At Home in the Universe

Who am I?
Stories I tell myself and others.
A “spiritual” autobiography -
remembering, telling and writing
my self-narrative – my personal myth

Urs Boeschenstein

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At Home in the Universe

If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is,
Infinite.
For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks
of his cavern. William Blake

My philosophy is to live in peace and harmony with myself, to live every day as it comes and to
continue to be curious, to keep learning to think new ideas. Jane Goodall

I don’t know whether the universe, with its countless galaxies, stars and planets, has a deeper
meaning or not, but at the very least, it is clear that we humans who live on this earth face the task of
making a happy life for ourselves. Dalai Lama

For the first fifty years of my life, I rarely felt at home – not in the universe, not on the planet
earth, not with many other humans, not within myself. Most of the time I was an exile, an
“outsider” - nowhere at home. Now, getting nearer to my eightieth year of life, I realize - with
amazement - that I have become a happy old man, at home with myself, at home with other
people, at home in the universe.

“Who am I?” - stories

The story of how I learnt to open “doors of perception”, to “live in peace with myself”, to “face
the task of making a happy life”, to learn to be “at home in the universe” is a long story
indeed, a long story of many stories that I tell myself - stories that looking back I needed to
revise, to re-tell again and again in ever-changing forms.

All these stories answer one question: Who am I? When did I ask that question for the first
time? Was it the little boy who listened to his father reading the Bible, was it the adolescent
who had not yet found his form and did not know who he was, or was it the young adult who
studied linguistics, the history of the stories that we humans tell ourselves:
We tell ourselves stories of origins and endings, of form and transformation, of gods, the word, and
law. All people, at all times must have created myths and stories to sketch a picture of our place under
the sun. Cro-Magnon man, whose paintings of animals seem to exhibit a respect and awe, let alone
line and form, that equals or surpasses those of later millennia, must have spun answers to these
questions: Who are we? Where did we come from? Why are we here? Did Neanderthal, Homo
habilis, or Homo erectus ask? Around which fire in the past 3 million years of hominid evolution did
these questions first arise? We live in a world of stunning complexity. Molecules of all varieties join in a
metabolic dance to make cells. Cells interact with cells to form organisms; organisms interact with
organisms to form ecosystems, economies, societies. Where did this grand architecture come from?
As Darwin taught us, the order of the biological world evolves as natural selection shifts among
random mutations for the rare, useful forms. In crafting the living world, selection has always acted on
systems that exhibit spontaneous order. If I am right, this underlying order, further honed by
selection, augurs a new place for us—expected, rather than vastly improbable, at home in the
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universe in a newly understood way. Stuart Kauffman

Stories we tell ourselves! I believe that I achieved my little bit of “happiness” by hard mental
work, revising the stories that I tell myself, attempting to reflect on my fundamental
assumptions and presuppositions concerning our human “reality”. Trying to understand my
weltbild changes, I studied hundreds of books on what other humans thought and I reflected
on their epistemology – their knowledge of knowledge.

1
Stuart Kauffman At Home in the Universe, Penguin Books, 1995
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In the last three years I attempted to order what I had learnt in an essay “Wordview-
Revisions” 2 – changes in my belief system, a sort of “intellectual” autobiography - weltbild
changes from earth to water, to air, and to fire.

The Void

In -
formation

A rock solid earthen A worldview float An airy flying “château A worldview in the
“weltbild”-house swimming on water- des pyrenées” element of creative fire
“under construction” no fixed ground (René Magritte)

My “weltbild”-house had been very real for fifty years. I never doubted that my worldview had
a secure “real” ground. What I doubted were “beliefs”, beliefs in a spiritual realm, beliefs in
mythological stories of how our world came to be. I was an militant atheist, militant in the very
unpleasant conviction that it was my duty to fight believers.

In the past thirty years my worldview started to shift, I lost my secure ontological ground. In
my worldview-revision text I describe these shifts: from a worldview float, a perspective which
allowed me to integrate oppositions; to a worldview airship, a perspective that gained me a
wider horizon; and in the past few years – slowly becoming a wise old man - a creative
worldview in the abstract space of theory, synthesizing a multiverse of perspectives:

This space of theory – the world of meaning – is a world of many viewpoints and many
questions that are difficult to ask and difficult to answer: What is meaning? What is
communication? To reflect on such questions we need to overcome the limitations of our
language, we need to develop radically new concepts.
L’heure est venue pour nous demander ce que c’est la philosophie: La philosophie est l’art de
former, d’inventer, de fabriquer des concepts. Mais il ne fallait pas seulement que la réponse
recueille la question, Il fallait pouvoir la poser “entre amis”, comme une confidence ou une confiance.
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Gilles Deleuze

We need friends to interact, to communicate, we need friends we can trust, we need friends
to invent new concepts that help us to find out who we are. We need friends to become
aware of an infinite world of meaning, to be able to be at home in a universe that we
construct ourselves. The world of meaning is not given out there, we make it and we need
friends to build it together.

2
Urs Boeschenstein Worldview-Revisions 2013
3
Gilles Deleuze Félix Guattari Qu‘est-ce que la philosophie Les éditions de minuit 1991, pg.7
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To stop the world

We need friends to “stop the world”. To “stop the world” had become a catchphrase among
readers of Carlos Castaneda many years ago, in the seventies. I had never been a believer
in the lore of Don Juan, but I had been fascinated by the phrase “stop the world”, wondering
what it could mean. How does one stop the world? A useful interpretation I found many years
later, reading Gilles Deleuze4:

“Trouve toi-même tes lieux, ton régime, tes lignes de fuite! Sémiotise toi-mème, au lieu de chercher
dans ton enfance toute faite et ta sémiologie d’Occidental. Stopper le monde exprime parfaitement
certains états de conscience au cours desquelles la réalité de la vie quotidienne est modifié, ceci
parceque le flot des interprétations, d’ordinaire continuel, est interrompu par un ensemble de
circonstances étrangères à ce flot“ (Castaneda). Bref, une véritable transformation sémiotique fait
appel à toutes sortes de variables, non seulement extérieures, mais implicites dans la langue,
intérieure aux énoncés. Gilles Deleuze

We need friends to stop our tendency to believe that the world we construct with the words of
our language is the world. The world does not exist outside, it is inside, inside our brains and
inside the stories we tell, inside our language. With a little help of our friends, we may learn
to stop the world5, to transform our perspectives, to review our worldviews.

“Stopping the world” is indeed an appropriate rendition of certain states of awareness in which the
reality of everyday life is altered because the flow of interpretation, which ordinarily runs
uninterruptedly, has been stopped by a set of circumstances alien to the flow. In short, a true semiotic
transformation appeals to all kinds of variables, not only external ones, but also variables implicit to
language, internal to statements. Gilles Deleuze

I transformed myself from a naive realist - who being stuck in his ontology needed to ground
his knowing in perception - into an “inforg”, an information processing story teller on my time
travel from learning to speak before the Second World War to the revision of my language,
my fabrication of new concepts, in the beginning of the third millennium:

“We are informational organisms (inforgs), mutually connected and embedded in an informational
environment (the infosphere), which we share with other informational agents, both natural and
artificial, that also process information logically and autonomously. Questions about our personal
identities, self conceptions, and social selves are as old as the philosophical question “who am I?”.
Of the many approaches that seek to characterise the nature of the self, two stand out as popular and
promising for the task ahead. One is usually dated back to the great empiricist philosopher John Locke
(1632 to 1704). Your identity is grounded in the unity of your consciousness and the continuity
of your memories. Then there is a second approach, more recent, known as the Narrative theory of
the self. According to it, your identity is a “story”, understood as a socio- and/or auto-biographical
artefact. We identify (provide identities to) each other. Today, we increasingly acknowledge the
importance of a common yet unprecedented phenomenon, which may be described as the online
construction of personal identities. Who we are, who do we become, and who could we be, once we
increasingly spend our time in the infosphere? The self is seen as a complex informational system,
made of consciousness activities, memories, or narratives. From such a perspective, you are
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your own information Luciano Floridi

Writing my intellectual autobiography had been hard work. When I finally allowed myself to
accept what I had written, I published a “final” draft on my homepage, convinced it was an
adequate description of the transformations of my worldview structures through the years of
my life. I proudly gave a copy of my paper to my good friend Clements, when we “winter
birds” met again in the warm “cold season” in Thailand’s pleasant Isaan province.

4
Gilles Deleuze / Félix Guattari Mille Plateaux Editions de minuit 1980, 172.
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Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari A Tousand Plateaus, transl. Brian Massumi, Continuum 1987
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Luciano Floridi The 4th Revolution, How the Infosphere is Reshaping Human Reality
Oxford University Press 2014
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My friend did not like my paper: “Your text is difficult to read”, he said, “it is not a story – it is
just a collection of quotes”. His remarks shattered my pride, a few years ago such remarks
would have made me angry. I would have reacted to unwarranted criticism with: No, no, no!
You don’t understand! But this time I surprised myself, I heard myself say:

Clements, you are right! My worldview-revision story is indeed not my story. It is the story of
what other people think about fundamental changes in human worldviews. But reflecting on
changes in my world views is the motive that keeps me alive. I want to find out how I can use
the results of human reflection, the results of philosophical and scientific investigation to
make better decisions every day; I am trying to learn to keep walking on the sunny side of
the street every moment of my life. Clements nodded agreement but added: To convince me,
you have to tell me your story of this lifelong learning process, the story who you are!

Who am I? - I (the 79 years old “me”) smiled -

I am the stories that I tell myself; and there are many
voices in “me” that are telling many different stories.
I have long ago buried the illusion of an ego, I have
thrown my captain’s cap away and learnt to listen to the
many voices that form the parliament of my memories.
I have even learnt to trust memory voices that cannot
talk. I call them my guardian angels, or when I’m in a
scientific mood my “intuition” and I listen carefully when
such a pre-conscious voice warns me to rethink my
decisions, my wants and my wishes.

Some of my “voices” tell stories of what happened to me (to us) many years ago.

I remember what “little me” aged four years said to

himself when mother seated him in front of a
photographer:
Why does she dress me up like this to sit in front of a
camera, I hate that dress, I hate my hair, I hate the world
of the grown-ups.
But is that memory true? Or is it what “me now”
interprets? “Me now” does not remember what “me then”
said, it remembers what “me then” felt:
This is not MEEE!

But who is “me”? Who are you? Who are we? Are we our memories of episodes or are we
memories of feelings that we cannot “know”, because we cannot speak about what we do not
consciously know? I’m sorry, Clements, I cannot truly tell you who I am. I don’t know where
to begin.
Just tell me the story of how you became who you are.
That story is about learning to be “at home in the world”, “me” being happy.

Later that day, sitting on the balcony of my hotel room watching the sunset, I pondered about
the many memories of light-bulb events, that in the course of seventy years had helped me
to feel happy. “At home in the universe”, that might be a title for a different worldview revision
text, I thought. Maybe I should write my “spiritual” story, graphing my self- myth, my self-
narrative.

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I got up and went back into the room to lie down, my ruminations had made me tired.
I noticed a book standing on the shelf above my bed, a book I had taken along for re-reading
but had not seen for many weeks – Laurence Sterne: “The Life and Opinions of Tristram
Shandy, Gentleman”. A little voice whispered: That book was the first modern self-narrative.
The last time you read it, you marked a passage on “storytelling” and “friendship”,
remember? I opened the book and read:

I have undertaken, you see, to write not only my life, but my opinions also; hoping and expecting that
your knowledge of my character, and of what kind of mortal I am, by the one, would give you a better
relish for the other: As you proceed further with me, the slight acquaintance which is now beginning
betwixt us, the grow into a familiarity; and that will terminate in friendship. – O diem praeclarum! - then
nothing which has touched me will be thought trifling in its nature, or tedious in its telling. Therefore,
my dear friend and companion, if you should think me somewhat sparing in my narrative on my first
setting out, - bear with me, - and let me go on, and tell my story my own way.
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Laurence Sterne

Telling my stories! I’ll do it my way, jumping step by step through the lotus flower pond.

There is only one way and that is your way; there is only one salvation and that is your salvation.
Why are you looking around for help? Do you believe that help will come from outside? What is to
come will be created in you and from you. Hence look into yourself. All other ways deceive and
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tempt you. You must fulfil the way that is in you. Carl Gustav Jung

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Laurence Sterne The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman; 1759
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Carl Gustav Jung The Red Book, Liber Novus, ed. Sonu Shamdasani, W.W.Norton 2009
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Part I
The storytelling Me - à la recherché du temps perdu

I was born a fool 1935

I was a poor little fool 1940
I was an unhappy fool 1945
I was a naïve fool 1950
I was a bloody fool 1982

I am a “silly” fool 1983

I am a laughing fool 1990
I am an educated fool 2002
I am a pre-reflective fool 2006
I am many fools 2010
I am a happy fool 2012

I became a wise fool 2015

The story of a Werdegang

Werdegang is one of the many words in German that cannot be translated into English. One might use
the word “development”, but that does not translate “werden” – becoming, and “Gang” – go one’s way.
My Werdegang is a story of transformations, my Way of Becoming.

I started collecting ideas for my self-narrative together with Clements. We spent many
pleasant afternoons telling stories about how we got to be who we had been, who we are
and who we still hope to become, how two old men had learnt to be at home in the universe.
Clements told me about his guitar playing in a rock band back in the sixties. I followed, at the
next storytelling afternoon, with my story of “me” - the performer that I had been long ago,
remembering: stories about the “good old times”, stories about successfully dealing with
living one’s life.

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“me” - the performer:

The folksinger “me” – that’s a long story, forty years of my life. Tell me, Clememts said.
So - Clements being a Scotsman - I thought I might sing him a Scottish song, Roby Burn’s
“For the sake o’somebody”9 and failed miserably. I had not sung the song for more than thirty
years and could no longer remember the lyrics. But Clements did not mind: You have an
amazing voice, he said. Yes, I know I had, I always loved singing, the singing lessons were
the happiest moments of my school years. I could sing better than any of the other children in
my class and I enjoyed that. Now I only use my voice for speaking, for telling stories. Why,
he asked.

At the age of sixty, I lost my hearing and had to give up my career as a performer.
I had a difficult time at sixty, the first signs of approaching old age, the end of “me” the
performer. You know, when my voice broke and changed into a powerful baritone voice
I started to have a lot of success as a folksinger. I learned to play the guitar to accompany
myself, very badly, I never became a good guitar player, but my singing was really good,
I developed my own style of singing ballads and over the years developed a repertoire of
many hundreds of songs.

In the sixties I started to write my own songs, singing my protest songs at large gatherings of
the antinuclear power movement. Some of my songs became quite popular, in the course of
the years I produced more than twenty LPs, collections of Swiss folksongs, English and
French songs, my own compositions10.

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Roby Burns For the sake o’somebody: My heart is sair
10
Urs Boeschenstein Muure-Blues
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But then, nearing forty, I became uneasy with my success, I felt I needed a change and
started learning to sing mediaeval songs, collecting a repertoire of “Minnelieder”, troubadour
and trouvère songs. This kind of music I could no longer accompany on my guitar,
so I started to learn to play thirteenth century minstrels instruments, the hurdy-gurdy, the
cittern, the rebec, and many kinds of flutes. Practising my new instruments, eight to ten hours
a day, was really enjoyable, working hard on my music changed the singer into a musician.
I started to study music theory, the structure of monophonic music and for many years gave
concert-lectures all over Europe and even in the United States.

Twenty years ago, when my failing hearing stopped me from appearing on stage, “me”, the
musician, had a hard time to adapt. To avoid falling into depressions, I learned to compose
“fractal music” on the computer11 and I started collecting everything that had ever been
recorded during my long performer career, memorabilia, my music archive12, memorabilia!

I also had other memorabilia – photos of my car collection – that I still carry with me, and
sometimes indulge in memories, dreaming of former pleasures. Next time the two retired
musicians met, I showed my friend my treasures.

Me and my beautiful “Goat”

This is the folksinger with his 1930 Austin 7 - I told Clements, showing him this picture. I used
to be crazy about old cars.
I used to be car crazy too, he admitted, we all were back then.
Yes, I know, but with me it was a mental illness that accompanied me for many years,
I was very ill with the vintage car collector bug..
Where did you find that beauty, he wanted to know and set me off to one of my favorite
stories:

I found it sitting in a scrap yard at Aberdeen, the lady is Scottish. I studied at King’s College
in the winter 1965 and felt miserable both for the abominable Scottish winter weather and the
abominable teaching at the college. So the student went for long walks on the heath behind
the house where we stayed - and one day I espied the beauty, bought it for 200£, had it
delivered to the garage next to our rented house and started restoring her, it took me six
months. The first time I took my family for a ride in it, my six-year-old son did not like it,
for him it was much too slow (back in Switzerland we went for rides in a Mini Cooper, which
had been sold to pay for our stay in Scotland)

That I sold the Cooper S because I needed the money is only half the truth. Here comes the
second half:

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Urs Boeschenstein Wolfram Suite
12
Urs Boeschenstein Music Archive
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When the good news arrived that I had won a scholarship to study at Aberdeen for a full
year, my wife and I decided that the whole family would move to Aberdeen. To find a place
to stay I drove my Cooper from Zürich to Aberdeen during the summer holidays. I did it in
record time: 2200km in twenty-two hours. Taking off from Zürich at 9 PM, I arrived at the
ferry at Callais at 6 PM. From Dover through England to the Scottish border and on to
Edinburgh and Aberdeen took me twelve hours. I very much liked Aberdeen, it was a
beautiful city, the granite city of the North, I liked the people, I liked the weather and I was
able to find a convenient flat for the family: Hilton Street 70, Aberdeen.

And then I drove back, very fast, I had promised myself I would break my own record,
but I didn’t. Everything went well through England. I arrived in France at eleven in the
evening. The first few hundred kilometers, driving through a dark night - fast but carefully,
I managed an average of about 80km/h, too slow to beat my record. Then, shortly after
Reims, a very fast Citroen overtook me, I trailed him – keeping a safe distance of 150 yards,
watching his taillights. He was driving really fast, over a 140, but I kept behind, enjoying the
ride (and the sound of a Beatles record). The road, straight on for kilometers, straight on but
up and down. In those days there were only very few motorways in France; it was still the old
“routes nationales” that had been built in the 18th-century. The Citroen’s taillights would
disappear behind a hilltop, I would temporarily lose my guide, but then catch up with him
again.

This happened many times until coming up a dark hill again the night sky suddenly became
bright, as if there had been an explosion. I hit the brakes and managed to stop a hundred
meters from a horrible sight, two cars had crashed - burning. I ran over to the site of the
accident, there was nothing I could do. Only a few minutes later I heard the sound of a police
car coming from the other side and ran through the field to where they were trying to stop the
fire. I watched from a safe distance. When the fire was extinguished I walked back to the
road. One of the policeman told me that they had received a phone call, alerting them to a
car that was driving zig-zag through the town 10 km away, without lights, the driver obviously
very drunk. They had been five minutes late! “Have you seen the crash”, another policeman
asked, I said no. I didn’t tell them the story of my trailing the Citroen. We walked over to
where I had parked the Cooper, the policeman guided me on a country lane back to the
“nationale”. I drove on - very, very slowly. Back in Zürich I unloaded my bags at home, drove
the Cooper to the garage where I had bought it and told the mechanic: Please, sell it!

