Still stands the phalanx of young birches on the distant shore of the resting lake. Their mirrored likeness she casts on its clear surface. Bright white trellises doubled in being and appearance. Similar, not the same.
Standing on the edge, I stir the water with my hand. Vibration arises and calm comes into motion. The vibration wanders across the lake, breaks, reunites, crosses, intensifies, extinguishes. And the likenesses of the birch trees, on the other shore of the once so still lake, soon begin to tremble. First lightly at the tips, at the mirrored slender crowns, and then more and more. Further and further down and away. The mirrored phalanx begins to swing. Back and forth, and the white sticks, first so straight, become jagged, quickly drawn, and ever-changing strokes of ink. Writing exercises. Drawing exercises. – – pulse beats.
The birch trees on the shore remain untouched. They stand there in their inviolable silence. Only through your reflection seemingly connected with the events on the surface of the lake.
The great – even the greatest – is in the small. „We“ are the reflections of the Soul Force on its own surface. Spiritual. Matter. Stirred once by immeasurable power, we vibrate and oscillate in what we call our existence. But what we call „we“ is not substance but only surface. That which we call „we“ is not being but only reflection. It is not „we“ who created the lake and the birch trees and who then stirred the surface of the lake. It is not „we“, but it is the hand in which all destiny rests. The „we“, the eternal „we“ is the resting depth of the lake and the quiet solid ground that supports the lake. And We are the birch trees that take deep root in this ground and are unconditionally nourished by it with the water of the lake. We are also the water that fills the ground and the birches. The reflection, the moving, but – without thickness, without its own substance – is only the appearance…
For what reason was the water stirred eons ago? Could it not have rested further? – – I don’t know. – – The lake, the birches, the ground, and the stirring hand… They may have just been there. Maybe the hand had to touch the lake. Just as I had to do today. Maybe that is the meaning. Everything together is the meaning. Do I feel the meaning now? In the small the large? The reflection, the so moved, alone all this remains hidden.