"They don't listen," I complained, panting.

"No, they never do," my friend agreed.

It took a few more steps, until I managed to gather enough breath for my next question.

"But the instruction was clear, wasn't it?"

"Yes," the slim, blonde girl who was running beside me agreed. I noticed that she seemed to have much less trouble talking than me. Which was probably due to the fact that she was a rather petite girl.

I, on the other hand, enjoyed my food just a tad too much.

Having taken a deep breath, I released it with a huff. I was doing my best not to develop a stitch.

"Well, people who have never been on the run, probably don't realize that this is actually not a joke." Struggling to keep up with the runners in front of me, I had to take a short break after each word.

I briefly considered shouting at the figure ahead who was proudly carrying a burning torch to slow down, but I refrained. The distance was too great, my voice too weak and the air supply in my lungs too depleated.

"Yes, they are simply not aware of the additional strength they are receiving," my friend mused. "It is exhilarating and so they forget that they are supposed to run with the rest of the group."

"And not just take off." I grimaced. My lungs had started burning and I didn't know how much longer I would be able to keep up with the pace.

A shrill whistling sound from the back of the group had each one of us turn their heads.

"Slow down!" A strong, male voice shouted. "We should all keep together!"

Yess! I cheered inwardly.

The runner in the front, however, carried on as before. Seemingly oblivious of the fact that the call had been directed at him.

Disappointed that the reprieve that I had envisioned only moments ago had not come to pass, I almost gave up running.

"Slow down!" The male voice from before called again.

With the same result as before. That runner was either deaf, or in his own, blissful running world. My experiences over the years had taught me that it was probably the latter.

Which was good for him, but bad for me.

The asphalt my feet were pounding in a regular rhythm seemed to become warmer by the minute and sweat started to trickle down my face. In spite of the headband I was wearing.

Which was to be expected, since we had chosen a beautiful summer day for our endeavor.

The swallows zoomed in irregular patterns across the blue, cloudless sky above our heads, emitting their high-pitched calls. The meadows and fields the street we were on snaked through, proudly displayed their waist-high crops. The occasional herd of cows we passed watched us with mild interest, as we – a group of sweating and panting humans – passed their territory at a speed unusually slow for cars and too fast for the hikers they were undoubtedly used to.

The gently rolling hills all around us and the rich smell of summer completed the cheerful picture, but I didn't really see any of it.

Who would, when they are busy surviving?

The accelerating pitter-patter of feet right behind me alerted me to the fact that a runner was about to pass me.

A moment later, the slim, tall frame of a boy in his early twenties appeared beside me. A few steps later – and he was already considerably ahead of me.

I enviously watched the way his feet appeared to effortlessly speed along the hard surface of the seemingly endless road.

Hope exploded within my chest, when I realized his intentions.

"Hey! Could you, please, slow down a bit? The others have troubles following."

Yes!

The torch-bearer turned – still running – to briefly glance at the group of people he had left behind. The double take he did when he spotted us, was a clear indication that he had truly not noticed how fast he had become.

Which was no news to a seasoned Peace-Runner like me, as this was a regular occurrence with people not used to the power of the torch. Not aware of the spiritual face it carried, they would invariably allow themselves to be carried away by the additional strength and inspiration it provided.

The rest of the way to the next ceremony in a little village was covered at a much more humane speed.

Fortunately, it allowed my strained lungs some time to somewhat recover and the blood pressure to recede.

Still.

Once I had pushed my body to its limit, there was usually only one way to get it to recover: to stop running and start drinking. Water. Lots of it.

Which I was able to do a few minutes later, when we finally arrived at the village.

But before – at the street-sign bearing its name - a group of children was waiting for us. They were excitedly jumping up and down, eager to join us for the lost few meters leading to the main square of the town.

The sight made me smile, in spite of my physical exhaustion and urgent need for anything liquid. The cheerful enthusiasm those eight to ten year olds exuded, was positively infectious!

Having taken a deep, exasperated breath, I struggled to keep up with everybody, suddenly full out sprinting towards our goal. Of course, the little ones had not already covered about ten kilometers! They were fresh, bouncing down the road like little balls of joy.

