. Read my groundbreaking book, now in the Royal Library, Den Haag, – isbn 978 9083 4502 09

*

A BIBLICAL RESPONSE
TO PLATO’S ATLANTIS

*

– Mijn baanbrekende “Atlantis in de Bijbel” speurwerk en…
– Ter herinnering aan die lange, zwoele, warme en mysterieuze Hollandse zomer van 1976
– De god van de Bijbel is de ene god en Jezus is zijn middelaar en enige zoon die op een beestachtige manier aan het kruis voor mijn zonden stierf maar die drie dagen later was opgewekt door zijn Vader in de hemel.
– (Mattheüs `8:5-10, Jezus plaatst het geloof van de Centurion tegenover het weke geloof van zijn eigen volk.)

*

*

*

MASTER THESIS, GROUND BREAKING BIBLE RESEARCH ON PLATO’S ATLANTIS

atlantis 2024 cover

*

MY BOOK ON WATTPAD

*

The Golden Age of Science and Technology that the Maya called “the Fourth World,” the Egyptians called “Zep-Tepi” (the First Time), and the Greeks called ATLANTIS…
– Richard C. Hoagland [The Enterprise Mission, 15/6/2001]

THE ENTERPRISE MISSION

*

REVELATION 17-18: IS ENDTIMES BABYLON AN INFLATABALE BARRACK?

*

ATLANTIS WAS NOT SANTORINI

A recurring echo from science and all kinds of Atlantis researchers is that the demise of Atlantis would have something to do with the volcanic eruption Thera of the tiny island of Santorini. I would pay no attention to this nonsense were it not for the fact that this echo keeps recurring. Santorini lies diagonally above Crete which is also already on the radar of Atlantis researchers. But there is no volcanic eruption in Plato’s Atlantis story. Atlantis went down by a very severe earthquake, according to Kritias 108. Both a BBC podcast of September 22, 2022 and the Groene Amsterdammer Jaargang 148, number 28-29 (Joost de Vries) drew the Santorini map. The BBC even invited a volcanologist. From a volcanologist but also from an intellectual magazine like the Groene Amsterdammer, we would at least expect them to distinguish between an earthquake and a volcanic eruption. But nothing of the sort. Santorini is 7.7 times smaller than the Dutch Wadden Island of Texel. Surely no one believes that this little mutt dominated the world’s oceans 9,000 years before Christ. Besides, Plato’s Atlantis was located outside Gibraltar in the Atlantic Ocean. And what’s more, Santorini had ten kings who were descendants of Poseidon, all facts that modern scientists and self-appointed intellectuals waltz over just to keep out Biblical explanations. In a response to my post about this to the Groene Amsterdammer, I was told that my post did not fit within their magazine (their email from 24/7/2024). For a strange reason a volcano eruption that was nowhere mentioned in Plato’s Atlantis story did fit in Joost de Vries’ Atlantis article in their magazine. Nowhere in his long article did Joost de Vries mention source references to Plato’s Kritias or Timaios, nor to the Bard Taliesin who hurled the Arthur story into the world. The letters “Tal” also show up in the name of Atlantis. Apparently this does fit the rules of the Green Amsterdammer. Calling Atlantis Santorini is simply the Przied Pet theory. This theory, like other curiosity theories, keeps the Bible out.

Bad BBC Postcast on Atlantis
Atlantis is not the first historical fiction, but anti-Semitism in which Zeus dethrones the God of the Bible and in which Israel, the eons and the resurrection of Jesus are completely absent. Not a word about the eonian times, the role of idol Academos, the demonic bloodlines of the ten kings. Atlantis is an anti-imperialist story? Come on, you believe it yourself? Goodbye “Professors”. here]

*

Groene Amsterdammer, jaargang 148, nr. 28-29, p. 68-71
Stuk over Avalon en Atlantis. Wat Avalon betreft: koning Arthur als een afgeleide van Assur (Assyrië) wordt niet genoemd. De ruïnes op Malta worden genoemd die van 3500-2500 voor christus zouden dateren. Dit is voor de Vloed van Noach. Volgens 2 Petrus 3:6 was de Wereld van de Voortijd compleet weggevaagd dus de ruïnes op Malta zijn veel jonger. In verband met Atlantis wordt de Santorini kaart getrokken met de vulkaan uitbarsting van de Thera. Het eiland Santorini ligt iets boven Kreta. Maar in het Atlantis verhaal komt geen vulkaanuitbarsting voor, wel een aardbeving. Santorini ligt ook niet voor de kust van Spanje in zee, laat staan dat Santorini ooit een machtig eiland was dat alle wereldzeeën domineerde. De beschaving van Kreta wordt Minoïsch genoemd in plaats van Filistijns. Minoïsch is afgeleid van de mythische koning Minos. De Filistijnen van Kreta koloniseerden Gaza. In het stuk ontbreken de aionische tijden die nodig zijn om Atlantis te identificeren. Mijn reactie op dit stuk alsmede een eigen stuk dat in hen op 22/7/2024 toe mailde werd niet geplaatst omdat het niet binnen hun “frame” of zoiets paste. Kortom, de progressieve linkse elite die altijd zo tegen een Fort Europa tekeer gaat is zelf een fort waar je als Jan met de Pet niet tussenkomt.

Lees hier

*

*

Shame on you, self proclaimed researchers!

De Groene Amsterdammer is popularly known as a progressive, left-wing critical Dutch magazine. They are known for their lucid analyses. Or are they? In Year 148 (2024) issue 26, Marian Donner already wrote about aliens without adding what exactly she means by aliens? Extraterrestrials or demonic powers? She even chattered about extraterrestrial octopuses. That such nonsense ends up in the Green gives us pause for thought. Because her piece is now behind a pay wall, I do not want to discuss it further. In Marian Donner’s piece I also missed the source reference to the report of one Lynn Catoe who predicted long ago that UFOs have much more to do with poltergeist phenomena.

In issue 28-29 of Volume 148, one Joost de Vries wrote a piece on Avalon, King Arthur’s island. He also made a side-step to Atlantis but his focus was on Avalon. Regarding Avalon, nowhere did I come across the reference to the bard Taliesin who wrote about King Arthur in his poem Preiddeu Annwn. In this poem, the sea participates and Arthur resembled King Atlas going down in the waves. The letters “Tal” also appear in Atlantis and have something to do with raising or thrusting up. It is a miss that Joost de Vries did not make this link. Joost de Vries does not mention source references to the Kritias or Timaios anywhere in his Atlantis consideration. He plays it safe by following the lead of his many predecessors by drawing the Santorini card. Santorini is a tiny island, of roughly 35 square kilometers and located something like 80 kilometers above Crete. It is much smaller than Texel.

No one believes that after all, that in a gray past this island dominated the world’s oceans and terrorized the rest of the world, that according to Kritias 119 the island possessed tens of thousands of chariots all shipped to Athens. Of all the options, academics chose the least logical option. Atlantis, according to Kritias 108 was larger than Libya and Asia Minor combined. Well that cannot be said of Santorini but this does not bother the academics. Atlantis was beyond Gibraltar in the sea, Santorini is above Crete in the sea. And Atlantis in particular went down by an earthquake according to Kritias 108. For convenience, academics assume that the volcanic eruption of the Thera volcano near Santorini had something to do with it. A volcanic eruption is very different from an earthquake, but the academics and journalists are happy just to get some closure to their rambling explanations from all sides. The progressive open-mindedness ends when you point out to the academics the ten kings of Atlantis who were all sons of Poseidon and therefore not human beings.

The door is then slammed shut after which the Santorini option resurfaces. It is safe to say that academics have chosen the least logical option for Plato’s Atlantis. To my critique email to the Green I received the reply on 24/7/2024 that my critique did not fit the Green. After which I mailed back that in Plato’s Atlantis story volcanoes not mentioned apparently did fit the Groene Amsterdammer. It remained silent which marked their weakness. Two things that bother me: every option is considered as long as the Bible stays out. If you come up with a Concordant Biblical answer to the Atlantis mystery, the law of unreasonableness kicks in and they put their foot down. Strange but true. Secondly, De Groene Amsterdammer is part of an elite Us-Kent-Ons circuit that Jan met de Pet does not get into. There are people who know much more about UFOs than Marian Donner and I am the Atlantis expert. Nevertheless, my kind of people don’t get access to the chattering media. If you don’t have the right last name or title you don’t belong.

The same criticism applies to the BBC podcast of Sept. 22, 2022 in which a volcanic eruption was also mentioned. Atlantis was called the first historical fiction rather than the first Greek anti-Semitic story in which the Greek god Zeus punished Atlantis, thus dethroning the god of the Bible of his omnipotence.

*

*

De Groene Amsterdammer is in de volksmond een progressief, links kritisch Hollands magazine. Ze staan bekend om hun heldere analyses. Of toch niet? In Jaargang 148 (2024) nummer 26 schreef Marian Donner al over aliens zonder erbij te zetten wat ze precies met aliens bedoelt? Buitenaardsen of demonische machten? Ze kletste zelfs over buitenaardse octopussen. Dat zulke lariekoek in de Groene terechtkomt, geeft te denken. Omdat haar stuk nu achter een betaalmuur zit, wil ik er verder niet op ingaan. In Marian Donners stuk miste ik ook de bronvermelding naar het rapport van ene Lynn Catoe die al lang geleden voorspelde dat ufo’s veel meer met poltergeist verschijnselen te maken hebben.

In nummer 28-29 van Jaargang 148 schreef ene Joost de Vries een stuk over Avalon, het eiland van koning Arthur. Hij maakte ook een zijstap naar Atlantis maar zijn focus was op Avalon. Aangaande Avalon kwam ik nergens de verwijzing naar de bard Taliesin tegen die in zijn gedicht Preiddeu Annwn over koning Arthur schreef. In dit gedicht doet de zee mee en leek Arthur op koning Atlas die in de golven ten onder ging. De letters “Tal” duiken ook in Atlantis op en hebben iets met verhogen of omhoog stuwen te maken. Het is een misser dat Joost de Vries deze link niet gelegd heeft. Joost de Vries noemt in zijn Atlantis beschouwing nergens bronverwijzingen naar de Kritias of Timaios. Hij speelt op safe door in navolging van zijn vele voorgangers de Santorini kaart te trekken. Santorini is een piepklein eilandje, van pakweg 35 vierkante kilometer en ligt iets van 80 kilometer boven Kreta. Het is veel kleiner dan Texel.

Niemand gelooft dat toch dat dit eiland in een grijs verleden de wereldzeeën domineerde en de rest van de wereld terroriseerde, dat het eiland volgens Kritias 119 tienduizenden strijdwagens bezat die alle naar Athene verscheept waren. Van alle opties kozen academici de minst logische optie. Atlantis was volgens Kritias 108 groter dan Libië en Klein Azië samen. Nou dat kunnen we van Santorini niet zeggen maar hier storen de academici zich niet aan. Atlantis lag voorbij Gibraltar in zee, Santorini ligt boven Kreta in zee. En vooral Atlantis ging volgens Kritias 108 door een aardbeving ten onder. Voor het gemak gaan de academici ervan uit dat de vulkaaneruptie van de Thera vulkaan bij Santorini er iets mee te maken had. Een vulkaaneruptie is heel iets anders dan een aardbeving maar de academici en journalisten zijn allang blij als ze hun van alle kanten rammelende verklaringen een beetje sluitend krijgen. De progressieve ruimdenkendheid houdt op als je de academici op de tien koningen van Atlantis wijst die alle zonen van Poseidon waren en dus geen mensen.

De deur wordt dan dicht geslagen waarna de Santorini optie weer boven komt drijven. We kunnen gerust zeggen dat academici de minst logische optie hebben gekozen voor Plato’s Atlantis. Op mijn kritiek mail aan de Groene kreeg ik op 24/7/2024 het antwoord dat mijn kritiek niet bij de Groene Paste. Waarna ik terug mailde dat in Plato’s Atlantis verhaal niet genoemde vulkanen blijkbaar wel in de Groene Amsterdammer pasten. Het bleef verder stil waarmee hun zwaktebod getekend is. Twee zaken die mij storen: elke optie wordt in overweging genomen zolang de Bijbel maar buiten de deur blijft. Kom je met een Concordante Bijbels antwoord op het Atlantis mysterie aan dan treedt de wet van onredelijkheid inwerking en houdt men de poot stijf. Eigenaardig maar waar. Ten tweede: De Groene Amsterdammer maakt deel uit van een elitair Ons-kent-Ons circuit waar Jan met de Pet niet tussenkomt. Er zijn mensen die veel meer van ufo’s weten dan Marian Donner en ik ben de Atlantis deskundige. Niettemin krijgen mijn soort mensen geen toegang tot de kletsmedia. Als je niet de juiste achternaam hebt of geen titel hebt dan hoor je er niet bij.

Dezelfde kritiek geldt ook voor de BBC podcast van 22 september 2022 waarin ook een vulkaan eruptie genoemd werd. Atlantis werd de eerste historische fictie genoemd in plaats van het eerste Griekse antisemitische verhaal waarin de Griekse god Zeus Atlantis strafte en daarmee de god van de Bijbel van zijn almacht onttroonde.

*

BIBLE

From the heavens the stars fought, from their courses they fought against Sisera. – Judges 5:20

*

I am an ex-atheist. My systematic search for Atlantis in the Bible shows that I am not an overnight believer. Romans 5:5 says that you can only believe if God puts the Holy Spirit in you. This is also stated in 2 Corinthians 1:21-22, Ephesians 1:13-14 and 4:30. In Matthew 3:16 we read that the spirit of God did indeed descend on Jesus like a dove after he was baptized. In verse 3:17 followed by the voice that came from heaven from none other than God. In Mark 1:11, Luke 3:22, Matthew 17:5, Luke 9:35, 2 Peter 1:17 and John 12:28 we also read very clearly about the voice of God sounding. These things may sound very strange to our ears. The fact is that we have a mysterious life-giving spirit within us anyway. We breathe and our body temperature is around 37 degrees. This can only be explained if we assume a mysterious force within us that is the spirit of God. We can then understand it a little better that it requires an update of God’s holy spirit so that we function better.

We can dismiss the Bible as a book of fairy tales. We cannot ignore the many witnesses who testified to a handful of resurrections from the dead. Jesus, Peter and Paul raised people from the dead. Jesus himself was raised from the dead. According to 1 Corinthians 15, over 500 witnesses had seen Jesus after the resurrection. Let’s dwell a little more on that special book that is the Bible and contains the Word of God. That God was working out a plan with Israel but had already selected in the Garden of Eden the Body of Christ (The believers according to 1 Corinthians 15:3-4) called outside of israel, (Ephesians 1:4) no charlatan could conceive.

*

Onze echte identiteit: Bijbel versus Erik Erikson

*

Stop de MacDonalds identiteit van nep-autonomie. Hoe meer we aan zelf ontplooiing doen, hoe meer we de bevestiging van anderen zoeken. Zoek God. In het moderne westerse denken is het je onderschikken aan een god hetzelfde als onderdrukt worden door God. De slappe kreet “jezelf zijn” is de meest expressieve uitdrukkingsvorm van de gedachte dat je de baas over jezelf bent. De Bijbel leert inderdaad het tegenovergestelde. Jezus zegt: wie zijn leven vindt, zal het kwijtraken en wie wie zijn leven vanwege mij verliest zal het redden, Mattheüs 10:39, 16:25; Markus 8:35; Lucas 9:24; Johannes 12:25. De zoektocht naar onszelf pakt vaak averechts uit. Hoe meer we onszelf proberen te vinden hoe meer we naar goedkeuring van anderen verlangen (Rosner, 2022, p. 188). Het advies van Jezus is op zijn zachtst gezegd “merkwaardig”. In 1 Korinthe 6:19-20 staat dat wij niet van onszelf zijn. Wij zijn los gekocht met een prijs. 1 Korinthe 6:19-20 rekent af met onze autonomie.

De echte opdracht in Matteüs 28:19: Gaat dan henen, discipelt alle volken in mijn naam en leert hen onderhouden al wat Ik u bevolen heb. (Geen doop, geen drie-eenheid)

MacDonalds identiteit
Zelf ontplooiing door louter naar binnen te kijken leidt tot een platte MacDonalds identiteit die bij de eerste tegenslag een deuk oploopt. Echter, met onze identiteit in Christus zijn wij als een stad op een heuvel, Mattheüs 5:13-16 en een nieuwe schepping, 2 Korinthe 5:17.

*

Stellingen bij de lezing van ing. H. Wiegers

1. De ‘geschiedkundige’ natuurwetenschappen als historische geologie, historische astronomie (astrofysica) en paleontologie zijn noch echte geschiedwetenschappen, noch echte natuurwetenschappen, maar speculatieve natuurfilosofie. 

2. Spreken over een hoge ouderdom van aarde en heelal is alleen mogelijk door het actualiteitsprincipe (in het heden ligt het verleden) als dogma te gebruiken. Daardoor acht men onbegrensd extrapoleren vanuit het heden naar het verleden een vanzelfsprekende zaak.

3. De geologische tijdschaal is geen echt tijdrekenkundig kader, maar een schema gebaseerd op de volgorde van geologische biologische sporen van feiten’. Deze ‘feiten’ zijn met behulp van de idee van veronderstelde progressie in de ontsluiting van het leven- gereconstrueerd.

4. Het reduceren van de schepping tot wat daarover geopenbaard is in Genesis 1: 1, 2 is een gevolg van het” natuurwetenschappelijk toegankelijk maken” van het daarop aansluitende deel van Genesis 1. De scheppingsweek wordt zo vervangen door de zg. kosmische evolutie van het geschapene. Consequent redeneren vanuit deze gedachte leidt tot ondermijning van de waarheid van de Heilige Schrift.

5. Het door de Wijsbegeerte der Wetsidee gepostuleerde wordings- of ontsluitingsproces is een speculatieve evolutionistische idee, die in feite in de plaats komt van Gods betrouwbare openbaring over zijn scheppingswerk.

