Chapter XIV: Munich, 1925

Chapter XIV: Munich, 1925

s her visions faded, Maria had the impression that the politicians in the Thule — now referred to as the members of the National A Socialist German Workers’ Party — had begun to lose interest in her. It was probably just her imagination, her depression caused by the failure to prove her indispensability, which she now projected onto her relationship with the party members. In fact, Hess and Himmler visited her regularly, though not frequently. As they were mostly interested in more messages from the Aryan ancestors — the Sumerian writings had completely reassured them that their political mission was under the protection of powerful forces — they wanted more proof, but nothing further was given to Maria.

However, as her prestige grew among the Thule scientists, who were still immensely fascinated by her old writings and diagrams, a new admirer presented himself: Hermann Göring was a decorated flying ace and therefore extremely interested in the work of Dr Schumann, who had shown some progress with his levitator drive. Göring was a patrician and athletic war hero, accustomed to enrapturing and dissatisfied when failing to do so. At first he reminded Maria of Lothar, but she soon grew tired of the man’s overflowing joviality and blatant self-admiration. Each visit of Göring was like a well-rehearsed opulent parade, with imaginary trumpets accompanying his entrance, exit and most of his witty remarks. He brought Maria expensive gifts and chocolates and Maria found this rather endearing, since Göring was obviously happily married to a Swedish baroness, who had left her husband for him. Nevertheless, she felt perturbed that she was unable to explain any technical details on her own to Göring, who, even though a member of the Thule, seemed to be less interested in the occult than the technological data for creating a new generation of flying devices.

“As long as it works, I don’t care if it comes from God or Devil,” he once remarked as Maria tried to explain the origin of the messages.

“This technology comes from God,” Doctor Schumann, who meanwhile had been made professor and director of the Electrophysical Laboratory at the Technical University of Munich, said.

“Yes, I know your theory about the diabolic origins of the combustion process,” Göring sneered, “but we are yet to witness a breakthrough in imbustion and impulsion. As far as I know, your tests so far have resulted in less than success?”

“What can I say,” Schumann slumped slightly and sighed, reluctant to touch on that topic. He then picked himself up and faced Göring.

“We are only beginning to understand what we are dealing with,” he explained. “This technology comes from a civilization far more advanced than we are or will be in the near future. There is a huge amount of information compressed on a couple of sheets of paper, of which we currently understand perhaps about one third. It’s a miracle we have managed to make anything work with the little we have — and there’s one thing we definitely don’t have.”

Göring nodded. “Vril”, he said.

“Yes. We are currently trying to marry the principles of heavenly mechanics with the basics of devilish technology: my levitator is marred by the fact that it has to depend on a combustion engine to power it. The results can only be mediocre at best, until we discover an alternative power source that can free my design from the dependence on traditional physics.”

“I’m sure Fräulein Orsic will soon provide us with more information, or, perhaps one day — even the secrets of Vril itself,” Göring said, gesturing dramatically. It sounded like an aria from a grand opera and made Maria feel as if the whole development of the new German Air Force was being held back because of her failure to cooperate.

Göring wasn’t the only one to anticipate another contact and subsequent flow of applicable information. Schumann was constantly going over the diagrams and equations with Maria, pondering aloud

whether he had missed or misinterpreted something. He brought along two more aspiring physicists: a very young man called Werner Heisenberg and another, Erwin Schrödinger, who was approximately Maria’s age. Both of them had dedicated themselves to deciphering the hastily scribbled equations, deeming them to be of great importance. Maria was constantly explaining that she had no idea of the meanings of these sequences and no knowledge of physics, mathematics or technology. The men kept coming up with new aspects with which to confront Maria.

“Could you try to approach this equation on the level of emotional memory?” the young Heisenberg asked.

“I don’t even understand what that is supposed to mean!” Maria vainly tried to dismiss the subject.

Heisenberg, who obviously had given the matter a great deal of thought, began to clarify.