Us older runners were not quite as springy. Actually, I personally felt deflated more than anything. . .

But then the first notes of a brass band playing indicated that my suffering was coming to an end, giving me enough strength to cover the last few meters running.

Panting, our group came to a slow halt before a few official looking figures smiling widely at us.

Behind them, a wide, two storey building had all the markings of a rural town hall. The stairs leading up to a metal and glass, two wing door stressed the fact that this house was obviously meant for official purposes.

The big letters spelling 'Rathaus', were a further indication, as was its position at the main – and only – square of the village. Which was full of people clapping, cheering and smiling.

At us.

As the ones who had carried the Peace Torch into their lives. Of course, the proud expression visible on a lot of the faces stemmed more from the parents' feeling of accomplishment at watching their children run than the oneness with the torch's lengthy journey through 150 countries. But, who cared.

Everybody was in high spirits, which was - in fact – due to the arrival of the Peace Run.

The one feature of the square that drew my eyes the most, however, was an arrangement of two tables that had been placed to the right of the officials.

They were laden with cakes, garnished slices of bread and. . . drinks!

Water! Orange Juice!

After the mayor of the town – a friendly looking, slightly overweight gentleman in a suit and probably his sixties – had greeted the team and been handed the torch, I considered my next cause of action.

Would it be very impolite to approach the tables before the end of the ceremony and steal a glass of water.

Fortunately for me, one of the motherly looking ladies manning the tables must have recognized the longing in my eyes. With a mile, she indicated for me to go ahead and take one of the already filled, white plastic cups.

I gratefully accepted her offer, gulping down the cool liquid in one go. For a moment, her smile wavered, but then she caught herself and offered me a refill. Which I did not refuse. . .

In the meantime, the mayor had started with the program, giving a touching speech about the importance of peace. For our individual lives, but also for humanity at large. Everybody listened appreciatively. As always, it was gratifying to hear a politician sincerely value peace.

Some movement to the left of the mayor drew my eyes and I realized that a middle aged, slightly harassed looking woman had herded our little runners towards a group of even smaller children and was arranging them in the space in between the mayor and the brass band. The eyes of the little ones were shining with excitement, as they were impatiently waiting for their turn in the program.

At least this was what I assumed.

Correctly, as it turned out.

Their teacher, the middle aged women, had obviously prepared quite a few items on peace with them beforehand: together, they all sang a song on peace. Which earned them a big, enthusiastic round of applause, especially from the group of parents and us runners. Most of them forced to express their appreciation in a vocal form, rather than through clapping, as they had all procured cups containing precious liquid, in the meantime.

Next, two older boys and girls read out their own thoughts on peace and having together in harmony, while the younger ones recited a poem, which they illustrated with various movements.

For the grand finale, each child released a helium-filled balloon, carrying their wishes for peace on dove-shaped pieces of cardboard.

My thirst somewhat appeased, I had once more been receptive to the magic that is often created when a group of people sincerely strives for peace.

To somebody who has never been present at an event like this, my comment might seem like exaggeration. But I assure you, it is not. Genuine joy and longing for  peace and harmony (and I am not talking about the phoney speeches of some politicians), creates an intense feeling in the depths of one's heart that is hard to explain or even describe.

I watched in awe and with a thrill in my heart, as the balloons rose higher and higher to the excited cheers of the children and even some grown-ups.

Will these messages ever be found and read by anyone? I wondered.

At the end of the program, the girl who had organized that day's Peace Run route gave a small talk, informing everybody gathered about the run, its founder (Sri Chinmoy), its purpose (to raise the awareness for the necessity of peace and world wide cooperation) and its achievements (too many to retell here. But I invite everybody who is interested to visit the website: ).

As the final item, all the runners gathered together to perform the Peace Run song. A beautiful, but rather challenging song to sing. Meaning that our expertise as singers might possibly not have done it complete justice. At least judging by the slightly pained expression on some of the faces surrounding us.

Well, the capacity to run well is not necessarily linked to the talent of expressing oneself verbally. . .

Still, polite applause rewarded our effort and soft laughter greeted one of our boys' statement that most of us were definitely better runners than singers.

"Do you want to take care of the torch for the next few villages?" My friend, who was the one in charge, asked me.

