Nothing else matters at all!

I may not know you or I may know you too well...
If I can lose myself then lose myself I will...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qZ_7D22pvTw&feature=related

Poeta

El tiempo parece pasar eternamente lento. Ahora aquí en el avión lo siento. ¡Cómo te extraño, Tita! Me duele tu ausencia, siento añoranza, un vacío. En casa, cerca de tí gozaba de tu espiritu, te sentía más cerca. Ahora que de nuevo me alejo ó paresco alejarme, vuelven las lágrimas, el dolor. Te amo y saber que no volveré a abrazarte, tocarte, besarte, escucharte, olerte y mirarte a los ojos me duele hasta el alma. Cerca de la familia ahí en casa unidos andaba entretenida y distraida. Era casi como pretender que ahí andabas medio cerquita, ni tan lejos, ahí por ahí. Sentí muy presente y tan hermoso tu espiritu: paz, fortaleza, alegría. Lijera tú y feliz al fin libre, reunida con tus seres amados. Ahora soy yo la que se queda atrás para sentir el dolor de haberte perdido. Sólo puedo soñar que ahí estarás cuando se levante mi espiritu. Mientras tanto lo que permanecen son incontables las memorias contigo llenas de amor, calor y sabrosura. Me quedo en el mundo sensual terrenal atada a este cuerpo finito sintiendo el hueco que dejas, sintiendo el dolor que avisa cuanto me haces falta.

Y ahora ¿en donde te encuentro? ¿En donde te veo? El luto regresa en mi soledad y me duele tu partida. Me dejas tanto tanto tanto amor y aún así estoy sufriendo. Gracias por enseñarme donde está mi casa, por demostrarme a donde pertenesco, por llamarme, buscarme y hacerme sentir querida, amada e importante. Gracias por nutrir mis raíces para que cresca con la fortaleza de alguien que sabe donde está en casa. Gracias por amarme, por buscarme cuando andaba perdida. ¿Y ahora sin tí que hago? Llorar y llorar y llorar porque nadie me hace sentir como tú. Simplemente me haces falta, tus atenciones, saber donde estás, donde te puedo encontrar. Pues ahora estás con Dios. ¿Y qué de mis cinco sentidos? Ellos se quedan abandonados. No más besos de clavel, no más tu voz hermosa, tu mirada intensa, tus humores cambiantes, tus abrazos y atenciones terrenales. Te he sentido, he sentido tu espiritu y su generosa presencia, el poder de sus milagros, su presencia divina, su paz, su amor, su fortaleza, su fé y su alegría. ¿Porqué sufro entonces? ¿Porqué duele tanto tanto tanto tu partida? Sólo quiero llorar del dolor que siento. No entiendo bien todo esto. Sé que estás feliz y en paz y yo me quedé atrás y demás tal vez no fue suficiente lo que hice pues te mereces mucho más. O es simplemente egoista mi dolor porque deseo verte, tenerte y sentirte como estaba acostumbrada. Pues será el sereno pero pinche duele tu partida, duele en el alma y en el corazón. Y en mi soledad lo siento ese dolor y quisiera poder refugiarme en tus brazos, en tu cariño y en tu calor.

LH, D.F.-Frankfurt, 4-7-2011

The beauty of research

Wer sucht der findet (Who seeks will find), lautet ein Sprichwort (a saying goes). Wie wahr es doch ist (How true this is). The beauty of research is precisely that it's a re search. It is to search again what has already been found over and over again. Suchen an die man anknüpfen kann (Searches that can be continued), lineages of erkenntnisreichen Funden (enlightening finds). To research is to find oneself again, ones thoughts and insights from long ago. Den Weg den wir schon gegangen, führt zurück in die Ursprünge unseres Daseins, y está plasmado de pistas, respuestas y recuerdos. Las preguntas de hoy tienen historia en las respuestas de ayer. Today's questions have a history in yesterday's answers. Die Fragen von heute haben eine Geschichte in den Antworten von gestern. 

