This silence is my companion now. I ask: of what did my soul die? and the silence answersif your soul died, whose lifeare you living and when did you become that person?

Doesn’t everyone want to feel in the nightthe beloved body, compass, polestar,to hear the quiet breathing that saysI am alive, that means alsoyou are alive, because you hear me,you are here with me.

Tonight I saw myself in the dark window asthe image of my father, whose lifewas spent like this,thinking of death, to the exclusionof other sensual matters,so in the end that lifewas easy to give up, sinceit contained nothing: evenmy mother's voice couldn't make himchange or turn backas he believedthat once you can't love another human beingyou have no place in the world.

Come to me said the world. I was standingin my wool coat at a kind of bright portal—I can finally saylong ago; it gives me considerable pleasure. Beautythe healer, the teacher—death cannot harm memore than you have harmed me,my beloved life.

You die when your spirit dies. Otherwise, you live.You may not do a good job of it, but you go on--something you have no choice about.

I'm tired of you, chaos of the living world--

What was my crime in another life, as in this life my crime is sorrow

In the silence of consciousness I asked myself:why did I reject my life? And I answerDie Erde überwältigt mich:the earth defeats me.

You come and go, every one of you flawed in some way, in some way compromised: you are worth one life, no more than that.