*

So many folks say that God does not exist.
But then what about God’s voice in,
A. Matthew 3:17, Mark 1:11, Luke 3:22;
B. Matthew 17:5, Luke 9:35, 2 Peter 1:17;
C. John 12:28.

If there is no God, to whom did Jesus speak in John 11:41-42?

*

If you believe that Jesus had died for our sins (Not instead of)
and that he was entombed
and that he three days later
was raised from the death by God,
you are saved – 1 Corinthians 15:3-4

*

Bijbelse tijdslijn

Goedbericht

https://www.bringthemhome-diy.com/

https://cvandaag.nl/98416-oorlog-in-isral-laat-zien-dat-we-in-profetisch-spannende-tijden-leven

scripture4all

Concordante Publicaties

Sonic Christ

E-Boeken

Bijbels Denken

Evangelie Om Niet

Concordant Publ.

Cydonia Codex

Tentmaker

Explosieve woorden

Ayaan Hirsi Ali Confession

KILLERS

Khan Academy

Learner Centered

Minerva Project

Te Gek voor Woorden

Bijstandsbond

Bijbelse links

Hollands Maandblad

VERZOENING

Dedan/Al Ula

*

*

*

*

*

*

Mail from an agnostic

Mail from an agnostic 2

Mail from an agnostic 3

*

If anything underscores my belief in the existence of God, it is the peacock. Why did God create the peacock? Because God is an artist and he had fun doing it (1 Kings 10:22). How much vodka must you have drunk to believe that a bucket of amino acids clumped together by chance and became a peacock after billions of years?

*

How could a bucket of amino acids ever conceive of a black one wandering among all those white swans?

*

The Eponymy cilinder of Belimuranni, prefect of Karchemis (691 BC). King Sennacherib of Arryria besieged Jerusalem and wrote about king Hezekiah who was hiding in his palace: “Himself like a caged bird within Jerusalem…” page 253, line 20. Compare this with Psalm 124:7, written by David, but also applicable to Hezekiah.

*

The many everyday details about Jesus make the Bible so special. In Matthew 9:9-11. Jesus saw a toll collector sitting in his office. Then he went into a house where he sat at a table with all kinds of toll collectors and other idiots. People were gossiping about him. In Matthew 17:24-27, Jesus chatted about paying taxes. He himself also paid taxes with money that came out of the mouth of a fish. Did the tax authorities care where the money came from? Did they know about the supernatural origin of the money? In a later episode after his resurrection, we see how Jesus is lifted up in Acts 1:9-11 and mysteriously disappears into the clouds and then into his Father’s heaven. Two angels in white now know that he will return in the same way one day. In Acts 22:7-8, the resurrected and taken to heaven Jesus appeared to Paul as a kind of light being. Note that he was not an esoteric being because Jewish teaching is that Jesus was very physically present. That he had a glorified spiritual body does not mean that he is a ghost.

In John 21:15 Jesus ate fish and bread after his resurrection so he was not a ghost. In Acts 22:7-8 Jesus revealed himself as a physical and material being of light to the apostle Paul who was on his way to Damascus. Jesus reminded Paul that he was Jesus from Nazareth, the Nazarene. He had not forgotten his origins. The gospel mentions these two manifestations of Jesus. His heavenly manifestation is the ultimate form of the new creation that he brought to light with his resurrection. Our earthly bodies still have a lot to look forward to. However, it will be the select company of the Body of Christ that will also receive such a heavenly body. The rest will also receive earthly bodies as part of the new creation with perhaps more functions. The Bible calls it, get used to it.

*

In the larger human world, soldiers are the vanguard of humanity.
In God’s world, (domestic) animal lovers are the vanguard.

*

JERUSALEM WHITE-GOLDEN TILES

From: www.silestone-deutschland.com/en/Marble-tiles-Jerusalem_Stone

*

LAMIZ COFFEE

PRIESTS OF HISTORY

ARTISTS HOUSE TEHRAN

IRAN MALL

*

KISSMASTER

WELKE THERAPEUT OF COACH IS GESCHIKT VOOR MIJ?

*

LOUVECIENNES

*

I’M IN LOVE WITH AMENA KHAN

*

AMENA KHAN NINJA

PLEATHER SKIRT

*

J.D. Myers, What is Hell?

When Jesus spoke about hell, he mentioned a literal hell in THIS life” – Brian Zahnd, Sinners in the hand of a loving god, p. 124. In: J.D. Myers, What is Hell?, p. 140. Hell in James 3:6 (Jacobus), Matthew 23:15, Matthew 16:18 and Colossians 1:13-14 is either a kingdom or personification of the forces of death at work in our world.

Charles Baudelaire once said, “The loveliest trick of the Devil is to persuade you that he does not exist.” The greater trick might be that satan hides right under my nose — in me—as self will, as ego, as the delusion of radical utonomy.

*

GELE RAAF

*

CARLOS

*

LONG HOT DUTCH SUMMER OF 1976. Pussycat was on the radio: “Georgie, your love reminds me of a song”

1976, also the Face on Mars was discovered in the Cydonia Mensae region. Cydonia is the Land of Sidon (Ezekiel 28:21), means “to strike”

*

mars castle

*

HOW COULD THE 1976 VIKING MISSION SPOT A VIKING ON MARS?

CYDONIA VIKING

*

Sol 4221: Chemistry & Camera (ChemCam) (2024-06-21 02:37:27 UTC). Credits: NASA/JPL-Caltech/LANL

*

*

MAR AZUL, PUNTA DEL HIDALGO

*

SOL26R2, Cyclopic walls
and Meso-American buildings in Twin Peaks area

*

BLANDINA ROASTED

*

MOM

It’s been a year and a half since I last heard from my mother. She lives in the east of Holland, while I now call Amsterdam my home. I keep the cheap phone I bought in the market close, the only connection I have to her. The key to our old house and her phone number are the only things I still have from her, and I cling to them tightly. Every day, I stare at the phone, willing it to ring, but it never does. I’m afraid to lose our phone number, afraid it would sever the last remaining thread connecting us.

*

GUANCHE PRINCESS DACIL

*

ALS IN DE DAGEN VAN NOACH EN VAN LOT

*

the stars are just tiny points of light in the vast sky, but together they create something beautiful – Amos 5:8

*

Basisinkomen in Eindexamen VWO,
2024, opgaven en bijlage

*

*

*

*

*

DE ZONDEBOK

*

Attacks on Israel Ignore

the Long History of Arab Conflict

*

FEBRUARY 2013, TEHRAN CAFÉ

*

Sonicchrist

Lola Pani

Historische Kring Almelo

Einat Wilf

Nirut Ben

SJAKIE VAN DE HOEK

Noa Tishby

Who Moved the Stone?

Bezalel

Bauhaus

Lynn Everly

Menno Ter Braak

Neom/Edom

Pars Times Arts

Inbar Cohen

Kooshk Residency

Bionic Woman

Gele Raaf

Aavisie

Perchance

*

DE WARME BAKKER

*

*

*

Thomas Erskine: Letters

*

The atoning sacrifice

*

Laat de atheïstische evolutionist dan maar eens uitleggen, als hij dat kan, waarom het een feit is en blijft, dat de mens in essentie een godsdienstig wezen is. De mens kan eventueel zo diep zinken dat hij zelfs de mensheid vergoddelijkt en zichzelf tot zijn god maakt, maar hij móet een soort god hebben.1 Godsdienst is voor de mens noodzaak. [“Straatarabieren en progressieve denkers” is de classificatie van de heer Balfour voor de uitzonderingen op deze regel. (Defence of Philosophic Doubt)] – Sir Robert Anderson, Het Stilzwijgen van God, p. 36

*

DUURZAAM DOUCHEN

GEVANGEN IN DE CLOUDKLAS

Mom, where are you?

Genesis 37:35 – the sheol, “nothingness”
After the funeral, I find myself lost in memories of my mother. I reminisce about our shared moments, the laughter and tears, and the unspoken bond that connected us. I wonder where she is now, in this place called sheol, “nothingness.” I close my eyes and imagine her spirit floating among the stars, guiding me through the darkness. As I stand at her grave, I promise to honor her memory by living a life filled with love and kindness, just as she did.

The sun hangs low in the sky, its warmth no match for the chill that permeates the air. A light breeze rustles through the leaves of the trees, carrying with it a whisper of the past. I stand before the freshly dug grave, my heart heavy with grief as I take in the simple wooden casket that holds my mother’s remains. The funeral director, a kind-faced woman who had seen far too much sorrow, hands me a shovel. Gently, I begin to fill the grave, careful not to disturb the delicate soil that had been so lovingly prepared. Memories flood my mind, unbidden and relentless. There are the countless times she had tucked me into bed as a child, humming lullabies as she smoothed my hair away from my face. The countless meals she had cooked for our family, each dish more delicious than the last. The countless times she had sat beside me, listening patiently as I poured out my heart, never once judging or offering advice. And then there were the laughter-filled moments, the moments of pure joy that she had brought into our lives. A tear trickles down my cheek as I recall the last time I saw her. It was just a few short weeks ago, when she had been admitted to the hospital. Her once-vibrant spirit had been all but extinguished by the disease that ravaged her body. I held her frail hand, feeling the coldness of her skin against mine, and I knew then that this was the end. I leaned in close, pressing a kiss to her forehead, whispering words of love and reassurance that I prayed she could hear. Now, as I stand here, those memories are all that I have left. They are my constant companions, my comfort in a world that seems to have grown colder and darker without her. I close my eyes, willing myself to find some semblance of peace amidst the turmoil of my heart. And as I do so, I am overcome with the certainty that my mother’s spirit still lingers here, watching over me. A single tear rolls down my cheek, leaving a trail of moisture on my face. I wipe it away roughly, determined not to let my grief consume me. Instead, I focus on the promise I made to her as she lay dying in that hospital bed. I promised to live a life filled with love and kindness, just as she did. And as I stand here now, surrounded by the beauty and the pain of life, I know that the task ahead of me is both daunting and essential. I take one last look at the grave before me, and with a deep breath, I turn away. My journey has only just begun. But with each step I take, I carry with me the memory of my mother, and the knowledge that her love will always be a part of me. As the setting sun casts a warm glow across the landscape, I find myself hoping that one day I will join her in whatever lies beyond this world. Until then, I will honor her memory by living a life that is as vibrant and beautiful as she was.

*

ZELFS EEN VUILNISMAN KAN EEN VERMOGENDE ZIJN

*

Luke 1:46-55, And Mary said:
“My soul makes the Lord great, and my spirit rejoices over God my Savior, for He looks on the humiliation of His slave. For perceive, from now on all the generations will praise me happily. For the Mighty One does great things to me, and holy is His name. And His mercy is to generations and generations, to those who fear Him. He does mightily by His upper arm, He scatters apart haughty ones in the thinking of their hearts. He brings down rulers from thrones and He exalts the humble. Those who hunger He feeds with good things, and those who are rich He sends away empty. He sustained Israel, His boy, to remember mercy, as He speaks to our fathers, to Abraham and to his seed, to the aion.”

*

MASTER THESIS

*

The mystery of pebbles

When is a bowl of pebbles ‘full’
when you add sand or water? – Nicole Ruysschaert, 2024, p. 258.

 

BEYOND BULLETPROOF

*

Wonderen bij het vertrek van de Shekinah

In de lente van 66 na christus in de aanloop naar de oorlog, voltrokken zich een paar ongelofelijke wonderen die volgens Josephus te maken hadden het het vertrek van de Shekinah van de tempel naar de Olijfberg. Flavius Jospehus zegt: 

“Wat ik nu schrijf lijkt op een losgeslagen fantasie maar dan wel een hele vreemde. Ware het niet dat het gebeurde door diverse getuigen is waargenomen en ware het niet dat er verdere gebeurtenissen op volgden…”

“Ten eerste was er opvallende ster boven de stad die de verschijning had van een zwaard. En er was een komeet die een heel jaar zichtbaar bleef.”

“Een week voor Pasen in het jaar 66 scheen er om 3 uur ’s ochtends, 30 minuten lang een groot licht over het altaar. Daarna verdween het.”

“Gedurende Pasen gingen de enorme deuren van de oostelijke poorten van Nicanor uit zichzelf open.”

“Tijdens Pinksteren, voor zonsondergang werden en aan de hemel tussen de wolken triomfwagens en troepen soldaten gezien, compleet met uitrusting en later ook rond de steden. Toen de priesters die nacht op pinksteren de tempel binnen gingen, voelden ze een heftig schudden van de tempel en hoorden ze veel lawaai. Daarna hoorden ze een grote menigte luidkeels roepen “laten we weggaan van hier.”

Zowel Josephus als rabbi Jonathan waren hier getuige van.

*

Christianity was also, to my surprise, radical – far more radical than the leftist ideologies with which I had previously been enamoured. – Sarah Singer Stonebraker

*

*

THE BOOK OF REMEMBRANCE – MALEACHI 3:16

*

Gods zegen rust op Harriët Tom

Harriët Tom, een vrouw van 81 uit Enschede heeft ons land beroerd. Ze reisde af naar Maarssen waar zoiets als de Buitenplaats Doornburgh is. Het is een centrum voor kunst en wetenschap. Thans is er een expositie onder de Bijbelse naam Exodus gaande. De informatie hierover is nogal onduidelijk. De indruk wordt gewekt dat het Bijbels Museum in Maarssen staat terwijl andere informatie luidt dat er een verzameling van het Bijbels Museum in de Buitenplaats is. Maarsen, de Buitenplaats, het Bijbels Museum, drie locaties die maken de informatie er niet duidelijker op. Het Museum heeft geen vaste standplaats en is een reizend museum. Erg ingewikkeld allemaal, en je moet goed googelen om te achterhalen waar het precies om gaat. Op de website van het Bijbels Museum staan wel de stoere woorden “Bezinning en bezieling¨. Dat is leuk voor de bühne.

*

Kunstwerk vernield
Goed dan, de tentoonstelling heet Exodus. De tag “Kunstwerk vernielt” is taalkundig al fout want vernield moet met een “d”. Erg slordig.

*

Deze 81 jarige mevrouw is tegen een zooi beeldjes van de godin Asjerah/Astarte tekeer gegaan. Ik zie het al voor me: een vrouw van 81 met een honkbalknuppel die beeldjes kapot mept. Wie is de godin Asjerah? Zij was de godin van de Sidoniërs (1 Koningen 11:5). Zidon ligt in Libanon en stichtte later Tyrus dat iets verderop ligt, lang voordat Beiroet de hoofdstad werd. Libanon was wat vroeger Kanaän heette, bekend vanwege de purperkleur die er verhandeld werd. De Griekse naam was Fenicië. Deze Asjerah werd In Jeremia 7:18 en 44:17-18 de Koningin van de Hemelen genoemd, een titel die later per abuis op de moeder van Jezus geplakt werd.

*

De echte Exodus
Op een speciale webpagina die bij deze tag hoort staat informatie over de vernieling van de beeldjes. (1) Allereerst mis ik informatie waar de tentoonstelling Exodus over gaat. In de Bijbel gaat de Exodus over de Uittocht van de Joden uit de slavernij van Egypte. Deze ging met tien plagen gepaard die tegen de afgoden van Egypte gericht waren alsook tegen de Sfinx. Isis was één van deze afgoden. Asjerah was een masker van Isis. Dus ik snap niet hoe ze 3000 Asjerah beelden onder de noemer van een Exodus tentoonstelling kan plaatsen. Asjerah was de vijand van God en de Israëlieten. In Egypte was ze de vrouw van Osiris en de moeder van Horus.

*

Asjerah palen
In Exodus 34 werd inderdaad de godin Asjerah genoemd. Maar wel op een totaal andere manier dan in deze tentoonstelling. In Exodus 34:13 riep God zelf op om de Asjerah palen om te kegelen. Waarschijnlijk waren dit de Obelisken. Als ik naar een expositie over Exodus ga dan verwacht ik wat te weten te komen over de route van de Uittocht. Deze ging via de Nijldelta en niet via de Rode Zee of de Golf van Aqaba. Als je een kunstenaar erbij betrekt, maak het publiek dan duidelijk dat riet niet in zout water groeit. Maak duidelijk dat de Migdol in Exodus 14:2 de Grote Piramide is. Maak duidelijk hoe God zijn volk uit de slavernij bevrijdde. Maar niks van dit alles.

*

Marieke Ploeg
Volgens de kunstenares duidt Asjerah op het vrouwelijke aangezicht van God. Flauwekul, Asjerah was een demonisch wezen. Dit staat in Psalm 96:5. In de mythe was ze de vrouwelijke metgezel van Baäl Satan. Zo was er de Ugaritische Baäl en Anath Cyclus waarin Anath een masker van Asjerah was. God riep zijn volk niet voor niets op om de gewijde palen te verwijderen. Nog meer flauwekul: de kunstenares wil de bezoekers aan het denken zetten over de rol van de vrouw in religie en verder over de rol van de vrouw in de samenleving. Het heeft dus allemaal niks meer met de Bijbelse thematiek van de Exodus te maken. Om de rol van de vrouw te benadrukken had de kunstenares de rol van Mozes’ zus Miriam er nog bij kunnen betrekken. Maar zelfs hier heeft de kunstenares geen moeite voor gedaan.

*

3000 beeldjes
Dan moet dit Bijbels Museum eens uitleggen waarom er zo nodig 3000 beeldjes van Asjerah bij de expositie geplaatst werden en niet één of twee om bijvoorbeeld Exodus 34:13 toe te lichten? In deze vers werden Asjera palen genoemd, die waarschijnlijk Obelisken waren. Het was wel zo eerlijk geweest om er even bij te zetten of de beeldjes gratis zijn of wat ze anders kosten. In elk geval was het in Handelingen 19 de reden waarom de boze zilversmid Demetrius uit zijn dak ging. Hij had een handeltje in zilveren tempels van Artemis die blijkbaar goed verkocht werden. U raadt het nooit want Artemis was gewoon een masker van Asjerah. Toen kwam Paulus langs en hij verkondigde dat God niet langer in een tempel woonde die door mensenhanden gemaakt was. Demetrius zag zijn handel in rook op gaan en hij jutte het volk op. Het volk schreeuwde twee uur lang: “groot is Artemis van de Efeziërs”. Zoals het volk nu moord en brand schreeuwt over deze daad van een 81 jarige vrouw.

