Life is too short for boring stories

„Come, sit down with me,“ I offer you, but you remain undecided.

„What’s going on?“ I ask irritated.

„It is so strange here,“ you answer, looking for what the strange thing in this place, on the bridge at the lake, makes when you suddenly know it.

„It’s so quiet, here with you,“ you say, and I sense your uncertainty.

It is getting louder, louder and louder. Hardly a place where more than two people meet, where we would not be overwhelmed by noise, not forced into the noise. No matter whether in a cafe, in any shop, at the station, at the railway station, you have to make noise. Some have become so accustomed to the noise that, at the moment they have to enter their home, the silence and the solitude, have to switch on something, to overlap the silence which is no longer enduring. Silence, in which I find myself thrown back upon myself and my thoughts, which break through. Silence, as a state to be avoided. We have to cry louder and louder than ever before. But if you want to find me, it will be in one of the last oases where the noise is exhausted and silence reigns. Of course not entirely, for nowhere is absolute stillness, but the fine, soft tones are covered by the noise, the gentle thoughts, the sounds of nature and the beat of the heart, of life. One must seek the silence to hear this. I do not want to go on any longer and surpass the noise. It’s pointless. The noise is not to be surpassed, because as soon as I try it, it becomes even more lasting, as if one were uplifting each other, as in an auction. The louder I scream, the more the noise bursts open until I reach my limits. There is no limit to noise. I give up. If you want to hear me, then you must go to one of the oases of silence, then you must be able to hear the soft tones, because the real thing does not have to be heard by noise, not by overtones. The lie is no less a lie, only because it is cried, and the truth does not break when spoken softly. It does not need it. It does not have to bounce, not to dress up and not to overspill. It is sufficient for it to be itself, and it is also not a question of whether they are heard, for those who wish to do so find them in one of the oases of silence. Where you find me.


„Yes, it may be quieter than anywhere else, somewhere out there, in the world from where you came to me,“ I admit, „but it’s not as quiet as you might think. The night is full of breathing, lively noises, but they are soft and do not prostitute themselves, but want to be found by the one who gets involved.“

„But it is all so unfamiliar, so confusing, so different,“ you replied, while you now sit with me.

„Is not it the challenge?“ I ask.

„The water ripples, the wind rustles the leaves, and there were not small tapping steps in the grass. Maybe a mouse … „, you start to discover.

„Dare, quietly,“ I remark.

„You are right, there is so much to discover, which I would never have otherwise discovered, I would have remained …“, you concede, slowly and feeling well.


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