Category Archives: Identity

Island Map

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“Look here”, said the old seafarer and rolled out a map. “This here is the Island of the Blissful.” His grandson regarded it attentively while the man stood up and took another map from the shelf. “And this here”, he continued while he unrolled this second map, “is the Island of the Ill-Fated.” “But that’s exactly the same island!” exclaimed the young man. “Perhaps it is the same, and perhaps it is not”, said the old man in a mysterious tone. “But I can tell you this much: The maps were drawn by two different cartographers. Both have visited the island. One went to all the bleak and desolate mountains on the island and measured all the spaces. The other went to all the beautiful, fertile places, and measured the island from there. Look here: they have also drawn in the paths along which they wandered. Whoever makes his way with the first map, looks from one beautiful peak to the next, and the dreary areas are hidden by the beautiful mountains. However, whoever makes his way with the second map, looks from one desolate peak to the next, and the beautiful scenery landscape remains hidden behind them.”

Thought Experiment

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Assuming you had died and discovered that there was indeed another life, and that there existed a kind of heaven and hell, but again in between so many other places, as many as there are people, only everything quite different from what the stories of old tell us… and assuming this heaven and hell and the many other places consisted of nothing more than what you have become and so remain, and that there you would constantly live with the love which you have spread, or also with your indifference and your bitterness and your anger…

And assuming that the whole of eternity were nothing more than going for walks in your life which you had and being enabled… allowed… or obliged… to observe your former life quite minutely from all sides…

And assuming you would spend your whole existence in thinking and considering: who you were… who you became… what you received… and what you gave…

And assuming that it were so, and you knew about it – what would that mean for your life here and now?

Clearing Out the Cupboard

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I have a large sitting room cupboard. When I moved into my apartment I had carefully cleared it out. Everything had its place. But over the years many things which didn’t belong there – or at least not any more – had found their way to the compartments, shelves and drawers. My life had changed and other things had become important.

Now I cleared out my cupboard. First I took everything out and scattered it on the floor, resulting in a wild chaos – but a chaos that made some kind of sense. All the same, I need time to organise. Some things bring back memories. I have to look at them once again. Others demand a decision. There are things which will be thrown away. There are others which will be kept, not in the cupboard, but somewhere else, for example in the attic. Again others come back into the cupboard, but in another place.

The whole cupboard should be newly organised. But first I will wipe out the cupboard, remove the dust and perhaps also polish it.

My daughter was just here. She looked at the huge chaos and said to me: “I thought you wanted to tidy up?”

The Lost Face

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In Japan, there once lived a man whom this really had happened to: He woke up one morning and had really and truly lost his face! This matter was extremely embarrassing for him. He could not possibly show himself to another person in this state. First of all, he searched for it by touch alone. He checked his bed, and the floor under the bed, and finally also the whole room he was in. He tried to help himself this way for a long time until he realized: he who has lost his face, will hardly find it alone. He can neither see nor hear! How could this man be saved? He only succeeded with the help of his friends. They searched everywhere for him and indeed finally found it. It was in the bathroom, in his mirror, where he had lost it during a nightly visit. Lucky is he who has such friends!

Forgiving the Russian

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In my village there is an old man, who again and again tells of how he fled with nothing more than the shirt on his back, because the occupying Russian troops had taken everything he owned and his house and yard in order to give it to others. He said: “I cannot forgive the Russians.” The man lives in a beautiful house with a balcony and a large garden. His favourite pastime is watching his great-grandchildren play.