*

Vrijheid van kunst
De reacties op de daad van Harriët Tom waren niet van de lucht. Met wollig taalgebruik werd de daad veroordeeld. De directrice van het Bijbels Museum, Carolien Croon zegt,

‘Het wordt ingewikkeld als je Godsbeeld zo vaststaat, dat het niet door een andere visie mag worden bevraagd. Dat is verdrietig, zeker in een samenleving met een grote culturele en religieuze diversiteit. Tolerantie en mensenliefde zijn daarin essentieel. (2)

Nounou, wat een omslachtig taalgebruik. Welke andere visie bedoelt Carolien hier? Dat Asjerah een aangezicht van God is? De rol van de vrouw in religie? Waarom staat de zus van Mozes dan niet centraal in de expositie? Het verhardde hart van Farao? Ik lees er niks over.

*

Nep diversiteit
Dan die wollige woorden, religieuze diversiteit, tolerantie en mensenliefde. Deze tentoonstelling heeft niks met religieuze diversiteit te maken. Diversiteit ontstaat uit een brandpunt dat de opgestane christus is. De oecumene in Romeinen 16 is een totaal andere dan wat wij onder multicul flauwekul verstaan. Wat hier tolerantie genoemd wordt is oppervlakkige schijn-tolerantie. Nog wat wollige woorden voor de bühne,

“Kunst kan helpen om onszelf te onderzoeken.”

*

Bladiebladieblah. De expositie heeft duidelijk niks met de Bijbelse Exodus te maken. Ik zie niet in wat dit ook nog met zelf onderzoek te maken heeft.

De kunstenares, Marieke Ploeg zegt zelf over de vernieling:

Dit is ook waar dit werk om gaat: kunnen we in onze samenleving ruimte maken voor het kwetsbare, voor een open gesprek, met een open houding voor elkaars zienswijze?’

Blablablablabla, mooie wollige praatjes voor de bühne.

*

Iemand op een weblog schrijft,

Harriët Tom is het voorbeeld van iemand die in een gesloten religieus wereldbeeld tot daden overgaat. (2)

Wat een ge-oordeel. Waarom zou haar gesloten wereldbeeld tot deze daad leiden en niet de expositie die schijntolerantie preekt en terecht weerzin opwekt? Als de expositie voor Blablabla zelfreflectie bedoeld is, wat is er dan op tegen om de reactie van Harriët Tom te respecteren? Waarom is het kapot maken van beeldjes opeens een foute manier van zelfreflectie? Wie bepaalt dit?

Bronnen

1. https://bijbelsmuseum.nl/kunstwerk-vernielt/

2. Knight, G. [29 sept. 2023] ND geeft vrouw een podium die Asjerabeeldjes vertrapte op tentoonstelling in Doornburgh
Geraadpleegd van
georgeknightlang.wordpress.com/2023/09/29/nd-geeft-vrouw-een-podium-die-asjarabeeldjes-vertrapte-op-tentoonstelling-in-doornburgh/

*

isa en lotte

mother photos warehouse

ants

kei

wim en johnny

*

*

BOEKEN/BOOKS

1. Bob Evely, Does God Exist? / At the End of the Ages
2. Gary M. Matheny, Exodus
3. Jan Bonda, Het Ene Doel van God
4. Harry Bultema: Wat de Bijbel Zegt Over De Ene Doop
5. Helena Maria Keizer, Life, Time, Entirety
6. Martin Zender, The Goddess of Nazareth, isbn 978 1956 293 043
7. N.T. Wright, The Resurrection of The Son of God
8. Ernest L. Martin, The Temples That Jerusalem Forgot
9. Frank Morison, Who Moved the Stone?
10. Vittorio Messori, Wat te Zeggen van Jezus?
11. Lee Strobel, Bewijs Genoeg
12. Josh McDowell, Evidence that Demands a Verdict
13. E.W. Bullinger, Companion Bible met Bijlagen
14. E.W. Bullinger, Number in Scripture
15. E.W. Bullinger, The Witness of the Stars
16. André Piet, De Alleen Wijze God; De Romeinenbrief, Vers voor Vers besproken
17. Aren van Waarde, De Wederkomst van Christus
18. Horace Bushnell, The Vicarious Sacrifice
19. Inge van Wijnen, Eén voor Allen
20. Jim Strahan, The Brightness around him
21. Erich Sauer, Het Morgenrood der Wereldredding
22. Yishai Levi, The Beauty Queen of Jerusalem
23. Stark, R. (2007). Cities of God: The real Story of how christianity
became an urban movement and conquered Rome. New York, USA: Harper One.
24. Menno Haaijman, Scherp door de bocht, 2021, Evangelie om Niet.
25. Drs. A. Keizer, De grote toekomst van Israël, de kerk en de volken.
Waarom de dogmatiek moest vastlopen, 1992, Kok, Kampen
26. Joël W. Hemphill, Glory to God in the Highest, 2010, Trumpet Call Books, USA
27. Paige-Patric J.D. Samuels, Doctrine of the Eons. God’s Immutable Plan
28. George J. Haas & William R. Saunders, Cydonia Codex en Mars Codex
29. Robin Waterfield, Hidden Depths
30. Robin Waterfield, Taken at the Flood
31. Victor Norgarde, Morningstar Pass
32. William Dorian, The Holy Water incident
33. Shannon Gilmoure, The True Existence of Non-Existent Entities
34. Sandra Sweeny Silver: The Rise and Fall of the House of Herod
35. Hilton Ratcliffe, The Virtue of Heresy,
Confessions of a dissident astronomer, 2007, USA, Author House
36. Sarah Irving Stonebraker: Priests of History
37. Brian Rosner: How to find yourself?
38. Hugh Mackay: The Question of love
39. Lisa Damour: The emotional life of teenagers
40. Geoff McDonald & L.A. Jensen-Campbell: Social Pain
41. Kelly Cahill: Encounter
42. David Brooks: The social animal
43. David Jopling: Self Knowledge and the self
44. Timothy Keller: The reason for God
45. Barry Fell: America BC.
46. Covey, Cyrus (1987). Homeric Troy and The Sea Peoples.
47. Geertje van Egmond: Verbinding Verbroken
48. Richard Sennett: who is your city?
49. Evy Poumpouras: Becoming Bullet Proof
50 Graig, W.L. Reasonable Faith
51. Rebecca Solnit: A Field guide to getting lost
52. Linda Zimmerman: Animal reactions to ufo’s
53. Little, Paul E.: Know why you believe
54. Sangers, Gerard: Met Dank, door mijn overheid bij de voedselbank
55. Silver, S.S.: A cosmos in my kitchen

MEER BOEKEN

1. Bob Evely, Does God Exist? / At the End of the Ages
2. Gary M. Matheny, Exodus
3. Jan Bonda, Het Ene Doel van God
4. Harry Bultema: Wat de Bijbel Zegt Over De Ene Doop
5. Helena Maria Keizer, Life, Time, Entirety
6. Martin Zender, The Goddess of Nazareth, isbn 978 1956 293 043
7. N.T. Wright, The Resurrection of The Son of God
8. Ernest L. Martin, The Temples That Jerusalem Forgot
9. Frank Morison, Who Moved the Stone?
10. Vittorio Messori, Wat te Zeggen van Jezus?
11. Lee Strobel, Bewijs Genoeg
12. Josh McDowell, Evidence that Demands a Verdict
13. E.W. Bullinger, Companion Bible met Bijlagen
14. E.W. Bullinger, Number in Scripture
15. E.W. Bullinger, The Witness of the Stars
16. André Piet, De Alleen Wijze God; De Romeinenbrief
17. Aren van Waarde, De Wederkomst van Christus
18. Horace Bushnell, The Vicarious Sacrifice
19. Inge van Wijnen, Eén voor Allen
20. J. Dan Gill, The One, in defence of god
21. Erich Sauer, Het Morgenrood der Wereldredding
22. Yishai Levi, The Beauty Queen of Jerusalem
23. Rodney Stark (2007). Cities of God
24. Menno Haaijman, Scherp door de bocht, 2021, Evangelie om Niet.
25. Drs. A. Keizer, De grote toekomst van Israël, de kerk en de volken.
26. Joël W. Hemphill, Glory to God in the Highest, 2010, Trumpet Call Books, USA
27. Paige-Patric J.D. Samuels, Doctrine of the Eons. God’s Immutable Plan
28. Sandra Sweeney Silver: A Cosmos in my Kitchen: The Journal of a Beekeeper
29. William Lane Craigh: Reasonable Faith
30. Victor Norgarde: Morningstar Pass
31. Abbott, Louis: An Analytical Study of Words.
32. Adams, Arthur P: The Purposes of God and the True Basis of Redemption
33. Adams, Arthur P: The Spirit of the Word (Volume 1)
34. Allin, Thomas: Christ Triumphant
35. Andrews, Lewis Feuilleteau Wilson: The “Two Opinions”, or Salvation and Damnation,
being an Inquiry into the Truth of Certain Theological Tenets Prevalent in the Year 1837.
36. Anonymus: Der Schöpfung Zweck und Ziel. Konkordanter
Verlag, Pforzheim [Konkordante Schriftenreihe]
37. Baader, F.H. und Pasedag, W.J: Versöhnung.
38. Ballou, Hosea: A Treatise on Atonement
39: Ballou, Hosea: Ancient History of Universalism
40. Barth, Karl: Der Römerbrief. Zürich: Evangelischer Verlag
41. A.G.Zollikon, 1954 [9ter Abdruck der neuen Bearbeitung]
42. Beauchemin, Gerry: Hope Beyond Hell.
43. Beecher, Edward: History of Opinions on the Scriptural Doctrine of Retribution.
44. Bonda, Jan: De vrouw en haar zaad.
45. Bonda, Jan: Het heil van de velen.
46. Bonda, Jan: Het ene doel van God. 47.
47. Bonhoeffer, Dietrich (1972) Navolging.
48. Bouwman, Harm: Het begrip gerechtigheid in het Oude
Testament. [Proefschrift, Universiteit van Amsterdam] Kampen:
J.H.Bos, 1899
49. Brouwer, A.M: Verzoening. Een bijbels-theologische studie.
50. Brown, Thomas: A History of the Origin and Progress of the Doctrine of Universal Salvation.
51. Brütsch, Charles: De goede tijding van het wereldeinde.
52. Chauncy, Charles: Divine Glory brought to View in the Final
Salvation of All Men.
53. Chauncy, Charles: The Benevolence of the Deity, fairly and
impartially considered in three parts
54. Clayton, E.H: The New Birth Contrasted with the New Creation.
Document op theheraldofgodsgrace.org
55. Cope, Bob: Outer Darkness and Wiping and Gnashing of Teeth.
Document op de Grace Universal homepage.
56. Cox, Samuel: Salvator Mundi, or, Is Christ the Saviour of All
Men?
57. Dallmus, C.F: Unforced Acclamation.
58. Dawson, Samuel G: Jesus’ Teaching on Hell.
59. Dean, Paul: A Course of Lectures in Defense of the Final
Restoration.
60. Dick, Willy: Lehrt die Schrift die Allaussöhnung?
61. Dodd, C.H: Hilaskesthai, Its Cognates, Derivatives, and
Synonyms, in the Septuagint.
62. Downing, Curt: A Defense of Universal Reconciliation.
Document op theheraldofgodsgrace.org
63. Eberle, Reinhard: Der glückselige Gott, und seine Entfaltung im
1. Timotheusbrief. Document op r-eberle.de
64. Eberle, Reinhard: Gott macht lebendig – Ordnungen der
Lebendigmachungen. Document op r-eberle.de
65. Edersheim, Elise Williamina: The Rites and Worship of the Jews.
66. Erskine, Thomas: An Essay on Faith
67. Erskine, Thomas: The Unconditional Freeness of the Gospel, in
Three Essays.
68. Erskine, Thomas: The Brazen Serpent, or Life Coming through
Death
69. Erskine, Thomas: The Spiritual Order and Other Papers.
70. Estlin, John Prior: Discourses on Universal Restitution, delivered
to the Society of Protestant Dissenters in Lewis Mead, Bristol.
71. Farrar, Frederic William: Eternal Hope. Five Sermons Preached
in Westminster Abbey
72. Farrar, Frederic William: Mercy and Judgment.
73. Gayford, S.C: Sacrifice and Priesthood: Jewish and Christian.
74. Gelesnoff, Vladimir: The “Atonement”.
75. Haring, H.W. den: Wat leert de Heilige Schrift over de hel?
76. Haring, H.W. den: Leeringen der Ouden.
77. Hart, David Bentley: That All Shall Be Saved. Heaven, Hell and
Universal Salvation.
78. Hensen, Johan A: Verzoening.
79. Hurley, Loyal: The Outcome of Infinite Grace.
80. Jukes, Andrew: The Law of the Offerings in Leviticus I-VII,
Considered as the Appointed Figure of the Various Aspects of
the Offering of the Body of Jesus Christ.
81. Jukes, Andrew: The Second Death and the Restitution of All
Things.
82. Keizer, A: De grote toekomst van Israël, de kerk en de volken.
83. Keizer, A: De komende reformatie van de eindtijd.
84. Keizer, Heleen M: Life Time Entirety. A Study of Aioon in Greek
Literature and Philosophy, the Septuagint and Philo
85. Knoch, Adolph Ernst: The Christ of God III. His Atoning Death.
86. Knoch, Adolph Ernst: “The Ransom Price”.
87. Knoch, Adolph Ernst: All in All. The Goal of the Universe.
88. Kohnstamm, Philip: Schepper en schepping.
89. Loudy, Adlai: God’s Eonian Purpose.
90. Lukkien, A. en Oosterhuis, A: Alverzoening toegelicht en verdedigd.
91. Luther, Ralf: Neutestamentliches Wörterbuch. Eine Einführung
in Sprache und Sinn des urchristlichen Schrifttums.
92. MacDonald, George: Epea Aptera. Unspoken Sermons, Third
Series. [in het bijzonder de hoofdstukken “Justice”, p.109-162, en
“Righteousness”, p.209-228]
93. Manussen, A: Beknopte samenvatting van de grondslagen der
Schriftuurlijke waarheid aangaande de universele redding van de
ganse schepping.
94. McLeod Campbell, John: The Nature of the Atonement. Eugene
95. Michaelis, Wilhelm: Versöhnung des Alls. Die frohe Botschaft
von der Gnade Gottes.
96. Piet, André (2013) Honderdéén bommen en granaten onder het
traditioneel-christelijke bolwerk.
97. Punt, Neal: Unconditional Good News. Towards an
Understanding of Biblical Universalism.
98. Ruiter, Ton de: Jezus in ons. Een andere kijk op verzoening.
99. Ströter, Ernst Ferdinand: Het evangelie Gods.
100. Talbott, Thomas: The Inescapable Love of God. Salem
101. Thomson, Alexander: Hoe komt men toch aan eeuwigheid?
102. Wiersinga, Herman: De verzoening in de theologische diskussie.
103. Worcester, Noah: The Atoning Sacrifice. A Display of Love, Not
Wrath.
104. Yamaguchi, Miho: George MacDonald’s Challenging Theology of
the Atonement, Suffering, and Death.
105. Francois Roget: Van Nicea tot Bonifatius
106. George J. Haas & William B. Saunders: Cydonia Codex
107. Robin Waterfield: Hidden Depths
108. P.A. Elderenbosch: Het Evangelie als uitleg van het Oude Testament
109. Outi Lehtipuu: The Afterlife Imagery in Luke’s Story of the Rich Man and Lazarus
110. Marcelino Lopez, Liefdesgedoe
111. Karl Heinz Ohlig, One or Three?
112. Jan Willem Stutje: Folterfabriek Buchenwald
113. Brian S. Rosner, Known by God
114. Timothy Keller, The reason for God
115. Renate Laqueur, Dagboek uit Bergen-Belsen
116. Andrew Scheil, Babylon under Western eyes

117. Nicole Ruyschaert, Zelfhypnose werkt

*

ISA AND LOTTE

Inspired by: facebook.com/1ir1i23r13i/

august 2024
Isa’s strongest memory was the day he first saw Lotte at highschool. She’d walked into the classroom, a beacon of light in a sea of teenage indifference. Her hair fell in soft waves, framing a face that could’ve been painted by the angels themselves. She had the kind of smile that could make you feel like you’d just been handed the winning lottery ticket of life. That was two years ago, when they were fifteen. Now, at seventeen, Isa’s love for Lotte had only grown stronger, though it remained unspoken, a secret he guarded fiercely behind the wall of his shyness.

One fateful afternoon, during their usual drawing class, Richard, the unlikely artist of the class, decided to unleash his talents. His usual drawings were of fast cars and skulls, but today was different. He’d drawn a portrait of Lotte that was so stunning it took everyone’s breath away. The tattoo boys, who usually snickered at Isa’s clumsy attempts at romance, were silent. The classroom buzzed with whispers, and even the teacher couldn’t hide his admiration. Lotte’s name was scrawled in bold letters across the top of the paper, the letters looping and swirling like the tendrils of a vine around a trellis. It was a declaration, a testament to the beauty that had captured their class’s tough guy’s heart.

The portrait was so lifelike it seemed as if Lotte had been caught in a moment of pure vulnerability, her eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that Jelle had only ever dreamed of seeing. Her cheeks were a soft pink, and her lips a delicate shade of coral, like a blush and a smile had collided. The drawing teacher, Mr. Van der Meer, who was known for his stern critiques, couldn’t help but let a smile play at the corners of his mouth. He nodded his head in approval, the noise of his palette knife tapping against the wooden table echoing through the room.

“It’s a masterpiece, Richard,” he said, his voice thick with admiration. “I must say, this is truly exceptional. I think we have a contender for the school art exhibition.”

