Assuming that earthly existence is primarily a school, a boarding school; where we stay temporarily, my main question remains what I learned there.

When I look back on my life, I can only say, I am satisfied with all my experiences, the joyful and even of the most painful events I have no regrets, After all, I realized that I always acted in accordance with my consciousness of the moment, even though of course; now in analogous situations; I might have often made different choices. I learned that the others are my mirrors and that their shadow only challenged me to accept them as they are with all their Light and darkness, and through that,  especially to learn to embrace my own shadow.

I did find the most difficult lesson to come to the point of accepting myself fully. I now am very aware of my shadow and the part I have managed to bring into the Light. What remains of darkness, by which I mean that part which still needs to be brought into the Light, I will confidently take with me to the other side, where the necessary healing will take place.

I grew up in a strict Catholic environment, where we prayed the rosary, attended vespers and did not skip Mass on Sundays. In May, we children went daily, for school attendance, to the little chapel in the Hambos. In those days it was black with people. We walked along in the "Bronk," the procession that led us past many places, where prayers were said, before we reached the end point, the little chapel at Rolduc Abbey. This was possibly demolished before the construction of the Rolduc field and later rebuilt. There was a palpable energy of unity, which attracted me even then.

That "Bronk" was a particularly festive event, not least because of the work of the nuns, who made beautiful carpets out of colored sand. The processionists, with the pastor and altar boys under a canopy, in front, then trampled on those beautiful sand paintings, leaving an unsightly tangle in the street which I found very unfortunate.  They would have done better, in my childish opinion, to walk around them so that we could have enjoyed that beautiful view longer.

The situation at that time was such that the Americans had already liberated one of the two hills where our town was built, while the other, with the center, was still in the hands of the Germans. A truce was arranged between the two sides so that the residents could leave. But the Germans did not keep that agreement and started shooting anyway.

We rejoined the column, but the delay did mean that some villages were already full of refugees, who were hospitably accommodated by the residents. We found a place with acquaintances in Mechelen. The food we children got from the soup kitchen, for which we had to climb the iron stairs, which I can still see before me today. I still have many memories of that trip and the period that followed.

We heard that a large American camp was located in Gulpen, a neighboring village, and with my sister and brother we walked to that place. There I saw the first black soldier, driving a military truck.

 
When we returned home, the Americans had already chased the Germans back across the border. The large Amerkan camp at Gulpen was apparently moved to the cornfield directly across from our home. At the edge of the field, diagonally across from the Protestant church, they had constructed a small airfield, where I liked to go and admire the small reconnaissance planes.

My seven-year older brother was to be found in the camp more than at home and regularly brought us goodies such as chocolate, but also tins of meat. My mother was soon doing laundry for some soldiers, upon which we received even more food in return. The cook became a house-and definitely my friend. Because when he came, I had to sit on his lap and could then unbutton all his unieform bags, each of which hid a different delicacy.

Another friend was a very young soldier, who he said had lied about his age to be accepted into the army. When the "von Rundstet offensive" broke out in Ardennes, Hitler's last attempt to turn the tide, the camp had to be hastily dismantled and the unit was rushed to the Ardennes to reinforce, or relieve, the American troops there. There was just time for Travis to say goodbye and for a photo. After the war, I wrote to his home address, but received no reply. Was he one of the many killed?

Na het vertrek van Travis en zijn vrienden, passeerden regelmatig andere legerkolonnes langs ons huis. Maar op zekere dag stopte een vrachtwagen, met naar het bleek Canadezen voor het café een paar huizen verder. Ik ging er een kijkje nemen. De soldaten waren heel vriendelijk en gaven mij een stuk chocolade. Een van hen toonde me zijn wapen, een licht geweer, waarschijnlijk een karabijn, gaf het aan mij wees naar de overkant van het veld, richting Duitse grens en zei "shoot, shoot Hitler". Hij toonde mij hoe ik het moest vasthouden, aanleggen en afdrukken en zo lostte ik mijn eerste en enige schot richting 'vijand' in de Tweede Wereldoorlog.

After Travis and his friends left, other army columns regularly passed by our house. But one day a truck, apparently carrying Canadians, stopped in front of the café a few houses away. I went to take a look. The soldiers were very friendly and gave me a piece of chocolate. One of them showed me his weapon, a light rifle, probably a carbine, gave it to me, pointed across the field, towards the German border and said "shoot, shoot Hitler". He showed me how to hold it, put it on and fire it and so I took my first and only shot toward the "enemy" in World War II.

Important for my development was also our musical family.

My father and my sister played the violin. Dad, in the Lyra symphony orchestra and my sister later in the Kerkrade Symphony Orchestra. He also gave violin lessons and had his own dance orchestra:

Moreover, he played trumpet in the Waubach wind band, of which he was a co-founder. I saw him as a jovial, gentle and rather thoughtful man.

 My mother was cheerful, full of humor, very hospitable, but her will was law and therefore the ideal mother as far as I was concerned. Because according to the plan of my soul, I also had to learn to acquire my freedom.

This gave frequent conflicts as a child, from which I usually came out as the "winner" when it was really essential for me. I was and am therefore very grateful to my mother, for the role she played, as far as I was concerned.

Some of this, of course, has to do with how we deal with shadow, others' and our own. Let me say at the outset that if you cannot embrace the shadow of yourself, you cannot accept that of others either. If you accept yourself in its totality, then you also have no trouble with the negative aspects of others. After all, you then see yourself in the other, because you have gone through that level of consciousness before. From my point of view, you can even call those processes "sacred," because a human life is sacred in itself, even if someone's actions are far away from that. Everything is experience and sooner or later you learn from every experience. Every soul ever becomes one again with the Absolute, what we call God. And every soul that incarnates on earth wants to experience everything, the Light as well as the darkness. Therefore it is absurd to judge anything.

I broke off my violin studies prematurely for lack of patience and passion, but did play harmonica, on which I later played my own interpretation of "Alle Menschen werden Brüder" from Beethoven's ninth symphony and opera arias.