Trying to read as Alexis bounces around me attempting to steal my pen or push a button on the laptop, reminds me of the scholarly virtues of patience and perseverance. Research can be slow in coming, for various reasons. There is so much to take care of on a daily basis: housework, cooking, entertaining the kids, self-care, trade off with Andy so he can work, too, etc... The moments to read uninhibitedly are far and few between: while the kids are entertained by themselves for a moment, while they're napping, while waiting for the train, on the train ride to work, in between calls at work, before bedtime while hangin' out with Andy. Then there are moments of word waterfalls, where the writing flows jealously, incessantly. Perseverance means staying on top of it while taking what I can get, 5 minutes, 30 minutes, yes, but an instant for one sentence or a word -after all, that one could be it, the clue, the new impulse that builds on the path ahead as time rolls on. Everyday a little bit, in many days it will be more. So much to read, wish I could lock myself in a tower for hours with all my books and an internet connection of course. What is available online has made all the difference in the world for a mother in a little Swiss village. Thanks to google books and google scholar, I can read virtual books, even old ones. Here is Alexis again, little scholar spirit, tr....there, she pushed the off button on the laptop. Hahaha. I attribute it in large part to being pregnant with her, that I finished my Masters' thesis. On the day back in February 2010, that I went with my mom to the Mexican Embassy to interview her for my research, I found out, right there in the Embassador's office bathroom, that I was pregnant again. The interview, of course, began with the strained voices of two women who had just learned of an unexpected pregnancy. We followed through with it professionally, the way it would be expected of diplomats. In April I had kidney stones. The pregnancy was rough. So, I had a lot going against me. I had already failed to hand in my thesis once. I was also taking an entirely different approach. The push was on, and now this! Luckily, Puyi was going to the Tagesmutter (day care) 5 times a week for 5 hours. Andy took to bringing him there in the mornings, so that I would have enough energy to go to the library and work for a couple of hours before picking up Puyi. I didn't make it to the library every day, of course, towards the end of the pregnancy I wans't even able to turn around by myself anymore if I lay on my back. I was a whale. Lexi was a bigger baby than Puyi had been and moved so much, that I believe she stretched the placenta to have more room. Plus, my body got all fancy with unbelievable amounts of water. I was a huge bubble. There was so much water, that her head never dropped. She was floating around in there until the very last moment. The Hebamme (midwife) had to rip open the placenta, so Alexis could come into the birthcanal. Never mind the excruciating pain that overcame me with brutal violence from the force of the water and child suddenly being able to slip into the canal.Anyway, she never let me give up. There were countless discouraging moments in which I felt I wasn't advancing, that I wouldn't make it to the deadline in the fall. People around me had their doubts, too. It was the persistence regardless of the circumstances, regardless of set backs coupled with divine intervention and loving people around us, that made all the difference.

On Friday October 15th, the baby's due date was October 17th, Andy accompanied me to the copy center to print out my finished paper. We very slowly walked down Akazienstrasse. It was a beautiful late morning. At 17:00 I had an appointment with the midwife. She did something down there, she pushed in real hard. The walk home took me forever. Going up the three flights of stairs of our Berliner Altbau (old building) was torturous in its own way. By the time I got home, something had started happening to my body. I went straight to the bathroom to find that this huge smudge of something had come out. With Puyi I never experienced anything like that. With him the water broke and I had no contractions, so that they had to get jump started with pills at the hospital. Anyway, I was beginning to experience waves of crampy pain. After bearing Andy, I discovered that I have a high tolerance for pain. It was bad but not intolerable. Since they became quite regular, and it was my sister on skype who noticed this, I called the midwife. She came and said that it was time to slowly make our way to the clinic. The taxi driver was more nervous than we were. With Andy Eugen I had had time to pray a full rosary, but Alexis just happened.....