The room erupted in applause, a sound that seemed to both bolster Richard’s confidence and make him squirm in his seat. Lotte, on the other hand, was a picture of confusion. She looked from the drawing to Richard, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. She had noticed the glances he had been stealing at her during class but had never suspected this. She felt a strange mix of flattery and embarrassment, a feeling that was only amplified by the sudden spotlight on her.

For the rest of the class, the air was charged with excitement. The tension between Richard and Lotte was palpable, and everyone waited to see how she would react. When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, she made a beeline for the door, not sparing a second glance at the portrait. Isa watched her go, his heart sinking. He had hoped the drawing would be a bridge between them, but it had only served to widen the gap.

As the days passed, the portrait remained in the hallway, a silent testament to Richard’s drawing talent. Lotte avoided the area whenever she could, and when she couldn’t, she walked by with her eyes averted. Isa felt like a spectator in a play he had no part in, his heart aching with every step she took away from him. The whispers and knowing looks from their classmates didn’t help, either. They had always been friendly, but now there was an unspoken question hanging in the air whenever they interacted. Finally Lotte’s drawing was handed over to Isa. His classmates had all fun with it.

But the universe had a peculiar sense of humor. A few weeks later, on a quiet Saturday, Richard and Robbie, his tattooed friend, found themselves at Wilco’s house. They’d heard he had an electric guitar they could borrow for the weekend. Little did they know, Wilco’s parents were close with Lotte’s. As they strummed the strings, lost in their music, they had no idea they had an audience.

Lotte and her father had just pulled up in their car, returning from a shopping trip. They stepped out into the driveway, the sound of the guitar playing reaching their ears. Curiosity piqued, they followed it into Wilco’s home where Richard was shredding a solo. Lotte’s heart skipped a beat when she saw him, the same guy who had drawn her so beautifully. Her father looked at her, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“Isn’t that the boy who drew your portrait, Lotte?” he whispered.

Her eyes locked onto Richard, the strings of the guitar singing a melody that seemed to resonate with the rhythm of her heart. She nodded, her sternness melting away into curiosity. She had never seen this side of him, the artist, the musician. He was more than just the tough exterior everyone knew.

As the final notes of the song faded, Richard looked up and noticed Lotte and her father standing in the doorway. He looked for a moment into Lotte’s eyes, then kept on playing.

Lotte felt a strange mix of emotions watching Richard perform so confidently. She had never seen this side of him before, and she couldn’t help but feel drawn to it. The tattoo guy sitting next to him still deterred her a bit from contacting both of them. She sat down a tad askew and continued to look mesmerized at Richard, whose drawing of her had caused so much commotion at school and eventually at her home. Maybe she would just leave it as it was and not dwell on it further. After all, how well did she know Richard? In the end, by playful and artistic means, a hard truth had been revealed to her: Isa was in love with her. Not Richard but Isa was the one she needed to keep an eye on.

But here was Richard, playing the guitar like a pro, the same hands that had created the portrait of her. Lotte couldn’t tear her eyes away from his fingers dancing over the strings, the same hands that had so tenderly outlined her features.
Her father cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “We should say hello,” he suggested gently, nudging her. “No,” she whispered. Her dad tried not to laugh.

*

12 sept. 2024
In a quaint, suburban neighborhood, nestled between rows of meticulously manicured lawns and blooming azaleas, stood a modest yet inviting two-story home. Inside, Tessa, a striking 44-year-old woman with a gentle demeanor and a penchant for simple elegance, moved with purpose. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her eyes, a warm shade of brown, sparkled with the joy of a mother and wife. She had dedicated her life to nurturing young minds as an English and Bible teacher at the local grammar school. Her days were filled with the delightful chatter of children and the quiet satisfaction of instilling knowledge and faith.

Her son, Paul, a strapping young man of 22, had chosen a different path. He had traded the classroom for the rugged world of construction. His muscular frame, a testament to his hard work, was perpetually dusty from the grind of the job site. Despite the physical toll, his heart was light, knowing that he was making his mother proud by contributing to the household finances.

One day, as the cranes loomed overhead and the air was thick with the scent of sawdust and concrete, Paul pulled out a magazine to share with his colleagues. It was a local publication that had featured an interview with Tessa, her image gracing the glossy pages. The article spoke of her dedication to her students and her community, highlighting her beauty and her strength of character. The men at the site took notice, whistling and nudging each other, and before long, copies of the magazine began to circulate among them.

Torn-out pages of Tessa’s photos began to appear in the most unexpected places—tacked to the walls of the break room, taped to the side of a bulldozer, even stuck inside a hard hat. The workers spoke in hushed tones about her, saying she had a way of “reassuring” them, that her smile and her words had a power that transcended the pages. It was all in good fun, or so they thought, until the whispers grew into a murmur that echoed through the construction site.

Paul felt the tension tighten around his neck as he walked through the site, catching snippets of conversation that seemed to revolve around his mother’s picture. He was torn between pride for her achievements and a growing sense of unease. The men looked at him differently now, a mix of respect and something else, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was as if they saw him as an extension of her, a gateway to a part of themselves they thought she could understand.

He gathered the mangled pages and stuffed them into his pocket, the corners jabbing at his skin with each step. The weight of their gazes grew heavier, and he quickened his pace, eager to escape the cacophony of whistles and catcalls that followed her image like a shadow. His mind raced with scenarios, each one more distressing than the last. He knew he had to tell Tessa, but the words stuck in his throat like dry cement.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange, Paul approached the front door of their home. The scent of dinner wafted through the screen door, a comforting embrace of rosemary and chicken. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation that lay ahead. As he stepped into the warm embrace of the house, Tessa looked up from the stove, her smile fading as she took in her son’s troubled expression.

“What’s wrong, Paul?” she asked, her voice laced with concern as she wiped her hands on her apron.

Paul hesitated, the weight of the magazine pages in his pocket suddenly feeling like a boulder. “Mom,” he began, his voice thick with discomfort, “something happened at work today.”

Tessa’s eyes searched his, sensing the gravity of his words. She set aside her spatula and turned to face him fully. “What is it?”

Paul fished out the crumpled pages from his pocket, the images of his mother smiling serenely up at him. He laid them out on the kitchen counter, the sound of tearing paper echoing in the quiet room. “They’ve got your magazine at the site,” he said, his voice low and tight. “They’ve torn out your pictures and put them up everywhere.”

Tessa’s eyes widened, and she stepped closer to inspect the scattered images. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “Out of all the photos and magazines, how could they pick out my photo, of all places, and then also where you work? Had you shown them anything? she asked.

Paul swallowed hard, feeling his muscles tense. “It was just an interview I brought to show the guys,” he said defensively. “I didn’t expect this.”

You didn’t expect this? But why did you show my pictures to these men in particular? she asked with a wink.

Paul’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t like that, Mom,” he said firmly. “I didn’t know it would turn into this.”

Was it your intention to appease your colleagues with my pictures? she winked. Or did you just want to explain he a teacher’s teaching day looks like?

Paul rolled his eyes. “I just wanted to show them what you do, not turn you into some kind of… I don’t know, construction site pin-up girl.” He felt the heat rising in his cheeks, and his discomfort was palpable.

But do your colleagues work harder now? his mother asked with a smile.

Yes, they do, he said.

Tessa couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. “Well, I suppose it’s flattering,” she said, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But it’s also a bit… unsettling.”

Yes, they say you’re good at reassuring men, Paul said. They joked about it, too. They said they were reassured by the pictures.

Tessa took a deep breath, her thoughts racing. She knew the kind of environment that existed on construction sites—the rough joking, the sense of camaraderie that could sometimes veer into disrespectful territory. But she had never thought it would touch her own family. She glanced at the images of herself scattered across the counter, feeling a strange sense of detachment.

“Do they know where I live, where you live?” she said.

Paul nodded. “They do, they know it’s you.”

Fine, she said. “very very very fine.”

They said you were good at reassuring other men,” Paul said.

More bad news to come? she asked. Will they knock at the door tonight in their search for a whore? Or what will they do with the photo’s at all? Will they study the composition, the perspective? Or will they try to be reassured even more at night, while looking at my photo’s? Or will they all decide to learn english?

“I don’t know mom,” Paul said.

Tessa sighed and picked up the images, straightening them with a trembling hand. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to deal with it,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor.

Paul nodded, his jaw set.

Tessa studied her son’s face, seeing the burgeoning anger in his eyes. If they are truly reassured by my photos, then I am happy anyway.” Tessa’s eyes softened as she looked at her son. “How about we sit down and talk about it more over dinner?”

Paul nodded, his stomach churning with a mix of anger and embarrassment. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow exposed his mother to this unwanted attention. As they sat down to eat, the conversation remained light, but the topic of the magazine article lingered in the air like a storm cloud on the horizon.

Tessa tried to keep the mood light, sharing stories from her classroom and asking about Paul’s day. But the weight of the situation pressed down on them both, and the laughter felt forced. They picked at their food, the silence between bites stretching taut like a guitar string about to snap.

After dinner, Paul retreated to his room, the walls suddenly feeling too thin. He could hear the faint murmur of his mother’s voice as she cleared the dishes, her footsteps a gentle rhythm against the hardwood floor. The thought of those rough, calloused hands from the construction site touching her image made his blood boil. He punched his pillow, wishing he could punch something more substantial.

Tessa, on the other hand, sat at the kitchen table, her eyes fixed on the now empty plate before her. The words of the men at the site played in her mind, their “reassurance” feeling more like a taunt.

*

30/8/24
Marina McAllister, a 44-year-old woman with a warm smile and eyes that danced like a clear summer sky, sat at her kitchen table, surrounded by the comforting aroma of freshly baked cookies. Her hair, a soft blend of caramel and honey, was tied back in a loose ponytail, revealing the few silver strands that had gently crept in over the years. Her apron, dotted with flour and specks of chocolate, was a testament to her afternoon spent baking. The kitchen was her sanctuary, a place where she found peace in the rhythmic clatter of pots and pans and the sweet pattern of ingredients blending together. It was her way of showing love, especially to her son, Fedde.

Fedde, tall and lanky with a sprinkle of freckles across his nose, wandered into the kitchen, his military boots echoing against the hardwood floor. He was home on leave before shipping out for his final month of service. At 21, he had the strength and stoicism of a man twice his age, but his eyes still held the spark of youthful idealism that had captivated his mother since the day he was born. She watched as he reached for a cookie, his hand lingering in the jar as if savoring the memory of her embrace.

“Mom,” he began, his voice a mix of excitement and hesitation, “you asked about a gift for when I’m done with all this.”

Marina looked up from her mixing bowl, her hands momentarily still. “Yes, Fedde,” she said gently, “What’s on your mind?”

Fedde took a bite of the cookie, the sweetness briefly distracting him from his thoughts. “Well,” he started, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’d like. And it’s not something you can just buy from a store.”

Marina’s curiosity piqued, she leaned against the kitchen counter, wiping her hands on her apron. “Go on,” she encouraged, her eyes never leaving her son’s face.

Fedde took a deep breath, his thoughts racing. “The first idea,” he said, “is something we could do together. I know how much you love animals, and I do too, but not in the way of a zoo. It’s like, I don’t like seeing them behind bars. It feels… wrong.” He paused, searching for the right words. “But what if we went to a wildlife park instead? You know, one of those places where they’re not really caged, but they have lots of space to roam. We could take pictures, maybe even start an online diary about our day, the animals we see, and what we learn.” His eyes lit up at the thought of sharing this experience with her.

Marina’s expression softened as she listened to Fedde’s proposal. She knew his tender heart and his love for animals. “That sounds wonderful,” she said, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. “A wild park is definitely more in line with what we both believe in. It’ll be like we’re on a little safari together.” She could already imagine the joy they would share, walking side by side, discovering the majesty of the animal kingdom in its more natural state.

But Fedde wasn’t done. He had another idea, one that was more personal and significant. “The second thing,” he said, his voice growing more serious, “is something I’ve been carrying around for a while. You know I’ve always admired you for everything you’ve done for us, especially after dad left.” His eyes searched hers, seeking approval to continue. “I want to do something for you, something that shows you how much I appreciate you.”

Marina felt a lump form in her throat. She had always put on a brave face for her son, never wanting him to feel the weight of their father’s absence. She nodded, urging him to go on.

“I know you’ve always talked about going back to school,” Fedde said, his voice firm with conviction. “To finish that degree you put on hold when I was born. And with me being out of the house, it’s the perfect time. So, I want to save up some of my military pay and help you pay for it. It’s not just a gift for me, it’s for us. For our future.”

Marina’s eyes filled with tears, her heart swelling with pride and gratitude. She had dreamed of completing her education, but life had taken a different turn. Now, her son was offering her the chance to chase that dream once more. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. “Fedde, that’s the most amazing thing you could ever give me. I’ve always wanted to go back, but I never thought it was possible. But, I want you to think about this. This is your future too. Are you s30/8/24

Marina McAllister, a 44-year-old woman with a warm smile and eyes that danced like a clear summer sky, sat at her kitchen table, surrounded by the comforting aroma of freshly baked cookies. Her hair, a soft blend of caramel and honey, was tied back in a loose ponytail, revealing the few silver strands that had gently crept in over the years. Her apron, dotted with flour and specks of chocolate, was a testament to her afternoon spent baking. The kitchen was her sanctuary, a place where she found peace in the rhythmic clatter of pots and pans and the sweet pattern of ingredients blending together. It was her way of showing love, especially to her son, Fedde.

Fedde, tall and lanky with a sprinkle of freckles across his nose, wandered into the kitchen, his military boots echoing against the hardwood floor. He was home on leave before shipping out for his final month of service. At 21, he had the strength and sture you don’t want to use that money for something for yourself?”

Fedde took another cookie, his hand shaking slightly as he cradled it. “Mom, this is for us. You’ve given so much to me, to our family. It’s time I gave something back. And what better way than to help you get that degree? It’s like we’re passing the baton of success to each other.”

Marina’s eyes searched Fedde’s, seeing the determination in his gaze. She knew he was right. This was a chance to not only achieve her own goals but also to set an example for him. To show that it’s never too late to follow your dreams. “Okay,” she said, her voice wavering with emotion. “Let’s do it. We’ll make it happen together.”

Fedde reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled envelope. “Here,” he said, placing it on the counter between them. “I’ve saved up a bit of my pay, so far it’s 500 euros. I’ll keep saving while I’m away, and you can use this to start. Maybe for some books or supplies, or even to apply to that school you’ve talked about.”

Marina’s eyes widened as she took the envelope, feeling the weight of the gesture in her hand. “Fedde,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, “this is more than just money. This is you investing in our future.” She opened the envelope and counted the bills, her heart swelling with each one. It was a tangible symbol of her son’s love and support.

But Fedde wasn’t quite done. He took a deep breath and looked at his mother, his cheeks flushing slightly. “There’s one more thing,” he said, his voice tentative. “A third wish, if you will.”

Marina, still holding the envelope of money, raised an eyebrow in question. “What is it?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Fedde took another deep breath before speaking. “Mom,” he began, his voice trembling slightly, “I know this is going to sound weird, but it’s something I’ve always wondered about.” He paused, trying to gather the right words. “I have a third wish,” he said finally. “It’s something I’ve never talked about with anyone before, not even my closest friends in the service.”

Marina’s expression grew concerned, her hand reaching out to cover his. “Fedde, you can tell me anything,” she assured him. “I’m your mother, and I’m here for you.”

Fedde took a moment, his gaze drifting to the floor before meeting hers again. “I know it’s weird, but I just have this… this vision of you,” he stammered, “sitting in a window in the red light district.”

Marina’s hand froze mid-air, her eyes widening in surprise. The kitchen, once filled with the warmth of their shared dreams, grew suddenly tense. “Fedde,” she began, her voice tight, “what are you talking about?”

Her son took a step back, his face flushing a deeper shade of red. “I know it’s strange,” he said quickly, “but it’s just something that I’ve thought about. It’s not like I want you to work there or anything. It’s just… I don’t know, it’s like a fantasy I have. A way to see you…

Marina felt a chill run down her spine. She had never seen this side of Fedde before. The kitchen, once a bastion of warmth and comfort, now felt suffocatingly small. She tried to keep her voice steady. “Fedde, I don’t understand,” she said, her mind racing. “What do you mean by that?”

Fedde looked at her, his eyes pleading. “It’s just a… a thought,” he stuttered. “A way to see you, to think about you when I’m out there. It’s like you’re waiting for me, you know?” His voice was barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words out loud would make them more real than he could handle. “I’ve seen the way men look at you, Mom. You’re so beautiful, and I just want to… see that invisible side of you.”

Marina’s face drained of color. The image he painted was one she had never considered, one that was both disturbing and oddly touching. She took a deep breath, trying to comprehend her son’s words. “Fedde,” she said slowly, “I appreciate your feelings, but I’m not sure that’s something we should talk about.”

Fedde looked at her, his eyes filled with a strange mix of relief and disappointment. “I know it’s weird,” he murmured, “but I had to tell someone. And I’m just so glad you didn’t get mad.” He took a step closer, his hand reaching for hers. “You’re the only person I could ever tell something like this to. You’re always so understanding.”

Marina squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. “Fedde,” she said softly, “you can always talk to me. I’ll always be here to listen, even if I don’t always understand.” She paused, her mind racing to find the right words to bridge the sudden gap between them. “But let’s focus on the first two wishes. The wildlife park and my school. Those are wonderful ideas, and I’m so proud of you for thinking of them.”

Her laughter, when it came, was sudden and infectious. “What?!” she exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face. “You think I could handle the red lights of the district?” The absurdity of the image was too much for her, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sweetie, I’ve got enough drama in my life with just the baking cookies. I don’t think I’m cut out for that kind of adventure.”

Fedde’s cheeks burned even hotter, and he couldn’t help but laugh along with her. It was a strange and awkward moment, but somehow, her laughter made it feel less so. “I know, I know,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It’s just… I don’t know. I guess I’ve had a lot of time to think over there, and sometimes my brain goes to weird places.”

