What a privilege to live in such a city. I could never get bored here; this city always seems to have a personal gift just for me.
Immersing myself, drifting away, hopping between the city"s inselbergs, stimulating sights, sounds, smells and tactile experiences – these are all very special gifts that the city has given me.
The synaesthetic perception of this city is a sensory art experience that bears no comparison.
Subjective fantasies emerge in the mind"s eye; individual feelings of warmth and cold become perceptible and nature"s colour organ rings out with delicate melodies.
The Mönchsberg is a delight for the eyes, the ears, the nose – even the fingertips. It brings the Phenomenology of Perception to life.[i]
By closing your eyes and using your fingers to carefully touch and feel the Nagelfluh of the craggy, scarred walls of the Mönchsberg, against the magnificent orchestral backdrop of nature sounds, you can explore your own personal boundary between the real and the unreal.
It"s easy! Just a little courage and the journey begins!
You can feel, hear and sense everything at once. A pleasant tingling sensation may run down your spine and you get a sensation of penetrating right into the heart of the Mönchsberg. The murmurs and whispers of the mountain make themselves heard; secrets gradually drift to the surface and are exposed.
Don"t hold back!
Peace and silence gradually set in, with the delicate rustling of leaves, the whispering of the wind gods and the sound of birds in flight becoming audible.
Below are impressions of my favourite place in Salzburg – the Mönchsberg:
„Where in the shadow of autumn elms the decayed path sinks down,
Far from the huts of leaf, sleeping shepherds,
Always the dark form of coolness follows the wayfarer.
Over the bridge of bone, the hyacinth voice of the boy
Softly chanting the forgotten legend of the woods
And more gently a sick thing now the brothers wild lament.
So stirs a touch of green the knee of the stranger,
The hardened head;
Nearer the blue spring murmurs the women"s lament.“
(Georg Trakl, 1913)
„Fabiola
Hark, the flute again lamenting,
and the dark, cool fountains murmur.
Piast
Golden waft the tones descending,
silent, let us listen!
Fabiola
Lovely pleading, gentle wooing,
sweet it speaks unto the heart!
Piast
Through the night, all wrapt around me,
shines to me the tones" fair light.“
(BRENTANO)
[i] Vgl.: Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phénoménologie de la Perception, Paris 1945.