"Certainly." After all, taking care of the torch meant no more running!

"I shall come with you!" Another friend of mine, a redhead, called out.

Half an hour later, we stood chatting on a small parking space by the road. We were waiting for the runners to arrive, so we could refill the torch.

We had chosen this particular place, because it was only two kilometers away from the next village and ceremony. Which was very convenient, as in this way the fuel in the torch would easily last throughout the whole program.

Nothing more embarrassing than the fire extinguishing in the middle of a mayor's speech!

I was, however, getting a bit restless. The runners should have reached us by then. According to the schedule. Which was not entirely reliable, I knew, but still. . .

I nervously glanced at the winding road leading past our stake out.

Nothing.

Sighing, I turned back to my friend. There was really nothing I could do at that moment (note: this took place long before the general use of mobile phones). Therefore, we simply resumed the very interesting, spiritual conversation that we had been having ever since climbing into the car at the last village.

"But we are on the correct road, right?" I asked my friend a while later, slowly getting worried.

She simply shrugged. "I don't think there is another way to get to the next town."

No, there wasn't. According to the maps, at least. This was the only road. So, where on earth had our runners disappeared to?

What had happened to them?

Again, I turned around, eyebrows raised, to scrutinize the area.

No torch.

No car driving at a snail's pace – lights flashing – ahead of a group of runners.

No Austrian flag, carried by a proud athlete – well, hobby athlete – but still.

Nothing.

Where there should have been something.

There really should have been!

Getting impatient and slightly anxious, I started bouncing on my feet. "Come on, guys. We have a schedule to uphold," I muttered under my breath.

"That's really strange," my ginger friend voiced her own concerns, her brows furrowed.

I turned to her. "What should we do? Drive back to the last village? Maybe – hopefully – we shall meet them on the way. . ."

She nodded hesitantly, her shoulder long hair bouncing with the movement.

Rather unexpectedly, a wave of. . . something. . . swept over me. Confused but intrigued, I concentrated on my feelings for a moment.

Whatever it was, it was powerful, uplifting, and. . . familiar. . .?

That was when it clicked.

"You know, I feel like being in New York," I told my friend, who looked at me quizzically.

"Like the way I feel when I stand in Guru's presence," I mused, glad to have been able to put a label on what I was experiencing.

Still, it did not make any sense. Why now, completely out of the blue?

"There!"

"What?"

"There!" My friend pointed past me in the direction of the road.

Alerted by the urgency in her voice, I pivoted on my heels, once more scanning the road to my left.

"No, not here. There!"

Following her outstretched arm, I finally discovered what I had been yearning to see: our runners!

Only, they were not moving along the road we had come on, but they had chosen a footpath halfway up a small hill. Probably to evade traffic.

The colorful group was a cheerful sight. With the torch in the lead, the eight or so figures bobbed up and down before a changing background of tall grass - intersped with flowers of all colors – and golden looking wheat.

But what fascinated me most, was the fact that I had felt the torch approach. And that it was obviously carrying Guru's force!

Because, what else could have triggered this intense feeling of Guru's presence?

Of course, I had been told that our master put his consciousness on the torches while blessing them during the Peace Run ceremonies in New York. Which is the main reason, why everybody getting hold of the flaming contraption always feels the need to speed up like crazy.

But hearing about it and experiencing it myself was a different ballgame.

Marveling at the wonders of the spiritual life, I almost forgot about my present predicament: how to get to the runners, as they had – rather inconveniently – taken a different route?!

Hi Everyone :)

Thanks for continuing to read about my life. I really appreciate it!

And since these are more or less random snippets, I've decided to give you a time-frame for each story. Hopefully, this will leave you a bit less confused. (In the end, I am planning on arranging everything according to the actual time-line, but at the moment, I can't do anything else but write about whatever inspires me. I hope you don't mind (too much).)

Anyway: this incident happened probably around 1993. Two and a half years after the end of my first book and probably a year after the last chapter. :)

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me. I am interested in your thoughts and whether everything makes sense to you.

Oh, and if you could click on the orange star (aka 'Sparky', for those of you who have read 'The Hidden Path' ;) ), I would be much obliged :)