“It’s my opinion that every mathematical equation or problem carries a certain emotional charge. It is my theory that different math problems or calculations influence people on the emotional level, creating a subconscious image or association with something, be it a memory of a smell, colour, sound or the sense of relief or discomfort. I have witnessed people display similar emotional reactions to a specific equation, which makes me believe there is a certain link between our subconscious mind and the math problems we see. If we could electrically measure and make visible people’s reactions to, say, a positive operation, it would vastly differ from what we would see as an emotional reaction to a negative operation.”

“Doesn’t this require our understanding of the problem?” Maria asked. “If I lack the basic understanding of what lies before me, how can I connect to it emotionally?”

“I believe,” Heisenberg replied, “that during your trance you had perfect understanding of what was dictated to you, and a trace of that understanding must still lie dormant somewhere in your subconscious. You just need to find it — enough to feel, not to know. Anything, any image or sensation that springs to your mind can help us get a step closer to the mystery.”

Maria shrugged her shoulders, even though the young man did seem to make some sense.

“But even if I could reach out to my own emotions, I can’t see how this would help you,” she argued, mostly because she was afraid she might fail to connect even to her own subconscious mind. “It’s quite clear that the symbols I scribbled aren’t the ones used in our mathematics. So how could my impressions help you, if we can’t even tell a plus sign from a minus sign?”

“What we are able to do is similar to what Champollion did with the help of the Rosetta Stone,” Professor Schrödinger interrupted. “He was looking at the Egyptian hieroglyphs, which were utterly unfamiliar to people a hundred years ago. But he knew the text in Greek, so he was able to deduct that the writing was a combination of ideographic and phonetic signs. And he was able to decipher this ancient style of writing that no-one in the world had been able to read for thousands of years.”

“So you believe that you’ll be able to connect the dots, once the equations have triggered some emotional response in me?” Maria asked, still feeling uncomfortable.

“We do,” Heisenberg claimed. “In most cases, emotion is the equivalent of the solution. When I say ‘2+2=4’, what do you see?”

“Apples,” Maria replied instinctively.

“And so would reply most people,” Heisenberg said, “because in our schools these primitive operations are made mentally understandable to us by using simple objects: apples, which are being given to us, or eaten by a goat, or divided between friends.”

“Are you familiar with the equation E = mc 2?” Schrödinger asked and Maria nodded.

“By Albert Einstein, isn’t it?” she verified.

“Well…” Heisenberg was hesitant. “Actually by Fritz Hasenöhrl, a physics professor at the University of Vienna. He wrote it down a year earlier and Einstein stole it from him.”

“In that case,” Schrödinger said impatiently, “why not establish that Hasenöhrl stole it from Olinto De Pretto, who published the same equation in Italy one year prior to Hasenöhrl?”

Maria laughed.

“Gentlemen, this is getting confusing!”

“You are right,” Heisenberg said, also rather agitated. “What image does this equation conjure up?”

“I can’t say I’m at all familiar with its meaning,” Maria replied, “but I know it has something to do with space and matter and the speed of light — so my emotional response would automatically be a shiver as a picture of the universe springs to my mind.”

“Exactly!” Heisenberg exclaimed. “So would you try to tell us the innermost emotions of these two equations you have written down on this paper — just to show us whether we are on the right track or not!”

Maria agreed and went through some ritualistic actions she knew had always helped her to achieve contact with her inner microcosm, which was also the passage to the outer realms that had lately been locked to her.

She was determined to meet with success. Even if her senses refused to grant her access to the cosmic knowledge, she still had enough self-control to unlock the vaults of her own memories. She was only asking her consciousness to go back to that evening in Berchtesgaden, when the friendly spirit from Aldebaran spoke to her and through her for the last time. From the unexplored regions of her mind, the words she had used as the mantra to release her astral body came back to her; with them came the feeling of drowning in light, of simultaneously not existing and existing in every moment of time, in every atom ever created. She had never felt so small, on a microscopic level, flying around in the universe of atoms and electrons which were forming vast galaxies that were spinning around in the sea of unseen energy.