By the time we got to the clinic, the Antroposophisches Krankenhaus Havelhöhe, the contractions were very persistent. I got to take a bath. Andy feel asleep in the warm moist air. With Puyi, he'd also fallen asleep through the first part of the process in the clinic. In the water and while concentrating on my body, I could feel Alexis in there doing her part to move ahead. She would push her feet from my ribs head first, just to bounce right back. She did this several times, until she grew tired I suppose, or realized that it wasn't working. I pictured her as a little arrow. There was simply too much water. What represented the luxury of space during pregnancy wurde nun zum Verhängnis. I stumbled out of the bath with the midwife's and Andy's help, went to the bed. Whereas I'd wanted to be quiet at little Andy's birth, which didn't work, I did not care this time around. During the last contractions leading up to Lexi's passage into an artificially lit world, I screamed so loud, I saw the walls shaking. The water went everywhere and soaked the sheets, the mattress and the floor around the bed. Alexis immediately attached to the nippel and remained for about a half hour until the midwife came to pry her off to be weighed, she would have stayed there otherwise. Alexis was born on October 16th, 2010 at 02:01 a.m. She was gorgeous! A few days later my thesis was off to the Europa University Viadrina. Andy personally took it there with the train I used to take to the classes, one hour from Berlin to Frankfurt-Oder. I would never again go since becoming a mom for the second time. I was too busy breast-feeding a greedy little girl. The exam took place exactly a month later on Novemeber 16th, my Mexican grandmother's birthday, at my professor's Berlin apartment. She had made tea and I brought cake. The two women examiners were disappointed that I had come without a baby. I passed with flying colors. It was a beautiful experience in the end.

Anyway, my second baby was the most beautiful and miraculous surprise gift ever! She loves books, even those without pictures. She pulls out a book, flipps through the pages as if she had done this a million times before (she's only one!) and walks around with it for the rest of the day. I've begun to make a little fortune telling game depending on what book she picks. For a while there she was very fond of a little Rousseau biography. Two days ago she brought around Camus' Stranger. Another favourite is Foucault. I try to keep the books I am currently reading from her, though she is always very careful with them. It is almost eerie sometimes, the way she handles a book, the way her eyes examine its content though never having learned to read yet... It makes me wonder where her soul may have come from on this journey. Anyway, she has been full of scholarly fortune and she reigninted that schorlarly fire in me. Te amo, mijita bonita, te amo y muchas gracias, mi amor!

The Master

I carry my notebook wherever I go,
for language won't stop its flow.
It keeps me away from sleep
and hunger and thirst,
away from company.

Even in my dreams
it writes and thrives.
And I am awake because of it.

When I let language be the master
it takes a hold of me
and I become
but a vessel for its incessant flow.

When I let language be the master,
I don't know
how to make it stop...
And why would I?

Its irresistible beauty,
the wisdom of its loving, honest touch
keep my fingers on the writing feather clutched.
I don't care about the smudges of ink
spritzing all over
as the pen bounces around
as if with a volonté of its own.

I don't want to think,
I just want to write
and let language be the master.

5 years later

The lessons I learned upon entering the inner temple, are the answers to the dilemmas I have recently faced. The dreamt path has taken five years (praise to Eris - thou art the fairest) in unfolding on the organic consciousness plain. Fascinating. I am in the jump. How long might it take? Might I land and be ok? Might I be able to catch up with Amitai and the other traveller? Where might the path that curves like the arm of a cave into the unknown lead?

I remember the carefully worn book with a brown leather cover that seemed to change in size, sometimes thicker, sometimes thinner. I believe to have placed it in the bundle. I also remember well the notes in green ink I looked at and tried to decipher. The pages had the scent of a scientist ahead in time who had scribbled them down frantically before becoming inorganic. Their language was alive and moved and morphed about the page making it hard to read. Symbols, drawings, words and phrases bounced around, danced about and shifted shapes.