I promised myself I would never drive a fast car again.

And with that promise - I would never drive a fast car again! – I return to the full truth of my
“car illness”:

The day after our first outing in my self-built beauty, I brought my little boy to school in it.
He still did not like it, but when he came back for lunch, he told me that all his friends at
school had very much liked the old Austin 7, and so from then on we often drove to school in
the “Goat” - as he called my beauty - and happily showed our treasure to all his buddies.

At the end of my scholarship year at King’s College I drove the old lady back home to
Switzerland. My wife and kids had left Aberdeen before me by train, I was solo, just me and
my restored Austin. We travelled on small B roads, and wherever I passed an old garage
I would stop and enquire for spares, back in 1966 spares were still available. Somewhere in
Yorkshire the garage owner told me: No, spares there aren’t, but down there in that shed,
I think there is an old Austin. I went to look and found a very rare specimen, a 1929 Austin
Swallow. Half an hour later I continued my journey being the proud owner of two Austin
Sevens.

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I travelled back to Yorkshire the following year and brought my second vintage car to
Switzerland. My wife and kids complained because the next three years I spent all my spare
time in my workshop restoring the Swallow. In the following years the collection grew further.
I bought a 1924 Austin Chummy, from a friend at the Pre-War Austin club, and a 1935 Austin
Nippy. Car crazy “me” could not stop. For ten years I enjoyed driving my Austins daily. And
then in 1976 my wife’s divorce lawyer asked for her share, making me so bloody angry that
I secretly sold the whole lot.

My green conscience helped only little to overcome the loss, but it helped to live without car
for almost ten years. I must admit that in those ten years I rode heavy British motorbikes,
BSAs, Triumphs and Nortons; overcoming my infatuation with cars was not easy, in spite of
my sore green conscience my addiction to motoring was stronger. In 1985 I was tempted to
buy an Austin Mini Moke. In 1992 I was asked to transfer a 1921 Silver Ghost Rolls Royce
from London to Slowenia and almost fell into the trap of buying it, when the owner offered it
to me when I delivered the car, a near miss. And then, when I was sixty, I bought a Marlin,
the beautiful blue kit car below.

I had dreamed about a two seater sports car when I was forty years younger. As a student
I could not afford to buy one, now at sixty, I drove my dream car with ever so much
enjoyment over ten and more Alpine passes in one go, the Simplon, the Furka, the St.
Gotthard, the San Bernardino, the Splugen, the Maloya, the Bernina, and some Italian
passes in addition. But after four years regularly paying too much money for expensive tires
und servicing the highly tuned engine, I finally gave up dreaming – the Marlin was sold.
I was finally healed from my infatuation with speed. I still love driving, but these days it is a
small two seater city car, a Smart. I am not yet cured from my infatuation with motoring
mobility, that “mental illness” will probably stay with me for the rest of my life.

Nobody is perfect! Clements said, and that was that.

Later that winter day in Korat Clements’ remark came back to my mind: Nobody is perfect!
Something bothered me, deep inside something made me feel uneasy. I did not like the word
“perfect”. I asked myself: What does he “mean” using the word “perfect”? How can anything
be “perfect”? How do we judge what is perfect?

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Nobody is perfect! Reflections on the idea of perfection

What makes us think we must improve to become perfect? What tells us that we ought to
become better? Why can’t we be content with who we are? These questions pushed me into
an uneasy pensiveness, reflective thinking processes that are much more difficult to deal
with than formulating stories out of memories that come up easily; memories that allow me to
tell tales about my career as a singer and as a car collector, jokingly mentioning an incurable
“mental illness”. My pensiveness forced me to reflect on repressed “problems” that I had not
been able to deal with successfully.

We are all damaged in our own way.

Nobody is perfect. Johnny Depp

In what way are we all damaged in our own way? What is my hidden damage, my incurable
problem deep inside? What was it that had damaged me? Is it a deep-seated problem with
not being perfect, with not being good enough? What bothers me about the concept of
“perfection”? What stories do I hide? – even from myself?

When a man sits down to write a history he knows no more than his heels what lets and confounded
hindrances he is to meet with in his way ―or what a dance he may be led, by one excursion or
another, before it is all over. For, if he is a man of the least spirit, he will have fifty deviations from a
straight line. Laurence Sterne

What confounded hindrances cause my deviations from a straight line, I pondered. And then
I laughed out loud:

Human life is not a journey to reach perfection.

It is a life to be lived. You are good enough as you are!

Why can’t you believe that? I asked myself.

That’s a question you should have asked before, the conscious, reflecting “me” shouted.
Another quieter, less stern voice added: It is a question you could not possibly have thought
before. To invent new ideas, to ask new questions, to “fabriquer des concepts”, you need the
help of your friends, the help of all the billions of humans that form the global brain.

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Next time Clements and I are going to meet, we shall have a lot of concept fabrication to do,
happy old “me” realized; we shall have to talk about friends, about communication, dialogue,
and about the troubling, empty idea of perfection and how we can learn to overcome our
personal damage and develop new thoughts. A chance to do just that opened when we
started to tell each other stories about our early adult life.

Clements told me about his years in Germany playing in American Army Rock Music Clubs
and he promised me stories about Gisela, his very special girlfriend, he also told me his
stories of spending some weeks in police custody for some grams of hashish. And I filled in
my story of the one night stand in prison for the cannabis plants that the police had found in
my garden. While listening to his tales from the sixties my mind produced flashbacks of
memories of the younger me: I had been a victim of a fundamentalist Christian upbringing.

I don’t like to remember those years, I said to Clements. The memories that pop-up when
I look so far back still bother me. The “me now” doesn’t like the “me then”.
I was a greenhorn in the art of living and carried an enormously big rucksack of suppressed,
hidden memories from a sometimes very unhappy childhood.

“The “me then” was a young man who did not like himself,
who rarely felt at home with himself. He was feeling
insecure, without knowing why he was feeling insecure,
his inferiority complex was well hidden.

On the outside he was a handsome tween, on the inside

he “knew” he was not good enough. He had not yet found
his identity, his form, and he did not know how to find his
form.

He searched, he tried out different habits and changed them when in his reading he found
new models that might suit him better. The one habit that suited him least was a uniform.
He hated wearing a uniform. And he had to wear one for 333 days, serving in the Swiss
Army as a recruit and later as a corporal. I still get very uneasy when I look at that picture of
myself as a young soldier.

The year of military service was the worst year of my life.

I couldn’t deal with authority, with orders that came from
above. One day I blew up and shouted back at an officer
“You are a stupid asshole!” and spent ten days in military
prison; not a pleasant experience at all. I simply couldn’t
adapt to that uni-form. I couldn’t reflect on why I was so
unhappy, why I rebelled against authority.

I was a victim of life controlled by an external source –

“fremdgesteuert” – and I hated it.

The most urgent unsolvable problem for the young adult “me” was sex. Unmarried young
men - bachelors - were not allowed to have sex in the Protestant Christian culture in which
I grew up. In Zurich there was even a law that forbid unmarried young adults to live together,
the “Konkubinatsverbot” – prohibition of co-habiting. In defiance of that law my first girlfriend
and I co-habited happily for more than a year, until one day her father turned up at the door
of our love nest.

13
 That was a disaster, he demanded that she return to her
family home, sex would be forbidden until we would be
married when I would finish my university studies and get
a diploma.

My girlfriend obeyed the patriarch.

And then - the most stupid idea of my life - I decided

I would give up my studies and get myself a primary
teacher’s diploma, that would take only a year.

We got married in 1958, she was 22, I was 23.

Clements wanted to know how the marriage worked out.

I told him more sad stories of my life between twenty and thirty, stories of how I refused to
accept the fate that my wife (and her father) had in mind for me, live my life as a primary
school teacher. I wanted more from life, but did not know what the “more” might be.
All around me I observed people who wanted more money, who tried to become rich, I was
not interested in money, nor was I tempted by success. What exactly it was that I wanted
I could formulate only thirty years later, in the middle of my midlife crisis; only then did
I realize that I wanted knowing. At 24 I went back to university to study linguistics, I wanted to
know how my mind works, how my brain works, how my language works. I am curious to
know what makes the world go round, curious to know what scientists and philosophers,
linguists and communication theorists have to say about this unfathomable world of ours.

Never lose a holy curiosity, Clements quoted Albert Einstein. I answered with a Kipling quote:

I keep six honest serving-men,

They taught me all I knew;
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.

How did your “six honest servicemen” help to keep your family fed, Clements asked.
Ohhh! - and again - ohhh, no, no, no! You know, Clements, telling this story is very difficult.
The old man who is telling it “here and now”, feels very differently from the man I was when,
sixty years ago, I lived this story. I’m inclined to look at the younger me with pity, a feeling
that is not appropriate at all, the young man very much enjoyed what he was doing, working
fourteen hours six days a week, teaching English at Grammar schools, running from teaching
assignments to university lectures and back to teaching assignments from 7 am till 9 pm.
On Saturdays I drove a taxi cab from 5 pm till 5 am on Sunday mornings. I was always tired
but I enjoyed my life enormously.

What about your marriage, Clements asked, how did the marriage work out?
Badly - we quarreled about money, we had hardly enough to make both ends meet and that
was something my wife with her upper-middle-class background was not used to.
We quarreled a lot about money and when I mentioned my secret ambition of continuing an
academic career with postgraduate studies in America, my wife flatly refused: You have
family responsibilities, she said, give up your adolescent dreams and start earning a living,
like everybody else. And - I did.

14
I was offered a job as program editor at Radio Zürich and started making money - like
everybody else. It was a fascinating job, I liked to work in the media. Only very rarely did a
nagging voice pester me with: You should have gone on studying! I usually managed very
well to keep it quiet, but there was another voice that I could not stop: You are married to the
wrong woman! After fifteen years of marriage we were divorced. I had my freedom back, but
I paid a heavy price. I fell into the almost deadly trap of trying to change my past by
ruminating and regurgitating “I should have …” stories:

I should have kicked her father out.

I should have kicked her out when she returned to her family.
I should never have been married.
I should never have had children.
I should have continued studying.
I should have decided differently.
I should have acted in a manner more adequate to the situation then.
I should have….! I should have….! I should have….!

People started looking at the two foreigners, one of whom showed signs of being quite
embarrassed by the rising voice of the other. The last “I should have…” was very loud, my
shouting even embarrassed myself, I managed to stop the big show.

I’m sorry, Clements, I said, almost expecting that he might forgive me with another “Nobody
is perfect!”. He didn’t. We both smiled and were quiet for a while, I ordered two cups of tea
and two rum-raisin ice creams. We enjoyed the treat quietly. The birds started their very loud
evening concert outside, it was time to end our story session. We parted with our customary:
Next Monday, same time, same place! I started to walk over to where I had parked my
bicycle, my thoughts returning to my shouting attack, my losing self-control over long past
unpleasant experiences. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned. Don’t worry, Clements said
and smiled. Think about Vipasana meditation, that will help!

Clements had told me about his meditation experience on the first day we met, three years
ago, he insisted that I would have to find a good meditation teacher. We had been introduced
in a sweet shop where ex-pats in Korat were hanging out and immediately took a liking to
each other. We left the loud company and walked over to the public garden and sat under
the big, old trees. We talked about why we had come to Thailand, about the “cultural
differences” that sometimes made it difficult to understand Thai people.

We chatted about our past lives, about music, about our relationships, about many books we
had read and about inventions and discoveries that had been useful in our attempts to pull
ourselves out of the swamp of bad thinking habits. For Clements it had been through
Vipasana meditation13. I had tried with more than Munchhausen's audacity, to pull myself up
into existence out of the swamps of nothingness by studying philosophy. I did not believe that
meditation could or would help, for me it smelled of “belief” and beliefs of all kinds smelled
exceedingly bad. The idea of perfection haunted me, beliefs and believers reminded me of
my early childhood.

13
The vipassanā movement, also called the Insight Meditation Movement, refers to a number of branches of
modern Theravāda Buddhism which stress insight into the three marks of existence as the main means to attain
awakening and become a stream-enterer. It finds its origins in modernist influences on the traditions of Burma,
Laos, Thailand and Sri Lanka, and the innovations and popularizations by Theravāda teachers as Mahasi
Sayadaw ("New Burmese Method"), as well as nonsectarian derivatives from those traditions such as the
movement led by S. N. Goenka.
15
Tales of my early childhood:

The next story comes in three versions. The first is a story in pictures:

Me 1935 Me 1936 Me 1937 Me 1938 Me 1939

I cannot comment on the first four pictures. I have no memories of the first three years of my
life. I “know” that I suffered from cradle cap, infantile eczema, because my mother told me
that I had been a very poor little baby, suffering terribly from rashes - so badly that they had
to bind my hands and legs to the sides of my cot to prevent me from scratching myself. I felt
horror when my mother told me that story, fantasies of a crucified little me plagued me for
many years. The first memories that I can remember are of a four-year-old little boy.
The picture of the little soldier was taken in October 1939.

I was born way back in the last century, in 1935.

My memories go back to when I was four years old.
I remember the Church Bell is ringing when the Second
Worldwar broke out, September 1939.

We visited my father in his “peaceful” Swiss military

service. They dressed me up as a soldier and I simply
hated it.

See me here with a frozen smile.

A very bad early communication strategy which resulted
in feeling insecure. My life 1935-1999

The story of the visit to the photographer’s studio I have already told, it must have happened
in July 1939.

I remember what “little me” aged four years said to

himself when mother seated him in front of a
photographer: Why does she dress me up like this to sit
in front of a camera, I hate that dress, I hate my hair,
I hate the world of the grown-ups.

But is that memory true?

Or is it what “me now” interprets? “Me now” does
not remember what “me then” said, it remembers what
“me then” felt: This is not MEEE!

16
This photograph was taken when I was six years old and went to kindergarten.

It has taken me many years to be able to look at

“little me” in this picture without feeling deep anger,
not anger at this little boy who is me, but red hot
anger at what made this lovely little boy look out into
the world so anxiously, with so much fear.
What had made this little boy so afraid?

For fifty-years of my life I could not even ask the

question. I did not know that I carried a rucksack of
hidden unhappy memories that prevented me from being
happy. I did not know what was making me angry.

My method for overcoming hidden fears, for getting to the bottom of my rucksack, was
studying, studying scientific knowledge. The second version of my early childhood story is a
lecture, a sermon in scientific style on the nature/nurture problem.

I had been introduced to that problem reading Tristram Shandy as a student of English
literature sixty years ago:

“I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound
to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me; had they duly considered how much
depended upon what they were then doing; that not only the production of a rational Being was
concerned in it, but that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body, perhaps his genius
and the very cast of his mind; and, for aught they knew to the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole
house might take their turn from the humours and dispositions which were then uppermost:
Had they duly weighed and considered all this, and proceeded accordingly, I am verily persuaded
I should have made a quite different figure in the world, from that, in which the reader is likely to see
me.” Laurence Sterne, The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman

My lecture is about many ideas and facts I learnt studying genetics and evolutionary
psychology:

Let me begin with the story on what the science of psychology tells us about how we acquire
our individual worldviews, our hidden assumptions and presuppositions. What do we know
about the evolution, the growth of feelings and thoughts of newly born humans?

When a human being is born, its first act as a living organism is to cry, is to fill its lungs with
air and pressing this air out again, crying out loud. The first moment of life is “suffering”, is
“realizing” that life is hard work, difficult to enjoy. As newly born creatures we are thrown into
“chaos”, a totally unordered, unknown world which we need to make “real” by learning to see,
to hear, to smell, to taste and to feel touch – the beginning of “thought”, the capacity to make
distinctions. Our networks of neurons learn to “order” sense-impressions. We learn to expect
that many “impressions” are repeated, the same, again and again. We learn to generalize,
we learn to abstract, we learn to evaluate that some of the “inflictions” that arrive at our
brains as nerve impulses, are pleasant and some are unpleasant. But we cannot yet learn to
avoid the unpleasant and seek the pleasant. All this early “ordering” happens - to nobody;
the young brain cannot yet think the “Me”. How do we learn to know who we are?
Newborns cannot yet ask questions, it takes us about three years to learn to speak and even
longer to say “I”. In order to say “I”, we need to learn to re-cognize the “others” outside –
“M-others”, and many more further away others - “farthers”; we need to be “socialized” into
our human “community”, into shared belief systems.

17
But no human brain can remember how it learnt to live in a world of other humans. Our
earliest memories are hidden from us in what psychologists began to call the subconscious.
By the time we become “autonomous, conscious selfs”, socialized, speaking individuals, our
subconscious evaluation of what is happening to us has turned us into pessimists or
optimists, introverts or extraverts, experiencing life from a “sunny” perspective or a
“shadowy” one. Do we learn to be sad or happy persons? Or was it that chance moment
when egg and sperma fused that determines what a “me” will be able to think. Do genes
determine our destiny? Nature or nurture?

Nature or nurture?

This question brings me to the third version of my early childhood story - my story.

From father I get my physique,

Also my earnest nature;
My story-telling bent, glad heart
I have from my dear mother.
Great-grandpapa liked pretty girls,
It shows up in me also;
Great-grandmama loved gold and jewels,
A smack of that’s in me, too.
So if one’s a complex of traits
Inborn and indivisible,
What’s there to call your own, poor wre(tch) Johann Wolfgang Goethe

A very beautiful poem, I thought when we were made to read Goethe at school.
A very beautiful story, but not my story. I had not inherited a story-telling bent from my
mother, nor had I inherited an “earnest nature”, the capacity to think, to reflect, from my
father. All I learnt when I was a child was to believe, to be afraid and to be wretched. I was a
wretch, an unfortunate, unhappy little boy. Why?

Was it “caused” by the first experience of “suffering” when I was born, an experience that
I cannot remember? Or was my fate determined by my first “imprinting” when I tried to “order”
my world, my first attempts to distinguish pleasant experiences from unpleasant ones?
My earliest conscious memories go back to when I was three and a half years old, a little
brother had made me jealous. In the next five years four more babies were born, I remember
being punished for not looking after my siblings. I remember being punished for not obeying,
for being a bad boy. Mother would tell father about me being a bad boy, father would order
the bad boy to fetch the carpet beater and then he would tell me that the Lord had ordered
him to punish the bad boy and then the carpet beater was applied. I was punished by God
himself. I was made to believe in the LORD and the truth of the LORD’s word with a carpet
beater and I hated it. I had problems with beliefs.