“What can you see?” she heard Heisenberg’s voice say. “Try to tell us your visions.”

Maria strived to make some observances, but doing so the vision faded like a dream. The more she tried to pin the movement of the microscopic bodies down, the more they eluded her.

“Well?” the men demanded.

Maria opened her eyes.

“I can’t tell you anything,” she said, “because the more I tried to observe, the more I repelled each body around me. Just as if, only by looking at something, I had exercised an unwanted power over these bodies.”

“Were these celestial bodies?” Heisenberg was uncertain.

“No,” Maria replied. “It felt as if I was on an atomic level, with yet infinitely smaller bodies swirling around and inside the atoms. I’m sorry I can’t say more.”

“Would you care to concentrate on the other equation?” Schrödinger suggested.

Maria felt exhausted and had to refuse.

“I promise to do that in the next few days — even though I don’t hold out much hope that another experiment will produce better results than this one just did — or rather, didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Heisenberg said to himself, leaving Maria wonder whether he meant the outcome of the experiment or Maria’s promise.

General Haushofer was the only one who didn’t seem to require anything from Maria — neither information nor love. Maria felt at ease with him and met the general more often than the other gentlemen of the Thule.

“I have begun to think that I have never been in touch with a cosmic intellect,” she told the general one day, at the most inappropriate moment: the general had developed a custom of taking Maria riding in the English Garden on Sundays. They both enjoyed this activity very much and it reminded them both of the days gone by: the general of his glorious years as a young officer; Maria of the summers of her childhood when some riding was done at the house of Sigrun’s parents. It was a golden morning when people were discussing things like garden parties or upcoming weddings, not confessing their darkest secrets.

The general grew very alert, even though he hardly ever permitted his reactions to show through the veneer of composed dignity and self-command.

“What do you mean, my dear?” he asked Maria with only a slight hint of uneasiness in his voice.

“That it all has been an illusion — something that we both wished for and that manifested in a way that we could interpret as a cosmic contact,” Maria said. She had been thinking about this for a couple of days now and knew how to arrange words to sound calm about it.

The general took hold of the reins of Maria’s horse and brought both his and hers to a stop.

“Don’t you think we should discuss this over a cup of coffee?” he said kindly, as was his way when he needed to disarm someone.

They sat in the beer garden of the Chinese Tower; neither of them willing to be the first to break the silence. After they had ordered some coffee, the general asked:

“Did I understand correctly, that you have some serious doubts about your own abilities?”

“Yes,” Maria replied. “I have come to the conclusion the messages I have received were not of cosmic origin.”

“So where did they originate from?” the general asked patiently, as if talking to a stubborn child who is adamant that a vase had broken itself.

“From my subconscious,” Maria replied.

“But my dear…. This doesn’t make any sense,” the general seemed relieved, having obviously feared a more plausible rationalization that could threaten everything they had achieved. “How could you have written everything down without assistance? Do you speak Sumerian?”

Maria remained calm.

“Herr Himmler brought me some books which he values very much,” she explained. “I’ve learnt of a theory about genetic memory — this means, on one hand, the memory of one’s ancestors and race; on the other hand, the memory of one’s previous incarnations. With some practice, one can access these memories. It explains a lot. As we are all connected to each other, we are sometimes able to access each other’s memories. When a widow comes to me in search of answers from her dead husband — this is exactly what I do. I access the intricate web of my genetic memory and somewhere in this labyrinth, there are blood ties which lead me to the departed person. So I don’t receive any help from anyone but myself.”

The general, who for a while seemed worried, now burst out laughing:

“But these are the theories of Himmler! The little chicken farmer deems himself to be the incarnation of King Heinrich — what else can he offer as support than these obscure mumblings!”