Marina’s laughter subsided, and she took a step closer to her son, her hand resting gently on his arm. “Fedde,” she said, her eyes holding his, “you’re a good man. Your heart is in the right place, even if your imagination sometimes gets a little carried away.”

Fedde couldn’t help but smile at her, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, his voice filled with relief. “I just want you to be happy, you know?”

Marina’s laughter grew softer, and she nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know, sweetheart,” she said, “and you already make me so happy.” She took a deep breath, collecting herself before speaking again. “Now, tell me that third wish again. Let’s get it out in the open and then we can move on to more pleasant topics.” She starts laughing again and cannot stop.

Fedde’s embarrassment faded as he watched his mother’s reaction. He couldn’t remember the last time he had made her laugh so hard. “Okay, okay,” he said, chuckling. “It’s just a weird thought. Nothing more.”

Marina wiped a tear from her eye, still smiling. “Well, if it helps you get through your service, I suppose it’s a small price to pay.” She leaned in and gave him a quick hug, her mind racing with the implications of his third wish. It was a peculiar and slightly troubling thought, but she knew her son wasn’t malicious. He was just a young man with a vivid imagination and a heart that sometimes spilled over into uncharted territories.

Fedde’s face grew serious again as he spoke. “Mom, the third wish isn’t just a thought. It’s more like a… a vision I have. You, sitting in a window, looking out at the world, but safe. You are in the Red Light District and all the men are watching you, including dadś collegues. It’s like you’re a queen in a tower. And I am there too, watching the men who watch you sitting there in your worn jeans.”

Marina’s laughter ceased abruptly, and she looked at her son, her heart racing. “Fedde,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “what are you trying to say?”

Fedde took a step back, realizing the gravity of what he had just shared. “It’s just a… a fantasy,” he stuttered, his eyes searching hers for understanding. “I don’t know why I think about it, but it’s like a way to keep you with me, even when I’m so far away.”

Marina’s smile faded, her eyes searching Fedde’s face, trying to understand the complex emotions that had led to his revelation. She took a deep breath, her hand still resting on his arm. “Fedde,” she said softly, “I appreciate that you trust me with your thoughts, no matter how… unconventional they might be. But let’s not dwell on that. We have so much to plan for the future.”

Fedde nodded, his cheeks still red but his eyes clear. “You’re right, Mom,” he said, his voice steady again. “Let’s focus on the park and your school. That’s what’s important.”

Now she kept staring at him… trying not to laugh.

Marina’s eyes were filled with mirth as she stared at her son, her hand still on his arm. She couldn’t help but be amused by the absurdity of his third wish. The idea of her, a 44-year-old mother of one, sitting in a window in the red light district was so ludicrous it was almost charming. She bit her lip to keep from laughing outright, her eyes sparkling with the effort.

“Fedde,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I promise you, when you come home, I’ll sit in the kitchen window and wave at all the passersby if it makes you feel better.” She couldn’t resist teasing him a little, the tension in the room suddenly lifting like a weight had been lifted.

Fedde chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. “I’d like that,” he said, “but maybe not in a bikini.”

Marina rolled her eyes playfully. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll stick to my apron.”

The air in the kitchen grew lighter as they both laughed, the strange tension dissipating like the scent of cooling cookies. Fedde felt a weight lift from his chest, relieved that his mother hadn’t been upset by his confession. Instead of that she had all fun of the world.

“So,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye, “back to reality. We have a wildlife park to plan for. What animals are you most looking forward to seeing?”

Fedde’s eyes lit up immediately. “I like giraffes,” he said, his voice filled with childlike enthusiasm. “They’re so tall and graceful, you know? It’s like they’re walking on stilts.”

Marina couldn’t help but smile at his innocent wonder. “They are quite fascinating creatures,” she agreed, “but remember, all animals are beautiful in their own way.”

Fedde rolled his eyes, his smile playful. “Not those nasty comodo dragons, Mom,” he said, his voice filled with mock disgust. “They’re just… slithery and mean-looking.”

Marina couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, every animal has its charm,” she said, “even if it’s not immediately apparent.”

If you take a comodo dragon to the red light, sitting in a window, things will happen, he said.

Fedde’s eyes widened at the thought, his imagination suddenly running wild. “Can you imagine, Mom?” he said, his voice filled with excitement. “A comodo dragon just chilling in a window, watching the world go by? It’d be like the king of the jungle in the heart of the city.”

Marina couldn’t help but chuckle at her son’s whimsy. “Well,” she said, her voice playful, “I suppose we could dress it up in a tiny hat and tie a scarf around its neck.”

Fedde’s grin grew wider. “Exactly! And we could serve it mini cookies. Just imagine the men’s reactions! By the way, shall we drink wine?”

Marina couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer. “Oh my god, Fedde,” she said, wiping her eyes, “where do you come up with these things?”

I don’t know mom. So about the park, I like Giraffes and Zebra’s.

Marina’s laughter grew louder at Fedde’s sudden shift in topic, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, my god,” she said, shaking her head. “You really know how to keep a conversation interesting.”

I don’t like elephants so much, they remind me of satan, somehow…, he says.

Marina’s laughter grew even louder at Fedde’s unexpected comment. “Elephants? Satan?” she gasped, wiping a tear from her eye. “Fedde, where on earth do you come up with these things?”

I don’t know, that long nose, those ivory teeth, their massive appearance…

Marina couldn’t help but laugh even harder at Fedde’s comparison. “Fedde, you’re something else,” she said, her voice still shaky from her laughter. “But I think we can manage a trip to the wildlife park without encountering any elephants with a penchant for evil.”

There is one thing… if I am a car I am a bit claustrofobic. Sometimes I need to go to a toilet ten times in an hour. For that reason I never take a train or bus. So if I need to get out and there is a lion around…

Marina’s laughter grew louder at Fedde’s words, her hand pressing against her stomach as she tried to contain herself. “Oh, my god,” she exclaimed, “where do you come up with these things?”

It is not funny, I know some woman who does not dare to go in the street. She has got a street fobia.

So what will you do if you need to get out of the car and the lion is there? she asks, trying not to laugh.

No idea, it was a problem in the military service too.

Oh yes, she bursts into lauging, if your are hiding and the Russians come, you need to come out of your shelter for a pee, then after peeing you shoot? she said.

Mom, it is a serious thing if we go to some Safari Park. However I think we should try it.

Marina looked ahead in thought.

Marina took a moment to compose herself, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. “Okay, let’s talk about something else,” she said, her voice still shaky from mirth. “How about dinner? I’ve got some chicken in the fridge that’s begging to be roasted.”

Fedde nodded, grateful for the change in subject. “Sounds good,” he said, his own smile lingering. He watched as his mother began to prep the chicken, her movements efficient and familiar.

Marina grabbed the chicken from the fridge, her mind still racing with thoughts of Fedde’s third wish. She couldn’t shake the image of a comodo dragon in a tiny hat, lounging in a red light district window. “What’s so funny?” she asked, unable to resist the urge to bring it up again.

Fedde looked up from the kitchen table, his cheeks flushing. “It’s just… I can’t believe you’re okay with it,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of relief and amusement. “I thought you’d be, I don’t know, upset or something.”

Marina couldn’t hold back her laughter as she seasoned the chicken. “Fedde,” she said, her voice muffled by a chuckle, “you’re my son. You can tell me anything. And honestly, it’s kind of sweet in a weird, twisted way.” She placed the chicken in the oven and turned to face him, her eyes still gleaming with mirth. “But seriously,” she said, her tone more serious, “what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Fedde shrugged, his own smile fading a little. “I don’t know, Mom,” he admitted. “I guess being over there makes you think about things differently.” He gestured to the window, the world outside a stark contrast to their warm, safe kitchen. “But I promise, it’s just a weird thought. Nothing more.”

Okay we will talk about it later. And I promise you we are not finished yet with talking about your third wish.

Marina’s voice was filled with a gentle firmness that let Fedde know she wasn’t going to let the subject drop entirely. But for now, she focused on the task at hand, her hands deftly preparing the meal as they chatted. The scent of rosemary and lemon filled the air, mingling with the warmth of the kitchen.

“What do you think, Fedde”, she said, “would I do it, to fulfill your third wish, only for you?”

Marina’s question hung in the air, a playful challenge that belied the seriousness of the conversation. Fedde’s eyes searched hers, his heart racing as he considered the possibility.
“Yes, you would do it for me, but only one time, I think,” he said.
“Who knows, Fedde, who knows…” she said, winking at him.

*

22/8/24
Johan stepped off the plane, the warm embrace of Tenerife’s climate enveloping him like a familiar blanket. His eyes, accustomed to the flat grey of the Dutch landscape, squinted in the stark contrast of the Canarian sun. He looked around, the airport a bustle of activity, yet the chaos of holidaymakers didn’t touch him. He had come here to be alone, to find something he hadn’t been able to find in the ordered neatness of his hometown.

He picked up his luggage, the weight of the extra baggage a silent companion. The boulder from Mount Darband near Tehran was wrapped in layers of bubble wrap, the sound of its potential freedom echoing through the plastic with each step he took. The drive to Punta del Hidalgo was scenic, the car’s engine humming a steady rhythm as he wound his way through the island’s serpentine roads. The volcanic rock of the mountain range loomed ahead, a silent sentinel over the land. Johan felt a strange kinship with these rocks, as if they understood his need to escape the confines of his life.

Once at the base of the valley, he found a quiet spot, far from the tourist trails. He stepped out of the car, the warmth of the sun caressing his skin as he popped the trunk. With a grunt, he hoisted the boulder out, feeling its weight against his body. The moment of truth had arrived. He took a deep breath, the scent of the ocean mingling with the earthiness of the volcanic soil beneath him. With a sense of reverence, he approached the edge of the cliff, the boulder feeling like an extension of his own burdened spirit.

The valley below was a tapestry of greens and browns, a stark contrast to the urban sprawl he had left behind. It was a place untouched by the modern world, a sanctuary for ancient secrets. Johan felt a strange thrill at the idea of contributing to this timeless scene. He took a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes tracing the jagged horizon where the sea met the sky. It was a line that seemed to stretch on forever, much like the path he had chosen for himself.

With a deep sigh, he positioned the boulder at the cliff’s edge, his heart racing with anticipation. The wind whispered around him, carrying the distant cries of seagulls and the scent of the ocean’s briny embrace. He took a step back, savoring the moment before he gave the rock its new destiny. It was a simple act, one that held a profound significance to him alone.

Johan’s arms swung back, muscles tensing, and with a grunt of effort, he pushed the boulder forward. Time seemed to slow as it tumbled through the air, the plastic wrapping fluttering away like the shed skin of a snake. The rock spun in a silent ballet, a dance dictated by gravity’s relentless pull. He watched it plummet into the abyss, the sun glinting off its surface as it disappeared from view. The sound of its impact echoed through the valley, a dull thud that seemed to resonate within his very soul.

The moment the boulder left his grip, Johan felt a sudden lightness, as if a piece of his own weight had been cast off with it. He stared into the valley, the spot where the boulder had come to rest obscured by the foliage. Yet, he could almost feel its presence, a new part of the landscape that had been shaped by his own hand. It was a strange, almost primal satisfaction, one that seemed to resonate with the very core of his being. He pondered the boulder’s journey, from the heights of Tehran to the depths of Tenerife, and wondered if his own life was not so different.

Turning away from the cliff, Johan made his way back to the car, his thoughts swirling like the dust kicked up by his shoes. He had always felt out of place, a nomad in a world that craved stability. This ritual, as peculiar as it was, gave him a sense of belonging, a connection to the earth that transcended borders and time. It was his way of leaving a mark, of saying, “I was here.” As he drove away, the mountain road curving into the distance, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had done something significant, something that would outlast him.

The days passed in a blur of solitary exploration. He wandered the beaches, his feet sinking into the black sand, and hiked the trails that wove through the ancient forests. Each step was a silent conversation with the land, a whispered promise to keep its secrets. Yet, the question lingered: why did he feel the need to be alone? Why was it that every relationship he’d ever had ended in a whirlwind of misunderstandings and unspoken regrets? He thought of the boulder, now nestled among the native rocks of Tenerife, and wondered if it too felt a sense of displacement.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of fiery red and gold, Johan found himself drawn back to the spot where he had thrown the boulder. The valley looked different now, cloaked in the soft embrace of twilight. The shadows grew long and mysterious, hinting at secrets hidden just out of sight. He approached the edge of the cliff, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He had come to realize that the act of displacement, of moving something so heavy and permanent, mirrored his own life’s journey.

The wind picked up, whipping his hair into a frenzy as he stared into the abyss. The rustling of leaves and the distant calls of night creatures painted a symphony of solitude. He felt the weight of his loneliness press down on him, a heaviness that was both comforting and suffocating. It was as if the boulder had taken a piece of his pain with it, leaving a hollow space that the Tenerife air couldn’t fill. He wondered if he was destined to be a solitary figure, forever searching for meaning in the most unlikely of places.

Johan’s thoughts grew introspective as he pondered the paths that had led him here. The faces of past lovers and friends flitted through his mind, each a ghost of a connection lost to time and distance. He had always been the one to leave, the one to seek the thrill of the unexplored. Yet, as he stood on the precipice of the valley, he questioned the authenticity of those connections. Had he ever truly allowed anyone to know him, to understand the restless spirit that drove him to wander? Or had he been the boulder, impenetrable and solitary, letting only the surface be touched?

The wind grew stronger, carrying with it the whispers of the valley below. It seemed to beckon him, to share the secrets it had held for millennia. Johan’s gaze drifted to the spot where the boulder had landed, and he felt a strange kinship with the immovable object. It was as if the rock had become a symbol of his own unyielding nature, a silent sentinel to his solitary existence.

He decided to climb down into the valley, driven by a curiosity that had been simmering since the moment he had released the boulder. The descent was steep and treacherous, the rocks slipping beneath his feet as he navigated the shadowy path. His breathing grew ragged, but he pressed on, driven by an inexplicable need to be closer to his creation.

The sun had fully disappeared by the time he reached the valley floor, the moon casting a pale glow over the landscape. He searched for the boulder, his eyes scanning the jumble of rocks and vegetation. Finally, he spotted it, a distinctly out-of-place piece of Tehran nestled among the volcanic bones of Tenerife. It was as if the rock had chosen its new home, a declaration of its intention to stay.

Johan approached it, his steps deliberate and slow. As he neared, he could see the indentation it had made in the earth, a small crater that would, over time, be filled with the detritus of life and erosion. He reached out and touched it, feeling the warmth it had absorbed from the day’s sun. The roughness of the stone against his skin was a stark reminder of the permanence of his action.

He sat beside the boulder, the coolness of the night air seeping through his clothes. He thought of the people in Tehran, going about their lives, oblivious to the small piece of their mountain that now rested in this foreign valley. The silence was absolute, save for the occasional whisper of the wind. It was a silence that allowed him to hear the thoughts in his head, the ones he usually drowned out with the noise of civilization.

Johan felt a strange kinship with the rock, a bond formed by the shared experience of displacement. He had always felt like a boulder out of place, too heavy for the gentle hands of love and friendship to move. Yet here it was, nestled in this valley, surrounded by life that had grown around it. He pondered if he too could find a way to integrate into this new environment, to allow himself to be part of the tapestry of life that surrounded him.

The valley was alive with the whispers of the night. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant howl of a wild animal painted a picture of a world that continued to thrive, unbothered by the burdens of the past. Johan sat in silence, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like the gravity that had brought the boulder to rest. He realized that he had been holding onto his solitude like a shield, using it to protect himself from the potential pain of rejection and misunderstanding.

He leaned against the boulder, feeling its warmth seep into his back. It was a strange comfort, as if the rock understood his plight. In the quiet of the night, Johan spoke aloud to his silent companion, sharing his fears and dreams, his regrets and his hopes. The boulder, a mute witness to his confessions, seemed to absorb his words, offering no judgment, no advice, just a solid presence that grounded him to the earth.

As he talked, he became aware of a change in the air. It was subtle at first, a shift in the scent of the night, a coolness that wasn’t there before. The whispers grew louder, swirling around him like a gentle breeze. He looked around, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness, but there was nothing to see. The whispers grew clearer, morphing into a chorus of voices that seemed to emanate from the very ground beneath him. They spoke in a language he didn’t understand, yet the emotion behind the words was unmistakable.

The voices grew more insistent, and Johan felt a strange tugging at his soul. It was as if the earth itself was speaking to him, sharing its secrets and yearning for a response. He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, trying to discern meaning from the cacophony. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the voices fell silent. The air grew still, and Johan was left with only the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.

The silence was deafening, yet it felt as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for his next move. He knew that something profound had just occurred, a bridge built between his solitary existence and the eternal cycle of life around him. He felt a burgeoning sense of belonging, as if the very earth had accepted him as one of its own.

Johan took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool, damp air of the valley. It was a scent that seemed to carry with it the whispers of a million untold stories, a scent that was now forever intertwined with his own. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pencil, feeling an overwhelming urge to capture the moment. His hand trembled as he wrote, the words spilling onto the page in a rush of emotion.

The voices had left him with a gift, an understanding that his restless spirit was not a curse but a part of the natural order of things. Like the boulder, he too could find a place to rest, to become a part of the fabric of the world around him. The realization brought with it a sense of peace that was as vast and unyielding as the night sky above.

Johan returned to his rented apartment in hotel flat Altagay, his mind buzzing with the revelations of the night. He sat at the small table by the window, the moon casting a silver glow over the pages of his notebook. He wrote feverishly, his thoughts spilling out in a torrent of words and images. The boulder had become more than just a symbol of his displacement; it was a talisman of connection, a bridge to a world that had always felt just out of reach.

The whispers of the valley lingered in his mind, a siren’s call that grew louder with each passing day. He found himself drawn back to the spot time and again, each visit bringing a newfound sense of belonging. The boulder had become a beacon, a silent confidant that held the key to unlocking the mysteries of his soul.

