Nordhofen Westerwald (Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany)
Is it still morning when you get up at 10 or 11 o'clock? Is it still a good sign when you stay awake deep into the night and don't go to sleep until 2 or 3 o'clock? Because that's what my days look like. Now that I'm released from all obligations, I can let myself drift. But is that good for me?
I lay my thoughts down to sleep. With them, my hopes and my dreams settle down to rest. Yet neither they nor the body that carries them find this rest. What remains predominant is a sea of storms, a constant roar, disturbingly loud, so penetrating and overwhelming that nothing else seems to exist beyond it.
Inner storms that rage whenever I need my mind – to concentrate on something, to create something out of nothing and bring it into this world, or simply to sleep. I can't get them under control. Sometimes I manage to quiet them down. But only with the hardest effort imaginable.
And so the days pass, and the last few weeks. The worst were the days at work. It never ends in one blow, nor suddenly; it flows from one to the other. In the first week of my vacation, I do nothing but plunge into the worlds of films and series. I sink into them, and on some days it's as if I'm drowning in them.
But I enjoy it. I enjoy doing nothing and not having to be anyone. I enjoy not having to fulfill any obligations and not having to be there for anyone. Except for myself and now and then for her. Within the narrow framework of our nature and our upbringing, we shape our lives, someone once said. I surrender to that part of my nature that simply wants to be. Without the present having any weight.
Is it still morning when you get up at 10 or 11 o'clock? Is it still a good sign when you stay awake deep into the night and don't go to sleep until 2 or 3 o'clock? Because that's what my days look like. Now that I'm released from all obligations, I can let myself drift. But is that good for me?
I lay my thoughts down to sleep. With them, my hopes and my dreams settle down to rest. Yet neither they nor the body that carries them find this rest. What remains predominant is a sea of storms, a constant roar, disturbingly loud, so penetrating and overwhelming that nothing else seems to exist beyond it.
Inner storms that rage whenever I need my mind – to concentrate on something, to create something out of nothing and bring it into this world, or simply to sleep. I can't get them under control. Sometimes I manage to quiet them down. But only with the hardest effort imaginable.
And so the days pass, and the last few weeks. The worst were the days at work. It never ends in one blow, nor suddenly; it flows from one to the other. In the first week of my vacation, I do nothing but plunge into the worlds of films and series. I sink into them, and on some days it's as if I'm drowning in them.
But I enjoy it. I enjoy doing nothing and not having to be anyone. I enjoy not having to fulfill any obligations and not having to be there for anyone. Except for myself and now and then for her. Within the narrow framework of our nature and our upbringing, we shape our lives, someone once said. I surrender to that part of my nature that simply wants to be. Without the present having any weight.