1. My Beautiful World
2. Fairy Tale or a True Story
3. Depolarized Exercise in the Struggle Against the Unbearable Lightness of Being
I read it in a book. In an intimate conversation the writer asked his ageing mother which was the hardest part of her life. The mother thought a short while and answered. Tolerating people.
My Uncleís House
I know for certain that there are people who can accept existence as it is. And others who canít. Although I have a deeply empathetic nature, I find it extremely difficult to imagine an existence in which we do not question what surrounds us, and perhaps it would be even more difficult to realize such an existence. One in which we do not propose things. We donít protest. We donít depart. Again and again. Somebody once said about the people in a certain country that they prize those times when nothing happens. There is quiet, there is order, everybody does his or her own thing, from day to day they wake up knowing what they have to do. But they donít ask questions.
I relish a restless way of life, and restless people.
Apparently people are capable of lying to themselves in this or another way hundreds of times per day.
Once I asked a woman who is very close to me what she would change if she could start her life over again. It was a quiet moment as we rested after our Sunday lunch. She rested on one sofa, I on the other. Her answer on that quiet Sunday afternoon, laden with a deeply painful perception, has accompanied me throughout life. My mother responded that she would change everything. After I realized that a small lie could probably be thanked for my existence, I was forced to find a new basis on which to justify my existence.
Long before, perhaps in the middle of my childhood, I once dreamt that I freed all the prisoners from the prison. I fed them, I let them bathe, I gave them clean new clothes. I am sure it was a very naive notion. Somehow I managed to remember the whole situation. Perhaps these prisoners asked questions. Indeed, itís also possible that the world doesnít really like those people who ask questions.
My Uncle married twice. Both times the womanís name was Maria, in fact, they both lived in the same house. When the first failed marriage ended, the first Mariaís parents sold the house and moved out of the village. The Second Mariaís parents bought the house for their daughter. My Uncle fell in love with the Second Maria who worked in the post office and waited for Mr. Right. There are a lot of Marias. But there are few who can counterbalance the worldís greyness with such creativity. The Second Maria created a new world. I recommend that everyone take a look at this world. The First Maria remained alone.
My Beautiful World
First of all, Iím lucky to be in the position to say that I have friends.
Weíre all lonesome cowboys who dare to question. Everything. We are dissatisfied with the world. We donít like it. However, my friends and I are happy to be alive. We are happy that the world can be altered in connection with certain questions. Perhaps a room is Empty, but if we decide to, we can place Anything in that room as long as it doesnít surpass physical limitations. We can place a lot more in our spiritual room. The conclusion to be derived is simple. Our spiritual room, our spiritual house, is larger than our physical house. This could be embittering, but it can also be seen as a challenge. A person whom I hold dear once said that itís not enough to imagine something, you also have to realize it. This is obvious to me, just as it is obvious that we exist physically. This became obvious to me after I was told. Otherwise I would have remained a daydream cowboy.
I think it is important to note that we are all unique attempts on the way to becoming human. And I would also like to note how grateful I am to Hermann Hesse for that thought. Actually, Iím grateful that he created the idea of The Glass Bead Game. Because that helped me to find a new basis upon which to justify my existence.
You have to say no 99 times before you can say yes once.