On one such visit, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting the world in a warm orange glow, Johan noticed something different. The indentation the boulder had made in the earth was now surrounded by a ring of small, delicate flowers. They grew in a perfect circle, as if the rock had left an imprint of its essence behind. He reached out to touch one, the petals cool and velvety against his fingertips. It was a sign, a message from the earth that his burden had been accepted, that he too could take root.

*

18 sept. 24
“Marina, hurry up! We’re going to miss the boat,” Fedde called out, his voice echoing through the hotel corridor. He fidgeted with the strap of his bag, glancing at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“I’m coming, darling,” she replied, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she approached. “I just had to make sure I had everything,” she said, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Fedde sighed, trying to mask his annoyance. This vacation was supposed to be a time to unwind, not a race against the clock. He knew his mother’s vanity was the culprit for their almost-missed departure, but he bit his tongue. The last thing he needed was to start the trip on a sour note.

As they rushed through the village square, the heat from the sun-baked cobblestones seemed to intensify the stench of fish and diesel. The villagers, mostly men, paused in their activities to watch them pass, their gazes lingering on the shapely form of the beautiful woman beside him. Fedde felt a mix of pride and unease. It was clear that his mother’s allure wasn’t lost on the locals.

Marina, unfazed, waved gracefully at the staring crowd as she walked. Her golden hair, tied back in a loose ponytail, swished with every step she took. She was wearing a floral sundress that accentuated her figure and made the men’s glances even more obvious. “Looks like we’re the main attraction,” she murmured to Fedde, a hint of amusement in her voice.

The boat, a small wooden vessel with a faded red hull, bobbed gently in the harbor. The captain, a weathered man with a thick mustache, nodded curtly as they boarded. He spoke little English, but his gestures were clear enough. They had to hurry. Fedde helped his mother settle into the boat, trying not to let his anxiety show.

As the boat chugged away from the pier, the stares of the villagers grew smaller and eventually disappeared from view. The sea spray cooled the sticky heat, and the rhythmic motion of the waves soon lulled Fedde into a state of near-sleep. He watched as the island of Komodo grew larger, the shoreline revealing a dense jungle that seemed to hide untold secrets.

Marina, however, remained alert, her eyes scanning the horizon with an excitement that was infectious. “Isn’t it beautiful, Fedde?” she exclaimed, her voice carrying over the drone of the engine. “The water’s so clear, you can almost see the dragons from here!”

Fedde forced a smile, the mention of the island’s fearsome inhabitants bringing his nerves back to the surface. “Yeah, beautiful,” he murmured, trying to ignore the thought of the creatures lurking nearby.

As the boat approached the island, the captain throttled back the engine, allowing the vessel to drift closer to the shoreline. Fedde’s heart raced as he caught sight of a shadow moving through the mangroves. The water was indeed crystal clear, and he could see the dark form of what was undeniably a large, prehistoric-looking reptile gliding through the shallows.

Marina leaned in closer, her eyes wide with excitement. “Look, Fedde,” she whispered. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

The dragon slithered out of the water, its massive body leaving a trail of ripples behind it. Its forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air as it approached the boat. Fedde felt a shiver run down his spine as he took in the creature’s size – easily twice the length of a grown man, and thick enough to crush a bull.

The captain spoke rapidly in a language Fedde didn’t understand, but the urgency in his tone was clear. He reached for a rifle propped against the side of the boat, his hand shaking slightly. The creature’s eyes, the color of polished stones, remained fixed on the boat, and specifically on Marina.

Fedde felt his stomach churn. “Mom,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe we should go back

.

Marina turned to her son, her expression a blend of excitement and defiance. “Fedde, don’t be such a scaredy-cat. This is the experience of a lifetime!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “We’re going to see these incredible creatures up close. It’s not every day you get to be this close to something so wild and untouched by civilization.”

Fedde’s grip tightened on the side of the boat as the creature drew closer. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a sightseeing trip for his mother. There was something more, something primal that drew her to the island and its terrifying inhabitants. It was as if she wanted to conquer her fears or perhaps find a piece of herself that she had lost in the bustle of their urban life.

The captain’s voice grew more urgent, but Marina remained transfixed by the dragon. The beast was now only a few feet from the boat, its powerful tail cutting through the water with a grace that belied its deadly intent. The captain’s hand hovered over the rifle’s trigger, sweat beading on his forehead.

Fedde couldn’t help but think about the safety of their chosen destination. Tenerife would have been nice – sipping cocktails by the pool, the warm sun kissing their skin without the looming threat of death lurking in the shadows. But no, his mother had insisted on this exotic, dangerous adventure, and now they were face to face with the very reason he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Mom, these things are poisonous,” he managed to say, his voice cracking. “One bite and it’s over.”

Marina looked at him, her eyes still gleaming with excitement. “Fedde, don’t you get it?” she said, her voice low and intense. “It’s about the thrill, the rush of adrenaline. This is what keeps me feeling alive.”

Fedde swallowed hard, his eyes darting back to the dragon. It was true, his mother had always been drawn to the extreme, the exotic. But this was different – this was playing with fire. He could see the creature’s teeth, the serrated edges glinting in the sunlight. One wrong move and they’d both be dinner.

He glanced at the captain, whose hand was now firmly on the rifle. The man’s gaze darted from the dragon to Marina and back again, as if trying to decide if he should shoot or not. The creature’s eyes never left her, and Fedde couldn’t shake the feeling that it had singled her out. Was it the bright color of her dress? The scent of her fear? Or was it something else, something deeper that called to the predator within the ancient beast?

The captain’s decision was made for him when the dragon suddenly lurched forward, its mouth gaping open. Fedde’s heart skipped a beat as he watched the powerful jaws snap shut just inches from the boat. The captain didn’t hesitate, firing a shot that rang out across the water. The dragon’s head jerked back, and it let out an eerie roar before sliding beneath the surface with a splash, the water stained red.

The silence that followed was deafening, and Fedde felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He looked at his mother, expecting to see fear, but instead, her expression was one of pure exhilaration. “See, darling?” she said, her voice breathless. “It’s all part of the adventure.”

The captain, visibly relieved, steered the boat towards the shore, navigating through the shallow waters with practiced ease. The hotel they arrived at was far from the luxurious resorts they were accustomed to. It was a simple, rickety wooden structure, nestled on the beach like a forgotten toy. Palm trees swayed lazily overhead, casting dappled shadows on the sand.

The door to the hotel was indeed massive, made from thick, ancient-looking timber, with iron bands bolted across it. It looked as if it could withstand a siege, and Fedde couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that at least this one dragon wouldn’t be crashing their vacation. The captain gestured for them to follow him up the creaky wooden steps and into the shed-like building.

Inside, it was surprisingly cool and well-kept. The walls were lined with woven mats, and the floor was packed earth, which felt solid underfoot. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, masking the faint odor of damp wood. If you had to pee, you had to go outside and hope there was no dragon out there. By the way, another creep that stalked the island were wild boars. What the hell were they doing here at all? Would they survive?”

Marina took in the rustic charm with a nod of approval. “It’s quaint,” she said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. “Just what we needed to get away from it all.”

Fedde couldn’t help but feel a twinge of doubt as he followed her up the creaking stairs. The hotel was indeed a stark contrast to the modern comforts they were used to, but the thought of a dragon-proof door was oddly comforting. The room they were shown to was small, with a single bed and a chair that looked like it had seen better days. First question was how to manage sleeping here with only one bed?

Marina, ever the optimist, tossed her bag onto the bed with a flourish. “Look, Fedde,” she said, pointing to the small balcony that overlooked the beach. “We can see the ocean from here. How romantic!”

Fedde couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, romantic,” he muttered. “Just what we needed.”

The captain left them with a curt nod, and the door thudded shut behind him. Fedde’s gaze lingered on the heavy timber, wondering if it was really enough to keep the island’s prehistoric inhabitants at bay.

Marina, unfazed, flung open the balcony doors, letting in the sweet, salty air. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, stepping outside. “The perfect place to get some sun.”

Fedde followed reluctantly, his eyes scanning the tree line. “Just don’t let any dragons crash the party,” he quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

Marina laughed, the sound tinkling like wind chimes in the quiet afternoon. “Oh, you’re so dramatic,” she said, leaning against the railing. “The captain said they don’t come this close to the hotel. They know better than to mess with humans here.”

Fedde couldn’t ignore the unease that had settled in the pit of his stomach. He’d read enough about the island to know that the dragons were unpredictable and incredibly dangerous. “I guess we’ll see,” he said, his voice tight.

They spent the evening exploring the small, makeshift hotel. The restaurant was indeed a short walk away, but it was the only option for food. A wooden shed, similar in construction to the hotel, sat just beyond the tree line, with a dimly lit sign that read “Eat at Joe’s” in peeling paint. The sound of laughter and clinking dishes spilled out from the open windows, mixing with the distant crash of waves and the occasional buzz of a mosquito.

After a meal of questionable origin, Fedde felt his stomach churn. The local cuisine didn’t sit well with him, and the nausea grew with every passing moment. He tried to ignore it, focusing on the flickering candlelight and the gentle sway of the hammock they’d found on the beach. But nature called, and it couldn’t be ignored.

Marina noticed his discomfort and offered a knowing smile. “Looks like you’ve had too much of Joe’s special,” she teased, patting his back.

Fedde’s cheeks reddened. “I’m fine,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Just a little… indigestion.”

Marina’s smile grew wider. “Well, we wouldn’t want that to ruin our first night on the island, would we?” She winked at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You go ahead and take care of that. I’ll grab us some dessert.”

With a groan, Feddeleft the restaurant and stumbled towards the shadowy bushes. The darkness felt like a living entity, closing in around him. His heart pounded in his chest as he thought of the dragons and their lethal bites. He didn’t dare look back, fearful of what he might see lurking in the underbrush.

Fedde took a deep breath and tried to relax, his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged animal. He didn’t dare make a sound as he pulled down his pants and sat, his eyes glued to the gap under the door. Every rustle of leaves, every crack of a twig outside, sent a jolt of terror through him. He thought about the dragons, their beady eyes and forked tongues, and how close they could be, watching, waiting for a moment of weakness.

Just as he started to do his business, the noise grew louder. It sounded like something was pushing through the bushes, heading straight for him. His breath caught in his throat, and he froze, his eyes darting around the tiny space, searching for a weapon. All he had was a small flashlight.

The creature burst into the clearing, and for a moment, Fedde thought it was one of the dragons. But instead, it was a massive wild boar, its tusks gleaming in the moonlight as it snorted angrily. It charged at him, and he barely had time to react before he was knocked over hard, his body slamming into the ground. His head hit the earth with a thud, and for a moment, stars danced before his eyes. He heard a deep, guttural growl that seemed to shake the very air around him.

Panic coursed through Fedde’s veins as he scrambled to his feet, his pants still around his ankles. The boar was only a few feet away, its eyes gleaming with aggression. He stumbled backward, desperately trying to pull up his pants with trembling hands. The warmth of his accident spread down his legs, and he cursed himself for his carelessness.

“Mom!” he yelled, his voice high-pitched with fear. “Mom, help!”

Marina sprinted back from the restaurant, dessert forgotten. The sight of the wild boar charging towards her son sent her into a frenzy. Without hesitation, she grabbed the nearest object she could find – a wooden chair. With all the strength she had, she hurled it at the creature. It hit the boar with a loud thwack, but instead of stopping, the beast only seemed to become more enraged.

Fedde’s eyes were wide with terror as he stumbled backward, trying to escape the charging boar. His pants were still around his ankles, and the warmth of his accident spread, leaving him feeling embarrassed and vulnerable. “Mom!” he screamed again, his voice cracking with fear.

Marina was already sprinting back, her heels digging into the sand as she approached the scene. Her heart pounded in her chest as she saw the creature bearing down on her son. Without a moment’s hesitation, she snatched up a nearby wooden chair and flung it with all her might. The chair smacked into the boar’s side with a satisfying thud, but instead of deterring the beast, it only served to enrage it further.

The boar, a hulking mass of muscle and tusk, didn’t falter. It continued to charge, its eyes fixed on the vulnerable human before it. Fedde screamed again, his voice echoing through the night air. He managed to hobble backward, his pants tripping him up, but the boar was relentless.

Marina’s mind raced. She had to do something, had to save her son. Without a second thought, she darted back to the restaurant, snatching a bottle of hot sauce from a table. She knew it was a long shot, but it was better than nothing. She uncapped it and dashed towards the beast, her heart hammering in her chest.

Fedde’s eyes grew wide as he watched his mother approach the charging boar with nothing but a chair and a bottle of sauce. “Mom, no!” he yelled, his voice a mix of terror and desperation.

Marina didn’t listen. With a fiery determination that belied her delicate frame, she doused the charging creature with the contents of the bottle. The boar, caught off guard, squealed in pain and surprise as the hot sauce made contact with its eyes and nose. Its charge faltered, giving Fedde the chance he needed. He stumbled backwards, his pants finally up around his waist, and dashed for the hotel’s massive door.

Theo, the burly islander who’d been watching the commotion with a mix of amusement and alarm, rushed to help. He slammed the door shut just as the boar regained its footing, the heavy wood shaking under the creature’s frenzied impacts. Fedde leaned against the timber, panting heavily, his heart racing like a wild animal itself.

“Thanks,” Fedde murmured, his voice shaking.

Theo chuckled, his wide grin displaying a mouthful of tobacco-stained teeth. “No problem, young man. That was quite the show you put on,” he said, slapping a meaty hand on Fedde’s back.

Marina, slightly out of breath but otherwise unfazed, joined them. “Are you okay, darling?” she asked, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Fedde nodded, still shaking. “Yeah, thanks to you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. The fear still clung to him like a second skin.

Marina looked around the hotel lobby, her eyes wide with excitement. “Well, that was certainly an adventure!” she exclaimed.

Fedde, still shaking from the encounter, managed a weak smile. “More than I bargained for,” he murmured, his voice trembling.

Marina, ever the optimist, couldn’t resist a chuckle. “At least we’re making memories,” she said, ruffling his hair. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The next morning, Fedde awoke to the sound of the sea, his makeshift bed of cardboard crunching beneath him. He looked over at the bed where his mother slept peacefully, a gentle smile playing on her lips. Despite the horror of the night before, she looked more alive than he’d seen her in months. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of resentment – this was his vacation too, and it was turning into a nightmare.

They ventured outside into the sticky heat, the sun already climbing high into the sky. The beach looked even more tempting than before, but the memory of the dragon’s attack kept Fedde’s feet firmly planted on the sand. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the ocean was just a dragon’s playground, waiting to snatch them up at any moment.

Marina, on the other hand, seemed rejuvenated by the incident. She’d slept soundly in the one decent bed, while Fedde had made do with a makeshift mattress of cardboard and a few stray pillows. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she suggested they take advantage of the hotel’s offer for a guided tour. “It’ll be fun, Fedde,” she said, her voice a siren’s call luring him into danger. “We’ll get to see the island up close.”

Fedde couldn’t shake the feeling that their so-called hotel was less of a vacation spot and more of a dragon-proof fortress. The walls were high and thick, the windows barred, and the beach outside was more like a moat than a playground. But the thought of being cooped up in this wooden prison was too much to bear, so he reluctantly agreed to the tour.

The guide, a grizzled old man named Budi, met them at the hotel lobby. His eyes gleamed with the kind of knowledge that comes from a lifetime spent on the island. “You want to see the dragons?” he asked, his English heavily accented. “They come with the package.”

Marina’s eyes lit up. “Yes, of course!” she exclaimed. “How much?”

Budi named a price that made Fedde’s wallet cringe, but his mother didn’t bat an eyelash. She was too busy laughing at the absurdity of their situation. “We’ll do it,” she said, her voice giddy with excitement.

Budi pointed them to the wild boar that had attacked Fedde last night. His mother had thrown hot sauce in the animal’s eyes after which it had run into everything and caused havoc. Until, fortunately, it had fallen prey to a horde of Komodo Dragons. They had torn the boar to shreds and practically eaten it. Fedde and his mother looked in horror at the havoc left by the wild boar. For the first time they were faced with the facts. This was the life-and-death battle ahead, the bloodlust of those Komodo creeps and the stubbornness of those wild boars that would not let a cannon stop them.

The carcass of the boar was a gruesome sight, surrounded by the telltale signs of a vicious battle. The sand was churned up, and palm fronds were strewn about like the aftermath of a tornado. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, and the buzz of flies provided an eerie soundtrack to the scene. Fedde felt his stomach turn at the sight of the torn flesh and bone, the remnants of the creature’s fierce spirit.

Marina, however, couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away. “Look, Fedde,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “They didn’t just kill it. They devoured it.”

Fedde’s stomach lurched as he took in the grisly scene. The boar’s body was unrecognizable, reduced to a pile of bones and gore. The dragons had left nothing behind but the stench of death and the frenzied buzz of flies. The sight was a stark reminder of the true nature of their surroundings – a place where the wild reigned supreme, and humans were merely visitors treading on the edge of their domain.

Marina, however, remained unperturbed, her gaze fixed on the carnage with a strange fascination. “It’s… mesmerizing,” she murmured. “The circle of life, right before our eyes.”

Fedde couldn’t find the beauty in the macabre scene. “Let’s just get this over with,” he said, swiping a hand across his forehead. The heat was already stifling, and the stench of death didn’t help.

Budi led them away from the grisly reminder of the night’s events and into the dense jungle. The foliage was thick, the air humid and alive with the cacophony of unseen creatures. Fedde’s senses were on high alert as they moved deeper into the greenery. He could feel the weight of the jungle pressing down on him, a silent sentinel watching their every move

.

On the narrow dirt path, the inevitable confrontation came as the sun reached its peak, casting sharp shadows across the open plain. Fedde’s eyes widened when he saw the unmistakable silhouette of a massive Komodo dragon blocking their way. He couldn’t help but think of the terrace in Tenerife, the warm embrace of the sun, and the alluring smile of a Spanish girl who had caught his eye in a brochure. Here he was, sweating in the jungle, face to face with death on legs.

