"Do something!" I can't say I wouldn't have done anything. Never. I have touched thousands with my words. It is not up to me whether I have succeeded. It's what the other person is able to take. I didn't ask for money for it, even if I couldn't pay some of them. "It's up to you!" YOU are doing something wrong!" And I tell you that your voice speaks untruth. Man is selfish. Every great idea has been used for extraneous, often malicious purposes. The ropes are tied around the giver, not the taker, who cries out insatiably for solutions. While beyond all that truly unites, their stories are told in many different ways, to the delight of the snubbed, those whose silence is louder than the stillness walk beside the now and then bedding of the better class. Sleepwalking, however, life's circles continue to move, their opinions unheard, pressed down in the strangely fulfilling-creating being. What remains? There is no destination for those whose listening opens up to these sounds. A question of the gate? However, I ask you: If there is such a gate, what must be done to open it? The state of death is that fall, the height of which springs from all that is loosed. What bells shall ring that are louder than the noise of the mind? While the low tones refreshingly ground some, others think to be lifted by the high power. Intoxicatingly celebrated festivals are as much about the sound of melancholy as they are about the intoxication of power. As if the winds were constantly turning, the Pol lever pushes itself into the centre of the storm's core. "Don't stray from your path in what you're doing!" the sound shouts after him. If only he knew that the sound of death's longing is the sound of silence that only those who hear can hear. "Are you saying that all others who do not hear this sound are condemned to live their lives in the heights or depths?" Why condemned? The mind's imprudence pays senile respect to this state. The questions of speech face the expressed falsehood. "But if death is not the meaning of life?" Who knows? Whose goal is superfluous in constantly lingering existence? While the filling of all spirituality consumes the one living body already during their lifetime, at the same time for very few everything external ends, the richness of knowledge is subject to the emptiness of the spirit. "But people must first learn before they can forget?" Do you think so? Do you think so, I ask you? Are YOU - of the opinion? "I'm getting out, I don't understand you." There is nothing to understand. In the face of death, the emergence of the feeling of the One takes place. The few die prepared for eternity, the many others unexpectedly and suddenly.
So what am I supposed to do if the only thing I can achieve is something that will pass anyway?
Excerpt from 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐒 - 𝐃𝐚𝐬 𝐇𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐮𝐫 by Kati Voß, to be published in October 2023
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