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 Special days like Christmas, Easter, birthdays, and death anniversaries bring into sharp focus the enigmatic nature of time itself. As I delve into the task of jotting down my memoirs, I've come to perceive life as a kind of imperfect album.

 This album, marked by the passage of time, is characterized by a blend of distortion and clarity. The act of remembering is often flawed – memories can be forgotten, confused, or even conflated. Yet, it's not solely a process of loss or distortion. There's also a deep beauty in how we preserve, deepen, and venerate our experiences. Certain moments, once ordinary, become imbued with profound significance as they are revisited and reflected upon over the years.  This duality of memory – its ability to both obscure and illuminate our past – fascinates me.

 The understanding that our recollections are not mere recordings but dynamic, living beings, evolving with each revisitation, brings a certain humility and wonder to the act of reminiscing.  It reminds us that our experiences, though imperfectly remembered, are rich patchwork tapestries woven from the threads of both fact and feeling.

Alois

Hilmar

Günther

Frieda

    Anton

   Anna-Maria

    Andreas

 Marie Elisabeth

 “Curiosity at Birth”

My lifelong curiosity first manifested itself at birth, arriving prematurely, inspired by Easter day, four weeks ahead of schedule. The date had been meticulously planned to coincide with my mother's 30th birthday - exactly at noon 12:00 (like Goethe! :-) ) a testament to German precision, perhaps!

 Emerging into the world, I journeyed towards the light at the end of the tunnel known as the birth canal. Weighing just three pounds, I was a tiny fighter, confronting early life-threatening challenges from the outset. Yet, it seemed as though a benevolent creator had bestowed upon me certain gifts as compensation for these early trials, gifts that would soon reveal themselves in my resilience and determination.

 Tuesday, after Easter Monday! In four weeks, precisely on May 11, 1950, my mother's 30th birthday, I was expected to be born. But life, as always, had its own plans – I arrived as an 8-months early surprise, after my mother overexerted herself hanging laundry!

 Life’s first lesson came not in words, but in my mother’s actions. Overexerting herself while hanging laundry, she inadvertently kickstarted my early arrival—a testament to her unyielding dedication even before I fully entered her world.

 "Spider-Man Thin and Resilient"

 I was born prematurely, weighing less than 1.5 kg ("with diapers," as my mother joked). My fragile frame required daily visits from a special nurse, as even my mother was not allowed to bathe me.

 Yet, through her endless care—and perhaps gallons of breast milk—I soon transformed into a lively toddler.

  Marveling at how early I began walking and talking... A portable walkie-talkie! :-)

 The day of one's birth is often seen as just a date, but in reality, it's intertwined with the tapestry of world events, painting the real satire of life. On this very day, April 11th 1950, as Hungary transitioned into a republic and my mother was to celebrate her 30th birthday four weeks later, fate seemed to wink at my origins with a hidden smile.

 The world around us was in motion: In Yugoslavia, the government embarked on a journey of debureaucratization and decentralization, dissolving several ministries in favor of councils. Over in Jordan, the populace cast their votes in parliamentary elections, a process that also ratified the annexation of eastern Palestine.

 And far across the seas, the United States was making its mark on Europe through the NATO alliance, with the delivery of weapons aboard the transport ship Exilona in Naples.

  But perhaps the most intriguing event, coming exactly a month after my birth, was the sighting in McMinnville, Oregon. On my calculated birthday May 11th, 1950, a farming couple, Mr. and Mrs. Trent, captured some of the earliest and most captivating photos of a UFO. Mrs. Trent first noticed the silent object as it approached their farm in the evening sky. In a rush of excitement, she fetched her husband and a camera. Their quick action led to two extraordinary photographs of the UFO, which appeared as a metallic, flattened saucer with a prominent dorsal bulge.

 These images have stirred curiosity and skepticism alike for decades. Despite thorough computer analysis and image enhancement, which suggested the UFO's width was over 70 feet, no one could prove them to be forgeries. This ruled out the typical 'hubcap hoaxes.' Moreover, the Trends gained no financial benefit from these photos, negating the motive for deceit. However, some discrepancies, such as the time of day the photos were allegedly taken, continue to add layers of mystery to their story.

 As I reflect on these events, I can't help but wonder about the cosmic dance of fate and coincidence. Was the alignment of my birth with these significant global events mere chance, or something more?

 Am I, in a whimsical sense, an extraterrestrial myself? :-)

 Perhaps, like that metallic saucer, I too was destined to spark curiosity and questions. Just as the Trents' camera captured a fleeting moment of mystery in the skies, my reflections seek to capture the fleeting yet profound moments that define a life.

 Decades later, these images remain iconic, featured in countless documentaries and debates, embodying humanity’s eternal fascination with what lies beyond our understanding.