Marina, ever the thrill-seeker, stepped closer to the creature, her eyes alight with fascination. “Look at it, Fedde,” she whispered, her voice low and reverent. “It’s incredible.”

Fedde felt a cold knot form in his stomach. “Mom, maybe we should go back,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “These things are dangerous.”

Marina shot him a look that was both exasperated and thrilled. “Don’t be such a baby,” she whispered. “This is what we’re here for!”

Fedde took a step back, his eyes never leaving the dragon. It didn’t move, just watched them with cold, reptilian indifference. Budi, unfazed, waved his stick at the creature, making a shooing motion. “You go now,” he murmured in broken English. “No eat humans today.”

Marina’s eyes were glued to the dragon, a strange mix of fear and fascination playing across her features. “It’s so… majestic,” she breathed.

Fedde couldn’t believe his ears. “Majestic? That thing wants to eat us!”

Marina’s eyes didn’t leave the dragon. “But think of the story, Fedde,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “We can tell everyone back home about the time we faced a real-life dragon!”

If we survive, he said.

Marina, still in awe, didn’t seem to hear the sarcasm in her son’s voice. “This is incredible,” she breathed.

Fedde’s mind raced as he looked from the dragon in front of them to the one Budi had just pointed out behind them. “We’re surrounded,” he murmured, his heart hammering in his chest.

Marina’s smile didn’t falter. “How exciting,” she said, her eyes shining. “This is just like on TV!”

Fedde couldn’t share her enthusiasm. His heart hammered in his chest like a caged animal. He’d seen enough nature shows to know that this was a dangerous situation. “We should go back,” he said, his voice shaking. “We don’t know what they’re capable of.”

Marina looked at him with a mix of surprise and excitement. “Don’t you feel the thrill, Fedde?” she asked, her eyes still on the dragon. “This is what life is all about – facing the unknown, the unpredictable.”

Fedde swallowed hard, his thoughts racing. “I’d rather face a café au lait and a good book,” he muttered under his breath. But aloud, he said, “Okay, okay, let’s just get out of here.”

Marina’s face fell, but she didn’t argue. They turned to retreat, and that’s when Fedde saw it – the flicker of movement in the tall grass behind them. His heart sank as a second dragon emerged, its tongue darting out to taste the air. “Budi, we’re surrounded,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hammering of his pulse in his ears.

The guide nodded gravely. “They know we’re here,” he murmured, his stick poised defensively. “We must be very still.”

Marina’s expression was a mix of excitement and trepidation. “But, Budi,” she whispered, “what if they attack?”

Budi’s eyes darted from dragon to dragon, assessing the situation. “Stay calm,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the tremble in his hand. “Do not run.”

The dragons stalked closer, their scales glinting in the sun, a stark contrast to the vibrant green of the jungle. They were monsters from a bygone era, their very presence a reminder of the fragility of human existence. Fedde felt his legs wobble, his entire body screaming at him to bolt.

But he remained rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the creeping beasts. Budi had disappeared, leaving them to face the predators alone. The betrayal stung, but the fear was too great to be overwhelmed by anger. He watched as his mother’s excitement morphed into something more primal – a visceral understanding of their precarious situation.

The dragons moved with a silent grace that belied their size, their serrated teeth gleaming in the dappled sunlight. Fedde could feel the vibrations of their heavy footsteps through the ground, the very earth seeming to tremble in anticipation of the impending clash. He reached for his mother’s hand, her skin cold and clammy with fear.

The worst thing that could happen is what happened: Budi had vanished into the grass, leaving them to face the dragons alone. Fedde’s mind raced, conjuring images of a serene terrace in Tenerife where he could be sipping a cool drink and flirting with a beautiful Spanish girl. Instead, he was trapped in a nightmare with the woman who had brought him into this world.

Marina’s grip on his hand tightened, and he felt the tremor of fear in her body. Yet, her eyes remained transfixed on the advancing dragons. They were like nothing he had ever seen before, these ancient reptiles that could bring down a water buffalo with a single bite. The reality of their situation hit him like a sledgehammer.

The dragons continued to creep closer, their scales whispering against the dry grass. Fedde’s mind reeled with the knowledge that the venom in their bite could kill a man in hours. The sweat trickled down his back, mixing with the sticky residue of last night’s fear. He couldn’t believe that Budi had abandoned them. The treacherous guide had vanished as quickly as the hope of a peaceful vacation.

In his desperation, Fedde did the only thing he could think of – he began to pray. It had been years since he’d last spoken to God, but he figured now was as good a time as any. He didn’t know which deity to call upon, or if his words would even be heard, but he sent them out into the jungle, a desperate plea for salvation.

Marina watched him, her own fear momentarily forgotten in the face of his sudden piety. “Fedde, what are you doing?” she hissed.

Fedde didn’t stop praying. “Just a little insurance,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “I don’t know which god to pray to, but I figure it can’t hurt.”

Marina, watching him with a mix of bewilderment and admiration, couldn’t argue with that logic. She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand, her eyes still on the dragons.

The moment felt like an eternity as the dragons inched closer, their beady eyes locked onto the trembling humans. Then, as if in answer to Fedde’s prayers, a wild boar crashed through the underbrush. It was a sight to behold, a creature of the jungle, unbridled and fierce. The boar barreled straight towards the dragons, its hooves tearing up the earth as it charged.

Fedde’s heart leaped into his throat. He had never felt so relieved to see the creature that had terrorized him the night before. The dragons, startled by the sudden interruption, paused in their approach. The boar didn’t slow, its tusks lowered like the spears of a Viking warrior.

Marina’s grip on Fedde’s hand tightened as she whispered, “What are we going to do?”

Fedde, his voice shaky, said, “I don’t know, but it looks like we might have an unexpected ally.”

The wild boar plowed through the underbrush like a furious bull, heading straight for the dragons. The beasts looked momentarily surprised, their scaly heads turning towards the charging intruder. In that split second, Fedde felt a strange kinship with the creature. It was a fellow outsider in this deadly dance, a creature that shared their fearlessness in the face of the island’s terrifying predators.

Marina’s eyes widened as she took in the scene. “This is insane,” she whispered. “What are the chances?”

Fedde didn’t bother with probabilities. He was too busy watching the boar, his newfound ally. The creature barreled through the grass with surprising speed, heading straight for the dragons. It was a dance of predators, each creature assessing the other. The dragons’ eyes narrowed, their muscles tensing as they prepared to defend their territory.

The boar didn’t falter, its hooves thundering against the earth. It was a creature of chaos, a living embodiment of the wild and untamed spirit of the island. As it approached the dragons, Fedde couldn’t help but feel a twinge of hope. The boar’s recklessness was their only chance.

Marina watched, her eyes wide with horror and fascination, as the boar collided with the nearest dragon. The creature’s screams pierced the air, a sound that was both terrifying and mesmerizing. The dragon, caught off guard, released its grip on the boar’s hind leg, the teeth marks deep and bloody. For a brief moment, the boar stood tall, victorious in its own right. But it was clear this was a battle it couldn’t win.

The dragon’s scales rippled as it bared its teeth, a hiss of anger escaping its throat. Fedde felt a strange mix of awe and terror as he watched the ancient dance of predator and prey unfold before him. The wild boar, driven by instinct and fear, bit back, its tusks sinking into the dragon’s thick leg. The dragon roared, a sound that seemed to shake the very air around them.

Marina’s grip on his hand grew slack, her eyes wide with horror and fascination. The sight of the boar fighting for its life, even against such insurmountable odds, stirred something within her – a wild, primal instinct that she hadn’t felt in years. It was the same instinct that had driven her to face down the boar the night before.

Fedde’s mind raced as the boar’s convulsions grew more violent. The dragon’s venom was taking hold, and the creature’s once-fierce spirit was being crushed beneath the weight of the reptilian jaws. His stomach twisted in a knot of disgust and arousal, an uncomfortable mix that he didn’t quite understand. He had to get them out of there, away from this macabre spectacle.

Marina’s eyes were glued to the battle, her breathing shallow and quick. The sight of the boar’s futile struggle against the relentless dragon stirred something deep within her, something she hadn’t felt since her youth. It was a mix of terror and exhilaration, a reminder of the fragility of life and the thrill of the chase.

Fedde, however, couldn’t tear his gaze away from the grisly scene. The boar’s convulsions grew more erratic, its eyes rolling back in its head. He felt a strange stirring in his loins, an unwelcome arousal at the sight of the creature’s demise. It was a dark thought, one that made him feel uncomfortable and a little sick. But it was there, undeniable.

Marina’s grip on his hand had gone slack, and she looked at him with a mix of horror and fascination. “Fedde, we have to go,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the dying boar.

Fedde nodded, his mind still reeling from the unexpected turn of events. The dragons had lost interest in them, focusing instead on their new prize. The boar’s convulsions grew weaker, and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before the creature succumbed to the venom. He took a step back, tugging on his mother’s arm. “This way,” he said, pointing towards the dense foliage that offered a potential escape route.

Marina, snapping out of her trance, followed without protest. Her eyes remained fixed on the gruesome scene behind them as they retreated. Fedde couldn’t blame her – it was the kind of sight that was hard to look away from, a grim reminder of nature’s brutal beauty.

As they stumbled through the underbrush, Fedde couldn’t shake the image of the wild boar’s convulsions from his mind. The raw power of the dragons, the futile struggle of the boar – it was a dance of life and death that had stirred something primal within him. He tried to focus on the path ahead, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the battle they had just witnessed.

Marina looked at him with a mix of concern and curiosity. “Fedde, are you okay?” she asked, her voice tight with tension.

Fedde nodded, his mind still reeling from the strange cocktail of fear and arousal that had washed over him. “Yeah,” he lied, his voice strained. “We just need to get out of here.”

Marina’s eyes searched his, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. But she didn’t comment, just took a deep breath and followed as he pushed through the dense jungle foliage. The sound of the dragons’ feasting grew fainter with each step, replaced by the symphony of the jungle – the buzz of insects, the rustle of leaves, and the distant calls of other wild creatures.

Fedde’s heart hammered in his chest, his breathing ragged. He couldn’t believe the turn of events. The wild boar had been his tormentor just hours before, but now it had become a symbol of hope, a creature that had bought them time with its fierce, futile struggle. And amidst that horror, he had felt a strange, unwelcome arousal. It was a disturbing revelation, one that made him feel both guilty and excited.

Marina looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and understanding. She knew her son better than anyone else, and she could see the turmoil playing out on his face. “It’s okay, Fedde,” she murmured, her voice soothing despite the chaos around them. “Let’s just focus on getting back to the hotel.”

But as they stumbled through the jungle, the sight of the wild boar’s demise played over and over in Fedde’s mind. The way its body had twitched and convulsed, the fierce fight against the inevitable – it was a stark reminder of their own vulnerability in this harsh, unforgiving environment. And yet, amidst the horror, there had been something almost… erotic about it. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the raw power and primal instinct on display had stirred something deep within him.

Marina, ever observant, noticed the strange expression on her son’s face. “Fedde,” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “What’s going on?”

Fedde swallowed hard, his eyes still on the dying boar. “It’s just… this place,” he stuttered, trying to find the words. “It’s messing with my head.”

Marina nodded, her gaze still locked on the grim tableau. “I know,” she murmured. “But we can’t let it get to us. We have to keep moving.”

They pushed on, the jungle closing in around them like a living, breathing beast. Fedde’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts – the boar’s fierce struggle, the dragons’ cold indifference, and the strange, unwelcome arousal that had gripped him. He tried to focus on the path ahead, but the image of his mother in the boar’s place was all too vivid.

Marina seemed to sense his unease and took the lead, her eyes scanning the dense foliage for any sign of danger. Despite her earlier excitement, the reality of their situation had set in, and she moved with a newfound caution that made Fedde feel a little less alone.

As they made their way back, Fedde couldn’t shake the image of the wild boar’s convulsions. The way its muscles had spasmed, its eyes rolled back in its head – it was a sight that had aroused in him an unexpected and disturbing desire. He tried to bury the thought, to focus on their escape, but his mind kept returning to the eroticism of the boar’s pain.

Marina, ever the pragmatist, scanned the jungle for any signs of pursuit. She was a woman who craved adventure, but she wasn’t naive. She knew the dragons could be anywhere, and she wasn’t about to let her lust for excitement get the better of her. Her hand found Fedde’s, and she squeezed it tightly. “We’re almost there,” she whispered, her voice a mix of comfort and determination. Had that boar not been there he would have been lying there or…. his mother. He pictured his mother floundering and deflating like a car tire under the violence of the Komodo’s. He felt a boner rise.

Fedde’s steps grew more urgent, driven by the dual fear of being caught by the dragons and the guilt of his perverse arousal. The jungle seemed to close in around them, the heat and humidity thick as a blanket. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of fear, desire, and confusion. He didn’t understand what was happening to him, but he knew he couldn’t let it control him.

Marina, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil, forged ahead with a sense of purpose that belied their dire situation. Her beauty was undiminished by the sweat that beaded on her brow and the grime that clung to her clothes. In the dappled sunlight that filtered through the canopy, she looked like a warrior queen leading her son through the underbrush.

Fedde’s mind remained a tumult of emotions. The boar’s valiant stand had stirred something within him, something primal and unsettling. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be so fiercely consumed by desire and fear, to fight until the very end. His thoughts were a dark tapestry of lust and horror, intertwined in a way that made him feel both ashamed and alive. He could see his mom being devoured by such a nasty dragon until she would deflate as a car tire.

Marina, still in the lead, paused at the sight of the red lipstick stripes on the trees. “Smart thinking,” Fedde murmured, his voice thick with relief. He had underestimated his mother’s survival instincts, and now he was grateful for her foresight.

Marina shot him a quick smile, her teeth flashing white against her flushed face. “You can’t be too careful,” she said, her voice strained from the adrenaline of their escape.

Fedde nodded, feeling a mix of relief and admiration for his mother’s quick thinking. “You’re right,” he murmured, his eyes still on the red lipstick stripes. “We can’t let our guard down.”

Marina’s gaze was steely as she assessed the situation. “We’ll have to be careful,” she said. “Budi might have told the villagers that we’re dangerous. Or worse, that we’re easy prey.”

Fedde’s stomach lurched at the thought. “But we’re just tourists,” he protested.

Marina’s eyes narrowed, her gaze sharp. “In a place like this, that might not mean much,” she said. “We have to be prepared for anything.”

Fedde nodded, his fear giving way to a newfound respect for his mother’s resourcefulness. The red lipstick stripes had been her secret weapon all along, a silent guide through the labyrinth of the jungle. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride as they followed the trail back to the village.

As they approached the outskirts of the village, the shadows grew longer and the air grew heavier with the promise of nightfall. Fedde’s heart raced as he recalled the lurid tales Budi had shared earlier in the day. Stories of tourists who had gone missing, never to return from the jungle. The thought of facing the villagers now, with their guide gone and the dragons’ hunger sated, filled him with a new kind of dread.

Marina’s eyes darted around, her grip on Fedde’s hand firm. “We can’t let them think we’re a threat,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the chorus of the jungle. “We have to be careful.”

Fedde nodded, his thoughts racing. The villagers had been friendly before, but now they had seen the dragons, the reality of their situation had changed. They were no longer tourists on a safari; they were survivors of an encounter with the island’s deadliest predators. And survivors could become the hunted. Only on wednesday the next boat comes, Fedde said.

Marina’s eyes narrowed, and she took a deep breath. “We’ll have to be careful,” she murmured. “Keep a low profile. We don’t know what stories Budi has spread about us.”

They crept through the jungle, the lipstick stripes guiding them like a crimson lifeline. There it is, his mom said. There is our hotel.

The sight of the hotel was like a beacon of civilization amidst the relentless wilderness. Its timber walls gleamed against the darkening sky, a stark contrast to the verdant jungle that surrounded them. Fedde’s legs felt like jelly as they approached the wooden gate, the promise of safety making his heart race.

They were exhausted. They took another bath in the sea after which they ate the last piece of bread they had brought from the restaurant the previous evening. After this, they went to sleep.

The next morning they were loudly awakened by the croaking of a goose. Fedde and his mother didn’t think it was necessary at first to take a look, but the croaking was very noisy. Nevertheless, when they opened the door of their shack for the first time since last night and looked outside, they saw a goose waddling as if drunk. The beast screeched and squawked in all directions. After which it fell over and began convulsing. “Caught by a Komodo Dragon,” its mother said. Fedde immediately got the fantasy again about his mother being bitten by such a beast. Wobbling in all directions, he saw her convulsing until she deflated like a car tire. He felt a slight erection rise. He felt sorry for the goose. Now they saw the culprit. Indeed, a Komodo dragon cunningly crept closer, heading for its prey. Which meant Fedde and his mother could not go out now. What filthy beasts these were, Fedde thought. Who had ever come up with the idea of creating these beasts, if there was a God after all? And how could they live on different islands? They couldn’t swim, could they? Somewhere in the distant past, the islands had been attached to each other. Or… someone had brought them here.

Marina watched the dragon, her mind racing with questions about its origins and behavior. “What now?” she whispered to Fedde, her voice tight with tension.

Fedde shrugged, his eyes still glued to the creature that had just claimed its breakfast. “We wait, I guess,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from fear. “We can’t go out there until it’s gone.”

Marina nodded, her own thoughts racing. The dragon had been a stark reminder of their precarious position on this island of beauty and terror. As they watched the beast, a sudden realization dawned on her. “We have to get off this island,” she whispered. “We can’t stay here.”

Fedde nodded, his eyes still on the retreating dragon. “But how?” he murmured. “The boat isn’t coming until Wednesday.”

Marina took a deep breath, her eyes hardening. “We’ll figure it out,” she said, her voice firm. “We can’t stay here and be at the mercy of these… these creatures.”

Fedde nodded, his thoughts racing. “Maybe we can find someone else to take us,” he suggested, hope flickering in his eyes. “Another boat?”

