ZGram - 10/25/2003 - Prisoner of Conscience Letter # 24

[zgrams at zgrams.zundelsite.org]

Zgram - Where Truth is Destiny

October 24, 2003

When one lives intimately with another cherished human being - be it 
a parent, a sibling, a friend, a lover or husband - it is the little 
things that count, the small, endearing repetitions one comes to 
expect and to stash away like precious gems deep in the recesses of 
one's mind.  While I still lived in California, I had a pilot friend 
who lived more in the air than on the ground, whose feet were never 
still, whose heart was never sated, who must have been one of the 
most glamorous, adventurous men on this earth.  Whenever he had 
business on the West Coast or in Asia, Peter would come visit me.  I 
had known him for quite a few years.  I knew all the world's riches 
and treasures were spread at Peter's feet, and he was quite a 
hedonistic fellow, who liked the good things in life, the more the 
better the merrier, who could at times be shallow.  He knew both 
kings and paupers and got along with both - to my amazement, equally. 
It was a side of him I didn't like that much, because I tend to be 
judgmental and selective, and I was longing for a deeper soul than 
Peter ever was or ever cared to be. 

But there was this small moment I cherished - a moment that I knew 
belonged to no one else but me.  But he and I had been in World War 
II - we knew what war was like, what utter deprivation felt like, how 
hunger really hurt.  I would prepare a lavish German breakfast out on 
our sunny California terrace, and as my good friend Peter settled 
down, he would repeat, as he had done so many times before:  "We are 
so lucky!  God, are we lucky!  Look at this sunshine!  Look at this 
food!  Remember when we were kids - so cold, so poor, so starving?"

Always the exact same words - he never varied them by even the 
slightest nuance!   Whenever I now think of Peter, who died quite a 
few years ago, those are the moments I remember.

Likewise with Ernst.  We've certainly experienced highs and lows the 
like most mortals never fathom, and life is never dull, sometimes 
exquisitely heart-stopping and often dangerous.  I'll give you a "for 
instance":

I am a very early riser, and Ernst likes to work like a fiend through 
the night and sleep away the finest mornings, shamelessly - when he 
gets up, however, I know exactly what comes next: 

"Ingrid!  Come here!  Sit down!  Dream Report!" 

And then I would find out about the Zundel adventures and thoughts 
and ideas and vistas that had come to Ernst in his dreams - and vivid 
they were, amazing they were, in wide panoramas, awash with glowing 
colors.  I have vivid dreams, too, but nothing as exciting as Ernst's.

In the last weeks before his arrest, however, he started having 
nightmares - very troubling and tormenting dreams.  He was really 
upset by those dreams. Here is an excerpt from my birthday letter in 
the spring, still written from the prison in Thorold, dated  May 13, 
2003, where he records for history what he somehow foresaw:

[start]

  I am studying my court hearing papers each day, and get angrier each 
day by the arrogance and ruthlessness of unchecked power by these 
people hiding behind the state!  Sometimes I really do feel tempted 
to end these hearings and ask to be shipped to Germany - and as my 
revenge let the Canadians, who have treated me so shabbily in the 
last 25 years, have their civil rights and human rights be 
permanently violated and suspended by these undemocratic "national 
security" laws.  But then my old peasant sense of justice reasserts 
itself and I stride into the courtroom in handcuffs - and do battle 
one more time with the forces of evil.  What a fate!  What weird 
karma!  Odd!

  Yes, Ingrid, all my worst nightmares, all the indignities in my 
dreams, all the unfairness, all the being pursued, persecuted, 
hunted, captured, stripped naked etc. all have come true - almost on 
a daily basis!  It baffles me no end.  Why?

  I must make every effort to find the underlying cosmic/karmic 
reasons in order to put an end to this seemingly endlessly repeating 
pattern.  It is not a life.  It is merely living a nightmare.  Daily!

  My two-and-a-half years with you in those peaceful surroundings of 
those quiet hills and dales, the smell of the hay, the fantastic 
greens of spring and the riot and blaze of colors in the fall, our 
bench, our walks, our talks, our quiet meals, our work - that was the 
life I was longing for.  My books - those fantastic, colorful art 
books, the book on the national parks, geography, history...the 
moments when we would read our respective bedtime readings.  I 
quietly had chuckles inside my head many a night because you would 
lie there, half propped up, your nose buried in heavy, heavy-going 
political/historical works of 30, 40, 50, 60 - even 70 years ago, and 
since I read them in the 50s and 60s, I knew how deep and difficult 
they were to read and comprehend!  And I, the guy with the 
fire-breathing reputation, what was I reading?  Art books so big they 
covered half the bed!  Books on Nostradamus, books on the borderline 
sciences of the CIA's remote viewing, books on America's national 
parks, gardening books, seed catalogues!  I used to read them 
downstairs in the middle of the night and look at those wonderful, 
double-spread photo pages and soak in the colors - not knowing that 
in only a short few months I would be permanently deprived of this, 
to me, almost essential-to-my-well-being sea of colors!  Is it not 
odd how this happened?

  I think about it every waking moment, why this is the way it is, why 
it came about the way it did!  Was cosmic, maybe totally evil force 
and power was directed at me/us all along - without us even 
suspecting or knowing it?  Only my dreams did not lie! 

  Remember how often I described to you the landscape in which those 
nightmares played out - always ice, snow, mountains of snow and 
blizzards I had to struggle through, while being hunted and pursued? 
When I was arrested, it was nice and balmy weather.  Spring was in 
the air in Tennessee.  When I landed in Buffalo a few weeks later, it 
was in a blizzard with almost zero visibility, snow banks everywhere! 
And when I was led outside, we had to climb over snow banks a yard 
high - me sliding and nearly falling in my tight handcuffs.  Then we 
slid and skidded along New York State highways, totally covered in 
snow, with stranded cars everywhere and even snow plows having 
difficulty to plow the highway clear.  Ambulances and tow trucks 
dominated the picture, and when we finally made it across to the 
Canadian side, the border station booths were almost invisible by the 
swirling snow and the piles, which the snow plows had made.  It was 
scene after scene from my nightmares, which had now become a 
terrifying and soon sad reality.  After being arrested, after first 
being questioned for 8 hours and then shipped into the dark, wintry 
Canadian, almost Siberian-like landscape, I had flashback after 
flashback.  It was all deja vu.  I had lived it already in my dreams.

[END]