dream 2007

Amitai led us to the temple. He is on a journey to the inner self. The superficial chamber was a majestic hall, as magnificent as the vault of a grand cathedral and as humble as the stomach of a cave: stoic and stony but open and fresh; lit only by the mystic glow of waxes and oils creating a reverent ambiance. The guide was already expecting us. No one else was there. He led us down the first set of stone stairs into a smaller chamber, like that of a cellar. He lit a candle and told Amitai that from this point on he'd have to find the path to the inner self, the innermost chamber of the temple, it's most sacred place, on his own. The attendant said nothing more and returned to the surface.
Though Amitai was sure of his quest, he expressed uncertainty as to the way which to take, for he had never been to the inner self. Nor had we.
I grew concerned, for we had no maps, no books and no instructions to help us out on this journey. The temple was vast and descended like a labyrinth deeper and deeper into an earthen womb in a series of chambers, hallways, tunnels and stairs with countless paths to turn on. I spotted a wooden fixture upon which lay a book and a piece of paper. I acquired it with enthusiasm as I discovered that it was a book about the temple which explained how to get out of the temple once the inner self had been reached. The paper was some sort of hand scribbled map in green ink starting at the place we were at. Excited about my finding I took it to Amitai who showed gracious indifference, he was too focused to pay it much mind. I guarded it anyway.
We proceeded into the next area which split up in a set of bigger rooms. To the left spanning very far back, there were shelves filled with books, chairs and couches and people all over the place: hangin', chillin', talking or simply being. Others were moving about, searching. A small hall led through to another path which grew dark and invisible, like a lightless tunnel. To the right I paid no mind at all.
Amitai led us right of the tunnel to another descent. It was a perfectly vertical non-stair. It went down deep. How could you possibly survive the jump? I wondered and grew nervous. Yet surely this was the way. Amitai and our other male companion figured out to throw down the bags, if a puddle of clear liquid formed beneath them at the bottom, they were ok to jump. But Maria was too frightened and disappeared into the room sequence of shelves and chairs. I went after her to try and convince her not to give up. Amitai and the other traveler stayed behind, they didn't seem to mind at all that Maria had left the path.
I looked around for a while glancing at books and faces. There she was in a group of women wearing make-up, red lipstick, blouses and skirts. Maria, too, looked like they did now. She said to me "I choose to stay here. It's ok to remain in a more superficial plain. Go on without me, this is what I want. Not everyone has to reach the inner self..." Though startled, I accepted and understood. Went back to the drop of stone, where the two men had already gone, they were down there barely waiting for me. As I arranged my things to throw them down -I took a long time to bundle up my robe in which I carefully placed my case of greens, which I thought to myself I wouldn't use in the temple anyway- a group of tourists led by a guide came along.
There were maybe half a dozen, maybe some more. The guide explained to them that they needed to jump. I understood that you needed to believe in the jump to be ok upon landing; believe in your path, know that you are going to be ok. Two of the tourists in front of me were very scared and someone said, "Help them!" So I did. I touched their arms to help them go. All the tourists dropped. On the ground they lay for a moment, then, they stood up. All but the two I had helped. These two now were dead. I understood that though you may encourage someone to jump, one alone must actually jump to proceed to the inner self.
Amitai and the other guy were already out of sight. I needed to hurry. I threw my bundle down and watched as the clear liquid puddle formed underneath on the bottom. Then I jumped.

Das Fest der Liebe

Einiges aus der Zeit, in der die Menschen in den heutigen Industrieländern noch mit der Natur lebten, sei verschwunden, und viel Anderes sei hinzugekommen, so schreibt ein Doktor in einer Zeitschrift. Weihnachten sei aber nicht, wie so manches in unserer Zeit, einfach wegrationalisiert worden. Ein Funken Hoffnung für den Industrielandsmenschen? Auch die Finanzkrise sei aus einem Mangel an Besinnung und Gesinnung herausgewachsen. Aber wer hat heute noch Zeit für sowas, Besinnung, bei all der Arbeit und den Geldsorgen? Vom Geist zu sprechen ist tabu. Sehen kann man ihn ja nicht, keine Maschine zeigt sein Gesicht, wie soll es ihn geben!?

Der Kalender ist eine Lebensordnung aus dem Weihnachten noch nicht gestrichen wurde. Sie muss auch nicht pompös sein. Auch trotz aller Fehlentwicklungen ist alle Jahre wieder Weihnachten, zum Frieden mit allen, die guten Willens sind, sowie zum Frieden mit dem Selbst. Liebe deinen Nächsten wie dich selbst, lautet eine alte Weisheit. Liebe deinen Nächsten nicht mehr und nicht weniger, nicht anders als dich selbst. Das Fest der Liebe hat überlebt, trotz äußerer Dinge und Geschehnisse. Es überlebt von innen her, mit einer Botschaft von innerem Frieden für alle Menschen, die guten Willens sind. Der Friede Gottes ist höher als alle Vernunft. Aus dem Inneren des Weihnachtsfestes, am Ende der tiefsten Dunkelheit leuchtet dieser Segenswunsch in die Herzen empfindsamer, gutwilliger Menschen.

