Funeral Service and Memorial Service at a Lake Side or River in Switzerland – Scattering Ashes

Prayer and Meditation

O soft waves, monotonous song, to which the weary wind stirs the harp. When waves flashingly pull towards the beach and then run away on the golden sand of the shore. How often, even as a child, did your euphony lure me into fairytale dreamland! I then stood engrossed and listened deeply until the night called me from the dear beach. And everything mysterious that has ever been known to me dawns on my senses. Transparent castles at the bottom of the lake with silver pillars and coral pinnacles.

The sea-king sat with his beard of snow on a motley shell chair and harped within, And mermaids spun strands of crystal to the sweet sound of golden spindles. But when I got older, I no longer listened to white mermaids or sirens. My own life blossomed into a poem, and again I carried all my longings to the beach. I offered my heated face to the sea wind, it cooled me and kissed the tears from my eyes - but I jumped into the boat and steered hot into the sunset.

And over the water I sang - mildly and wildly, rhyming tunes, like the urge of the heart inspires them when it swells to the point of bursting, now rejoicing, now in longing, in fear of death.

Hot as the tears that swells unconscious, so flowed my singing from the soul. Young love's artlessly rough song, the first that the muse gave me. And when the moon's clear eye then rose in the blue, and on the far tide its cool silver of errant shine ran. Then I felt calm and peaceful.

Funeral Service at a Lake Side with funeral speaker - Zen Master Reding

I pulled in the rudder and sat and thought about a golden future. Oh, it's good to think about it in the boat - nothing around near and far but love and the sea and above us the stars. Once I returned home - O, how I found her there, my curly child, who went to the beach late, and how I kept silent, and yet she understood me. And blissfully glows and yet falls silent in fear. Like my lip burned on her hand like flame on snow and then on her cheeks, and then in blissful tears all her pride.

In long kisses all her essence melted. Who sings that! A younger man could scarcely do it, dedicated to song by rosy beauty, a younger man to the soul's fragrant fluff. Fate's bitterness has never been harmed. but you are already far away from me like a dream. You, my heart's sweet violet season, you golden twilight, alas, blown away in the wind with all delights, melted away like flood and foam.