You exchange thoughts, speak of suffering and experience relief. And yet again and again, you come to the point of looking into the deep emptiness of the universe where you remain ultimatly alone. The point at which your inner music is silenced and you are torn out of the inner dance to suddenly become motionless, cold and dead. You leave the space of your own thoughts, gliding in the waves of time and the dark streams of meaning. The relief concerns only the small in you, the most despicable, the longings of the mind, which want to decipher hidden values. You talked of this little one, of the search, of the most hopeless of all searches, which will remain forever within each one of us alone, and remains the same in all. Take a step towards death. Another step, apparently. The great self remains alone, which does not count our days and nights and yet always lurks to mock them.

What is existence and what conversation? One feels soiled. Polluted by the limitations of communication. Polluted by the submission to the eyes of the counterpart. Together there is not. One remains alone; and how dirty and sad is that self that wants to feed on another when it approaches? The exchange ends and the subjugation remains. To the dreary finiteness, to our own dying, which makes us afraid and the hopelessness in the eternal dying of all things. Even your death is certain, and as I feed on your thoughts, I swallow their truth. Swallow up your vitality that you have planted in your own self and restore it. I'll hurt it and you'll see. How could my thoughts reach your great self if we can only speak of the little things. Oh, wretched longing for the truth to be spoken! But every beautiful sprout, every germ, must wither if one leaves it to another. We strive to keep him together, but as we do so, he rotates all the more quickly and we evade the vitality which only our great self can give him. But this does not sit with us, we turn it off, close it out, for it mocks our longing for closeness, mocking our desire to share the indivisible.

But why does it always drive me to these conversations? Now I know that they rob me of my truth, I know that the relief is only there for that part of me, who is weak and longs for the unattainable. But here too the great self knows no answer. Knowing it is, it does not make sense to my life, alone in my own will. But what is the will of my will? My will is continually consuming the truth. But conversations do not offer me this. Where are they going to lead me? Do I need the truth of a second to recognize my own? Am I going blindly through the gardens of my companions, crushing their most sacred plants? But I do not like to call all germinal instincts of truth. Much is damaged and deeply sown by the great conversation community. So why not weed weed and get rid of this nuisance. Why do we not grasp the roots of our dehumanization? According to the deepest roots of society, which wrap our thoughts and suffocate them.

The photo of me was taken by: https://www.facebook.com/ChristophWeiseFoto/

Thank you so much for your support.

Lots of Love and Light <3

If you would like the original German text check out this link: https://steemit.com/art/@yoganarchista/gespraeche-von-der-suche-original-writing-drawing-editing-gif