“Let’s be logical then,” Maria argued. “What makes more sense — someone receiving messages from the subconscious mind, from a bloodline and astral continuity of thousands of years; or that person receiving messages from an inhabitant of a distant star?”

The general took a moment to reflect on this argument.

“Let us rephrase the question,” he then said, “so I can beat you at your own game: which makes more sense — someone receiving and being able to interpret cosmic wisdom or this person coincidentally having a bloodline that takes her right to the cradle of the Aryan civilization, to Sumer?”

“I see no great distinction,” Maria tried to maintain.

The general charged on.

“So you think that in your subconscious mind, there is hidden a physicist that could eclipse the most illuminated minds of our era?”

“I don’t,” Maria said, “and to be honest, I wish the doctors and professors wouldn’t waste their time trying to find some kind of coherence in my scribblings. They just interpret these strange symbols and diagrams at will and the more fantastic their own ideas, the more they are reflected from what they fancy are some great discoveries, written down in an unknown language.”

The general now played the ace.

“Then how do you explain the amazing successes of Professors Schrödinger and Heisenberg?”

“What do you mean, general?”

“Well,” the general stated victoriously, “they both have published papers which are hailed in the scientific community as groundbreaking. The first one they call ‘The Schrödinger equation’ and it describes particles which have a certain value at every point in space, for every given time. Young Heisenberg has had his breakthrough just recently — in Zeitschrift für Physik he has published something called

‘Quantum theoretical re-interpretation of relations’. It’s all the buzz at the moment among our friends in the University.”

He laid his hand on Maria’s.

“You know and I know it’s you who should’ve been given the credit. Everyone knows they were studying your equations. Heisenberg called me after your last meeting a couple of months ago — he was so excited I thought he might succumb to a heart attack. He told me about your vision — of you being on some subatomic level, observing the particles relating to each other. Do you honestly think you could have devised all that with nothing but your subconscious mind assisting you?”

Maria didn’t share the enthusiasm of General Haushofer. Her heart was very heavy. Part of her had welcomed the theory that Himmler propagated, as it offered her freedom; gave her the sense of being her own mistress and a source of wisdom instead of just a vessel filled by some other force. Now the shackles were chained to her spirit again — the shackles that bound her to a distant star that was nothing but a footnote in an astronomy book for her. Was she to yearn forever for another message from her captors, as a prisoner in a cell would yearn for a drink of water?

“The connection is gone, the channel has been closed,” she whispered to the general without lifting her eyes. “It’s more than five years from my last transmission in Berchtesgaden and a year since the Aldebaran voice spoke through the spirit of Eckart — since then, there has been nothing. Only silence. I can’t reach anyone and no-one wishes to reach me.”

“Give it time, my child,” the general said as if she still were the little frightened girl at the Café Schopenhauer. But this was false assurance.

“I am no longer a child,” Maria said. “Next month I shall be thirty. It is obvious that I have lost whatever powers I had. There’s much more usefulness from Traute with her new technical diploma than there will ever be from me. I can’t do anything. I can’t even sew.”

“Give it time, dear,” the general repeated with the fatherly kindness in his voice embracing Maria. “Perhaps it’s no fault of yours

— the gentlemen took years to decipher your message; perhaps a new one isn’t transmitted until we have learnt to master the previous one!”

“I don’t feel it. Something is missing.”

“I understand,” the general said.

How could he have understood? He had no idea how his letter that called Maria to Berchtesgaden, delivered by Hess and Hitler, had unleashed a chain of events that had changed her whole life — destroyed her whole life by extinguishing her gift, which had left her spirit just as the stillborn child had left her body.

“But there could be something that might repair things,” the general said after a while. He measured Maria with his eyes, as if he hadn’t known and seen her for years.

“You’re a well-built girl, aren’t you,” he observed. “You ride well and I know you have been playing tennis with my son Albrecht — so one could call you an athletic type, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Probably,” Maria consented, without having the slightest idea where this conversation was being steered.

