When the day will come when mortality will be cut like a phalanx, when my strength as a walker will have waned and my biological clock, which is in the prison of my body, will have struck its last and fatal minutes of life, when every word we say to each other with due honest truth will have been necessary, to be whispered with barely trembling lips, for our potted lips are numb with anguish, and as I bid my last and irreversible farewell to my loved ones in my last life, I dare to say this as a confessional account: Am I really afraid of the world beyond?
Yet will the healing angelic hands of my blessed and selflessly caring wife give me the final peace and balance of soul-harmony? As one who is consciously aware that he has not yet finished his remaining work of earthly creation and nascent creation, I will suffer - with the pangs of unforgivable remorse - and suffer that in the full and unified realization of the human completed meaning of being, I must leave my family members without soul-saving compass-answers to incessant self-reproaches and temptations!
That I could not be present, acting and wise, in the role of a supporting advisor in all their small and detailed decisions of existence, and that I will also miss all the value tasks of the precious soul! Yet, in open reckoning from my half-conscious and perpetually frightened conscience, I ask: What else shall I dread when I am a precious speck of dust in the blessed humus of the earth, and a part of circulating human existence?