Ein Pfarrer Nicolaus schrieb: Das Herz ist in der Bibel das Wesen des Menschen. Es ist der Ort, wo die Entscheidungen fallen oder schon gefallen sind, wo die Bewertungen ablaufen, wo Ehrsucht und Angst, aber auch Aufmerksamkeit und Zuversicht ihre Wurzeln haben. Der Frieden Gottes kann das Herz befrieden und bewahren. Er ist die Kraft, die aus dem Chaos stets wieder Kosmos schafft. Eine Auswirkung des Gottesfriedens im Herzen besteht darin, dass wir unseren Zugriff lockern und schließlich loslassen können, was wir erst (trotz schwindender Kräfte) unter allen Umständen festhalten wollten. Das Resultat ist Freiheit, ist Freude, ist frische Kraft und ein lustvolles Anwachsen von Dankbarkeit und Friedfertigkeit. Hältst du dich an etwas fest und willst es nicht loslassen?

Mir fällt es schwer mich vom Gedanken eines eigenen Willens zu lösen. Ich leide unter der Qual der Wahl. Sein oder nicht sein? Darf ich mich guten Willens für Gottes Wille entscheiden? In der Erkenntnis, dass nicht ich das Zentrum meiner kleinen Welt bin, sondern Gott das Zentrum eines unendlichen Universums ist, von dessen ich nur ein winziger Teil bin, liegt Trost. Diesem allmächtigen Gott kann ich winziges Lebewesen vertrauen, schließlich kümmert sich diese mysteriöse Macht um den Zyklus der Sterne umeinander, um der einzelnen Planeten Licht und Elemente, sowie dessen Leben bis ins kleinste subatomische Detail. Gewiss wird diese Kraft auch mich mit dem Wesentlichen versorgen, wenn ich ihr nur vertraue. Guten Willens, will ich nicht nur Weihnachten von meinen egozentrischen Neigungen loslassen. Wenn es nur so einfach wär…

Die eigentliche Wirkung von Weihnachten entstehe jedoch nicht aus der Bestätigung des Gottesfriedens, der Bekräftigung des inneren Friedens. Können Menschen überhaupt aus eigenem Willen, aus eigener Kraft zum Frieden kommen? Die Weihnachtsbotschaft sage auch nicht, der Mensch müsse zum Frieden kommen – sondern genau das Gegenteil dazu: der Frieden kommt zu den Menschen. Der Frieden kommt zu den Menschen die guten Willens sind. Alle Jahre wieder fordert Weihnachten auf, die einzige Bedingung zu erfüllen, um das allerwichtigste Geschenk: den Frieden zu erhalten. In der historischen Bilanz haben Menschen mehr Ungleichgewicht als Gleichgewicht, mehr Unrecht als Recht, mehr Unfrieden als Frieden erzeugt. Wie kann der Frieden zu den Menschen kommen? Menschen guten Willens seien Empfänger des Friedens, sagt der Zeitschriftdoktor.

Der Frieden ist auch schon zu mir gekommen, da war mein Herz offen und eine wunderbare Kraft floss durch mein gesamtes Wesen. Dann aber war der Kanal wieder wie verstopft von Ängsten und Sorgen, Ungewissheit, Selbstbesessenheit und Einsamkeit. Was war nur geschehen? Ich rückte ins Zentrum einer kleinen Welt in der ich verzweifelt versuchte die Fäden zu halten, Spinnwebenfäden. Die große Welt um mich herum wirkte dann nur noch kalt, chaotisch, beängstigend und böse.

„Nur wer des Menschen Angst versteht, begreift den Menschen ganz – in seiner Größe wie in den Facetten seiner ständigen Gefährdung“, hat ein Denker gedacht. An Weihnachten soll der Frieden: der Frieden Gottes zu den Menschen kommen: zu allen Menschen, die schon gescheitert, oder scheiternd, oder vom Scheitern bedroht und dennoch guten Willens sind – und bleiben. Weihnachten ist ein Fest für den inneren Frieden – zur Überwindung von Angst, von Chaos.

