The first hundred kilometres of The Journey, hundreds of butterflies fly around me. It reminds me of last year’s butterfly season in the Whitsundays. Moreover, it makes this journey a journey in memoriam of my grandfather in particular, and of the value of ordinary moments in general.

The simplest moments contain the most value, but you have to stand still to receive it.

When my grandfather died, I was travelling in Bolivia, and at the very moment of the devastating phone call I was at the Titicaca Lake, the highest lake in the world, and the largest fresh water lake in South America.

I was far away from my family, but close by heart and soul. I made a small ship of lush leaves and a red rose to set his soul free, and send him my love and gratitude.

The ship carried a letter to my grandfather in which I asked never to cease telling us stories. It took sail to the eternity, guided by my feelings and thoughts, steering towards my grandfather wherever he would be.

My grandfather had always been a man of few words, but when he told stories, we all held our breath. He told with such a passion and devotion, that none of us could even guess that those stories entailed long-forgotten memories from even decades ago, especially those that brought him back to the World War.

I plead in my letter to tell one more story; to let the wind whisper it, or let a butterfly bring it to me. I thanked him for being my fellow from now on, always on the road with me, wherever I would go. I asked him to give me a sign whenever he would love to tell more stories or share me wisdom, then I would stand still and genuinely listen.

When the green ship took off with its blood red rose and pale letter, a butterfly flew up, and kissed my nose before continuing its path. I knew it was my grandfather, who accepted my wish and committed never to stop teaching me and telling me stories.

A few days after my back collapsed, I had to wait at home before surgery was organised. I limped into the garden, dragging my foot over the soft gras I couldn’t feel anymore.

Whole at a sudden, two beautiful orange-brown butterflies stroke down on my leg, and stayed on it for several minutes, as if they wanted to take care of it, helping it to heal. Full of gratitude I looked up to the sky. I knew my grandfather was with me.

I know he is with me today, during this journey. Every time when a butterfly crosses my path, I take a moment to stand still and be reminded of the wisdom and the essence of life. Every path offers something which makes it worth to explore, every part of the journey contains wisdom and treasures, it is often just a matter of standing still and being able to receive it.

The butterflies remind me of how my ancestors will always be with me, wherever I go. They know I don’t walk on the beaten track, but they know me, and they know I will find my way, wherever I go.

Having their bless gives me the wings I need to fly out again, and as a phoenix arise once more out of my ashes. I am alive. I am on the road again. And while being on the road, living in the moment, the butterflies show me again:

The simplest moments contain the most value, but you have to stand still to receive it.