Finds III: Ways of the Drops (Volume VII)
Huge drops rose to my left and to my right, and my heart pounded wildly for it tried to understand what it had never seen before. A howling sound tripped me up, additionally. Did I have a concept anyway?

Contradictorinesses accumulated themselves up to a thought bundle. Nobody had explained to me where I was. Now I know that such an assistance would have been impossible at that point, because nobody had never been there before me. And my only pursuer was a good old acquaintance of mine: myself.

The colours brown and green mixed, forming a tower of olive, which looked like it could neither collapse, nor fly. On the one hand, it seemed to be light enough in order to be carried by hands of feathers. On the other hand, it was so stably built that it seemed like it was as deeply rooted in the underground that it shared its day of birth with that of the planet itself.

I walked faster in order to run from my own thoughts, but actually, I already knew that it was impossible to escape my constant pursuer. I made faces I did not understand. I would have had a mirror with me, I would have besmirched it with dirt, in order not to have to look at myself.

Thereupon, my mind underwent a process of general criticism.

Being part of my own image, I had completely lost control over organizing my way. But I did not, by any means, have the feeling that this was a loss of major importance. Far from it! My continuation became easier, more bearable. My mask carried me from branch to branch, from tree to tree, into the world, in which I, at the same time, fell into and fell in love with.

And the stars were shining from above. One was so bright that it dazzled like an unpleasant flashlight. I know, it meant no harm. But nevertheless, I was constantly trying to hide myself from it. It seemed to shine right through me.
And you know only too well that I've always been careful picking my X-Ray Friends by free will. To me, life is always about the principle of the handpicked choice, even if this way may be loud and painful. Altogether, I can resume that the resulting joy usually outweighs the energy used in the fight.

One fine day I rested on a plant, whose surface texture reminded me of a brain cortex. On all sides it was surrounded by water, which moved in different directions. I think, they say it surged. Under me, a trunk rose up. It was many meters high, and small hairs were busy mutually calling attention to each other.

Somewhat slept inside the trunk. But until today I cannot say what exactly it was. I felt it, but I saw it not, I smelled it not. My damn senses were not sufficient, in order to notice it in a way that would enable me to describe it now. If you only knew how my skin rippled, when I understood that even within my own world I was in fact not the only one perceiving and observing! Far from it! I suspected that it was mostly me who was being noticed. Of course, that was something provided by the openness of my concepts themselves, but even today, you can still see the helplessness in my eyes! If you can read them, then please do read them, in case I am still one of you. Otherwise, please try to remember or ask those, who are still able to remember. You could learn a lot by doing that.

But let's get back to my narration now.

As I said, I was sitting on the plant, which was obviously conversing about me.

"Nothing escapes my ears", I whispered, "for you are me, just the way I want you, not more, not less."

A few seconds later, I had to fight against my own storm of protest, which should make clear for me that I had behaved like a hair on the butter, while one tries to draw a pattern on it with a comb. I had simply gotten tangled in myself.
Sometimes it hurts to deny areas you haven't even entered yet. Sometimes, however, this is the home of the courage of despair you take with you on your way through life, setting yourself targets, eventhough you're heading for a certain end, isn't it so? If, at that moment, a volcano would have erupted right behind my back, I would not even have noticed it. And I do, just by the way, pretty often feel like this. In such moments, I reach for one of my calculators from time to time, and strive to prove my existence to myself computationally. To be honest, I have to add that two of the three devices I have were already prepared months ago. Yes, I stuck the keys together. Both the Caps Lock key and the Reset key are stuck. Paralyzed. Bound to a plastic surface by the wood glue, which must come to them as strangely as a furniture house comes to a tropical coniferous forest. But I see, I am losing control again. Therefore, I better continue now.

The small stem I had placed my sore feet on, was as soft as an African Flokati. Furry like a little grape lap, those miniature arms had wrapped themselves around my ankles. They were about to mate with my thoughts already, and suddenly I was full of surprising ideas.

"His name is Tolifoas", I thought, and I knew that my assumption was correct. A deep pride moved through my meanwhile emaciated body, on which the memories of the century were dancing in long circles, according to their very unique rules. The principle of hope was carried forward from one stem to the next, and I understood that my host's name was the key to his affection. Immediately I began to snatch food, which slid drop by drop down to me from the bluish green leafs. Times I had the feeling that my fingers began to fill with quicksand, another time my heart seemed to burst being so full of joy. That's how it is when you feel the energy of life return, you're all familiar with that, I guess.

I pushed a little sand aside with my hands and looked up into the clear night sky, in whose most beautiful places those small glass beads sparkled we generally call stars. A stupid name for something that was already old, when our molecular plans were still lying in their beds, deeply dreaming about eternity.

Brightness had almost passed, when dawn finally but hesitatingly, much more hesitatingly than I was used to, crept out behind the horizon. Small animals, reminding me of mushrooms and slippers, entangled each other for they seemed to be conscious of how important mutual proximity is in this world - even if one only meets far away from each other actually. All of this appeared to me like poetry. Salvos of leaf-like forms floated past me, and the sensitive breath of the wind pushed the air towards me like syllables, and then skillfully pushed them further. Scarcely missing me. Just as scarcely enough to be sounding like poetry. My spirit tried to grasp the syllables in order to catch and save them, but was there something that prevented me from achieving this spiritual clarity. Perhaps it was myself not wanting to know what was happening to himself. I do not know.

But let's get back to business now. My sleep had been deep and good. The stems had huddled against me, as if they wanted to bolster me for all eternities. Once, but only for a very short moment, my dreams led me into colorless, pale abysses. I did not want to follow the way down there, but something pulled me forward, as if reality would have decided to finally eat me. It took only a split second until I heard Tolifoas' voice, which did not hold back me though, but offered to accompany me.

At the time I had experienced more dishonor than is good for someone like me. Therefore, I thankfully accepted the offer and took the hand of that creature, which seemed so strange, but somehow also trustworthy. And - behold! The ash-color of my dreams retrieved the joy of coloredness. My next idea was born, and a friendly version of myself suddenly joined me for the rest of my journey.


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