“No way there is gonna be another boat,” his mom said. And the atmosphere is becoming hostile.

Fortunately, the Komodo Dragon was passing through. After eating the goose, he waddled on until the coast was safe. Now Budi came to the door. He wanted more money because he had not been able to provide the proper service. He had felt threatened and higher rates applied to dangerous situations. Besides, Fedde and his mother’s beautiful hotel was under an even more magnificent palm tree, and so the rent was already far too low. His mother ran amok with him and bounced him away. But her threatened to come back and evict them. His mother sighed. This is what I was afraid of. It can’t be Wednesday soon enough when the boat comes. Then we’ll really be out of here.

Budi’s beady eyes bore into them, his greed palpable in the suffocating air of the tiny shack. “You owe me,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I save you from dragon. You pay more now.”

Marina’s face flushed with anger. “You left us to die!” she spat. “We don’t owe you anything!”

Budi’s grin grew wider, revealing his crooked teeth. “You alive, yes?” he said, his English thick with a local accent. “I bring you back safe. Now you pay extra.”

Marina’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped in front of Fedde protectively. “We’re not giving you anything more than what we agreed upon,” she said firmly. “Your job was to keep us safe, and you failed.”

Budi’s expression darkened, his greed unabated. “You no understand,” he said, his voice a mix of desperation and anger. “Dragons come. You need me. I keep you safe.”
Marina’s eyes flashed. “We don’t need you,” she said. “We can take care of ourselves.”

Fedde watched in awe as his mother stood up to the greedy guide. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before, a fiery determination that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He felt a strange thrill at the thought of his mother, so fierce and beautiful, facing down danger. The dragon was still on his mind, but the creature had been replaced by Budi, who was now the immediate threat. Budi was not used to accept “no” and especially not from a woman.

Marina’s voice was like a whip crack, sharp and unyielding. “We’re not giving you a single dollar more,” she said, her eyes flashing with defiance. “Our agreement was clear. You didn’t uphold your end, so we’re not paying you extra.”

Budi’s grin slipped, his beady eyes narrowing as he took in her firm stance. He knew he had overplayed his hand. He had hoped to squeeze more money from these tourists, but the fiery woman before him was not one to be bullied. “Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “But you owe me for saving your lives.”

Marina’s eyes flashed with anger. “We don’t owe you anything,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “You brought us into this mess. Now leave us alone.”

Budi took a step back, his eyes flicking from Fedde to the red-faced Marina. He knew better than to push a woman in a mood like hers. “Okay,” he said, his voice less confrontational. “But if dragon come back, you not call me.”

Marina’s eyes remained locked on his, her voice icy. “We won’t be here to call you,” she said. “We’re leaving on Wednesday.”

Budi’s smile faltered, and he took a step back. He knew when he was beaten, and the thought of losing his meal ticket was not a welcome one. “Wednesday no boat,” he spat.

Marina’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?” she demanded, her voice tight with fear.

Budi shrugged, his grin turning into a sneer. “Boat no come,” he said. “Big storm. You stay here longer.”

Marina’s eyes widened in disbelief, fear coiling in her gut. “What?” she whispered. “That’s impossible.”

Fedde stared at Budi, his mind racing. “You can’t do this,” he said, his voice shaking. “We have to leave.”

Marina’s eyes were cold as ice as she stared down the unscrupulous guide. “We had a deal,” she said. “And you didn’t hold up your end. So no, we’re not paying you more.”

Budi’s face contorted in a snarl, his eyes glinting with greed. “You think you so smart,” he sneered. “Wednesday not boat, no longer stay in hotel, no restaurant for you. You sleep in jungle. Okay? Or you pay me.”

We will see, Fedde said.

Marina felt a cold knot of fear in her stomach. “We had an agreement,” she said firmly. “You can’t just change the terms because things got dangerous.”

Budi’s smile was smug. “Dangerous, yes,” he said, his eyes glinting. “But you still owe me.”

Marina’s hand tightened into a fist. “We’re not paying you a penny more,” she said, her voice like steel. “Your service was pathetic.”

Budi’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, his body tense with the promise of violence. “You think you can talk to me like that?” he hissed. “You just tourists. I know this island better than you.”

Marina’s eyes never left his, her jaw set. “We’re not paying you,” she said, her voice unwavering. “If you want to evict us, go ahead. But we’re not giving you another dime.”

Budi’s face grew red with anger, but he knew he was outmatched. He spun on his heel and stomped away, muttering curses under his breath. As soon as he was out of earshot, Fedde let out a shaky breath. “What do we do now?” he asked, his voice trembling. Mom maybe it was not such a good idea to tell him we will leave on wednesday. I am sure he is trying to contact the captain of that boat who also was a strange guy. We should have let our leaving secret. Now the question is, when will we ever leave from this hell?

Marina’s eyes were steely as she watched Budi disappear into the jungle. “We’ll figure it out,” she said, her voice firm. “We can’t let him hold us hostage here.”

Fedde nodded, his thoughts racing. “Mom, we ARE hostages now. What if he wants to pump you up or feed me to the Komodo Dragons? Who will stop him?”

Marina’s expression was grim as she looked at her son. “We can’t let it come to that,” she said. “We have to find a way off this island before Budi decides to make good on his threats.”

Thor Heyerdahl would build a small boat himself, using timber from the jungle. But we are not Thor Heyerdahl. However, it is an option, he said.

Marina’s mind raced as she considered the situation. “We’ll think of something,” she murmured, her eyes scanning the horizon. “We can’t let Budi control our fate. Maybe I shall talk with the restaurant guy.”

Wednesday came and with Wednesday came the storm. And the boat didn’t come. Fedde and his mother had barricaded the door of their hut. His mother had said that she felt like a squatter. She had once co-squatted a building. How did that work again? she said, “with bedsprings and such.” Now they had bamboo and branches to barricade the door. Not only against the storm but especially against Budi. However, the door had to be able to open just like that. After all, they were using candles that could cause fires. The storm raged and raged like a drunken donkey. They wondered if their so-called hotel was safe at all? Then there was a knock on the door. They didn’t open it. Someone was screaming. They recognized Budi’s voice. Another reason not to open it. Fedde’s heart was pounding. Budi had not forgotten his threats. Budi kept banging and screaming for a while. Then it was quiet. Half an hour later there was suddenly a loud knock on the door. It looked like Budi had gotten an axe and smashed their door in the middle of the storm.

Marina grabbed a nearby chair, her breath shallow and quick. “Stay behind me, Fedde,” she whispered, her eyes flashing with a mix of fear and determination.

Fedde nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. He watched as his mother positioned the chair in front of the door, her eyes never leaving the splintered wood that Budi had shattered. The storm raged outside, the wind howling like a banshee, and the rain lashed against the walls of their flimsy shelter.

Marina took a deep breath, her hand shaking slightly. “Who’s there?” she called out, her voice steady despite her racing heart.

Now the door flew open. All the barricade things that had held the door were thrown across the room. And there stood Budi with an axe. He looked a bit drunk. Outside there was a terrible storm. “Get out, you guys,” he snapped. “You can’t be here anymore.” Fedde was sick and tired of this aggressive treatment. He walked up to Budi and pushed him back until he fell off the ladder, axe and all. Where were the Komodo Dragons when you needed them? Indeed, now there was one ready to tear its prey to pieces. Budi screamed loudly. Fedde and his mother peered over the threshold outside and saw how the beast had already taken Budi for a ride. But the other way around too, because Budi chopped off the beast’s head so that it tried to get away by staggering. Nevertheless, the damage had been done. Budi swung the axe around a bit more, after which he fell over and started to convulse. That was good news so far. But how would the villagers react to this? Would 20 Budis come to the door now?

Marina’s eyes widened as she took in the grisly scene before her. “Quick, Fedde,” she hissed, her voice urgent. “Close the door again.”

Fedde didn’t need to be told twice. He slammed the door shut with all his strength, the wood shuddering on its hinges.

They couldn’t close the door. There was too much wind. Until at a certain point the door flew shut by itself. Fedde was there in time to provisionally lock it. Fedde thought of the door of Noah’s Ark. It became clear that they couldn’t stay here. This hut wouldn’t hold up in the storm. But descending the ladder now would be suicide. Besides, they would drag all their stuff with them. We’ll pack all the stuff, his mother said. Then we’ll quickly descend the ladder and dive into the bushes. If there’s such a dirty animal, we’ll shout “boo” very loudly. I don’t dare stay here.

The storm grew in intensity, the wind howling like a pack of wild beasts. The palm trees bent and swayed, their leaves slapping against the walls of their makeshift shelter. Rainwater seeped through the cracks, soaking their clothes and the floor beneath them. They worked quickly, gathering their belongings and preparing to make a break for it.

When they had packed everything, it was time to get down. Mom, Fedde said, I’ll climb down first, then you come and I’ll catch you. Then you can throw the stuff down too. Fedde braced himself to open the door for the umpteenth time. After he had unlocked it, the door flew out with a bang against the front of the hut, popularly called a “hotel”. The storm was visibly so hard that you could fly. Mom, this won’t work, he said. “We have to,” his mother answered. There’s no other way. I tied the bags together with a scarf. “Mom, next time we’re going to Tenerife, right?” he said. “It can be stormy on Tenerife too,” she said. They felt their hut raging. It was only a matter of time before the roof would be swept off the poles. Fedde now climbed down the ladder. For the first time in his life he felt the force of a hurricane. He was immediately blown off the ladder, except that he had held on very tightly. He dangled from the ladder and tried to slide down with his hands. This seemed to work a little. He knew there was no way back. Mom, this is going to be no good, he shouted. But he knew she didn’t hear him. Now he saw how she pushed the luggage out. It also flew in all directions. He didn’t manage to grab the end of the scarf. Now the luggage fell down. He clambered along the poles to the luggage that was on the ground and pulled the whole lot between the poles of their hut. Exhausted, he stood by the ladder. He watched his mother descend the ladder.

Marina descended with a grace that belied the fury of the storm. Each step was careful and deliberate, her eyes never leaving Fedde’s. The wind tried to rip her from the ladder, but she clung to it with a strength that seemed almost inhuman. When she was halfway down, the ladder groaned ominously, the wooden rungs straining against the tempest.

His mother was thrown from the ladder like a matchstick. She hit a pole with her shoulder. Fedde did his best to break her fall a little. Which didn’t work. They both landed on the ground at the same time. The bad news. Mom seemed to be unconscious. Maybe not completely. She stammered a bit and stared ahead like a zombie. Fedde didn’t have much time to think about it. The vacation of their lives had been transformed into hell on earth. He scrambled to his feet until he could grab the luggage. He dragged it to his mother. Budi’s axe was also nearby but unfortunately just too far away to catch it. It was storming really hard and every inch was one. He had to give up that axe, which was a pity because something told him it could save his life.There was nothing else to do but to test all his strength and drag both the luggage and his mother to the bushes. Whether they would be completely safe there was the question. There was no other option. Crawling and scrambling, he moved his mother at the same time and with the other hand dragged the luggage behind him to the bushes. That wasn’t easy. And there was no time to catch his breath. Eventually he reached the bushes.

Fedde laid his mother down as gently as he could, the wind and rain tearing at his clothes and stinging his skin. He had to keep her safe, to keep her from the storm and the venomous creatures that could be lurking in the darkness. He pulled the luggage close, using it as a makeshift barricade against the storm. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He hovered over her, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger. What would happen when more than one Komodo showed up? Now he heard their hotel crack and break from the poles it stood on. The whole unit fell down and and hung crookedly down.

The inevitable happened: three Komodo dragons emerged from the wet bushes. And they didn’t feel like arguing. Fedde could think of only one thing: pray to one God once more. “Do something!” he shouted. An inner voice said, “Grab a branch and beat the hell out of them. It’s up or down.

That was what he did. What a shame he hadn’t been able to get that axe but on the other hand, it was probably too heavy to swing it in all directions anyway. Finding a branch wasn’t that difficult here. They were lying there ready to be used. He grabbed a branch lying next to him and began to threaten with it. The Frankenstein lizards were not impressed. He felt a jaw grab his ankle. Furiously, he turned around. It was a hair’s breadth away but he managed to tear himself free. He immediately gave the rotten beast an incredible whack. That hard slap backfired. It only made the dragon more furious and made a second attempt to grab his ankle. Meanwhile, he had to keep an eye on the other two dragons as well. Fedde whipped around like a madman. He pounded on the monsters’ hard heads until his branch broke. Those damn beasts had hard heads, too. And they seemed little impressed by his resistance. He was now trapped from three sides.

The moment dawned that he had thought would not come. If he wanted to save his ass he had to get away now that he could. And so he had to leave his mother alone. It was a terrible dilemma and he didn’t have time to think about it for long. Not to mention the luggage he had to leave here. He could pick those up later if necessary. He watched a dragon sink its teeth into his mother. She did “Pffftssssjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj” as if she were a deflating car tire. Fedde knew there was no turning back now. His mother was lost. He did what he had to do and made his way out. One more time he looked back. He saw his mother floundering and convulsing while the dragons waited quietly for her to deflate.

Fedde’s legs trembled as he stumbled through the storm, the rain stinging his eyes like a thousand tiny knives. He had to find shelter, somewhere to hide from the beasts that had claimed their hotel. The village was out of the question; it was too close to the water and would be flooded by now. Instead, he headed deeper into the jungle, where the trees might offer some protection. The only good news was that also Budi was dead. “Mom”, he thought, “mom”.…

>

Two weeks had passed since their harrowing ordeal on Komodo Island. Fedde had made it back to civilization, but the horrors of the island had left deep scars on his psyche. He wandered the streets of his own city, unable to shake the feeling of being trapped. His eyes searched the faces of the passersby, hoping to find his mother in the crowd. But she was gone, taken by the very creatures she had found so thrilling. Not to speak of how his dad had responded to the crazy news that his wife had been eaten by three dragons.

The neon lights of the Red Light District beckoned him like a siren’s call. He found himself drawn to the window of a hooker, her red-lit face a stark contrast to the rain-slicked streets outside. In a desperate bid to find solace, he allowed his mind to play a twisted trick on him. He hypnotized himself, convincing his shattered psyche that the woman before him was his mother, safe and alive.

He stepped into the dimly lit room, the smell of cheap perfume and sex thick in the air. The woman, with eyes that had seen too much, looked up at him with a knowing smile. He whispered his darkest desires to her, and she nodded, eager to please, to give him what he needed. He closed his eyes, whispering “whore” over and over again as he drove into her, each syllable a release of his pent-up anger and despair. She met his rhythm, her movements frenzied and hungry, feeding on his pain.

Her moans grew louder, and in his mind, they morphed into the roars of the dragons, taunting him from the stormy night that had stolen his mother from him. His grip tightened on her hips, his thrusts growing more desperate as he tried to drown out the memories with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. The storm outside mirrored the tempest within him, the thunder echoing his grief.

When he finally climaxed, it was with a cry that was part agony, part relief. For a brief moment, he had felt connected to his mother again, as if he could somehow save her from the fate that had claimed her. But as he opened his eyes, the illusion shattered. The hooker beneath him was not his mother; she was a stranger, her eyes glazed with a mix of confusion and arousal at his bizarre behavior.

Fedde’s face contorted in a silent scream, and he collapsed beside her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The woman, accustomed to the oddities of her clients, wrapped an arm around him, her touch surprisingly gentle. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice soothing. “It’s all in your head.”

Fedde knew she was right. It was a twisted fantasy born of his trauma, but it had given him a moment of solace. He pulled away, his eyes searching hers. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

The hooker, whose name he hadn’t bothered to learn, offered a small, sad smile. “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice gentle. “It’s okay to need something to hold onto.”

Fedde nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes. He knew he couldn’t stay here forever, but he also knew that he couldn’t go back to his old life without facing the truth of what had happened. He stood up, pulling on his wet clothes, the fabric sticking to his skin like a second layer of despair. He took one last look at the woman, who had become a stand-in for the mother he had lost, and whispered, “Thank you.” Forgive me, he said but my mom is being eaten by a Komodo Dragon. The whore looked at him: what? she said.

The woman’s expression was a mix of concern and confusion, but she seemed to understand that he was in no state to explain. She handed him a towel and said, “You’re welcome, darling. Just remember, it’s okay to let go of the past sometimes.”

Fedde took the towel and dabbed at his face, the reality of the situation crashing down on him like the waves against the shore. He had to move on, had to find a way to live without his mother’s fiery spirit to guide him. He knew that this strange ritual of his wouldn’t bring her back, but it was all he had to cling to in the tempest of his grief. He didn’t want another guy fucking this pseudo-mom even though she was a hypnotic mother. In his self hypnosis he saw a big Komodo Dragon sitting on her bed protecting her from other guys.

A few days later, Fedde sat in his apartment, the news blaring on the TV in the background. The reports spoke of a gruesome series of events that had occurred in the very district he had visited. The headlines screamed of 20 men found torn to shreds, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition. The police were baffled, calling it the work of a beast that roamed the streets at night. Fedde’s heart skipped a beat as he heard the words “Crocodile-like” murmured by a journalist in the background.

The image of the Red Light District filled his mind, the neon lights reflecting off the rain-soaked streets. He remembered the desperation that had driven him to that place, the need to feel something other than the crushing weight of his mother’s loss. The sight of the woman, her face painted red, had brought him a brief reprieve, a chance to escape the horrors of reality. But now, as he watched the news, a cold dread crept over him.

Could it be? Had his subconscious manifested his darkest thoughts into reality? The police spokesman spoke of the victims, their lives cut short by an unknown assailant. Fedde’s breath hitched in his throat as the camera panned to a crime scene photo. The torn flesh and shredded clothing looked eerily similar to the way he had imagined the dragons tearing into Budi. The journalist spoke in hushed tones about the “Crocodile-like” nature of the attacks, and the hairs on the back of Fedde’s neck stood on end. Fedde could not believe the news, what he saw or heard. Now that was a good self-hypnosis, he thought.

*