"Can you think of any other option?" I asked. "We are in the most critical period in history. Our time is running out. What option do we have left? We've messed around for 4,000 years and made things worse. If you can think of a better option than Mary's option, I would love to hear about it. Can you think of such an option?"

      "I can't, Peter. Nevertheless, what you are saying is bewildering."

      "I didn't say it would be easy to rescue civilization and the whole of humanity," I said to her in a serious tone. "I only said that it is possible. Did Fred promise anything more? The challenge that we face is that we start a New Age for humanity, that we start an endless day of light and love, without divisions, isolation, domination, or whatever. This is what my gift to you signifies, of the forever Indira-day, in the form of a suggestion for celebration. It promises that my self-love as a human being, and your self-love as a human being, will mingle and touch one-another, and that we will thereby strengthen one-another. In this process my needs are invariably met, and your needs are met likewise. It's a start on the road of the community of principles on which our needs can be met, and India's needs can also be met, and by the same path the needs of all mankind."

      Indira shook her head, but she smiled. I noticed tears forming in her eyes.



      The restaurant that Indira had chosen was an oasis in many ways. It was an oasis of peace and tranquillity compared with life in the streets. The decor in the restaurant was taken from India's ancient times. The walls were covered with large tapestries of scenes that featured princes with their wives or concubines. The background music was classical Indian, so it seemed. I had the feeling to have been invited to the palaces of a noble ruler from a distant past. Our conversation appeared to be totally out of place, therefore. On the other hand, perhaps it wasn't.



      We left the restaurant an hour later, just as it was getting dark outside. Stepping out onto the street jolted us, like one is jolted by stepping out of a dream. This real world wasn't by any means, distant. Life was flowing along. Also the façade of that world wasn't the hidden world that Indira had talked about earlier. It was the tumultious world of a big city existing in the present, a city of thirteen million people and thirteen million different dreams. Or were their dreams all alike in some fundamental way? Perhaps they were, as all human dreams probably are in spite of their infinite variations. I embraced Indira for her wonderful dream of wanting to experience what it means to be a human being that she had admitted to almost at the beginning.

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Stories about  Love from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche