Sunday morning, 9:30 am. In a beautiful apartment building in a small town in the countryside. Just now I am sitting at my table and the world seems to me like a ball. Like a small ball of clay, the size of a ping-pong ball, which I look at from the outside.
A fungus lives on it and it has mutated. It eats up all the other fungi on the sphere. Its excretions are full of deadly poison. It spreads and the only question is whether it will die of lack of food on its limited sphere or whether it is its own poison that will kill it. If one or the other has happened, that’s that. The mutant is dead. He has achieved nothing with his drive except the destruction of himself and everyone else.
It doesn’t help to get very close to the fungus on its little ball with a magnifying glass and read there about reasons of state, global obligations, prosperity, a fungus in its infancy, security interests, economic necessities, an inner urge to progress, individualism and freedom and law and will and destiny… All of this clouds the fungus‘ view of the true circumstances. Standing outside, I see a being, totally unaware of the truth, on the way, in total blindness and full of ridiculous pretension, trapped in absurd justifications, dying senselessly… A primitive organism, incapable of escaping the constraints of matter. My courage sinks. My courage sinks so low….
And then…. And then, sitting at my table, I suddenly feel a peace. I feel a lightness. I feel a insubstantiality and I know that this is how death will be. And that it will be good.
And I feel, and I feel, and I feel that this peace is coming to me from the people in this house. They wake slowly. No alarm clock startles them or drives a cold dagger into their hearts. They wake in their natural rhythm and it is – silent. It is so still. So wonderfully quiet. Only the birds are chirping. The sun shines through the windows and he – the human being – has no worry in these brief moments. He has no fear. There is nothing to do, nothing to fight for survival. He is safe in paradise.
And he sends that out into the world! It is blessing. Man can bless! No matter how much he’s being hurt. I feel this blessing and it is so full of salvation. I want to stay in it and sink into it, into this healing blessing that these people above and beside me are experiencing right now. And they want it too.
The black shadow, the mutant, it has not yet devoured everything. As much as my courage had sunk, I am now full of bliss. Every day can be Sunday. For everyone. For everyone. For the world. It is the mutant who claims otherwise and clouds people’s vision with his little million-fold deception and self-deception. But it is not true.
To him on the sphere it seems true.
My despondent look at the sphere from outside revealed only one side of the truth, perceived in his desolate mind. The despondency, the struggle. The annihilation.
The gaze of collective blessing opened the entire vision. It is all filled with hope. It is all filled with meaning. We are connected, be it ever so. In eternity and infinity and in security and in meaning.