A little game with thoughts coming up to my mind. In the egg, the chicken sleeps. In the night sleeps the day. What sleeps in my heart?
Under my feet sleeps my life’s path. In my eyes sleeps freedom. In my hands sleeps my free will. In the gardens sleeps hope. In the flowers sleeps love. In the mountains, freedom sleeps. In the brain sleeps the word and in the words sleeps the brain.
In the cities, hunger reigns. In the pleasures reigns scarcity. In the streets, helplessness. Behind closed doors, loneliness. In the hospitals, sickness reigns, in sickness the lie, in the lie the doubt, in the doubt the fear. In fear sleeps love, in love sleeps health.
In the schools sleep the dreams. Longing reigns in the dreams, love in the longing. In the cemeteries, oblivion. In the factories, violence. In religions, delusion. In politics, fear.
If someone opens his eyes, he can see how many things are asleep and how many things dominate us. And gradually he can awaken all the way up to love. For behind all shells and behind all hells is love. Perhaps you have another word for what is behind. Even if it were nothing. The opening of the eyes would be an awakening in reality. Reality would become free. But we sleep on when in our hearts reigns loneliness, or fear, or pain, or sadness, and all the other things we close our eyes to. The streets, however, have an end. Two people meet there. They look at each other and joy awakens in their eyes. They join their hands and in their hands the inconceivable awakens.
They speak the word and in their hearts the light awakens. Their breath awakens the butterflies and the flowers in the gardens. A path emerges beneath their feet. Their voices find the sound of the universe. The people in the city trams listen up. The goblins in the machines behave humorously and obediently. On a sunny day like this, people find each other, in the villages, in the marketplaces, in the workshops and in the gardens. Not just two holding hands, but many, as if in a circle. They awaken for a moment to reality.