18
My early years were not happy. I had started life with an “open mind” as every baby does.
There are no memories of how my empty mind was filled with opinions and beliefs in the first
three years of my existence. What I can still remember is how I was socialized into a rock
solid, ontological plus fundamentalist worldview. I was taught to obey the grown-ups and to
believe in authority. In my family we read the Holy Bible, God’s Word, God’s Orders, every
day – at dawn my father gathered his six children and taught us what to believe and what to
think. We had to kneel and write down our sins committed the day before, then in front of all
the others confess what bad sinners we had been. I learnt to obey and to accept authority,
and I also learnt to view the world as a permanent war, a world war of the dark powers of evil
Sin against the shining Spirit of the LORD. My father filled my mind with stories about the
ultimate authority - the Godfather who was far above. I grew up to be a very insecure,
worried child, an unworthy sinner. Asking questions was strictly forbidden.

As a teenager my mind had developed some analytical capacities – I thus started asking
questions, questions which the reflective human mind finds “naturally puzzling”. How can we
know? How can we know, that what we think we know, is true? What kind of knowledge
makes life worth living? I lost my belief in the secure foundation of religious faith - I became a
doubter, an “ungläubiger Thomas”, as my fundamentalist father called me. He was worried
that I was a “lost soul” and reproached me with being a “nihilist”, when he caught me reading
Nietzsche.

At fifteen I also ran into problems with „authority“. The rector of my teachers training college
to which my fundamentalist father had confined me, was a protestant theologian, who
believed in the literal truth of the Scriptures. I pestered him with pertinent question which for
him were exeedingly „impertinent“. At seventeen I was relegated from the college. From then
on, I was on my own. I worked in a factory as a handyman, later became a taxi driver to earn
my living. At nineteen I went back to school to get my A-levels. I drove a taxi at night and
attended lessons during the day. At twenty-one I started to study linguistics and tried to learn
to think, to reflect. In those years my belief-system changed. I became a firm un-believer:

I no longer believe in eternal truths, but in an ongoing history of ideas in emerging human thinking. I
believe there is no God, there are only ideas of Gods invented by human beings. I believe there is no
final Truth, there are only stories told by speaking humans. I believe there are no god given kings,
there are only human beings constructing a common social world. I believe that there are no battles to
be won, there are only communicative interactions among humans that „appear“ in two forms:
affiliative togetherness and agonal againstness. I believe that we are slowly realizing that the
dichotomy of competition and cooperation needs a new discription, a new evaluation. I believe that we
need to study the history of human beliefs, the history of human ideas and I believe that reflecting on
the hidden assumptions of the „knowledge“ of our ancestors is a necessary step on the path to a new
worldview for the future. UB. Worldview Revisions14.

14
Urs Boeschenstein Worldview-Revisions
19
Nobody is perfect! More reflections on the idea of perfection

Pondering on my unhappy childhood, the history of my beliefs, I came to realize that the
“firm unbeliever” had turned into a preacher like my father, a preacher preaching a prejudice-
loaded sermon. Why do I preach? For over thirty years all my attempts to distinguish
“knowledge” from “beliefs”, all my studies about the history of human life, about the future of
human life and about the meaning of life were tainted by ANGER. I hated believers. When
confronted with believers I always fell into the stupid trap of “preaching”. Was it the deeply
unhappy little “me”, the wretch, that made me preach “truths” about “knowing” ? Was it the
imperfect “me” who was taught with a carpet beater to believe in perfection? Was I angry
because somehow I could not believe in “perfection”? What is perfection? Who invented the
idea of perfection ? When did humans start to think in terms of above = good, below = bad?

An association lighted up - I had read about “above = good, below = bad” very recently in a
book by Lee Smolin, Time Reborn. That book had changed my way of looking at the world,
my worldview, my thinking about distinctions, about Good and Bad. I had taken it along to
Thailand to study it again. I got up to get the book from the shelf, remembered that the
passage on “timeless perfection” was on page 13, opened the book - and there it was:

The universe, for the ancients, was split into two realms: the earthly realm, which was the arena of
birth and death, of change and decay, and the heavenly realm above, which was a place of
timeless perfection. For them the sky was already a transcendental realm; it was populated by divine
objects that neither grew nor decayed. This division was the origin of the connection of elevation with
transcendence. God, the heavens, perfection - these are above us, while we are trapped here below.
15
Lee Smolin

We are trapped in a vale of tears Christian thinkers teach us, in a world that is necessarily
imperfect, a world where all change is bad, where everything New is decreasing God’s
perfect creation, where Sin is not obeying the timeless perfection of God’s commandments,
eating the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge, wanting to know.

Why had I never been able to reflect on the utter stupidity of these basic assumptions of the
Christian religion: God’s timeless perfection, human sin, human search for forbidden
knowledge. How did I ever get caught in such restricted thinking? Why could I not quietly say
to myself: It’s OK not to be perfect!

Before going to sleep that evening that sentence kept returning and later that night
I dreamed about my father preaching from the Bible. He painted God’s handwriting in the air
and said in his deep preacher’s voice: Mene mene tekel upharsin16.

Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting,

thou art lacking quality, thou art not worthy – not good enough!

Next morning, my “Mene, mene tekel upharsim” dream still rang in my ear: Thou art weighed
in the balances, and art found wanting! – found wanting what?, I shouted loud, found wanting
“perfection”? Bullshit! - the heavenly realm above, the place of timeless perfection is a
horrible lie, an illusion.

15
Lee Smolin Time Reborn Penguin Alan Lane, 2013
16
Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin Daniel 5: Then was the part of the hand sent from him; and this writing was
written. And this is the writing that was written, MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN. This is the interpretation of
the thing: MENE; God hath numbered thy kingdom, and finished it. TEKEL; Thou art weighed in the balances,
and art found wanting.
20
My stream of thought shifted in to fast drive: What presuppositions allow humans to assume
that there is a transcendent world without time, a world of eternal verities that the ancients
called the Good, the world of perfection? My worldview does not require an all-powerful,
all-knowing creator who with a “fiat lux” conjured up a universe. My universe is a process of
interaction in time, it is a world of becoming, a world of creative change. There is no perfect
heavenly realm above, nor is there a Hell below. My reflexion process went on. It thought:
“Perfection” is a very dangerous und very stupid human invention. In nature, in the universe,
there is no such thing as perfection, there is nothing absolute, nothing eternal, no final truth.
And then I thought of Clements. How would I be able to tell my friend about the surprising
flight of contemplative imagination that his good advice to remember vipassana meditation
had led me.

On vipassana meditation and perfection

I thought a lot about vipassana meditation, I told Clements when we met again on the
following Monday. I thought about “me” not being perfect, about “me” suffering from attacks
of very stupid thinking and very stupid behaviour. My embarrassing shouting performance
last Monday when I fell into the trap of trying to change my past by inventing “I should have…
- stories” made me realize that I still have a lot to learn. It made me realize that I’m not
perfect, never have been perfect, and never will be perfect. It has also made me realize that
I do not want to be perfect, Clements. I do not want to be purified, I do not want to achieve
enlightenment.

All I want is to be at home in the universe, to be happy, to be content every day.

To achieve that I need to remind myself every moment that it is okay not to be perfect.
I also need to find out what had damaged me in my early years.

It was my fundamentalist father who helped me overcome my anger that had festered under
the cheese dome of Christian beliefs and had been my invisible prison for so long, the
cheese dome of Christian beliefs:

My prison cheese dome

21
On an early summer day in 1983 father assembled his six children to a rare family reunion.
He was 74 years old then and all his six children were adults in their forties, the youngest
Catherine just 40, the eldest, me, 48. There was not much contact among us. Each of us
lived his or her life in distant places, in different surroundings and we never talked about the
terrible indoctrination that had been inflicted on us when we were very young children. Each
of us tried to deal with it in isolation until that summer day in 1983.

We had a pleasant meal in a restaurant on the river Reuss, in the village where Cathy lived.
We exchanged photos, told stories about our families, our own children, about our jobs –
smalltalk! No one mentioned problems until after we all had enjoyed the big cake that mother
had prepared for her brood.

I watched father, he seemed to be a bit tense, sometimes looked at some notes he took from
his coat pocket and then he began to speak: Hmmm, I have, hmmm, invited you to tell you all
that I have…, hmmm……I want to ask for your forgiveness. I have come to realize that my
belief in the Lord and the cheese cover of Christian beliefs that my education inflicted on you
were a big mistake. I beg your pardon.

I was struck as I never had been before, left the company and walked down to the river
overwhelmed by tears. All of a sudden anger welled up, the “sample without value” memory
resurfaced: I am riding on the kiddy seat of my father’s bicycle. We have to stop at a railway
crossing. He gets down from the bike, looks at me smiling and tells me: You are a “Muster
ohne Wert” – a sample without value! To little me this meant: You are a bad boy. You are
not good enough. You will never be allowed to go to Heaven. The “good” Lord will not accept
you! Bloody shit – I cried out loud.

Returning to our table I found the company divided. Cathy and my brother Willy were sitting
apart. The other three, Barbara, the believer in Astrology, Hanna, the believer in the Spirit,
and Reini, the believer in making money, all three simultaneously were talking to father:
No, no, no – you never made a mistake, we had a very good and healthy childhood, we are
glad you gave us rules to live by….

I sat down with Willy and Cathy. We did not talk. A little later Willy pointed to the car,
I nodded and we left. All the way back to Willy’s home we kept quiet. We did a lot of talking
next morning. I told him my Bloody shit story, Willy, the artist, burst out with his version of
that same story. And then we told each other of our fights with the Old Man, thirty years of
unpleasant memories and asked ourselves what had made it possible for our seventy-four
years old father to be so courageous. We both agreed: his finest deed.

Some days later I went to visit my parents. I told my father of my shattering experience and
the story of the “Muster ohne Wert”- the sample without value.

22
“Yes, I can remember that moment. I realise that I hurt you deeply. I did not mean to. You
know - it has taken me fifty years to get out of my cage of beliefs. Maybe it will take you as
long to overcome your anger, your inferiority complex”. And then he smiled and added: “
I can see that you are on the way; you seem to be a happier person all of a sudden”.
A happier person? By shattering my glass dome prison, my father had indeed helped me to
begin to find a new “meaning of life” - a tiny bit of happiness – joy of life! But I had a hard
time learning to smile happily.

A few weeks later, on another visit, I brought father a book with Meister Eckhart’s sermons.
One in particular I wanted father to read: Meister Eckhart’s sermon on blessedness: Blessed
are the poor in spirit: Beati sunt pauperes spiritu (Matt. 5:3). Meister Eckhart used the Middle
High German word “selig” and I had looked up the etymology of that word and discovered
that it goes back to an Indo-European root *sel – happy, of good mood. In English it became
“silly”. Meister Eckhart preached about happiness – sillyness.

silly (adj.) Old English gesælig "happy, fortuitous, prosperous" (related to sæl "happiness"), from
Proto-Germanic *sæligas (cf. Old Norse sæll "happy," Old Saxon salig, Middle Dutch salich, Old High
German salig, German selig "blessed, happy, blissful," Gothic sels "good, kindhearted"), from PIE
*sele- "of good mood; to favor," from root *sel- "happy, of good mood; to favor" (cf. Greek hilaros
"cheerful, gay, merry, joyous"). The word's considerable sense development moved from "happy" to
"blessed" to "pious," to "innocent" (c.1200), to "harmless," to "pitiable" (late 13c.), "weak" (c.1300), to
"feeble in mind, lacking in reason, foolish" (1570s). Further tendency toward "stunned, dazed as
by a blow" (1886) in knocked silly, etc.

Full of “sillyness”, I toId my father smiling, I even learnt to accept that I was "feeble in mind,
lacking in reason, foolish" to which the word “happy” had transformed in Shakespeare’s
lifetime, and "stunned, dazed as by a blow". I had quite literally been “knocked silly” by my
father’s shattering the dome of hidden anger. At the end of our “silly”, “happy” meeting –
talking about Meister Eckhart’s sermon on “sillyness” - I told father that I would start out on a
totally “silly” journey to Santiago de Compostella in Spain – to the end of the world. My father
wished me a “silly” time!

23
El peregrino

A trip to “finis terrae”, the end of the world – to explain what had made me decide to
undertake such a crazy trip, I need to tell the story of how the deeply insecure adolescent
“me” managed to survive his adult years between twenty and fifty. He did it by becoming a
well known TV personality. The troubled hidden inner life – my inferiority complex - had also
become the energy source for a very successful career in the mass media world. After
graduating from Zurich University I became a songwriter and performing artist, went on to
work for Radio Switzerland, then, a step up, to work for Swiss Television, then, another step
upwards, I became a free-lancer, selling “ideas” to various media. In 1982 I had sold a
collegue at Swiss TV a “freakish inspiration” for a film on what had survived on the “camino
frances”, the medieval pilgrims route to Santiago de Compostella. To gather ideas for writing
a filmscript, I could not invest eight months for walking the 2200 kilometers to the relics of
Jacobus Major, I could not do it “andando”. But I also “felt” I would not be able to find my
“ideas” travelling by car. To “reconnoiter” ideas, I decided to travel from Einsiedeln in
Switzerland to Santiago in Northern Spain by tricycle, a threewheeled “bike”, I needed to
pack my instruments safely. Father Roman, a monk at Einsiedeln, with whom I had worked
together on projects for Swiss TV, invited me to spend the night before the start of my
“pilgrimage” at the monastery and next morning he accompanied me to the gate, wishing me
a good TIME.

I did NOT have a good time! On the first few hundred kilometers travelling through
Switzerland my arse hurt from riding my trike, my mood was at a low ebb. One of my other
selves pestered me with: Give up, go back, get your car and do your investigating work like
normal 20th century person, stop being crazy! But – stupid “silly” me persisted, travelled on
through France, uphill, downhill, on and on, and after four weeks I reached the Spanish
border town at the foothills of the Pyrenees.

Tengo Tiempo!

Looking out of the window of my “hostal” at Valcarlos, I saw it was drizzling - Pyrenee-
weather! After breakfast I set off, pulling my tricycle uphill to the Col de Ibaneta in pouring
rain. I arrived at the highest point of the pass, at “Roland’s Chapel”, dripping wet inside and
outside. I saddled my trike and started to ride downhill. I was freezing, I felt miserable and
promised the freezing wretch that he could change his clothes in the next dry place along the
road. And then someone brought the trike to a standstill. He shouted: Its NOW that you want
to be warm, change your clothing NOW. And I did, in pouring rain. When I had finished
digging out the dry stuff from my bag, I undressed, changed my underwear, packed all the
wet stuff in a spare bag, and continued downhill. Less than two hundred yards later, I turned
round a bend – and there, out of the mist, I saw my dry haven – the monastery of
Roncesvalles and on the left side of the road a restaurant. I entered. It was midday, the
restaurant was empty. I sat down at one of the tables and waited - for a long time, nobody
came. After about a quarter of an hour and old woman appeared. I asked for something to
eat - in sign-language - I couldn’t speak a word of Spanish. The women did not answer, she
just disappeared. Some minutes later a younger women came to announce – in broken
French – that in Spain lunchtime was at three in the afternoon, and that there was no cook in
the kitchen anyway. I asked in French, if I could just sit and was granted permission, even
with a trace of a smile. I looked out of the window to the monastery on the other side, the
mist was clearing, the rain had stopped, I had a good time, as Father Roman had wished me
at my departure from Einsiedeln. I really had a good time, dug out my Spanish dictionary and
my beginners book for learning Spanish. I looked up “time” – in Spanish tiempo, the
beginners book supplied “I have” – tengo. Tengo tiempo – my first Spanish sentence: I have
time, I always have time – Tengo tiempo! I closed my diary and just sat there enjoying having
time.

24
Then I heard somebody coming along the gangway, the old woman, carrying a soupbowl
which she put in front of me: Para el pelegrino – for the pilgrim! Pide para nosotros a
Santiago! Pray for us at Santiago. How could the pilgrim who was not a pilgrim prey?

The journey, I thought, is teaching me something important: learn to have time. Hic et nunc!
Life happens here and now, I had discovered. Life does not happen in the past. Nor does life
happen in the future! We always live our lives in the present moment! Tengo tiempo!
I travelled on – at a slower pace than before, stayed some days in Pamplona, enjoyed
meeting some students at Burgos who invited me to stay in their secret smoking pot dig in
the old townwall, crossed Castilia helping farmers in the field. And then I got stuck at
Astorga. Although I had learnt to travel slowly, I had not yet acquired the knack of travelling
day by day without aim, I was still following the pilgrims chant: “ultreia!” – forward, forward.
Pilgrims needed to travel on, to reach Santiago, only there would their sins be forgiven.

I had reached Astorga early in the morning, it was too hot to ride during the daytime and
I had taken to starting before sunrise. I walked through a town that was still asleep and
decided to go on. On my way out of town I had to cross the very wide old cattle market
square. Right in the middle of it there was a painted road crossing. There was even a painted
stop sign, so I stopped – and saw a small Seat car coming from the other side.
It came nearer slowly, and nearer, and nearer and then – at a snail’s pace the Seat hit my
trike. A short, very fat Spaniard crawled out of the car shouting: Sorry, sorry, all my fault,
I slipped off the brakes! We looked at the trike’s broken back wheel. He promised to call his
insurance agent and ran away, wobbling, to a callbox at the edge of the square. Fifteen
minutes later the insurance man arrived and the three of us carried the broken trike to a cycle
repair workshop. The mechanic looked at the broken wheel and said: Can be fixed,- but,
today is Saturday, fiesta!, tomorrow, Sunday, fiesta!, Monday, fiesta!, Tuesday. fiesta!,
Wednesday, fiesta!. You can pick up your contraption on Thursday afternoon.
There I was, stuck! Being stuck was a hard lesson to learn, I hated being stuck. But I was
lucky, I did learn my lesson. The insurance man had helped me to find a nice hostal,
“A Room with a View”: Antonio Gaudi’s Palacio Episcopal.

I had seen it on my early morning arrival at Astorga, but only the outside, the museum had
still been closed. Now, being stuck in my room with a view, I had all the time to go and see
the inside. I spent hours in the “comedor”, the dining hall, watching the light that came in
through the coloured glass windows change from morning light to evening light. Like a
newborn baby I learnt to see. The evenings I went out, the “fiesta” was on, music and
dancing in the streets, I heard “threehole pipes” being played, accompanied by fast
drumming. On the second evening I gathered all my courage and joined the band with my
own minstrels pipes. It worked, my first “jam session”. The minstrel, me, had been a
solomusician for many years, had never met other threehole pipe players, and never
experienced the deep joy of playing together.
25
On Thursday morning I went back to the mechanic’s shop – my trike was ready, time to
travel on. The last few hundred kilometers to Santiago were heavy, from Astorga to the next
town Ponferrada pilgrims have to climb their first high mountain pass, and there were many
more passes to cross until they finally reached Santiago. I travelled very slowly, I had a lot to
think. Many nights I spent in the open, watching sunsets and waking up to sunrises, thinking,
thinking, I very slowly learnt to catch flies.

Catching flies!

