blessed with more luck than the snakes up above.
That’s why it’s better not to look down at the snakes in the enclosed towns, where in the narrow confines of wretched streets they are almost lost in the dirt. The heights, however, grant you awareness of the depths from which you have climbed. Now you can recognize which path you took. That was the journey. You and yours traveled and were led on. Joining the journey happened out of your own free will or by force, and yet it occurred, such that you could wave good-bye, so much having been left behind. In the vases at home, flowers still stand that need fresh water, yet you forgot to turn their care over to someone reliable. The stalks have rotted, the leaves and blossoms dried up.
Consciousness has split itself into two wings that have fallen from the body. Now the wings flutter on their own, sadness in their beating, yourself unable to control them. Now one, then the other, then both, sometimes neither, but you have to put up with them, whether they pester you or not. You want to get rid of them, and you point in dramatic fashion at your chest and say: “I know. I exist. I don’t lack consciousness.” That’s foolish. Don’t you really feel that you know nothing and are possessed, such that you know only half of the consciousness within you? That’s the way it is since you set out on your journey. It would have required courage to retain your consciousness; you could not have set out on the journey if you did. Now you will need even greater courage in order to withstand the journey. It won’t be easy for you. Whoever remains at home can gather togetheragain better than whoever launches out on an adventure. Don’t think that you’ll succeed in finding any place that’s safe, where you can stop to recollect yourself and restore your undivided consciousness. Even if you should finish this journey without being left behind along the way, you’ll still be disturbed. In essence you will feel cut off from the world, you’ll want to set your hands and feet on your own turf once again. But don’t think that far ahead! That’s the future, which you must continue to fear for as long as you live.
So you departed and were never allowed to look around. Or you were curious to spot the back of Cross-Eyes, rubbing his hands as he left the train station. Herr Nussbaum certainly didn’t go looking for that empty building in order to cheer up the lonely walls. Departure weakens vanity but strengthens character, which casts away the mask of fear. The scent of the invisible blossom of decay strikes the nostrils. There is no avoiding it, even if you don’t want to choke on the smell. The necessary journey is always one that is imposed. Since no one is asked whether or not he’d like to come along, understanding is never even sought. The departure only requires that you hurry. Travel fast so it doesn’t last. Yet why is it all so confusing? Why must one lose one’s sense of free choice, itself always having been a part of arriving at the truth?
The journey had already begun the moment you thought about whether or not the decision about making such an impending journey was worth serious consideration. Cultivating freedom is fine as long as you still don’t know how dispensable it will become once your decisions disappear in a stream in which you realize you are dispensable while looking back at the journey you were ordered to take. You are not your own guide; you are swept away even before you have ordered the tickets, the authorities having purchased your seat, which is for the best, for it would be much more aggravating to try to get a seat when others might want to leave you behind. Then you would have shouted and demanded that you become a passenger, though doors would be shut before you everywhere: “What’s that, a seat, and you’re in it? You’re not a passenger. The one whose seat it is must be off somewhere. Away with you!” You would have then fought your way
That’s why it’s better not to look down at the snakes in the enclosed towns, where in the narrow confines of wretched streets they are almost lost in the dirt. The heights, however, grant you awareness of the depths from which you have climbed. Now you can recognize which path you took. That was the journey. You and yours traveled and were led on. Joining the journey happened out of your own free will or by force, and yet it occurred, such that you could wave good-bye, so much having been left behind. In the vases at home, flowers still stand that need fresh water, yet you forgot to turn their care over to someone reliable. The stalks have rotted, the leaves and blossoms dried up.
Consciousness has split itself into two wings that have fallen from the body. Now the wings flutter on their own, sadness in their beating, yourself unable to control them. Now one, then the other, then both, sometimes neither, but you have to put up with them, whether they pester you or not. You want to get rid of them, and you point in dramatic fashion at your chest and say: “I know. I exist. I don’t lack consciousness.” That’s foolish. Don’t you really feel that you know nothing and are possessed, such that you know only half of the consciousness within you? That’s the way it is since you set out on your journey. It would have required courage to retain your consciousness; you could not have set out on the journey if you did. Now you will need even greater courage in order to withstand the journey. It won’t be easy for you. Whoever remains at home can gather togetheragain better than whoever launches out on an adventure. Don’t think that you’ll succeed in finding any place that’s safe, where you can stop to recollect yourself and restore your undivided consciousness. Even if you should finish this journey without being left behind along the way, you’ll still be disturbed. In essence you will feel cut off from the world, you’ll want to set your hands and feet on your own turf once again. But don’t think that far ahead! That’s the future, which you must continue to fear for as long as you live.
So you departed and were never allowed to look around. Or you were curious to spot the back of Cross-Eyes, rubbing his hands as he left the train station. Herr Nussbaum certainly didn’t go looking for that empty building in order to cheer up the lonely walls. Departure weakens vanity but strengthens character, which casts away the mask of fear. The scent of the invisible blossom of decay strikes the nostrils. There is no avoiding it, even if you don’t want to choke on the smell. The necessary journey is always one that is imposed. Since no one is asked whether or not he’d like to come along, understanding is never even sought. The departure only requires that you hurry. Travel fast so it doesn’t last. Yet why is it all so confusing? Why must one lose one’s sense of free choice, itself always having been a part of arriving at the truth?
The journey had already begun the moment you thought about whether or not the decision about making such an impending journey was worth serious consideration. Cultivating freedom is fine as long as you still don’t know how dispensable it will become once your decisions disappear in a stream in which you realize you are dispensable while looking back at the journey you were ordered to take. You are not your own guide; you are swept away even before you have ordered the tickets, the authorities having purchased your seat, which is for the best, for it would be much more aggravating to try to get a seat when others might want to leave you behind. Then you would have shouted and demanded that you become a passenger, though doors would be shut before you everywhere: “What’s that, a seat, and you’re in it? You’re not a passenger. The one whose seat it is must be off somewhere. Away with you!” You would have then fought your way
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