As I was flying home to Falkenstein from Damascus via Istanbul, I found myself caught in a violent storm. I had never experienced anything like it. The wind tossed my plane – which I had named “Dragonfly” – around like a leaf, rain lashed against me, and I could barely make out my instruments. All the forces of nature seemed to be unleashed. Thunder crashed like giants locked in a fistfight, and lightning illuminated the mountains and the demons of the underworld around me.
With every ounce of strength, I desperately tried to keep my Dragonfly in the air. I prayed to every god I knew, and as I saw the mountains looming closer, I made peace with the fact that my life was about to end. I was convinced I wouldn’t survive the next few minutes.
Then, in a flash of lightning, I caught a glimpse of an open field below. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance… I pushed the controls down with the last bit of strength I had, praying I hadn’t misjudged the distance.
I don’t know who had their protective hand over me, but against all odds, I managed to bring my beloved Dragonfly down to the ground. The landing was rough and jarring, every bolt, beam, and part of my plane felt the full force of nature’s fury. But somehow, I made it. My Dragonfly let out a final creak before the engine sputtered and fell silent.
I had landed, but I had no idea where I was.
At some point the storm subsided and I was able to leave the aircraft. It had taken a beating, but I had expected worse. I had run out of fuel and some of the struts were damaged. But it was possible to get the Dragonfly back in the air. All I needed was a mechanic, some materials and fuel, then I could fly on home.
But first I would need to know where I had landed. My compass was acting up and my maps had been lost in the storm.
I took my old leather bag with my diaries and my beloved tarot cards, which I had bought some time ago in Cairo after many cups of tea, and set off. I found a small river and followed it, because I knew people always settle near water.
After a long walk, I came to a valley surrounded by steep mountains. At the heart of this valley was a town, picturesquely situated on a lake fed by waterfalls.
I was enchanted, because this place radiated something mysterious and magical. I had no idea how right I was.
I followed the path down to the town, hungry, tired, but happy to finally arrive at a place where I could find help for myself and my Dragonfly.
I didn’t know where I was at the time. Later I learnt that the capital was called Tarcania, just like the land.
Originally, I thought I was stranded somewhere in the wild east of Europe. But I was quite wrong. This secret was soon to be revealed.
On my way, I met people who not only understood my language, but also spoke it, which surprised me.
I still don’t know why, but it probably had something to do with the magic of Tarcania and the collective subconscious. I had read some of Carl Gustav Jung’s writings, which had only recently been published, and remembered them.
Perhaps there was also something like a universal basic language and the symbols such as the circle, the infinity sign or the cross, which I have seen in so many countries, are part of it.
I was now in Tarcania and it was to be the most memorable, exciting and enlightening time of my life – a journey not only through Tarcania, but above all to myself.
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