Flies? Flies are those thoughts that come up to the top range of my subconscious thinking,
but do not come into the conscious thinking range, those troubled memories that I
suppressed immediately. Watching sunsets such borderline thinking happened with
increasing frequency. I decided to try to catch such non-thoughts, catch them on the fly.
I would hold the “flies” in my fist, trying not to kill them, open my fist slowly to look at them.
Then sometimes I would smile, or even laugh out loud: Poor little wretch, is that all! How can
you be afraid of such little beasts. I learnt to remember the beasts, to reflect on them again
and again during my mountain climbing in hilly Galicia.

But there were also many relapses into my old thinking habits. I got caught in a bad
depression when I finally reached Santiago. It was a total anti-climax. Stupid (silly) me forgot
his “sillyness”. I had travelled for more than seventy days trying not to plan, not “expect”, but
there I was, at the planned destination of my journey - and I was disappointed - nothing
happened, no sins were forgiven, no “blessed” soul was reborn.

On the next day I escaped, climbed my trike again and aimed for the endpoint of the
prehistorical, celtic pilgrimsroute, “finis terrae”, the end of the world, seventy kilometers in the
West. For thousands of years humans had been travelling West, from Canterbury to Land’s
End in England, from Chartres to Finistère in France and from Jacca in the Pyrenees to
where I arrived after my very long journey – Finisterre in Galicia.

Standing on this rocky hill near the lighthouse of Finisterre, I caught a “fly” again:
Stop here! a voice said. Wait for your soul to catch up! You have been travelling much too
fast. My “soul” (which I did not believe I had and which I called my anima, or my intuition)
was telling me: Stay here until you learn to “stop the world”17.
I obeyed, and stayed at “finis terrae” for three full months, the pilgrim who was not a pilgrim
needed time for a “transformation”. He needed to metamorphose into a real pilgrim, a pilgrim
who very slowly learnt to “stop the world”.. It was the strangest experience of my life.

17
Carlos Castaneda: The Teachings of Don Juan A Separate Reality Journey to Ixtlan Tales of Power
26
How I learnt to stop the world watching Atlantic waves

I had found a small hostal overlooking the harbour with a pleasant bar on the ground floor
where I would sit and study my “Spanish for Beginners” book. I was the only tourist in town,
nobody mistook me for a “peregrino”18 until one day a pretty young lady approached my table
and asked me in English: “Excuse me. I have watched you for some days sitting here
learning Spanish from an English book. I am a student of English at Santiago University and
I wonder if you could help me. I’m studying Middle English and I don’t understand a word. It’s
very difficult. She sat down, took a large folder out of her satchel and confronted me with a
photocopy of the beginning of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.

Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heath
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open eye-
(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seeke. Geoffrey Chaucer

It was a text I knew by heart - and so I recited it. She listened with big eyes. “Where did you
learn that?” she asked and I told her that thirty years ago I had studied Middle English at
Zurich University. It was the beginning of a very pleasant collaboration, I taught her Middle
English and she taught me Spanish. We met almost every day, one hour translating
Chaucer, one hour reading Spanish newspapers or chatting about books. I had bought
Castaneda’s Journey to Ixtlan in a bookshop at Santiago. One day during those language
lessons she transformed me into a peregrino. I was explaining the word “palmeres” to my
student, telling her that pilgrims to Jerusalem carried a palm leaf as their sign:

She smiled and asked:”Are you a pilgrim?” I answered: “No, no, no! I am a crazy filmmaker,
not a pilgrim”. But she insisted: “Yes, you are a pilgrim! You should wear the sign of the
Santiago pilgrims, a scallop shell”.

18
Back then, in 1984, there were not many tourists coming to “the end of the world”, as a matter of fact, there
were none at all The boom of pilgrims in their thousands came only about ten years later, in the early nineties .
27
Cristina took me for a walk along the beach collecting scallop shells. We then returned to our
meeting place at the bar, spread our treasure on the table, she pointed to a particularly fine
specimen and told me: “I want to sew that on your dungarees”. Next day she brought them
back and told me with a big smile: “So! Now you are a real peregrino! And this is your
peregrino poem”:

Caminante, son tus huellas Wanderer, your footsteps are

el camino, y nada más; the road, and nothing more;
caminante, no hay camino, wanderer, there is no road,
se hace camino al andar. the road is made by walking.
Al andar se hace camino, By walking one makes the road,
y al volver la vista atrás and upon glancing back
se ve la senda que nunca one sees the path
se ha de volver a pisar. that must never be trod again.
Caminante, no hay camino, Wanderer, there is no road
sino estelas en la mar. Only wakes upon the sea. Antonio Machado

The poem was a flash of insight that transformed my whole outlook on life. Yes indeed -
“a volver la vista atrás se ve la senda que nunca se ha de volver a pisar”. What you see
when you look back you will never have to trod again. The “caminante” cannot change the
past. Forget the past, look forward! I had been a ruminator, a regurgitator pondering on past
mistakes all my life. The newborn peregrino in a flash realized that he needed to change that.
I ordered two “fundadors” to celebrate. We drank in silence, enjoying each others company,
looking out to the harbour where the large fishing boats were returning their catch to the
market.

Later in the evening I learnt Machado’s poem by heart on my daily walk to the Atlantic side of
Finisterre. From the fishing port of Finisterre on the eastern side of the lighthouse peninsula
with its soft sandy beach I had climbed up the steep hill and down on the western Atlantic
side to the pebbly beach to watch the Atlantic breakers rolling in from the west of the “Costa
de la muerte” up to six meters high, rolling on and on. I happily shouted my newfound
“caminante”-wisdom to the waves:

Caminante, son tus huellas Wanderer, your footsteps are

el camino, y nada más; the road, and nothing more;
caminante, no hay camino, wanderer, there is no road,
se hace camino al andar. the road is made by walking.

I had started off at Einsiedeln a fake pilgrim, and I ended up at Finisterre, watching the
Atlantic breakers rolling on, a real peregrino.

28
“Last night I learnt to be at home in the universe”, I told Christina pointing to her peregrino
sign on my dungarees, “you have transformed me into a pilgrim, a caminante, a happy “silly”
wanderer”. “Why silly?”, she asked, and I answered with my Meister Eckehart story on
“sillyness”. I told Cristina I would want her to look at a book, and went up to my room to fetch
it. It was a book with the title “El camino iniciatico de Santiago”19. I had found it in a bookshop
at Astorga during my unplanned sojourn being stuck. Next day Cristina brought it back,
exclaiming: Wow, this is fantastic! “El camino iniciatico de Santiago” is all about “happiness”,
the story of mediaeval stonemasons travelling to Santiago “for to seken straunge strondes, to
ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes” seeking inner peace, preparing for an inner death on
their camino and being reborn as “silly”, happy ignorants at the end of the world”.

Yes, seeking inner peace, becoming happy ignorant is what pilgrims learn on their travels, on
their “travails” – their hard work seeking “strange strands” – walking on, walking their
“camino” that makes itself “al andar”.

Early September our learning sessions came to an end, Cristina returned to her studies at
Santiago and we met only on Sundays when she came back to Finisterre to stay with her
parents. But for me the holidays, the holy days, were not yet over, I stayed on, continued to
walk out to the lighthouse and down to the beach to watch the waves. One of Cristina’s
friends was a piper, he played the Spanish bagpipes, the gaita, I learnt to play that
instrument “anando” - walking my daily walks. Se hace camino al andar – playing the gaita.
I was a lonely traveller again, but with a difference, I walked with music as a companion, and
- most amazing - I walked with many voices accompanying me. I no longer had to catch flies,
my anima and my many other hidden selves began to talk, we had most interesting
conversations.

One day, sitting on the wet edge of the pebbly beach, the edge where the breakers would no
longer roll over me with the out running tide, one of the voices asked me: Why do you come
out here every day? What do the breakers tell you? What indeed, I thought. And then the
wide awaken conscious me formulated: The breakers are telling me the history of the
universe, the story of an ongoing process, waves rolling on and on, always the same and
never the same.

Walking back, my bagpipes under my arm, I reflected on that ongoing process.

The universe is not a thing that I can see, it is a process that I cannot see. Life also, is a
process that I cannot see. And then, with a smiling face, I realized that I had lost my
ontological worldview, I had lost my secure ground. The breakers had helped me to
experience a process, to transform my solid weltbild-house into a float. My seeing and
hearing began to change. I saw flowers and trees, I saw animals and people where before
I had been blind. Like a newborn baby, I learnt to see beauty afresh every moment.

19
Juan Pedro Morin Bentejac; Jaime Cobreros Aguirre El camino iniciatico de Santiago, 1976.
29
Some weeks later, on a sunny autumn Sunday afternoon, Cristina came along to my
caminante ritual. We walked through the vegetable gardens behind the town, up the steep
hill to the top. We sat down and looked out to the wide ocean. Cristina told me of her nice
success with the Chaucer-reading class. The prof had congratulated her and lauded her
progress in Middle English. She had been very “silly”, she said. We continued downhill to the
beach. I told her what the breakers had taught me, my discovery of the phenomenon of
“process”, waves rolling on and on, always the same and never the same.
The breakers came in really high that afternoon, there had been a heavy storm on the
Atlantic further west. Must be higher than six meters, Cristina ventured; yes, very impressive,
I retorted. And then came an unexpected question: Do you think the moving waves can
think? Is the universe a thinking process?

I had no answer. I did not know. Then a voice whispered: Jenseits von Gut und Böse
and I voiced that: Jenseits von Gut und Böse! What does that mean? Cristina asked.
I explained – Beyond Good and Evil, the title of a Nietzsche essay. I do not know if the
universe is a thinking process; I do not know if moving waves can think; but I do know that
I can think and I also know that you can think. Humans can think, they can even think that
they think. Cogito ergo sumus. My mind was working very fast and the sermon preaching
inner voice blurted out: But we mustn’t think about Good and Bad as transcendental truths,
somewhere outside us. There are no eternal truths, there are no eternal gods…. I heard a
voice that I had heard before, it said: Stop! and talkative me did stop. I looked at Cristina and
smiled. We continued to watch the “eternal” waves for a while, smiling, and then we trotted
back over the hill, when we arrived at my hostal Cristina said: Do you know that you just
stopped the world as Castaneda’s Don Juan did?

Later that evening, I remember looking out of the window to the fishing boats in the harbor
feeling worried. Had I really “stopped the world” watching Atlantic breakers at the end of the
world? Maybe? Maybe not! When Cristina told me that I had stopped the world, I was not
sure. Why can I not feel sure, I wondered, why can I not trust my feelings? And then a new
voice talked: You are asking an unanswerable question. You will never know who you are,
you will never know for sure who stopped the world. Try to transform the question into “Who
are we? Who are we humans that we can ask questions, and reflect on how we can stop the
world, stop the stream of thinking.

Who was that voice? It wasn’t “me”, the thinker. One thing I was sure of that evening, I had
been able to stop preaching, I had been able to communicate with an “other”, a you, an alter
ego, in a new form - not talking. I had somehow overcome my urge to preach eternal truths.
Would that be a sign for being able to give up riding my deeply negative preaching hobby
horse, a sign that the beast was becoming more docile, that I was becoming a little wiser,
I pondered, when I finished writing the “tales of my silly pilgrimage”

Becoming a little wiser? Can we humans become wiser by telling stories, I asked myself in
my Korat apartment thirty years later, in January 2014 – Am I becoming a tiny bit wiser?
End of September 1983, at the end of the world, I had discovered a storytelling Me “à la
découverte du temps à venir”. That, I believed then, was real progress. On the long journey
from Einsiedeln to “finis terrae” I had learnt to take my time – Tengo tiempo! I had practiced
to “catch flies”, I had learnt to listen to voices deeply hidden, and to make progress in self-
understanding, watching Atlantic waves. With the help of Cristina, the filmmaker had become
a “peregrino”. I read my stories again, quite pleased with the result, and then printed it for my
friend Clements, wondering how he would react to what I had written riding my transformed
2014 hobby-horse. Looking up from my computer, Tristram Shandy on the bookshelf smiled
at me. I opened the book and tried to find the passage again where Tristram admits to his
readers: “But the truth is, I am not a wise man!”

30
“If you come to that, Sir, have not the wisest of men in all ages, had their hobby-horses. So long as a
man rides his hobby-horse peaceably along the King’s highway, and neither compels you or me to get
up behind him, - pray, sir, what have either you or I to do with it. De gustibus non est disputandum; -
that is, there is no disputing against hobby-horses. Be it known to you, that I keep a couple of pads
myself, upon which, in their turns, (nor do I care who knows it) I frequently ride out and take the air; -
tho’ sometimes, to my shame be it spoken, I take somewhat longer journeys than what a wise man
20
would think altogether right… But the truth is, I am not a wise man.”. Laurence Sterne .

I suddenly realized that ever since I first picked up the idea of hobby horse riding from
Laurence Sterne in the early fifties, all my studying, all my reading, had been attempts at
“domesticating” my hobbyhorse, searching for knowledge and wisdom of knowing, trying to
“control” my fear of beliefs and believers. I laughed at myself: So what! You are not a wise
man! You are not perfect, never have been and never will be. But you are riding your
hobbyhorse “peaceably along the King’s highway”, you may “take somewhat longer journeys
than what a wise man would think altogether right”. But – and here I speak with my own
voice again - I am a happy old man at home with myself, managing my everyday life with a
surprising degree of very imperfect wisdom. I have learnt the hard way to train my
hobbyhorse not to get lost in the quicksand of unanswerable questions like “Who am I?”.

In the thirty years since my return from Finisterre my hobbyhorse acquired a new calling –
it became that part of me that searches to understand the world of relations, the “I and Thou”
communication world of Martin Buber .

To man the world is twofold, in accordance with his twofold attitude.

The attitude of man is twofold, in accordance with the twofold nature
of the primary words which he speaks.
The primary words are not isolated words, but combined words.
The one primary word is the combination I – Thou,
the other primary word is the combination I – It;
wherein, without a change in the primary word, one of the words He and She can replace It.
Hence the I of Man is also twofold.
For the I of the primary word I - Thou is a different I from that of the primary word I – It.
As experience, the world belongs to the primary word I - It.
The primary word I - Thou establishes the world of relation.

In the world of relation, the two of us, my hobbyhorse and I, learnt to ask the much more
fundamental question: “Who are we?”, we learnt to avoid “self-importance”, the error of
confounding “thou” and “it”. Cogitamus ergo sumus! - I became a No one –

Niemand knetet uns wieder aus Erde und Lehm, No one kneads us again out of earth and clay,
niemand bespricht unsern Staub. no one incants our dust.
Niemand. No one.
Gelobt seist du, Niemand. Blessed art thou, No One.
Dir zulieb wollen In thy sight would
wir blühn. we bloom.
Dir entgegen. In thy spite.
Ein Nichts A Nothing
waren wir, sind wir, werden we were, are now, and ever
wir bleiben, blühend: shall be, blooming:
die Nichts-, die the Nothing—, the
Niemandsrose. No-One's-Rose. Paul Celan

Paul Celan’s “Die Niemandsrose” – the No-One's-Rose - became my medicine against “self-
importance”. This medicine helped me to throw my captain’s cap away and accept the
multitude of voices that I am. It allowed me to feel processes, to transform my solid, static
weltbild-house into a a dynamic float:

20
Laurence Sterne The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman; 1759
31
I had always seen myself as the captain of my boat of life, I was the „cybernetes“ controlling the ship.
In Finisterre, looking out to the rolling Atlantic waves, I threw my captain’s cap away. My new
worldview-float has no steering wheel. I need to accept every moment as it comes and revise my
plans accordingly. Buddhists would say, I lost my Ego. UBoe

Becoming a “No one” – losing my Ego, learning to be a “we” instead of an “I” at the end of my
Santiago pilgrimage - helped the storytelling “me” who had been “à la recherche du temps
perdu” for fifty years (always looking back to where he thought he came from, and often
being plagued by “I should have…” stories) - to transform himself into a storytelling Me “à la
recherche du temps trouvé, du temps inventé, du temps futur”, à la découverte du temps à
venir.

Ultreia!

Go on and on.
Forget the past, look forward!

Al andar se hace camino, By walking one makes the road,

y al volver la vista atrás and upon glancing back
se ve la senda que nunca one sees the path
se ha de volver a pisar. that must never be trod again.

Now, 2014, almost thirty years later, I am very, very slowly learning to reflect on the stories
that I’m telling myself and how these stories changed over the years - “Pilgrim’s Progress”?
I had to read John Bunyan’s book for my English literature courses long ago, and I hated it,
as I hated everything that smelled of Christian belief and Christian teaching. I even hated the
concept of “progress”, it made me think of that horrible Christian idea that because we are
sinners, it was our duty in life to become better, to progress to a better life, a life to come, as
the title of the book says:

“The Pilgrim’s Progress from this World to That which is to come, Delivered under the
Similitude of a Dream”

John Bunyan The Pilgrim's Progress

32
I hated that dream of an afterlife, believers in the dream of an afterlife made me angry.
Meeting believers released an uncontrollable urge to preach. Even now that I have learnt to
control the urge a little better, I try to avoid believers. I do not only try to avoid believers, I try
to avoid beliefs. I regard “faith”, “credos” of all varieties as a mental aberration that has
plagued humanity ever since the neolithic, when communities of humans began to grow
excessively and became, as Ovid sings, “prone to horrible warfare”. War is always about
ideology, about belief. Stop preaching! Stop preaching ideology! Stop preaching Ersatz-
religion! said one voice. Continue, you must tell your story, said another. So I continue:

The pilgrim had made progress, he had learnt a lot, both on his way from Switzerland to the
Atlantic, and while he remained sitting still at the end of the world, where he could not go on
and on an on, and began to think about Machado’s poem: Caminante no hay camino, se
hace camino al andar! - The road is made by walking. You make your way travelling, here
and now, never in the past, never in the future, always here and now! The pilgrim, the
“peregrino” who had “progressed” to the end of the world, had learnt that there is no way of
“progressing” on a prefixed, predetermined route.

When I met my fellow traveller Clements again on the following Monday, I brought him
copies of my “Pilgrim’s Progress" stories and recited Machado’s poem as a welcome
greeting:

Caminante no hay camino, se hace camino al andar!

Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more,
wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking.

I found this poem at the end of a long road, I told my friend, a long road that I did not quite
make by walking, but by riding a bicycle for 2500km. Remember I told you about my voyage
to Santiago de Compostella? I have tried to write the stories that I told you some weeks ago,
here is a copy of the result of my translation of oral stories into carefully structured written
form. I hope you like it. Thanks, Clements said, I’m looking forward to reading that.

By the way, that poem about “the way” that is made by walking, is a really fine poem, could
you write it out for me? No need, the Machado poem is a key passage in the stories I just
gave you to read. But I opened my notebook anyway and showed Clements the link to
Antonio Machado’s poem on my homepage21:

Caminante, son tus huellas Wanderer, your footsteps are

el camino, y nada más; the road, and nothing more;
caminante, no hay camino, wanderer, there is no road,
se hace camino al andar. the road is made by walking.
Al andar se hace camino, By walking one makes the road,
y al volver la vista atrás and upon glancing back
se ve la senda que nunca one sees the path
se ha de volver a pisar. that must never be trod again.
Caminante, no hay camino, Wanderer, there is no road
sino estelas en la mar. Only wakes upon the sea. Antonio Machado

You know Clements, this poem has guided my thinking, the reflexive part of my life, for thirty
years. It has taken me a very long time to learn to integrate its lessons:

Caminante, son tus huellas el camino, y nada mas.

Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar!

21
Antonio Machado Caminante
33
This poem reminds me of Laozi – The way that can be wayed is not the permanent way,
Clements said. I looked at my friend with big eyes - his remark on Laozi surprised me. I had
thought of that comparison also. I then clicked on to what I had collected some years ago,
when for many months I had battled with the very strange forms of thinking I had
encountered when trying to “understand” what Chinese sages had left us.

The Dao that can be trodden is not the enduring and unchanging Dao.
The name that can be named is not the enduring and unchanging name.

dao ke dao fei chang dao

ming ke ming fei chang ming

The first line with the three “dao” signs I had found translated in many different versions.
The one that comes nearest to your “The way that can be wayed is not the permanent way”,
I found in a German rendering:

Der Weg, der wirklich Weg ist, ist ein anderer als der unwandelbare Weg.
Die Namen, die wirklich Namen sind, sind andere als unwandelbare Namen.'
The beginning of Heaven and Earth cannot be worded,
The Word is the Mother of everything existing.

It has taken me fifty years of studying linguistics, studying the Word, the Logos of the
Greeks, language, speech, verbal communication, to be able to appreciate the deep truth
about “the mother of everything existing”. For us speaking humans everything exists in words
only. Reality is what we name with words22 – ming ke ming fei chang ming. – we are
“wording” reality.

A giant step to understand “wording”, languaging, I made thirty years ago “sitting still” on the
shores of the Atlantic at the end of the world, when I learnt to speak without words. This is
what I’ve been trying to describe in the stories I gave you to read. I had attempted to grasp
the basics of communication, when I studied linguistics at Zürich University, fifty years ago,
but I did not learn much then. Later, between thirty and almost fifty, I was busy making a
career and had no time for studying language theory – the theory that describes our
“languaging”, our “wording”, our using language to communicate with others, as “the mother
of everything”.

During my media career I had been totally unable to sit still and reflect. Sitting still, watching
Atlantic breakers at Finisterre was a big step, the pilgrim had indeed made progress, but
I was still far from understanding, really understanding, what the ”mother of the ten thousand
things” was trying to tell me about language and communication.

22
ming ke ming fei chang ming - 名 可 名， 非 常 名
名 ming – to call, to name, to assign a name
34
Clements interrupted my lamento: You told me that after three months at the end of the world
you returned home. Did you make progress on your film project?

No, I didn’t, I never made that film, I replied. - I couldn’t, I could not even start writing a
treatment. How can one make a film on an “inner” journey, Clements? My reconnoitering trip
had turned into a pilgrimage that had led me to a very strange “pilgrim’s progress”, sitting still
at the end of the world. The media personality “me” was told by Atlantic breakers that the
meaning of life was not becoming famous, it was “beyond Good and Bad”.

On the journey back to Zurich, the filmmaker had not yet realized that he had died. He still
tried to make notes, to order his ideas, to plan the future. But my thinking was hazy, I could
not concentrate. It took me some time to accept that my media career had died a sudden
death.

I finally “learnt” that truth a few days after returning to Zürich. It is quite a funny story,
I told my friend: I was sitting in the warm autumn sun having an espresso in the artist’s cafe
shop on the river, when a little boy, about five years old, came up to my table and looked at
me. He then went back to mummy and asked her: Mummy, has that man there been in my
TV? I think I know him! Mummy told him to go back and ask. The little boy came to my table
again, looked me up and down and then said: You have been in my TV yesterday, and you
did not even say hello to me. Sorry, I said, but I can say hello to you now. How are you.
Looking at the smiling little boy, it suddenly dawned upon me that for many years I had no
longer been able to go out in public because I had been afraid of being recognized by
strangers - strangers who would come up to me expecting that I should react to them as a
good old friend, since they knew that I had visited them in their home. And of course I had
never been in their home, only my image had been.

Remembering the little boy who told me: “you didn’t even say hello to me”, opened a new
“stream of thought”. You can easily stop being afraid of strangers, I said to myself, all you
have to do is to stop appearing in front of a camera, in six months time people will no longer
remember your face. In December 1983 I sold my big house, packed my instruments, flew to
India to study Indian classical monophonic music.

How did you like India, Clements wanted to know.

I hated it, I replied. It was a catastrophy! – the worst catastrophy of my life.
Why? You just told me it was easy to put an end to your career.
Yes, - some of it was very easy. I didn’t lie when I told you “the little boy story”.
But I must confess, I didn’t tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
I couldn’t - it would have hurt too much, even now there is excruciating pain.
It is difficult for me to talk about the CATASTROPHY.

The whole truth is that on my return home I found the big house empty - my wife gone, my
car gone, my pictures gone, my antiques gone – my self - gone! I didn’t know where
everything had gone to and refused to accept what was in front of my eyes: my wife, my
Goddess, had turned out to be a cheap thief. I found out a fortnight later when I met the lady
at the justice of peace office, she had filed a divorce, and in addition to what she had stolen
she wanted a lot of money. I tell you Clements, the worst day of my life, everything broke
down, everything was blown apart, an explosion, a nervous breakdown, lying awake a whole
night screaming. At dawn, shaking all over, I took the train to Zürich, waited in front of the Air
India office until they opened, booked a flight to Delhi on 21 December. Then I called my
brother who had contacts with property agents and told him that my house was for sale.
I didn’t tell him why - I didn’t call any of my friends, I couldn’t talk to anybody.
Late afternoon, I crawled back into my empty hole and just howled for many days and nights,
I didn’t even have the energy to be angry, I was just in very terrible pain.

35
We were divorced on December 3 and three weeks later I escaped to India. I hoped that the
pain would be less intolerable with ten thousand kilometers between us - this was not the
case. The first months in India were sheer hell, at Varanasi everything stank of human piss
and shit, I got lost in the swirling mass of people, all the rules for navigating and orientating
myself did no longer apply in that totally strange world and my wounded “I” isolated itself in
the very restricted thinking space of my snail shell. I stayed in a guesthouse near the Ganga
river, where sitting in the porch I could watch dead bodies being carried down to the river to
be cremated, the air stank of burnt human flesh. I can hardly remember how I survived,
I shuddered. One day I was approached by a young Austrian who lived a floor above in the
same guest house. Adrian turned out to be a physician who was on a sabbatical studying
Ayurvedic medicine. He prescribed me some strange looking pills that saved my life, suicide
plans had plagued me badly. I only just managed to get out alive, I survived, I said nodding
head, arms and legs, feeling the despair of thirty years ago.

Clements pointed to his stiff leg and said: The accident that caused this also happened in
India. I know what it’s like to just survive, it’s hard indeed. Life in India can be very
depressing. It seems to me that this has to do with a very sick caste society.
Yes, indeed. For many months I could not “see” what made it difficult, neither could I reflect
on it. After some months I started calling it a “bicycle rider society” – people bowing to what is
above and trampling on what is below. It made me sick - malaria, liver trouble - after almost a
year in India I fled and returned to Europe. My physical health improved quickly, but my
mental health required a drastic change from busy Zurich town to some place where I could
“cultivate” my interior and exterior garden. I moved to the south of Switzerland, to the Ticino,
and started to look for something small where I could spend the rest of my days. In spring
1985 I bought a little house in Italy on lago maggiore.

La torre del orso

La torre del orso – the Bear tower! Rancone – Oggebbio – Verbania – Italia..
The little house on the left, with the black windows. This is the home of Urs, the bear, la torre
del orso. He has lived here for thirty long years, tending his green garden and learning to be
a little wiser looking out over lago maggiore.

Rancone view – looking East.

36
You know, Clements, I did a lot of “looking east” in the past thirty years, studying the I Ging,
the Book of Changes, Laozi and Chuangzi.

My working space

This is my library and my music studio, here I used to play my music and do my reading.
It is in this atelier that I ride my hobby-horse.
Very beautiful, Clements commented.
Yes, my house and garden are a paradise, it has grown to be very beautiful.

Il faut cultiver notre jardin. Voltaire

It’s taken thirty years of slowly growing to become as peaceful as it is, sometimes it is hard
work, sometimes easy. It depends on the weather, I added smiling, it also depends on how
well I feed my hobbyhorse.

My large park

37
I packed my memorabilia photographs, took a sip of cafe, a bite of cake, and took out
Tristram Shandy from my satchel, opened it on bookmark 471 and read:

My hobby-horse, if you recollect a little, is no way a vicious beast; he has scarce one hair or lineament
of the ass about him –‘Tis the sporting little filly-folly which carries you out for the present hour -
a maggot, a butterfly, a picture, a fiddle stick – or an any thing, which man makes the shift to get a
stride on, to canter it away from the cares and solicitudes of life – ‘Tis a useful beast as is in the
whole creation - nor do I really see how the world could do without it. Laurence Sterne

My hobbyhorse - my search for knowledge and wisdom of knowing – is indeed a useful

beast. Gardening, practising music and reading books on many branches of science keep it
„a sporting little filly-folly“ that helps me deal with „the cares and solicitudes“ of everyday life.
It also assists me in my worldview revisions from a solid, static world view house to a
dynamic world view float swimming on deep water with no fixed ground that I had reached on
my pilgrimage to the end of the world and to transform my world view into an airy flying
“château des pyrenées” studying highly abstract philosophy of science and reading up on
21st century quantum cosmology to reach a worldview in the element of creative fire.

You do believe in science, Clements remarked. Are you sure that science will solve
humanity’s problems? I laughed and confirmed: Yes, I do believe in science. Humanity will
only be able to solve its problems – population explosion, climate change, species extinction,
water and raw material shortages – if global communication networks can creatively widen
our horizon of thought (and emotional evaluation) to allow us to overcome the solipsism of
individual consciousness. I deeply believe that the emerging “global brain” permits us to have
hope for the future.

To have hope for the future - those were the last words I said to Clements. On the first
Monday in March he missed our storytelling appointment, and in the middle of March, when
in Thailand it was becoming exceedingly hot, my beautiful garden in Italy invited me to return
home. I left Korat without saying goodbye to my friend Clements and never found out what
he thought of my life stories.

38
Part II
The storytelling Me - à la découverte du temps à venir

My spiritual transformation stories – Hope for the Future

On the plane, flying back from Thailand to Italy, I couldn’t sleep, my mind was still in Korat.
I was still sitting in the Coffey house garden with Clements, telling stories. I remembered how
I had not been able to make clear to Clements why I did not want to go to a vipassana
meditation course. How difficult it that been to explain to him that the problem was not that
I did not want to go, but that I felt that I didn’t need to go. I remembered the many hours of
quarrelling with Clements about “perfection” and the way to perfection that he had found in
vipassana meditation, I remembered a voice that had whispered to me: Just do it! It will be a
new experience. Allow yourself to be open! So after many weeks of misunderstandings, I had
given in and applied for a vipassana course at the Dhamma Atala Center at Lutirano,
Firenze, Italy. That would be in the future, end of May, still a long way off.

I also remembered our last conversation on my belief in science and my hope for the future.
You know Clements, I told him in my musings during the flight back, my answer to your
question about my “belief” and my “hope” had been overly rational, I had not been able to tell
you my very personal “spiritual transformation story”.

Looking out of the small plane window - we were flying over the dark mountains of
Afghanistan - I started to float in thinking space, fragments of “wisdom” welled up from the
past, fragments of what I had read thirty years ago. “The pattern that connects” (Gregory
Bateson); “One has to view the world in terms of universal flux of events and processes”
(David Bohm); “unus mundus” - “outgrowing” (Carl Gustav Jung), and fragments of what
I had found in my search for “meaning” – What is meaning? What makes sense?

Returning home and after sleeping off my jetlag, I searched in my library for the books that
I had not opened for thirty years, Bateson’s Mind and Nature - A Necessary Unity, Bohm’s
Wholeness and the Implicate Order, and Jung’s Commentary to The Secret of the Golden
Flower. I had a lot of re-reading to do, and a lot of re-thinking. It slowly dawned upon me that
the storytelling me of Part One would not be able to tell stories of transformation, stories of
spiritual transformation. I could not tell Clements about “process-thinking”, about
“fragmentation”:

Men who are guided by a fragmentary self-world view cannot, in the long run, do other than to try in
their actions to break themselves and the world into pieces, corresponding to their general mode of
thinking - an attempt to divide what is really indivisable. In the next step such an attempt will lead us
also to try to unite what is not really unitable…

True unity in the individual and between man and nature, as well as between man and man, can arise
only in a form of action that does not attempt to fragment the whole of reality. Our fragmentary way of
thinking, looking, and acting, evidently has implications in every aspect of human life. We try to divide
what is one and indevisible, and this implies that in the next step we will try to identify what is different.
So fragmentation is in essence a confusion around the question of difference and sameness
23
(or one-ness). David Bohm

I could not tell Clements about “oneness”, about Jung’s “unus mundus” and “overgrowing
suffering”. I could not tell him what Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil meant to me, what
Machado’s “y al volver la vista atras” whispered to the me deeply hidden inside. “Caminante,
no hay camino sino estelas en el mar” – vortices – turbulent vortices, that is what it meant to
me: a turbulent mass of vortices in a stream of change.

23
David Bohm Wholeness and the Implicate Order
39
….consider the image of a turbulent mass of vortices in a stream. The structure and distribution of
vortices, which constitute a sort of content of the description of the movement, are not separate from
the formative activity of the flowing stream, which creates, maintains, and ultimately dissolves the
totality of vortex structures. When we really grasp the truth of the one-ness of the thinking process
that we are actually carrying out, and the content of thought that is the product of this process, then
such insight will enable us to observe, to look, to learn about the whole movement of thought and thus
to discover an action relevant to this whole, that will end the “turbulence” of movement which is the
essence of fragmentation in every phase of life. David Bohm

“To grasp the truth of the one-ness of the thinking process” - answering “the question of what
is different and what is not”, cannot be achieved by our rational human minds alone, it
requires “vipassana” – insight.

In the very early phases of the development of civilisation, man’s views were essentially of wholeness
rather than of fragmentation. In the East such views still survive, in the sense that philosophy and
religion emphasise wholeness and imply the futility of analysis of the world into parts. It is of course
impossible to go back to a state of wholeness that may have been present before the split between
East and West developed. Rather, what is needed is to learn afresh, to observe, and to discover for
ourselves the meaning of wholeness. In doing this, it is important that we be clear on the role of
techniques, such as those used in various forms of meditation. In a way, techniques of meditation
can be looked on as measures (actions ordered by knowledge and reason) which are taken by man to
try to reach the immeasurable, i.e., a state of mind in which he ceases to sense a separation
between himself and the whole of reality. David Bohm

“To reach the immeasurable” – that does not mean to seek the immeasurable, to search for a
final stage of tranquillity, a stage of eternal perfection. To me it means to wake up and it
means to be on the “way”.

Good friends! You already possess the prajna wisdom of enlightenment. But because your minds are
deluded, you cannot understand by yourselves. You need to find a truly good friend to show you the
way to see your nature. Good friends, buddha nature isn’t different for the ignorant and and the wise.
It is just that people are deluded or awake. When people are deluded, they are ignorant.
When they wake up, they become wise.
Enlightenment is our original inherant nature:
Excite the mind, and there is confusion.
Be pure of mind in the midst of illusion;
just be true, and there are no barriers.
If people of the world practice this Way,
nothing will present an obstacle.
Always see your own mistakes by yourself
24
and you will be fit for the Way. Hui Neng

The first steps in my long journey to wake up I had experienced at the end of the world,
watching Atlantic breakers and reflecting on the immeasurable, the unobservable, the
unknowable beyond good and evil. I had been on my way of meditating on the meaning of
life for the past thirty years, On re-reading Jung in my ivory tower, my torre del orso,
I remembered what had kept me on the way:

The veil of Maya cannot be lifted by a mere decision of reason, but demands the most thoroughgoing
25
and wearisome preparation consisting in the right payment of all debts to life. C.G. Jung

I had done my “wearisome preparation consisting in the right payment of all debts to life” in
those months of terrible suffering in India. In the thirty years since my escape to India, living
a very quiet life reading books and working in the garden, I slowly learnt to converse with
myself, me talking with my self, the fool talking to the many fools he is.

24
Hui-Neng The Platform Sutra, Translation Red Pine, Shoemaker&Hoard 2006
25
C.G. Jung: The Secrete of the Golden Flower, pg. 106
40
The last step in that long learning process happened at a vipassana meditation course
I attended in May 2014. It is my story of learning to breathe, to be “aware of respiration -
anapana-sati, the “development of tranquility” – samatha-bhavana, and “development of
insight” – vipassana-bhavana, the story of a long journey at the Dhamma Atala Center.

It has taken me many months of reading, of reflecting, of trying to find “tranquility” to achieve
a way to tell my life story forward, to write about all those things that I could not tell Clements
in my looking back stories. I am sitting in front of my word processor in my well heated home
on the first really cold day in January 2015. Turning my head away from the screen, I can
overlook lago maggiore and see the first snow on the mountains across the lake. And then
I jump – the first looking forward story that I can only tell myself, me talking with my self.
How the educated fool discovered reality and was welcomed back to REALITY.

Welcome to Reality.

On the long drive to the meditation center, through the Po valley, trying to avoid motorways,
driving leisurely on small side roads, many things went through my head. How would I be
able to deal with all those strange rules that I found in the application form on the Internet.
I stopped the car at a quiet corner and looked again at the sheet of strange rules that I had
printed out to learn to prepare myself to my vipassana experience:

The Precepts: All who attend a Vipassana course must conscientiously undertake the following precepts for the
duration of the course:
1. to abstain from killing any living creature;
2. to abstain from stealing;
3. to abstain from all sexual activity;
4. to abstain from telling lies;
5. to abstain from all intoxicants.
6. to abstain from eating after midday;
7. to abstain from sensual entertainment and bodily decoration;
8. to abstain from using high or luxurious beds.
Noble Silence: All students must observe Noble Silence from the beginning of the course until the morning of the
last full day. Noble Silence means silence of body, speech, and mind. Any form of communication with fellow
student, whether by gestures, sign language, written notes, etc., is prohibited.

Strange indeed! No talking, no reading, no smoking? Would I be able to deal with that?
What would I be able to learn? I drove on. Was I afraid? No! Was I tense? No! I drove on.
Then I stopped at a bar, had a delicious Italian coffee, smoked a cigar and said to myself,
smiling: Urs, you are crazy!, you are a fool, uno loco, a wizard – a self-educated fool!
Yes, we are, it answered

I finally reached Faenza and from there drove into the beautiful, hilly landscape for another
sixty kilometers and spend the night in a very pleasant small guesthouse. Next morning, after
breakfast, I smoked my last cigar and drove to the Dhamma Atala Center.