“I know you are not a vainglorious type of a girl — the sort who spends hours in front of a mirror and needs to powder and perfume herself every thirty minutes,” the general went on. “You dress elegantly, but sensibly. Even though you are a city girl, I can’t see you hanging tooth and nail onto urban pleasures and entertainment — running from a beauty parlour to a tea dance and from a coffee house to a matinee. Am I right?”

This very cryptic rationalization made Maria smile again.

“Dear general, would you once and for all tell me what this is all about?”

“It’s just a thought…” the general deliberated, “but it might be a good one. It might help you to restore the somewhat shattered inner peace, to recharge your spiritual batteries, so to speak.”

“What might?”

“A pilgrimage!”

This word was said with an air of solemn sombreness. If it hadn’t been so preposterous, it would have been amusing.

“You wish me to go on a pilgrimage?” Maria repeated the word she had never consciously used.

“It’s not a bad idea,” the general said. “Pilgrimages have been the force behind many great men and women.”

“So where would you want me to go?” Maria laughed. “I’ve seen the Externsteine in Lippe. I don’t think I could manage the Bayreuth Festival yet… not the whole Ring-cycle at once! I wouldn’t mind Rome though; I’ve never been to Italy.”

“I’m not talking about a comfortable tourist trip that you could undertake during a week-end,” the general said, lowering his voice. Whenever he did that, it felt as if everything else grew quiet as well in reverent expectation of his words. “What I mean is a spiritual journey that makes you discover things you never dreamt you would see; a journey that would restore your mental powers and probably open the chakras that have remained dormant. I have undertaken this journey — as have several of us. Perhaps now it’s your turn.”

Maria’s heart was speeding up. She still didn’t know if the general was referring to a real physical journey or using these words as a metaphor for some voyage of mystical awakening, but her interest was being aroused more than for a long time.

“I have a good friend,” the general continued, “a Swede. His name is Sven Hedin. He is about my age, but exhibits youthfulness rarely seen among men half as old. He is a fanatical explorer of Central Asia who discovered the Trans-Himalayan mountain range as well as countless ancient cities, temples and burial sites. Sven is currently preparing for an expedition to Tibet. This will be financed by the Luft Hansa Corporation, for the ground survey of a future air route between Berlin and Peking. Needless to explain that the proprietors of the company are gentlemen from the Thule; as will be the scientists employed by the company.”

Maria forced herself to be calm.

“Why would the Society be interested in a proposed air route?” she asked.

“It’s not,” the general said, “but only through these official channels were we able to ensure the support of the Swedish government. The real mission of our scientists is to search for the evidence of our roots, of Aryan symbols and customs.”

He suddenly fell silent.

“Is there more?” Maria whispered.

“Our mission is to find Shambhala, the mysterious hidden land which is the entrance to the Inner Earth,” General Haushofer revealed. “The Russians are searching for it, the British and the Americans are searching for it. Yet it is us who will find it — the genetic memory of the Aryan race will lead us back to where our ancestors began their journey!”

“I thought you didn’t believe in genetic memory,” Maria tried to make light of the subject.

“I do,” the general said, “but it’s not the answer to everything. There are greater powers around us and you are the living proof. If you feel you have lost your gift — go to the land where the heartbeat of the Earth wakes you from the slumber we call our existence!”

“So — you want me to go to Tibet,” Maria finally found the courage to word her excitement and fear.

“I can contact Sven and recommend you,” the general said. “He knows Shambhala isn’t found by the power of science, but the power of faith. He would welcome you, I am sure. My son will be among the scientists, so you’ll have someone to watch over you. And the expedition will have someone who can perhaps get directions from above — or from below.”

“When is the expedition due?” Maria asked, and was somewhat disappointed when the general replied:

“Next year, in about six months’ time.”

Maria impulsively took the hands of the general between her slender fingers. It was the first time she had ever touched him like that.

“I am ready,” she breathed.