It was a few years ago, and I was searching for myself. I was driving aimlessly north in my car. As the coast approached, the hand of God touched me, and I couldn't stop crying. My eyes blurred with tears, and I asked question after question about the meaning of existence, my path, my purpose.

All questions were answered. Unfortunately, I have forgotten the exact questions and the divine answers.

Right on the coast in a small village called Gründeich I stopped for a rest and got a worn-out camp bed from the pre-war era for the night in a modest guesthouse.

Before I went to bed, the landlady asked me if I would like to participate in a meditation the following morning. As it happened, a Tibetan lama would be staying at the house and could offer guidance. She interpreted my silence as interest, took my hand, and showed me the meditation room located in the attic. The windows in the gable bathed the room in a pleasant light, and I spontaneously agreed, even though I knew nothing about meditation.

The woman from Gründeich woke me up just in time. After showering, I went to the meditation room and sat down with my back to the gable on the middle of three meditation cushions placed in front of me. Overjoyed to be able to learn something new and relieved that the miserable howling was over and God had left me in peace, I closed my eyes. Two rows of cushions to my right and left were occupied in turn by men and women, to whom I gave friendly nods and smiles. They returned the greetings. I was curious about the lama and resolved to put him to the test. But for the time being, I was busy looking important and opening my eyes precisely when someone sat down. Nod, smile, and then my eyelids closed again.

When the lama entered the room, I looked at him closely. The others were already deep in meditation. He was my age, wearing a purple monk's robe and sandals. His head was shaved. The innkeeper had told him I was a beginner and would need guidance. He sat down next to me in the lotus position and smiled. He told me to concentrate on the center of my forehead, keep my back straight, and sit still. His skin was darker than mine. "I'm just a pale white thing," I said to myself, a little enviously. Although I tried to focus, my thoughts kept wandering.

The woman next to me, too. But I wasn't about to give up. "Such a young whippersnapper," I thought, "I'll show you!"

I learned to sit still at school, I've always been able to keep my back straight, and concentrating a little bit on my third eye won't be difficult.

After a short time, I became bored and remembered my intention to test the teacher's competence. In my imagination, I grew a third arm and a hand. I sucked on the index finger with relish. Slowly, I moved my virtual hand toward the llama. I placed the damp finger in his ear.

Suddenly, my face was buffeted by a breeze, and I felt a terrible slap on my left cheek. The sound of the slap made me feel completely numb. Panicked, I opened my eyes. Everyone was sitting in their seats. Even the llama. Maybe he was grinning?

I never brought up my experience or asked him about it once. In a way, it was all clear. He had passed the test. I went to Gründeich several more times. Most of the time I did the morning star meditation, which I had taught myself that morning. During this meditation, I had four arms and four hands, and in each hand I held a morning star on a short chain, which I twirled rapidly, forwards and backwards, up and down. Personal safety always comes first.

In retrospect, I believe my lama was so close to God that I ended up in his river on the way to the coast. I was more like a small stream. No wonder I flooded.

A few years later, I became involved with Zen and was amused to discover that I had heard the clapping of a hand during my very first meditation.