Dhamma Atala Center

41
I was one of the first “guests” to arrive, was given a hot tea and was told to wait. So I waited.
Towards 4 o’clock many more visitors started arriving, men and women, of all ages. Many of
them seemed to know each other, many were dressed in white, they must be regulars,
I thought. One of these, an Italian of my age, came up to me and introduced himself: I’m
Giovanni, he said, you seem to be uno nuovo. Yes, I answered, a completely uninitiated
beginner. He smiled, so was I two years ago. I was afraid the first time. Are you afraid? What
made you come here? I told him about my friend Clements who had talked me into
Vipassana meditation, telling me it would be good for my soul. He started laughing from the
bottom of his big belly and told me: With me it was a good lady friend who talked me into it.
I’m very glad she did, it’s really good for one’s soul. Then he gave me a little booklet to read,
the teachings of Guru Goenka.

We ought to live at peace with ourselves, and at peace with others. After all, human beings are social
beings, having to live in society and deal with each other. But how are we to live peacefully? How are
we to remain harmonious within, and maintain peace and harmony around us, so that others can also
live peacefully and harmoniously? In order to be relieved of our misery, we have to know the
basic reason for it, the cause of the suffering. If we investigate the problem, it becomes clear that
whenever we start generating any negativity or impurity in the mind, we are bound to become
unhappy. A negativity in the mind, a mental defilement or impurity, cannot coexist with peace and
26
harmony. S.N. Goenka

I thought about “living at peace with ourselves” and a voice added: Urs, you are at peace
with yourself, you have been for a long time. Finding peace is not what you came here for.
But what had I come here for? I remembered a remark by David Bohm:

The techniques of meditation can be looked on as measures (actions ordered by knowledge and
reason) which are taken by man to try to reach the immeasurable, i.e., a state of mind in which he
ceases to sense a separation between himself and the whole of reality.

To reach the immeasurable. Would I reach that, I wondered.

Next morning, four a.m., the group assembled at the meditation hall, thirty-five men, and
thirty-five women. We were told to concentrate on our breathing, concentrate on the nose,
where cold air is sucked in and warm air is pressed out. Just breathe in and out. Try not to let
your thoughts wander, just breathe.

The quiet breathing was no problem, but the wandering thoughts pestered me. And the
sitting still was difficult. I had to move all the time. Sometimes I lost my concentration
completely. Sometimes I cheated, would the Guru who was sitting in front be aware of my
looking around at others that I heard moving? Breathing was indeed very difficult, I realized.
Would I ever learn it? I asked that question many times on that first day, through twelve forty-
five minute sessions of learning to concentrate on my breathing. After the last session, at
nine p.m., I returned to my sleeping quarters, dead tired, sleep came immediately. I woke up
the morning when my roommate Antonio started moving. The bell rang and at four we were
back in the meditation hall.

On the second day we learnt to “feel” sensations. We were told to concentrate on the nostrils
and to try to become aware of sensations in that small area between the front and the upper
lip. And there they were - “sensations”. I had to scratch my nose all the time, an itchy nose.
I furtively looked around, there were many others who were also scratching their noses.
Those were the beginners, like me. I noticed that the regulars did not scratch their nose, they
just experienced sensations. In the first afternoon session, the Guru told us one should not
scratch one’s nose, one should just keep concentrating on the sensations.

26
The text is based upon a talk given by Mr. S.N. Goenka in Berne, Switzerland.
42
And then in the second session, we learnt to move the point of concentrating from the nose
to the top of the head, wait for sensations to emerge, and then to move to a point at the back
of the head, and then down to the neck and down the back, and then back again to the nose.
When you feel a sensation, the Guru said, don’t let your mind interfere, don’t think about that
sensation, just move on.

On the third day we extended the reach of our sensation-areas, from the nose to the head,
down the back into the left leg, back to the hip and down the right leg, out into the big toe, up
again to the shoulders and out to the fingers, back to the nose and round again. Do it gently,
the Guru said, don’t let your thoughts interfere, don’t think on what the sensations are about,
don’t get caught in your habitual analyzing of your sensations.

On the fourth day we were on our own. The Guru no longer told us where to wander. Start
with the nose and then try to feel sensations wherever they appear, he said, try to keep still,
don’t move, don’t move a single muscle in your body, just follow your sensations. Don’t think,
don’t get caught in thoughts. I couldn’t do that, I itched all over, my mind kept wandering. The
longest I managed not to move was for a few breaths and then the body moved, I couldn’t
control it. The last session from 8 to 9 we were shown a video program where Guru Goenka
talked:

This mental-physical phenomenon is like a coin with two sides. On one side are the thoughts and
emotions arising in the mind, on the other side are the respiration and sensations in the body. Any
thoughts or emotions, any mental impurities that arise manifest themselves in the breath and the
sensations of that moment. Thus, by observing the respiration or the sensations, we are in fact
observing mental impurities. Instead of running away from the problem, we are facing reality as it is.
As a result, we discover that these impurities lose their strength; they no longer overpower us as they
did in the past. If we persist, they eventually disappear altogether and we begin to live a peaceful and
happy life, a life increasingly free of negativities.

At the end of that day, after sitting in the meditation hall for twelve long sessions, trying very
hard to concentrate, to keep still, I couldn’t. I couldn’t even observe mental impurities.
I went to sleep in a very bad mood, very disappointed. I would never learn it.

And then, on day five, it happened. I had spent a miserable night with hardly any sleep, and
I walked up to the meditation hall thinking I would have to give up, I would never learn it, it
would be best to crawl back home. The first three morning sessions did indeed go very
badly, no concentration, no sitting still, no sensations, no nothing! And I wasn’t allowed to talk
to anybody, I couldn’t go to Giovanni and complain, but - I didn’t run away.
During the last morning session before lunch it happened. I sat in total concentration, without
the slightest movement, not even moving a little finger, lost all sense of time and “it” moved
from point-to-point in my body feeling sensations. I never got stuck, I never reflected and
woke up when the Guru started chanting. I opened my eyes and watched the young man in
front of me slowly get up. He wore a Ross Copperman T-shirt with this picture.

43
With a flash of deep insight I returned from an immeasurable reality, my inner reality, to our
everyday reality and both were the same - the whole of reality.

I remained seated for a long while, still in my trance, in my peak experience, and watched the
others get up and leave the meditation Hall. My everyday mind smiled. I had discovered the
Mythos vom Sinn, a Sinnerlebnis, an experience of meaning. Still somewhat floating I got up
and started walking down to my favourite big firtree in front of our sleeping quarters and sat
down, not in Lotus posture, but in my comfortable, habitual Walter von der Vogelweide pose.

Ich saz uf eime steine,

und dahte bein mit beine:
dar ûf satzt ich den ellenbogen:
ich hete in mîne hant gesmogen
daz kinne und ein mîn wange.
dô dahte ich mir vil ange,
wie man zer welte solte leben.

“wie man zer welte solte leben” - how should we live our lives? That question had
accompanied me for more than sixty years, ever since the very young me was introduced to
mediaeval literature at school. I had never been able to answer that question and now I had
finally “experienced” the answer: Welcome to REALITY – the unus mundus, the
unseparated, unfragmented one-ness. I smiled “at home with myself”, and remembered other
moments when I had felt “at home with myself” - watching the waves at the end of the world
in 1983, sitting and talking with a group of monkeys in the jungle on my 2000 km bicycle ride
through India in 1984, and, also in India, sitting at the base of a Buddhist stupa at Sarnath
where the Buddha had preached his first sermon. There were many more of such
“experiences” later. between 1985 and 1995, sitting in my garden at the end of a day
speaking with my plants.

But it had never been like the experience I lived through now. All those other peak
experiences had never reached my centre, it had always been “I” who was the experiencer,
the Observer, this time it was “me”, and I was a nobody in the nowhere, not inside nor
outside, not above and not below, voiding in the void, living aliveness.

“wie man zer welte solte leben” – at home! At home in the universe, on mother Earth, with
most people and with my Self. And all this not only in rare peak experiences, but every day,
and I mean - “every” day. Those thirty years of hard training, of hard work, had given me the
freedom of living a quiet and contented life - Most of the time; my Self smiled to the other
“me” – most of the time, it said, I smiled back - most of the time.

“wie man zer welte solte leben” - most of the time. And what about the other times, the bad
times? And what about the hangups? And what about the rucksack? And what about the
“volver la vista atras”, the “I should have…” attacks? That was all still there. But, sitting under
my firtree, it no longer bothered me. I deeply enjoyed my enlightenment, my ”abhi-nibbana”,
my here and now nibbana. Then I thought of Clements, I was deeply thankful for his help;
without his insisting I would never have had this experience. I got up and decided I would
need a rest. The whole afternoon I lay on my bed, I didn’t sleep, it thought.
Böschi, it thought, from now on for the rest of your life, you will remember this moment and
you will be able to return to that peacefulness whenever you need to, you won’t have to will
it, it will just happen. I am at home – Welcome to REALITY!

44
I returned to the meditation hall next day at 4 o’clock, day six of my vipassana
experience.“By observing the respiration or the sensations, we are observing mental
impurities”, the guru said, and so seventy people started hunting for mental impurities.
I couldn’t find any, in me there were no impurities. Sitting perfectly still, wandering through
my sensation world I encountered soft spots, but no impurities. I very much enjoyed my new
capacity to sit perfectly still, it was very peaceful.

The last session on day six, from 8 to 9 p.m., was a video sermon, a teaching lesson, by
guru Goenka. He talked again about mental impurities and the need for purification, and the
need for diligence, and the need of dedication to meditate every day for at least three hours
when we would return back to the world. Without regular meditation and intense dedication to
the task of eradicating mental impurities we would never reach perfection.

On day seven and on day eight the sermon was repeated: purification, become pure, be
obedient, work diligently, it takes diligent effort to reach the final goal. On day nine I decided:
I’ve had enough! I did not want to be cleaned of impurities, I did not want to achieve
“perfection”, I did not want to work “diligently”. What I want is to be at home in the universe,
to be happy, to be happy every day. I didn’t attend the video sermon and went to sleep early.

On day ten it became so bad that I didn’t go to the meditation hall at all, I told the guru that
I was ill, indigestion, and he allowed me to skip the meditation sessions but asked me to
come to the meditation hall for the video sermons. And so I did go. I even attended the last
two sermons from 4 to 6 on day eleven. It was again about purification and reaching the goal
of perfection. I got so fed up that after breakfast I was the first of the whole group to get my
car key from the attendant, walked up to the parking lot and left.

My escape was very peaceful, however, I drove slowly and leisurely through the beautiful
countryside back to Marradi, to the little hotel where I had spent the last night before the
course. I stopped and had a coffee.

Sitting on the same chair where I had smoked my last cigar eleven days ago, my alter ego
said to me: Isn’t it amazing - you are not even tempted to smoke. And indeed, I wasn’t.
To give in to temptation had been a vice that had plagued me for many years. And now the
smoking addict dwarf at the back of my head did not cry “nicotine, nicotine, nicotine!
Amazing indeed. Oscar Wilde popped up, he brought up the temptation motto of all my adult
years: I can resist everything, except temptation! Ugh, all the trouble I had burdened myself
with being a slave to my temptation master. I shuddered, and sent the Oscar Wilde ghost
back to the unconscious. And then Carl Gustav Jung popped up, I had taken two books with
me that had lain for eleven days locked up in the car, reading had been forbidden at the
course. I opened my satchel and dug out my books, put them on the table in front of me, next
to my espresso and observed them for a long while, not thinking any specific thoughts, just
“observing sensations”. I took a last sip of my cafe licio and ordered a new one.
45
Then I opened Jung’s Memories. It fell open on page 320, and this quote from the Bible
stared at me: ”Your old men shall dream dreams” (Acts 2:17) - I started reading about old
men dreaming dreams:

With increasing age, contemplation, and reflection, the inner images naturally play an ever greater part
in man’s life. ”Your old men shall dream dreams” (Acts 2:17). That, to be sure, presupposes that the
psyches of the old men have not become wooden, or entirely petrified. – In old age one begins to let
memories unroll before the mind’s eye and, musing, to recognise oneself in the inner and outer
images of the past. This is like a preparation for an existence in the hereafter, just as in Plato’s view
philosophy is a preparation for death. The inner images keep me from getting lost in personal
retrospection. Many old people become too involved in their reconstruction of past events. They
remain imprisoned in these memories. But if it is reflective and is translated into images, retrospection
can be reculer pour mieux sauter.

I try to see the line which leads through my life into the world, and out of the world again. Whatever
one can say, no words express the whole. To speak of partial aspects is always too much or too little,
for only the whole is meaningful. Being a part, man cannot grasp the whole.

Man cannot grasp the whole. Yes indeed, I thought, you cannot grasp it, but you can
experience it. Amazing, I had learnt to experience it - Welcome to reality.
I continued reading:

The older I have become, the less I have understood or had insight into or known about myself.
I am astonished, disappointed, pleased with myself. I am distressed, depressed, rapturous. I am all
these things at once, and cannot add up the sum. I have no judgement about myself and my life.
There is nothing I am quite sure about. I have no definite convictions - not about anything, really.
I know only that I was born and exist, and it seems to me that I have been carried along. I exist on the
foundation of something I do not know. In spite of all uncertainties, I feel a solidity underlying all
existence and the continuity in my mode of being.

I put the book down and thought. Carl Gustav Jung - I had met him once, sixty years ago,
when I was twenty. He was eighty then, my age now. I had driven him in my taxi from Zürich
to Küsnacht, Seestrasse 228, the famous house of the famous Professor Jung. The young
student-taxidriver didn’t dare to talk. I watched him in the rear mirror - what a face, I thought,
a really grand old man, impressive.

46
When we arrived, I opened the door for him and helped him out of the car. Sleep well, Herr
Professor! He looked me up and down and smiled: thank you. Next day, I had bought my first
book on Jung, a short introduction full of strange vocabulary that I didn’t understand:
archetypes, individuation, alchemy, Gnosticism etc., etc.

I had tried again to understand Jung when I was thirty, but still could not “understand”.
Another twenty years later, when I came back from India, I had worked through his essay on
“The Secret of the Golden Flower” and I had read his “Memories”. I took up the book and
read again:

In spite of all uncertainties, I feel a solidity underlying all existence and the continuity in my mode of
being.

“In spite of all uncertainties” - The eighty-year-old me started reformulating Jung, I opened
my notebook and wrote: I exist on the foundation of something I do not know. I feel a solidity
underlying all existence and the continuity of my mode of being, because of “uncertainty”.
I feel solidity, because I have found my “wisdom of insecurity”. A wise old man? – Yes, I am
a wise old man.

I leaned back in my chair, and stretched my arms - finally liberated, my lifelong inferiority
complex overgrown. I ordered another cafe, my third this morning, and thought about my
wisdom of insecurity. My “welcome to reality” experience. Feeling the unus mundus, had
helped me to a clarity of knowing that was finally beyond good and evil. Jung would have
called it mysterium coniunctionis. I read on - the last page of Jung’s Memories, page 358:

The world into which we are born is brutal and cruel, and at the same time of divine beauty. Which
element we think outweighs the other, whether meaninglessness or meaning, is a matter of
temperament. If meaninglessness were absolutely preponderant, the meaningfulness of life would
vanish to an increasing degree with each step in our development. But that is - or it seems to me -
not the case. Probably, as in all metaphysical questions, both are true: Life is - or has - meaning and
meaninglessness. I cherish the anxious hope that meaning will preponderate and win the battle.
27
C.G. Jung

“I cherish the anxious hope that meaning will preponderate and win the battle” - that would
have been the answer for Clements, I know that meaning will win the battle. I didn’t know it
back at Korat, I only hoped, now I know.

When sense and nonsense are no longer identical, the force of chaos is weakened by their
subtraction; sense is then endued with the force of meaning, and nonsense with the force of
meaninglessness. In this way a new cosmos arises. This is not a new discovery in the realm of
medical psychology, but the age-old truth that out of the richness of man’s experience there comes a
teaching which the father can pass on to the son. In elfin nature wisdom and folly appear as one and
the same; and they are one and the same as long as they are acted out by the anima.
Life is crazy and meaningful at once. And when we do not laugh over the one aspect and speculate
about the other, life is exceedingly drab, and everything is reduced to the littlest scale. There is then
little sense and little nonsense either. When you come to think about it, nothing has any meaning, for
when there was nobody to think, there was nobody to interpret what happened. Interpretations are
only for those who don’t understand; it is only the things we don’t understand that have any
meaning. Man woke up in the world he did not understand, and that is why he tries to interpret it.
28
C.G. Jung

Interpretations are only for those who don’t understand; it is only the things we don’t understand that
have any meaning.

27
C.G. Jung Memories, Dreams, Reflections, Recorded by Aniela Jaffé; Oxford City Press 2010, pg.320/358.
28
C.G. Jung Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. CW 9,I, page 31
47
I closed the book and I closed my notebook, there was no more interpreting to do. I said
goodbye to the people of Marradi and to the people at the Vipassana Center and set off on
my long journey home Rancone.

When, what, who, which, how? I had a lot of thinking to do, not looking back, but looking
forward - à la découverte du temps à venir. The summer months went by - it was a very rainy
summer, I couldn’t work in the garden and did a lot of reading; the autumn months went by -it
was a very rainy autumn, I had a lot of time to think about how I should tell my story to
myself. Now it’s cold winter - it decided to order it in a procession – how I learnt to float, to fly,
to live with myself.

1. How I learnt to float - India 1984 – learning to survive.

2. How I learnt to fly - 1990 to 2005 - my airy weltbild reconstructions.

learning to think.

3. How I learnt to live with creative fire.

2005 to 2015 - my newfound information cosmology.
learning to trust my senses.

4. How I learnt to hope for the future.

48
1. India - Wisdom of Insecurity
Learning to live on my floating island.

I have neither the desire nor the capacity to stand outside myself and observe my fate in a truly
objective way. I would commit the familiar autobiographical mistake either of weaving an illusion about
how it ought to have been, or of writing an apologia pro vita sua. In the end, man is an event which
29
cannot judge itself, but for better or worse, is left to the judgement of others. C.G. Jung

On the 22nd December 1983 I landed at Delhi. The first few days before travelling on to my
destination, The Music Department of the Varanasi Hindu University, I spent in New Delhi
bookshops, the reader needed mind food.

The only book that had travelled with me from Switzerland to my exile in India was the
“I Ging”. My friend Thomas had given it to me as a farewell present. I did not tell him that
I would most certainly never use it, I am not a believer in magic; but he must have read that
from my face and said to me: I know oracles is not your thing, but study the book anyway,
you will be alone a lot in India, use the I Ging as a dialogue partner. On the long flight to
Delhi I had looked at the book for the first time and many things I read impressed me.
I decided I would spend some of my free time in India studying Chinese philosophy.
So I bought translations of books by Confuzius, Chuangzi, and Laozi.