Ein Psychoanalytiker schrieb: „Unsere Kultur ist Merkmal wie auch Ausdruck einer Zivilisation, die der Leistung, dem Erfolg und dem Funktionieren um seiner selbst willen huldigt. Zugleich verdrängt sie die Ängste, die aus dieser Ideologie aufsteigen, indem sie die Angst vor dem Scheitern als Schwäche einstuft.“ In dem Verdrängen und Einstufen der Angst vor dem Scheitern sieht er die Ursachen von Hass und Gewalt – nach außen wie nach innen: „Wir leben in einer Welt, in der wir zunehmend voneinander abhängig sind, gleichzeitig uns vermehrt gegeneinander einsetzen. Zunehmend stellen sich Menschen gegen das, was sie miteinander verbindet, gegen das, was sie gemeinsam haben.“

Gemochtsein ist unendlich viel wichtiger als das Gemachtsein. Ich möchte gesund sein, ich möchte den Frieden empfangen, ich möchte lieben. Wenn Heilung erwünscht ist, könne die allgegenwärtige, aber stets verleugnete Angst in unserer Zivilisation klarer verstanden und möglicherweise mit gutem Willen, mit innerem Frieden geheilt werden. Der Psychoanalytiker empfiehlt über eine Kultur des Scheiterns nachzudenken um die Angst vor dem Scheitern zu überwinden. Scheinbar paradox (widersinnig) könne so angstfreieres, wirksameres, friedlicheres Leben entstehen.

Die Bereitschaft zum Frieden, die Bereitschaft zur Liebe, zum Glaube, zur Hoffnung und zum Vertrauen ist unendlich viel Wert. Die Bereitschaft von einem Kontrollwahn loszulassen könnte der Verstopfung im Herzen behilflich sein. Die Bereitschaft guten Willens zu sein, egal wie entmutigend die Umstände, könnte der Schlüssel zur Empfängnis Gottes Frieden sein. Im Gebet ist es einfach dem guten Willen für Gottes Frieden Ausdruck zu gewähren. Von einem Meister des Mittelalters habe ich ein einfaches Gebet gelernt, wenn nichts anderes in den Sinn kommen mag: DANKE. Gott ist immer zugänglich. Und von einer Gruppe Menschen die sich dem Empfangen von Frieden widmen, hilft mir oft ein anderes Gebet, wenn die Zeiten schwer sind und die Sorgen viele:

Gott, gib mir die Heiterkeit
jene Dinge zu akzeptieren, die ich nicht ändern kann.
Den Mut jene Dinge zu ändern, die ich kann.
Und die Weisheit den Unterschied zu erkennen.

Ein frohes Weihnachtsfest voller Besinnung, Frieden und Lebensfreude!
Ein frohes Fest der Liebe!

Der Gedankenfänger

Er fängt schöne Gedanken mit seinem Wortschatznetz und seinen Farbenbildern und seinen Nummernformen. Wie bunte Schmetterlinge fliegen sie umher, lassen sich oft auf einer schönen Blume nieder oder seinem Kopf oder seiner Hand. Dann fängt er sie und schreibt sie nieder. Manchmal schaut er ihnen auch einfach zu, fasziniert von ihrer geheimnisvollen Schönheit. Er bewundert ihren leichtfertigen Flug durch Raum und Zeit, so unbeschwert, und so vergänglich wie auch ewig. Am schönsten sind sie im Freien. So lässt auch der Gedankenfänger die meisten einfach fliegen.

"Fly away" by Vladimir Kush

Now what?

