Life's second is abruptly interrupted by the experiencer, whose way out is granted by an addition ... But as long as some people run away from this bursting, their self is shattered at the sound barrier: the outcry can be heard far and wide. If others had not heard these stories, some would have drowned in the meantime. So to whom does the word resound, whose narrative I felt? No lifeline in this world can conjure up what surrounds the necessity of the fall. Its sea is shrouded in the tears of the wet, who silently sang their lament, surrounded by all false joy. Seized by the gaze of essentiality, it stirs itself up in its own height, courage striving from the dawn of darkness to the light. The voice is centred in the broken, the word gives 'faith' to the new. Touching in the distance of closeness, it leads to the death of all the strange other, who is wise to illuminate the same, finding himself in trust. Only that worthy of my description, whose world reveals itself to the abandoned, around which the hour of truth adorns itself: alone in being.
No mind is worth the effort ...
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