Opposite the bookshelf with the Chinese stuff on the bottom shelf, there was Western stuff -
higher up. Getting tired from bowing down I straightened up - something very odd stared at
me, the back of a small book that read “Wisdom of Insecurity”. Nonsense, I thought, -
insecurity, there can’t possibly be any wisdom in insecurity, wisdom is necessarily secure
wisdom. But - I was intrigued anyway, remembered some of the very strange thoughts I had
been forced to accept on my pilgrimage only a few months ago, and so I bought the book,
Alan Watts “Wisdom of Insecurity”. Little did I know that many years later, at the age of
seventy, I would be writing an essay with the title “Wisdom of Insecurity”30. When I bought the
book at Delhi, I did not know that I was in for an “Age of insecurity”. I did not know that it
would take me twenty-five years to get out of my age of insecurity. I didn’t even know what
my age of insecurity was about. All I knew then was that I was miserable, very, very
miserable.

The full load of the catastrophe that had made me run away plagued me for twenty-four
hours every day. Why, why, why? I was homesick, not for the life that had ended, I was
homesick for my Goddess, that I had lost.

29
C.G. Jung Memories, Dreams,Reflections; Recorded by Aniela Jaffé, Oxford City Press 2010
30
Urs Boeschenstein Wisdom of Insecurity
49
I was re-munching “Rha-Barbara-Mus” – rhubarb-purée, rhu-Barbara-purée - the name of the
goddess was Barbara. I was stuck in an abyss of insecurity that turned and turned and
turned. It was horrible, my mind had lost its capacity to reflect, I could no longer stop the
painful repetitions of re-munching. I would be reading and up came Barbara, Barbara,
Barbara. I would be practising music and up came Barbara. I would be eating and up came
Barbara. I would go for walks accompanied by Barbara-thoughts. It plagued me in my sleep,
it plagued me in my half sleep, it plagued me when I went to shit. I couldn’t stop it. My mind
would start writing letters to Barbara: why, why, why? A 24-hour mind letter - I couldn’t even
write it, I just wallowed in my despair.

Then in my third month at Varanasi, I met Adrian, the Austrian doctor. He was the first
person I could talk to, he listened to my Barbara stories as we went for walks along the
Ganga river, as we went searching for food that we could eat (we discovered a Chinese
restaurant that served us noodles that were not too spicy). I was telling Barbara stories all
the time. One day we drove out to Sarnath, the Buddha place, and again I couldn’t stop
telling stories. Adrian was very patient, a very good listener. The day after our excursion to
the Buddha he brought me some medicine: Take that, he said, it’s beta blockers, that will
help you to become a little more relaxed. It did help.

After eight horrible weeks I slowly started living again. Adrian and I went to many concerts,
Indian classical music, Ravi Shankar and Ali Akbar Khan at a grand music festival and to
many concerts of local artists. The music was soothing, it helped me survive my re-munching
attacks, and it helped me to deal with my depression. Adrian went to Hindi lessons three
times a week and invited me to meet his Hindi teacher: A good guy, you will like him, he
said, he is one of the few Indians that you can talk to.

Sudhir became Sudhir-ji, my Hindi guru. He helped me to float in learning to speak, write and
read a new language. It was hard work but I began to enjoy it. I had bought myself a bicycle
and rode out to Sudhirji’s house, a few miles outside the centre of Varanasi five times a
week, in the early morning hours, happily trampling my bike and talking to myself.

People in the street started staring - a crazy अंगरे ज - angredge, a crazy foreigner, talking to
himself aloud, repeating words that he tried to learn. After a few weeks I started trying to read
the many signs that I encountered along the road, I had learnt to spell, but I didn’t understand
anything, my vocabulary still being very restricted. It was good practice anyway, somewhat
frustrating, but good practice. I thought of the days when I was a seven-year-old child starting
to read and write and the pleasure I had felt when I succeeded. The forty-seven year old
“angredge” hardly ever succeeded. But one day I re-lived that total pleasure trying to spell
this sign:

गंगरासॉमिल - Gang-ga-sa-mil - gangasamil – gang-gaaa- saamil - then an overwhelming

flash of “insight”: Ganga Sawmill! Sawmill written in Hindiscript. Wow, said the grown-up
little boy to himself, I can read. Slowly, slowly the miserable me started living again.

Coming back from my Hindi lesson after my “Sawmill” success , I started using the I Ging.
I had not dared to ask the book any questions for months, I had browsed through the book
attempting to understand texts that I could not understand, it was a very strange world of
thought. Now I asked the book my first question: Why am I suffering?

I threw my coins six times, tried very hard to be “serious” about it and the book gave me a
very serious answer:

I Ging 23 - Po – Splitting Apart

50
The judgement: Splitting apart. It does not further one to go anywhere.
This pictures a time when inferior people are pushing forward and are about to crowd out the few
remaining strong and superior men. Under these circumstances, which are due to the time,
it is not favourable for the superior man to undertake anything.

I obeyed, submitted to the bad times and tried to remain quiet, “it is not favourable for the
superior man to undertake anything”.

The inferior, dark forces overcome what is superior and strong,

…the roof is being shattered the house collapses.
one should submit to the bad time and remain quiet
…it is not cowardice but wisdom to submit and avoid action.

I tried to accept that the house had collapsed, I avoided action, I stopped writing letters in my
mind to Barbara, the goddess, and started to deal with my midlife crisis, my midlife transition,
with the help of the I Ging. I threw the coins very often, in the morning, during the day, before
going to sleep, asking questions: What can I do against my re-munching attacks? Why am I
sad? Why did I run away to India? Will I ever get out of the depression? The book’s answers
never failed to impress me - I Ging hexagram 39:

Chien / Obstruction: Here an individual is confronted by obstacles that cannot be overcome

directly. In such a situation it is wise to pause in view of the danger and to retreat. However, this is
merely a preparation for overcoming the obstructions. One must join forces with friends of like mind
and put himself under the leadership of a man equal to the situation: then one will succeed in
removing the obstacles. This requires the will to persevere just when one apparently must do
something that leads away from his goal. This unswerving inner purpose brings good fortune in the
end. An obstruction that lasts only for a time is useful for self-development.

I was indeed “thrown back upon myself” and I was not a “superior man” (whatever that
strange expression “superior man” might mean to the Chinese), but I knew that I must not
“put the blame on other persons”, I must not “bewail my fate” and I should “seek the error
within myself”. However ”the external obstacles” were still undigested, it had not yet “become
for me an occasion for inner enrichment and education”- my inner enrichment and education
was still at an extremely low level. So I had a very hard time to remember the hard to accept
conclusion:…an individual is confronted by obstacles that cannot be overcome directly. In such a
situation it is wise to pause in view of the danger and to retreat.
It was difficult to “pause” and sometimes not possible to “retreat”. But I started to believe in
what the book said:…there is implicit a hint as to how we can extricate ourselves. The hexagram
represents obstructions that appear in the course of time but that can and should be overcome.

A hint, as a matter-of-fact many hints, but I couldn’t take them in, I couldn’t integrate the
book’s sermon (moral teaching) to stop my re-munching attacks. Hexagram 39 Chien -
Obstruction and hexagram 23 Po – Splitting Apart came up again and again.
However I tried to reformulate my questions, however I tried to cheat myself, the book kept
telling me: “obstruction” and “splitting apart”. The plain hexagrams, without any moving lines;
the book was telling me: accept that times are bad.“The inferior, dark forces overcome what
is superior and strong” and “Here an individual is confronted by obstacles that cannot be
overcome directly. In such a situation it is wise to pause in view of the danger and to retreat”.

51
I was not wise enough pause and I was not strong enough to retreat. And then one day when
I asked the book again why I couldn’t stop torturing myself re-munching, the book answered
with a moving line in hexagram 23, the yang top line would transform into a broken yin line.

Nine at the top means:

There is a large fruit uneaten.
The superior man receives a carriage.
The house of the inferior man is split apart.

I would receive a carriage that would eventually allow me to move on, to be on my way
again, alive again, moving towards hexagram 2 - the “Receptive”.

The Receptive brings about sublime success,

Furthering through the perseverance of a mare.
If the superior man undertakes something and tries to lead, he goes astray;
But if he follows, he finds guidance.
Quiet perseverance brings good fortune.

A shimmer of hope appeared on the faraway horizon “Quiet perseverance brings good
fortune”. I didn’t yet know what perseverance meant, and I couldn’t yet fathom the
“Receptive”, but I was on the way, on the “Way” – the Tao Way.

Kun represents nature in contrast to spirit, earth in contrast to heaven, space as against time,
the female-maternal as against the male-paternal. Even in the individual this duality appears in the
coexistence of the spiritual world and the world of the senses.

I was on the way to use the I Ging as a dialogue partner, to use the Book of Changes to
change my way of thinking about my problems, to redirect my dreams, my sleeping dreams
and my waking dreams. I slowly learnt to steer my floating island without actively steering.

Zhuangzi had taught me 道教, dàojiào , the teaching of the way,

I was on my way to discover wu wei, 無爲 - non-doing. My floating island chose its own
course.

It had sent me on my pilgrimage to Santiago, it had brought me back to my “catastrophe” in

Zürich and it had set its course to India, to Delhi and Varanasi, where with the help of a very
strange dialogue partner that I slowly learnt to take very seriously, I had taken the first steps
to accept its decisions on where to go.

Varanasi became more and more of a drag, it was not only dirty, it was crowded with junkies.
Adrian had left Varanasi to study Ayurvedic medicine, my Hindi teacher Sudhir had told me
he would move to Delhi. The I Ging told me to move. “The wind blows over the Earth -the
image of contemplation” – hexagram 20:

He contemplates his own character:' - he cannot even yet let his mind be at rest.
The wind blows over the earth: The image of Contemplation.

Reading this sitting on a bench in front of the Music Department building at Varanasi
University, I saw the headmistress coming towards me, a very beautiful, very old lady.
She sat down and wanted to know how I had adapted to living and studying in India.
We had a nice long chat. I didn’t complain much but I told her that I needed more time for
contemplation.

52
She smiled and told me of a place where there would be much more space for contemplation
- Indira Kala Sangit Vishwavidyalaya at Kairagarh in Madhya Pradesh, only 1500km from
here, she said. One of her former students, Subhadra Chaudhury, taught classical Indian
singing there, she would ask Subhadra. You will like it there, she said.

When I went to see her the following week, she showed me this picture and told me that her
former student would be delighted to accept me as a student. The course would start in four
weeks time. It is easy to get there by train, she said, it’s only a day’s journey.
On the way back to my guesthouse on Hari Chandra Ghat I bought myself a roadmap of
Madhya Pradesh. I would not travel by train, the crazy angredge would ride his bicycle to
Kairagarh, I decided, I would let the wind blow over the Earth, that is what the book had told
me.

When I announced my decision to travel by bicycle to Madhya Pradesh the people at the
guesthouse on Hari Chandra Ghat warned me, I would be killed by tigers, I would be beaten
to death by robbers, by dalits, I would encounter all sorts of misfortunes. To Indian people
travelling alone was preposterous, a thing not even imaginable. But crazy me insisted.
On my last lonely walks along the ghats early in the morning, playing my flute and watching
hoards of people shitting, I decided I would travel my own way in spite of all warnings, I had
satchels prepared to carry my instruments on my bike. I was ready to move.

अकेला akela - alone

यात्रा yaatra - travel

On a fine early morning the lonely traveler crossed Rajghat bridge and set off on his heroic
trip facing tigers and thieves and all the bad things that I had been warned would happen if
I didn’t follow the sound Indian commonsense advice: Never venture out of your home alone!

I travelled leisurely on that first day, side roads in India in those days thirty years ago carried
almost no traffic at all, even through all villages and small towns there were few cars and no
lorries, bicycle riding was quite relaxing. Ramnagar - Sahaspura – Fatehpur - Kailahat -
Bharehata - The countryside was beautiful and the people were very friendly, everybody
waved when I passed.

53
I stopped at a roadside Chai shop at Bharehata, ordered some pastries by pointing to them
and then sat down - alone. There were only men around, young and old, they were all
staring, watching the stranger. I tried to capture what they were talking about, that is,
I knew what they were talking about, namely me, but I was trying to understand what they
were saying about me, and indeed after Sudhir-ji’s hard training I did understand something.

The shop owner came out and talked to one of the old men: How much shall I charge the
angredge? Anything, the old man said, twenty rupees! But that would be too much. No, no,
the angredge wouldn’t know. Okay I shall charge him ten. I smiled, but only inwardly and
thought, ten rupees? I had paid twenty rupees for a room at a fairly good hotel at Delhi, the
room at the Hari Chandra Guest House had cost me twenty rupees a month, twenty rupees
was a fortune, even ten was a rip off. I sat quietly munching my cookies, trying to get the gist
of their chatting without letting them know that some of it I actually understood. After a long
while I decided to travel on, I looked over to the shop owner and gave him a sign lifting my
hand. He immediately wobbled over, both arms high up, ten fingers spread. When he arrived
in front of me, he waved his arms, hands closed, hands open, fingers closed, fingers open -
and I said with firm voice:

दस नही dae nahee - not ten - दो doo – two

Some of the younger men jumped up as if stung and the old man next to me looked at them
and said: He speaks! Everybody repeated: the angredge speaks! A long pleasant afternoon
ensued, I was not allowed to pay and I was not allowed to leave. They all tried to talk to me
at once, it became difficult. Then, after a few minutes, one of the younger men ran away and
came back with the village schoolteacher who could speak some English. They wanted to
know what my name was, aap ka naam kya hai? (I had become used to that question, every
Indian first asks a foreigner that question, he also asks that question when he meets a
compatriot he does not know, he needs to know to what caste the other belongs). I had
learnt to answer the name question with a sign, I would point to my blue eyes and that was
the answer - I am a Brahmin). We chatted about where I came from and where I was
travelling to. Madhya Pradesh, I said, they wanted specifics. I explained: to Kairagarh, the
music University in Madhya Pradesh. But that is a thousand miles from here, the
schoolmaster warned and all the others started to give me the same sermon I had heard at
Hari Chandra Ghat guest house, robbers, lions and all the bad things would happen. We
talked about my being a lonesome traveler. How come you are travelling alone? I could not
explain why.

The evening came, the schoolmaster insisted on my spending the night at his home, the
whole group accompanied us and the chatting went on and on until late evening. My first day
travelling was a full success. Next morning I travelled on, an easy 45km to Mirzapur:

54
I arrived at that very lively town early afternoon, stopped near the railway station and relaxed,
sipping very hot and very sweet Indian tea चाय chai. On the other side of the railway track
I espied a beautiful old large building and enquired what it was. The answer of the shop
owner was difficult to follow, but I understood that it had been the mansion of a rich tea
merchant and was now a guesthouse. I pushed my bike over the tracks and went to enquire,
it was an enchanting place. The manager showed me around and suggested that
I should take a large room on the ground floor where I could take the bike inside. We would
be safe, he said. I sat the whole afternoon in the pleasant garden behind the house and
played my flute, quite enjoying myself. Towards evening I asked at the reception where
I could eat and the very friendly, charming young lady came out with me to the terrace in
front and pointed to a row of restaurants on the other side of the road. I walked there and sat
down at a table from where I could keep an eye on the door of my double locked room.

काली मिचच नही

kali mirch nahee, I said to the waiter when he came to ask me what I would like to eat,
something not spicy, mirch nahi, no pepper. That had been the first sentence I had learnt to
say in Hindi already on my first day in India at Delhi. I couldn’t eat spicy Indian food, so,
“please no pepper” became my standard introduction to ordering food. Most of the time it
didn’t work, Indians just could not believe that some foreigners would rather die than eat
spicy food. But this time it worked, I was served a steaming something that was not spicy.

I sat for quite a while looking at the busy traffic of people, occasionally watching the door of
my hotel room. I was beginning to like India, I thought, last night had been very enjoyable.
Maybe I could really learn to like living in India, may be? When it was getting dark I return to
my room, unlocked the double locks and stepped inside, lay on my bed and was quite
pleased with life. Then I looked over to my bike and it seemed to me that something had
changed, I had not put it against the wall like this. I got up and stepped over to look.
I opened my bag - the trousers that lay on top must have been packed by somebody else.
Shit, somebody must have taken those trousers out and re-packed them. How could that
somebody have entered the room. I looked out of the window to the restaurant where I had
eaten. I had certainly not seen anybody enter through the door.

My money! I opened the zipper pocket of my trousers, dug inside and found only three one
hundred rupee notes, there had been thirteen. Shattered, I sat down on my bed - what the
hell, a thief had stolen 1000 rupees! Damn it!. I rushed out of the room and ran over to the
reception and told the manager: I have been robbed!

He came over to the room with me mumbling excuses: Very sorry, sir! Very, very sorry, sir!
He even accompanied me to the police station to report the theft. That was an ordeal.
55
Fortunately, I managed to keep a little rest of my calm, I didn’t start shouting. After a while,
I resigned and thought, to hell with it, the police will never even try to find the thief. We
walked back to the hotel, the manager was still saying: Very sorry, sir! And I said to myself:
to hell with it. Back in my room I lay down, but I was still too agitated and after some minutes
I got up again, packed my stuff and left.

I rode out of town, it was dark, but the moon was shining and I travelled for a few miles
through the empty countryside, until I saw lights in the distance, a village. When I came
nearer I heard music being played, drums and flutes. In the middle of the small village they
had a big party. They had a stage and on the stage dressed up actors and actresses playing
Mahabarata, a truly fantastic sight. I stopped outside the circle that was lit and watched. I had
never seen anything like this before. Then some old women walked towards me and when
they recognized the “angredge” they all came up to me smiling friendly and they invited me
in. I was asked to sit down on one of the few chairs, next to what I assumed must be the
village head, I was offered food, I was offered drinks, it was again like last night with the
schoolmaster, only much more colourful and lively. The party lasted until midnight, I watched,
I listened, I felt very good indeed. The people accepted the stranger, and when the village
head had been joined by his wife, she had said to him: He can sleep in our house. And that
is what I did, I slept on the floor, and I slept very well.

When I woke up, I was given a tea, and when I prepared to leave, the whole little community
accompanied me to the road. Amazing India! - I said to myself (inventing the slogan that the
Indian Tourist Board is bombarding us with these days) and quite contentedly travelled on,
following the Ganga river upstream for another day. It was easy travelling through flat country
for miles. At Dramandganj the scenery changed, I had reached the Deccan plateau, ahead
of me was a heavy climb, 300m up.

I discovered a government rest house in a park beside the road and I decided to call it a day.
I went in, there was nobody there - that was unusual, these government buildings were
usually occupied by government officials on inspection tours, they offered basic amenities.
This one was empty, an old woman let me in, I could spend the night there for two rupees.
I had a shower, even with warm water that the attendant woman had brought, it was tranquil
and pleasant. I spent the afternoon playing my flute, sitting under the big trees and reflecting
on my experiences of the last days.

