The Nightingale

© Regina Franziska Rau
Spring 1992
Türkey - Cinarcik at Yalova
Once I lived in Turkey with my husband, in a little house near Cinarcik. This village is about 16 miles away from the city Yalova, which is well known since the heavy earthquake in 2000. (Yalova as well as Cinarcik have been destructed almost completely. Or approximately 160 miles southeast from Istanbul.

My husband and I had rented this little house. It was standing on a hillside with a splendid view to the wide ocean. The back of the house was surrounded by wild meadows, bordered from tall and marvelously flowery smelling lime tree, that stood in its full bloom.

In the evenings, I often layed in my bed still awake for a long time and bathed in the memory of the refreshung events of the day.

One night - the moon shone through the window and dipped the room into a mysterious light. And a longing evening prayer filled the air. Always, the chant began cautiously and comforting - smoothed the wounds of my soul and took me into its airy realms. On white clouds, the sounds glided through the darkness of the night, painted pictures of bliss into the endless space. In deepest dedication, the bird sang its sage and a vibration ran through my heart.

I saw myself as a child, sitting in a garden so free and full of trust into life itself, running over flower-covered fields and meadows into fragrant forests, laughing hand in hand with my dearest companion. And then I saw, how this childlike dream faded, and how it vanished more and more in the rushed bustle of the confusions and muddles of life. And tears ran down my cheeks.

A deep notion of an ocean of peace, of unspeakable luck and borderless love beyond all inconvenience of the entangled life grasped me. And the chant of the bird calmed down my beating heart and carried me into the world of the silence.

 
back to:
Prose-Summary