 Am I, in a whimsical sense, an extraterrestrial myself? :-)

 Perhaps my journey through life, like that saucer in the sky, is meant to hover briefly, leaving behind questions, wonder, and just a hint of the extraordinary.

Write!

When I was 15, I confidently declared to my classmates—in the chest tone of conviction, already post-voice break—that I would one day write various nonfiction books. This proclamation, unsurprisingly, was met with uproarious laughter.

The thought of diving deeply into a fascinating subject, mastering its intricacies, and elegantly sharing that knowledge with others seemed far more appealing to me than contributing yet another title to the endless sea of novels. And so it came to pass: several nonfiction books were published, while not a single novel emerged from my imagination.

But even as a child, I had already begun writing poetry. Life, to me, seemed suffused with poetry, its essence waiting to be distilled. May condensed thoughts reveal themselves in the mirror of reality!

As a prosaic compromise, I allowed a handful of short stories and micro-stories to emerge from my pen—each focusing on a singular moment or situation, with the intensity of poetic condensation but the lightness of prose free from meter or rhyme.

Take, for example, the character of → Jenny, who grew almost sculptural in form as I wrote her into existence.

The Chess Game and Problem Chess

One such story, → The Chess Game, stemmed from a real-life encounter in a world I came to know deeply. As a teenager, I fell in love with chess—it seemed to come to me effortlessly. Club tournaments, simultaneous exhibitions, blindfold games, regional championships (especially in blitz chess)—I embraced them all, only to leave them behind soon after due to the pervasive smoking of the time, which I found intolerable.

Problem chess, however, ignited an even greater creativity within me. It became a passion that spanned more than 20 years, bringing with it extraordinary international connections, awards, and numerous books and articles of my own. Along the way, I crossed paths with several world champions, from Botvinnik to Kasparov, and many other legendary Grandmasters and experts.

Encountering the Dàodéjing

At the age of 20, during my studies in psychology and philosophy, I encountered Laozi's Daodejing—the most translated book in history after the Bible. It hit me like a brick wall (or perhaps the Great Wall of China!).

Within just a few pages, I realized that this was no ordinary book. It was unlike anything I had ever read, and I knew instinctively that it would accompany me for the rest of my life. This was a text that demanded to be read slowly, deliberately. I inhaled its lines as though they were old friends, truths already imprinted deep within the soul of every living being.

The Daodejing’s 1,000 lines, essentially written in poetic form, offered a condensed vision of the whole—a glimpse into the essence behind all things. Far from being enigmatic or dark, as some have claimed, it resonated with the profound truth of the universe, perceptible to those who live in harmony with its rhythms.

Over the years, I explored hundreds of translations—in German, English, and French—accompanied by analyses and commentaries, especially those by luminaries like the incomparable pioneer, Victor von Strauß, the translator of many Chinese classics, Richard Wilhelm, and the perfect analytical mind of Karl Jaspers, whose commentary on the Daodejing remains unmatched.

Translating and Expanding

It wasn’t until “Part Two” of my life that I began creating my own translations and analyses of the Daodejing. By then, I had gained the life experience I believed necessary to approach such a monumental task.

During my new marriage to Lilian, I completed two traditional books on paper, exploring the Daodejing. These were later followed by a much larger and more ambitious project on the Internet. The multidimensional nature of the online medium—with its ability to link ideas and offer branching paths—proved far more suited to this work than the constraints of paper (and it spared the trees!).

Writing as Compass and Heart

Through all my scientific, psychological, and practical endeavors, writing remained my compass and foundation. At its heart lay poetry, the enduring passion that my 15-year-old self had so clearly recognized as his destiny.

Doctorate postponed - after both parents passed away: profession, breadwinning, family life, friends, chess championships...! :-) in Experimental Psychology,  Dr. phil.* → 1982

Weeks…

On Monday starts the week, I bet:

All work and worries' warning -

On Tuesday evening I set

My clock for Wednesday morning

And Thursday creeps along, and hence

A paradox: so still -

Then Friday undermines the sense

Of Goddess Freyja - till...

All Saturday must compensate!

All Sunday is for rest -

Horrific, how you see too late

Eternal Monday's quest...! :-)

 Wochen ...

Am Montag fängt die Woche an:

die Arbeit und die Sorgen -

am Dienstag abend stell' ich dann

die Uhr für Mittwoch morgen

der Donnerstag, er schleicht dahin,

ganz paradox und leise -

der Freitag untergräbt den Sinn

des Worts in gleicher Weise

der Samstag kompensiert en gros!

der Sonntag gilt als Schontag -

entsetzt spürst du dann irgendwo

das Ewige am Montag ...! :-)

Hilmar Alquiros

Talks about problem chess and studies and earliest computer chess(!).