Put a stop to the silence
That world, the turmoil of which takes a normal everyday person on his very own journey, causes turmoil both inside and out. Everything that surrounds him neither caresses the vastness nor lifts him permanently to heights whose ground his feet can barely reach. Wherever he finds himself, in a part of the country unusual in its original nature, he tries to organise his life as his spirit commands him. Or is it the other way round? Finding the answer to this question is the responsibility of a silent being whose boundaries can go beyond the everyday ordinary. It is a question of allowing oneself to open up to the field of space, which harbours everything within itself, far removed from the choice of distractions. In this way, the life that each of us considers to be right for us must always be subjected to a vision whose answer is revealed in itself. If we listen, it is possible to listen to this life, to perceive it in its fullness. Every judgement creates a path for the observation of itself, but the answers to unasked questions only open up the boundlessness when the mind observes itself. Every human being aims at the correctness of his footprints, but if you gnaw at the surface of the outer shell, it crumbles layer by layer until the inside, which has been firmly enveloped in its assumed correctness for a lifetime, also shatters. Believing in his own goodness, he runs circles, touching others, explaining to others, commanding others, fighting others, loving others, turning away from others, preceding others, looking at others, disregarding others, observing others, others ... The list of all those deeds is long and can be continued for all eternity. What is missing is closeness. Everyone acts for the sake of recognition. As if there were nothing in himself worthy of the word acceptance. If someone changes sides and creates a life for themselves outside of this lived ordinariness, everything that hides in secret follows and comes to light when the nights of darkness have reached their height. Deception for its own sake? Does it adorn the language of a submission to its own neediness? Do those words of the moods lived out in those areas in the finiteness of his being really find what he has been searching for all his life and yet repeatedly denies himself? He imagines himself to be in blissful happiness because of the marvellousness of the places, because of the newly found others in meaningful enrichment, because of the accumulated means, because of the experiencing closer to the philosopher's stone. And yet there is an emptiness on his path that resembles an inevitability: it is missing. Only rarely does he find the expression of what it calls out to him. An apparent lingering feels at the edge of that boundary at which it could perceive the sound of expressiveness, but the oh so marvellous spirit vanishes in the presence of the moment of distraction which it contemplates. However, neither the perceived conforms to the perceiver nor to the perceived. It deceives itself in its fullness and remains constantly unseen. But what is this self-displaying? Is it possible to look close to it, to observe it, to feel it? What should feel itself, what resembles what can be felt from within? There is never a sufficient answer to that which seems to lie behind and yet emerges so close. The power of the mind gives birth to every experience with a name that only a few are able to reach. Does the next pain follow the closeness? Is the gaze followed by the next evasion? Is emotionality followed by the next traffic jam? Does the next wanting to have follow the actual being? Many questions can be found in the timelessly perceived timeless, without an answer ever revealing itself. Because of the path? If he were really here, he could listen to the silence between the words ...
Kati Tripura Voss
English 
German