Tyler used to write on napkins all the time. I wonder whether he still does. This napkin doesn't work so well with this pen - not the best quality napkin anyway with its environmentally conscious design and all. Breaking the routine today, March 30th 2010. A day that has a special feel to it somehow, had lots of deja-vecu moments. So I'll drink a white chocolate mocha, or "white café mocha" as it is called here in Germany, maybe today the coffee won't upset my stomach the way it tends to do since my pregnancy with Puyi. Quiet here, such a different vibe in German coffee shops than in the US. Sometimes I miss Salt Lake a lot - or Seattle, anyway the US of A. Weren't I here though, I would miss Berlin - blessed town of wonder and miraculous growth, a special kind of magic. Somehow I feel at peace today. The stress of previous weeks seems to be fading off. Bendito! Life will show me the path to go through, point out the direction. Life's plan is set somehow, no point in pretending otherwise. There is some nasty shit you gotta get through anyway - no way around it until it's overcome. You got a certain disposition for badness, you gotta fight it and overcome it. It's complicated. The path is set, but you choose how you go it, always confronted with your badness and the badness of the world. Ain't no way around it, until you overcome it. And overcoming it at the very first and most basic level is quite personal. It is your choice how or whether you deal with it. Some people may have less consciousness and need more guidance, others may simply need to figure it out the hard way all on their own, and yet others may never open up their eyes to life that way. It's just the way it is. Can't change it, can't control it... the question is, what'chu gonna do with it?

What makes a philosopher? The stamp of approval of an authority, of society? Self-proclamation? What's a thinker? Everybody thinks, or uses their thinking organ to an extent. Wisdom is one great virtue. If wisdom is what I seek, what I love, does that make me a philosopher? A lover of wisdom? One that loves wisdom? What's in a thinker, an ascetic, a lone wolf?

Of the statue and the well

Baby, call me, I'm feeling so lonely. You're so out of reach. Need somewhere to hold on to. There's no way I'm gonna call you. Knowing how busy you are, wrapped up in your own life, feelings and unfulfilled desires. So where can I turn? When I feel this unpronounceable solitude. I'm all alone, no ground under my feet to walk upon, no tree trunk to lean on, no railing to hold on to. What do I do? Desperation rushes with the the flow of my blood through me, tension, loss, frustration marks my every muscle. Where are you to embrace my wreched self and tell me that everything will be ok. Surrounded by countless bodies and faces and spirits, I feel so incredibly alone. Not a soul to turn to in my despair. Suffering in isolation, who should care? What for? Day to day is too important. Too much to do, too much to think of. Too many responsibilities, busy. Don't care. Too caught up with oneself. No humanity, no compassion, no time for anyone who don't serve a purpose for the self. Each one on their own, a lonely battle, a lonely fight. Where are my people? Where is my pack? Those loyal, faithful and unselfish. The additional arms, hands and legs, the drum circle of hearts, the community of minds. Where are they, those that I belong with? Those that care to be there when I can't walk on my own, when reason fails and the heart stalls? Those who understand, reach out and share their strength, those who care beyond themselves, their own time, and shelter those lost and strange. Today I'm lost and strange - a stranger in my own home. A source of darkness on the streets - see my sadness reflected on the eyes that regard me. What a strange sight I must be today. Like a deep well that loses itself in darkness, soundlessness and the humid chills of the unknown, or like a worn-out stone statue in the rain, water wearing down its face. Be careful not to get near it for you don't know whether it may crumble upon you. Turn away from this sight of sadness that drew your attention mysteriously to it, for a split second, just long enough to make you realize you want nothing to do with it. Why waste your time for a lost work of art? For a forgotten well of buried memories?

There are things that can't be choice. They just happen. Free will is but a witness in a theatre of matters earthly and divine, mysterious and demonic. There are spirirts that will evoke nothing but tears of sorrow in you, even if you are a laughing clown, a jolly jester. There are spirits that will make you laugh regardless of the sadness that may fill your heavy heart. There's a spirit that gives you life in death, and one that irrevocably ends your living days. The spirits that ail me seem implacable and have grown too strong for me to face them alone. Or so it seems. I really gotta be putting off a very unpleasant vibe - the lady at the table next to mine took her things and moved further away. I find my sadness unbearable. How dare I show up in public that way! Transparent as I am. She looks so incredibly sad now herself. Depressed. Another reflection. There surely must be somethig in the air. So, in this time of human societal organization, where is the witchdoctor you can turn to for wisdom? Where is the witch you can turn to for magical words? Or the shaman who holds life's secrets and speaks the language of the spirits, the wiseman who has the appropriate advice? There is no doctor I can turn to. Psychologists are phony suffering souls. No hotline can look into my heart. No modern creature will have the eyes to see the world beyond the running trends of egoism, superficiality, capitalism, competition, escapism and concrete walls.

