AS THE BURDENS OF THE EARTH GROW HEAVY...

As Existence first seems to sink, then falls back into itself with a spasmodic cocooning, and seems to crack, like vile clockwork springs, the curvatures proclaimed sacred, involuntary convolutions - the evil-unworthy intrigues, the petty little manipulations embedded in the contours of faces disappear.

The unknown Destiny-Finite, of which man is always a part as a tiny speck of dust, also traces an inextricable disposition, from which it is increasingly difficult to unwind the assured evasion, the descending destruction of the tragedies of fate of everyday life. As one should see the Reality through the true pearl of almost inconceivable tears, and weed out the sins behind the helping intention, before insidiousness and false credulity rub against each other; one can seldom powder the stigma-scars engraved in the soul!

As the hand of protection, offering protection, reaching out to you through a curved mirror, perhaps a cousin of Death, it would be good to question it, to ask it a little, when it arranged all this for the little minute-men, when, what, how did it leave it? He who knew of it is perhaps as much an accomplice as the other false witnesses, word-grabbers, pretending little prophets, who only mimes it, if they can be Zarathustra for a day in the comfort of their own luxury private mountain. They often deliberately fail to realise how much lasting, never-ending damage can be done with a single insult, a good-sounding joke, a murderous humour, a stumble - of which it is rarely possible to make a stand any more!