You awakened ones, you are the crew serving on a ship carrying billions of tavelers on their cruise.

You know all that is necessary because it was laid down for you in your memory which has woken up from sleep.

Now has come the hour to let your mind flow in serving love on the big ship in troubled waters.

You would not cowardly hide when travelers are runnig around with fear and bad nerves, would you?

You are not in the mood of letting anybody alone, are you?

You would rather die with a human soul in order to guard him to the utterly edge of existence, wouldn`t you?

You do not  fear pain and death and insecurity because you love, do you?

You awakend ones, you came here because you wanted to be witnesses of what is happening now.

There is nothing you you must accomplish and nothing unusual you have to do but having courage to be an awakened one, for awakening is letting love flow as it is supposed to be all the time.

This poem may encourage you, written by a famous German we all learned in school, in a fine english translation:

John Maynard.

John Maynard!

"Who is John Maynard?"

"John Maynard was our helmsman true.
To solid land he carried us through.
He saved our lives, our noble king.
He died for us; his praise we sing.
John Maynard."

                        *         *        *

From Detroit to Buffalo
As mist sprays her bow like flakes of snow
Over Lake Erie the "Swallow" takes flight
And every heart is joyful and light.
In the dusk, the passengers all
Can already make out the dim landfall,
And approaching John Maynard, their hearts free of care,
They ask of their helmsman, "Are we almost there?"
He looks around and toward the shore:
"Still 30 minutes.... a half hour more."

All hearts are happy, all hearts are light --
Then out of the hold comes a cry of fright.
"Fire!" it is, that terrified shout.
From the cabin and hatch black smoke pours out.
Smoke, then fire and flames aglow,
And still 20 minutes to Buffalo.

And the passengers, in a colorful crowd
Stand pressed together on the bow.
Up on the bow there is still air and light
But the smoke at the helm forms a thick, dark night.
"Where are we? Where?" the men must know,
And still 15 minutes to Buffalo. --

The wind grows strong but the smoke cloud stays.
To the helm the captain turns his gaze.
The helmsman is hidden by the raging fires
But through the bullhorn the captain enquires:
"Still there, John Maynard?"
"Yes, sir. I am."
"Onto the beach! Into the surf!"
"Yes, sir. That's my plan."
And the people cry: "Hold on! Hallo!"
And still 10 minutes to Buffalo.--

"Still there, John Maynard?" And the answer is clear,
Though with dying voice: "Yes, sir. I'm still here."
And in the surf, rocks, obstacles afloat,
Into their midst he plunges the boat.
To be saved, it's the only way to go.
Salvation: the shores of Buffalo!

                        *         *        *

The fire is out. The ship's run aground.
All are saved. Only one can't be found.

                        *         *        *

The bells ring out, their notes all fly
From churches and chapels to heaven on high.
The city is still but for funeral bells.
For one service only the sad sound swells:
In the procession ten thousand go by,
Or maybe more -- and not one dry eye.

With layers of flowers the grave they soften.
Under more flowers they bury the coffin.
With golden script in marble stone
The city has its tribute shown:
      "Here lies John Maynard! In smoke and fire
       He held fast to the wheel; he did not tire.
       He saved our lives, our noble king.
       He died for us; his praise we sing.
                    John Maynard!"

                                   [Theodor Fontane]