Could I be writing my final note? A sad goobye to a lost world in which no halt can be found for a lost soul? Wondered the woman who chose to no longer be near my depressing scent. Now she glances over, relieved to be at a distance, still curious about that frightening well, the eroding statue. There is magnificence in horror, adrenaline in fright. Will the statue cease to be in the pouring rain? Will the well turn dry? Now she can't stop staring. She's in awe. There is beauty in suffering, comfort in chagrin: "I'm not the only ugly one! See that figure of stone how its face is full of craters, its chest is full of holes! See how its legs are about to break, its fingers useless stumps! See its ugliness, it makes me pretty, pretty glad I am not it! Alas, from a distance its death to me will be useful. I am no artist who could it fix. Alas, thank God that I don't have to! Each on their own, you without me! Your pain makes me feel better, I'll gladly watch you crumble in the rain!" "Glad to have been of service," says the statue. "I'll be around for the next rain. Each storm fills with more water the well. We're here to suffer so you won't know hell." There are the distant observers, the fools who never touch the face of life, who never listen to its heartbeat, nor feel its blood warm their skin. There are those careless spirits, the inhumane ones without compassion. The ones that plague the caring souls. Those that take advantage of the good ones, those who only see themselves. Stale they are, just like Narcissus, prisoners of their own will, a will that extends to noone, a will as useless as the reflection of their mirror image in a stagnant pond.

Reveries of a student

The day was fertile. Nurturing the seeds of new knowledge. Conflict with self, with feeling overwhelmed - seeking escapes and distractions. Fear of failure. The brain takes time to assimilate, organize, compartmentalize and internalize the new knowledge. It asks for periods of repose. Sleep at night alone not enough. A state of dreamlike existence descends upon the mind. Reprogramming of the mind is time dependent. Theories are but a tool for interpreting knowledge.

Weiß gar nicht recht wo ich anfangen soll. Eine Systematik habe ich nicht drauf. Daran scheine ich stets wieder zu scheitern. Ein Mangel an Selbstdisziplin. Na ja, meine Taktik bestand immer darin mich meiner Umgebung anzupassen. Das nachzumachen was die anderen mir zeigten. Jetzt lerne ich ernsthaft zu lernen, aber es liegt mir schwer. Vielleicht habe ich einfach zu viel auf die Schultern gepackt. Das Beste ist wohl wenn ich mich einfach daran halte mein Bestes zu geben, auch wenn es nicht sehr gut ist. Ich habe Grund zu glauben, daß ich auch diese Herausforderung meistern kann. Noch nie habe ich mich im Intellektuellen so gefordert gefühlt, so an meine Grenzen gebracht.
Ganz klar, nichts ist selbstverständlich im Leben. Das Leben wird schwerer mit Wachstum. Etwas geschiet mit dem Menschen im Laufe der Zeit. Etwas geschieht mit mir und ich bin mir nicht sicher was es ist. Reife? Verantwortung? Alter? Nein, nein, das trifft es alles nicht.
Ich suche. Suche stets und weiß nicht recht wonach. Wahrheit? Verständnis? Nein, ich suche nach etwas und finde es nicht.
Sinn, meines Lebens Sinn verfolge ich. Schicksal oder nicht, Bestimmung oder weiß der Kuckuck! Die Suche hört dort einfach nicht auf. Das ist meines Wesens nicht Sinn. Große Fragen stelle ich, wo ich doch Kleine nicht mal zu antworten vermag. Die Welt ist so voller Empirie. Gedankliche Selbstbefriedigung ist institutionalisiert. Und dennoch hat die wahre Welt des Wissens einen Herzschlag, Leidenschaft wird vom Verstand nicht ausgeschlossen.
Abstraktion, immer in der Abstraktion... Aber nur dort bin ich auch wahrhaftig anonym... einfach Mensch... einfach Wesen... sonst nichts.