Sometimes during my riding in the morning a little bit of anger had returned. What had
happened at Mizapur had been really unpleasant. But, I came to realise, it had been my own
fault. I remembered what I had seen when the hotel manager and I had returned from the
police station - lying on my bed I had seen a ventilation hatch above.
56
That’s where the thief must have come in. Then came another thought - he must have been
a considerate thief, he left me with quite enough cash to carry on. A friendly thief, I smiled.
I had not been robbed by dalits, as I had been warned back at Varanasi, I had been taken
advantage of by a friendly thief. Lesson learnt, I said to myself, difficult lesson learnt.

Next morning I left early, it would be some hours pushing my bike up the steep cliff. At the
bottom of the climb a lorry stopped, a man sitting at the back threw me a rope, I was pulled
up for about 5 miles. On the top I let the rope go and waved: Thank you, goodbye!
The view was magnificent.

The Deccan plateau

I travelled for many days, साइककल चलाना - saaikila chalaanaa - cycling, आहट āhaṭa –
trampling, through uncountable villages and small towns. I crossed many bridges, the road
seemed endless.

It was getting hot, I usually rose at sunrise and stopped travelling by midday, the hot
afternoons I sat in chai shops drinking tea and watching people, my nights I spent in cheap
roadside “hotels”, sleeping on “khaats” - the typical Indian beds. Most of the time I was alone,
my Hindi was not sufficient to keep up conversations and there were very few Indians that
could speak a little English. But the people were very friendly and I could answer their
“what’s your name” questions; their “where do you come from” questions and their “where
are you going to” questions. For many days the answer was: Rewa; then for some days:
Katna; and for more than a week I answered: I am going to Maihar. I arrived there nine in the
morning and went sightseeing - the holy temple mountain on the outskirts of Maihar - sharda
devi mandir.

57
It was a hard climb, a flight of stairs that seemed not to end, hundreds of steps, I did not
count them. On both sides of the way up there were many beggars, they made good
business that day because there were a lot of people climbing up and a lot of people climbing
down.

On the top, at the Temple, it was very crowded. I was the only tourist and was stared at by
everybody, lots of young men were trying to lead me to their holy men, I had a hard time
avoiding them. But the view was fabulous. On the way down, I felt like flying. The last steps
down I did fly, flat on my ass - and couldn’t get up again, a bad lumbago attack.

Some people came to help me, very kind people, but I just couldn’t get up, it hurt badly.
When after about half an hour I felt a little better, I hobbled down the last steps and over to
the shop where I had given the owner a big tip to keep an eye on my bicycle. Riding the bike
was a little easier, but I was still in pain and decided I would have to see a doctor to get some
painkillers.

A little further on, I did find a medical clinic, parked my cycle in the yard, there was a guard,
and then sat in the waiting room with many, many other people until I was led into the
doctor’s office.

58
The doctor was a very well-dressed Indian in a European suit. He looked me up and down
smiling and asked me: What brings you to Maihar, sir? I told him that I was on my way to
study Indian classical music at Kairagarh University. Indira Kala Sangit Vishwavidyalay, he
said, why would a European of your age want to study Indian music? I tried to be brief and
answered: I am a 20th-century minstrel, I play and sing mediaeval music that is structurally
identical to classical Indian music - monophonic music, I explained.

Upon this he came over to where I was sitting, took me by the hand and said: Come with me,
please. I followed him through a long corridor, he opened a large door and we were in the
most beautiful room I had ever been in, a very big sitting-room, very elegantly furnished,
on the walls were pictures of Indian musicians and many instruments. He made me sit down
and then said:

Please, wait for me here. I have to go back to the clinic, but I won’t be long. The doctor
disappeared, I just sat there, quite overwhelmed, looked around me and thought: Amazing
India! I got up and began to wander about the room looking at the pictures. I recognised a
very good portrait of Ravi Shankar, next to one of Ali Akbar Khan. There was also a picture
of Hariprasad Chaurasia, whose fluteplaying had totally fascinated me (he had been one of
the reasons for my coming to India). Most of the other musicians I did not know, the pictures
seemed to be from the very early part of the century, some of them even older.

The doctor came back. Please excuse me, he said, I haven’t even asked you why you came
to see me. I told him of my stumbling mishap. Is it bad, he wanted to know. No, I’m much
better now, this room is beautiful. My grandfather built it, he was a doctor, I am the third-
generation. My family has lived here for a very long time. I pointed to the photograph of Ali
Akbar Khan: He is from Maihar too, I have heard, any connection? Yes, my forebears were
court musicians for the Maharaj of Maihar.

Tell me about your music, he continued, why is mediaeval European music structurally
similar to our ragas? I saw that your bicycle is loaded with instrument cases, could you play
your instruments for me? With pleasure, I answered. Splendid, the doctor went on, you are
invited to spend the night here and I’m looking forward to listening to your music in the
evening. I will have my servant attend to your bicycle, he will bring your instruments here.
As to your back pain, I advise you to go for a walk, walking is better than riding a bike, he
said smiling, it will do you good. Come back here at 5. So, I wandered through the streets of
Maihar for many hours, back to the sharda devi mandir, then to the old town, out to Baba
Talab Temple and back to the Rambag Temple.

I returned to the doctor’s house at the appointed time and was served a delicious European
meal, no pepper, not spicy, the first to meal I really liked since I had arrived in India almost
three months ago. I told my host of the problems I had with my “mirch nahee” request, about
my life in Varanasi, my difficulties with adapting to life in India, my learning Hindi with Sudhir,
about my attempts to study Indian music at the Hindi University, about the fine lady who had
suggested I should study at Kairagarh and my crazy decision to travel there by bicycle.

And we talked about my past life as a minstrel. I told the doctor about my career as a
folksinger, as a songwriter and how my repertoire had moved back to the Middle Ages,
to “Minnesingers”, “Troubadours” and “Trouvères”. The doctor wanted to know all about my
instruments, I answered with a long story of my studying music theory, my discovery of
monophonic music that could not be accompanied by harmonic instruments and how ten
years ago I had started to learn to play drone instruments, the bagpipes, the vielle à roue,
string instruments that had drone strings, the cithern, the rebec. And then I played:

59
The doctor was a very good listener. After my first Bernart de Ventedorn song, he asked for a
second one and then a third31. I started lecturing but he interrupted me and said: you don’t
have to explain, what I’ve just enjoyed listening to is really very much like our ragas, long
preludes, slowly building up the melody - alaps.

Yes, alaps, I replied, learning to improvise is what brought me to India. In Europe we have
lost the technique of improvising, I came to India to learn to improvise. We know that
mediaeval musicians were improvising a lot, but we don’t know how, how they learnt it, how
they were trained.

I can tell you how Indian musicians are trained. The doctor pointed to a photograph on the
wall: This is the father of Ali Akbar Khan, it’s with him that he studied, together with Ravi
Shankar. Lessons started at four in the morning, the guru would play an exercise and then
the students had to practice - for eight hours. Eight hours every day for eight years. They
were allowed to study ragas only after eight years of basic training learning to play their
instrument. Then the doctor told me a story that he had heard from Ravi Shankar about the
teaching methods of the father of their teacher:

Early in the morning the pupils gathered in a row in front of the raised seat of the teacher,
silently waiting for him to arrive. He would walk in with a stern look on his face, he wouldn’t
say a word. He would then span a rope just above the heads of students, bind their long hair
tightly to the rope, climb up to his seat and play the exercise of the day and would then
disappear. The poor are apprentices had to play for eight hours, when they fell asleep the
rope woke them up.

I heard many such stories that the evening, I learnt a lot. I also drank a lot of whiskey, the
doctor had offered me an excellent Glenmorangie, we moved outside to a large tree in the
garden, a full moon was above, we chatted as if we had been old friends. It was an
enchanting evening - I felt at home, at home in India.

Before we went to sleep the doctor addressed my health problem: You should not take any
painkillers, he said, go for walks, move your body and just take it easy. That is sometimes
very difficult, I replied, taking it easy in India isn’t easy, you know. The doctor smiled, we
returned to the house, I was shown my sleeping quarters - a very large room overlooking the
garden with an immensely big bed. I slept very well.

31
What I played and sang:
Bernart de Ventedorn: CAN VEI LA LAUZETA
POIS PREJATZ ME SENHORS
Toinot Arbot - Schirazzula 2 - Palästina-chalumeau -
60
Next day I followed the doctor’s advice and continued my expedition by train, from Maihar to
Jabalpur, 170km - in the freightwagon, I didn’t want to leave my bicycle alone.

I stayed at the Jackson Lodge, a hotel that had been built when there was a vast garrison of
British army personnel at Jabalpur in the 1930s. From the balcony of my room I could look
out to the campus of Jabalpur University that also dated from the same period. I obeyed the
doctor’s orders and ventured out for long walks through the campus and even out to the
open countryside lying to the east.

But on returning to my room, my nightmares came back, the regurgitating attacks, that
I could not stop. You’re a bloody fool, I reproached myself, a looking-back fool. Stop turning
your “vista atras” – remember Machado’s advice: But the fool could not stop.

Oggebbio Rancone 1 February 2015

Diary: I woke up in a very bad mood this morning. Why? It was a beautiful sunny winter
morning, no reason to wake up in a bad mood. Then I remembered - I had had an extremely
unpleasant dream that night, a dream that had repeatedly plagued me for more than forty
years: I would be on stage and forgot my text, I would be standing in front of a microphone
singing and the next song line would not come, I would be in front of a camera and couldn’t
go on, the director would shout at me, I would shout back, a big quarrel would ensue –
dreams about a “Hänger” – a lapse of concentration, a lapse of memory on stage.

Returning to my writing, revising what I had been typing the day before, and trying to go on
telling stories of my heroic bicycle trip I had another “Hänger”. I couldn’t go on with my story,
got up and smoked a cigar, the memory of my dream that woke me up this morning came
back - at Jabalpur thirty years ago I also had such a bad dream of not being able to go on.
Then I remembered an article on sleep and dream research I had read in the Spiegel some
weeks month ago. I dug it out of the stack and re-read what I had learnt:

Georg Wilhelm Domhoff glaubt, dass Träume weit mehr leisten, als ihnen von vielen zugetraut wird.
Ihm zufolge kombiniert der Denkapparat etwa Versagensängste der Gegenwart mit der Erinnerung an
erfolgreich gemeisterte Situationen aus der Vergangenheit. Was wie ein Albtraum erscheint,
zementiert im Gehirn, vielmehr eine sowohl fundamentale wie tröstliche Einsicht: Wir können
Herausforderungen meistern, und das immer wieder und in neuen Situationen…Der Traum stellt eine
besonders kreative Form des Nachdenkens dar und ist mit dem Wachzustand verwandter als bisher
angenommen…Die Kraft der Träume geht weit über die Linderung alltäglicher Sorgen hinaus, sie
können ein aus den Fugen geratenes Leben wieder in die Spur bringen. Der Spiegel 5.1.2015

The dreaming state is a particularly effective form of reflection, it can solve everyday
problems, it even offers models for overcoming life problems. I didn‘t know that back in 1984
- my nightmares at Jabalpur were just misery, abject misery. I laughed out loud at my
foolishness that was still there, the good voice in me said to the bad voice - you are still a
fool, but you have become an educated fool. You really think so, the bad voice retorted.
Leave me alone, the other said.

I tried to write on, but still couldn’t, and then my day dream returned to the last writing
moments yesterday. I had opened the printing preview and started to click through my epic
journey story and had the unpleasant feeling that there was something wrong. My daydream
this morning brought it back. I suddenly realized that I would have to stop telling anecdotes.
It would have been endless. I clicked on the preview button again and looked at what I had
prepared - pictures for stories I wanted to tell, stories of my experiences on the way to
Kairagarh. I would cut them, I decided.

61
Jabalpur - the holy Narvada river
Mandla - 100 km further upstream
The ride through the jungle…
The road that turned into a dirt track.…
The monkeys that told me to go on…
Bhoramedo - pornographic art
The figure of the flute player - the bansuri

I should also cut all the stories about Kairagarh and my life in this very secluded part of the
world, the “good” voice said.

Khairagarh, the Indira Kala Sangit Vishwavidyalay

The Bullet - I travelled a lot Bhopal – Sanchi – Rishikesh – Bombay - Goa

Cut all that - stop playing the Bard. Just tell the bare facts. Reduce to the max!

My reduction story: During the monsoon season my health deteriorated, no doctor at

Kairagarh could help. I could no longer stand or sit or lie without excruciating pain. End of
August I moved to Raipur for an acupuncture treatment, it didn’t help; end of September I
started having fever, very high fever - malaria. Not trusting Indian doctors, I decided to move
back to Varanasi - Adrian had told me he would be back in October - he fed me a heavy
dose of Fansidar, it cured my malaria but resulted in a liver insufficiency, I became a yellow
man.

For three weeks Adrian’s wife tried to feed me, I couldn’t eat, so she made me drink tea.
Dehydration is very bad, Adrian told me, drink a lot. And - you must go back to Europe, you
probably have a herniated disc, but I can’t tell that for sure. - I won’t go back to Europe, that
is where SHE is, I won’t go back. - Yes you will, Adrian insisted and some days later he
accompanied me to Delhi, got in touch with the Swiss Embassy that organised an urgent
repatriation. I landed at Kloten Airport on 21 November 1984 - in a wheelchair. I had been in
India are for exactly eleven months.

62
2. La torre del orso
Learning to live with my airy, flying worldview model

René Magritte Le château des pyrenées

Returning home

It still hurts to think of my return to Europe - the wheelchair in which the stewardess had
pushed me from my seat in the plane to the gate where my parents had been waiting for their
“verlorener Sohn”, their prodigal son:

The son said, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.I am no longer worthy to be
called your son. But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a
ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and
celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’
So they began to celebrate. Luke 15:11-32

There was nothing to celebrate – a horror - I was a wreck, yellow skinned, like the above
picture, in terrible pain. At the hospital where on the next day I had been rolled into the
tomography machine, the doctors told me they would operate my back immediately, there
was a danger of my becoming paralysed. Three days later I woke up in a hospital bed and no
longer knew who I was and where I was. The nurse told me: Go back to sleep, everything is
all right. I couldn’t believe it, I did not feel all right.

63
On the third day in hospital a physiotherapist came to my bed and told me: Would you please
get up. I told her that I couldn’t get up, but she insisted. She led me to the corridor and told
me to walk down the stairs. I can’t walk down stairs, I said. She insisted again, I obeyed -
and wonder over wonder - all pain had gone, after months and months of suffering horrible
pain, I felt free of pain, still very weak, but free of pain.

On the sixth day I could leave the hospital, the very pretty nurse accompanied me to the taxi
stand. I hope we will meet again, she said smiling. Thus began my second life – with Helena.

Once a Greek is a 1955 novel by the Swiss writer Friedrich

Dürrenmatt. Its original German title is Grieche sucht Griechin, which
means "Greek man seeks Greek woman".

At our first “private” meeting Helena suggested we should go to the Zum Kropf, a restaurant
in the old town of Zurich. We exchanged stories for many hours. She told me that she had
been thrown out by her partner a few weeks ago and felt quite miserable. I confessed that
I had been kicked out by my Barbara Goddess, that I fled to India and returned an invalid,
I also felt quite miserable. I told Helena that I had met Barbara in this very same restaurant
five years ago - Barbara, the stranger, the barbarian, “pas mē Hellēn barbarous” which
literally means "whoever is not Greek is a barbarian”- and I continued “Greek man seeks
Greek woman”, a Helena.

On that very first meeting we admitted that it would not be possible for both of us to enter in a
“serious” relationship – so we founded a “Gesellschaft mit beschränkter Haftung”, a
partnership with limited liability. Over the thirty years that Helena and I have lived together,
our Ltd. was transformed into “full liability” partnership. For me the “limited liability” lasted for
three or four years, for Helena a little less.

It is very difficult for me to describe the first few years of our partnership “looking forward” –
looking backward always interferes and tempts me to tell my life story in a somewhat
distorted mode.

Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards. Sören Kierkegaard

Not knowing what the future would bring, as life must be lived forwards, it is almost
impossible to hide my backwards understanding. I shall try to be as “objective” as possible.

The first few months of my second life were very difficult, I was free of physical pain, but full
of inner suffering. I was back in Zürich and - SHE troubled me (as I had told Adrian back at
Varanasi: I won’t go back to Europe, that is where SHE is). My “Rha-Barbara-Mus” attacks
returned with full force, OCD - obsessive-compulsive disorder.

64
Every second day my OCD forced me to do my rounds, from where she lived to where we
had gone out to, fearing I would run into her, hoping I wouldn’t, writing her letters in my
troubled mind. I wanted to see her again, full well knowing it would be a disaster. I became
suicidal again.

This time it was my friend Johnny who gave me beta blockers. It didn’t help, OCD attacks
twenty-four hours a day. For months, I did not know what to do. Almost every day I threw my
coins, asking the Book the same question in many different forms: How can I stop this? The
Book of Changes insisted, over many weeks it chalenged me read its answer in hexagram
23 and hexagram 39 – “Splitting Apart” and “Obstruction”.

One should submit to the bad time and remain quiet. (I Ging 23)
A dangerous abyss lying before us and a steep, inaccessible mountain rising behind us.
We are surrounded by obstacles; at the same time, since the mountain has the attribute
of keeping still, there is implicit a hint as to how we can extricate ourselves.
…an individual is confronted by obstacles that cannot be overcome directly.
In such a situation it is wise to pause in view of the danger and to retreat (I Ging 39)

I retreated to Italy. My fiftieth birthday on 28 August 1985, I remember sitting in the garden of
my new house, it was still a wilderness then. It was the most miserable anniversary of my life
so far. The wilderness was not only outside, the wilderness was inside.

Memories of my past life plagued me, memories of Barbara, memories of my illness in India.
A voice told me: Get rid of your memories, burn it all. I built a bonfire, not a “Freudenfeuer”,
I built a sadness fire, all my diaries, all my letters, all my photographs, everything that could
remind me of the lost Goddess ended up in smoke. Unfortunately I could not burn the
Barbara problem deep inside, the suffering continued, I just couldn’t stop to volver la vista
atras.

Al andar se hace camino

y al volver la vista atras
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.

Machado’s Caminante poem had become my mantra in summer 1983, at the end of the
world, at Finisterre, it accompanied me in India, and now it helped me to accept my suffering
and to learn what Chinese sages had to teach me - a new way of life, cultiver son jardin,
studying the I Ging, the Way of Changes and Dao Te Ching, “The Canon of the Way”.
I was a serious student engaged in serious soul-searching. On my return to Zürich I had
bought many books that might help me understand my two books on the “Way” that I had
read in India, I bought books on Eastern thinking, books by Richard Wilhelm and Carl Gustav
Jung. The most difficult to understand was the “Secret of the Golden Flower” that Wilhelm
and Jung had published in 1931.

A thorough Westerner in feeling, I am necessarily deeply impressed by the strangeness of this

Chinese text. It is true that some knowledge of Eastern religions and philosophies aids my intellect
and intuition in understanding these ideas to a certain extent, just as I can understand the paradoxes
of primitive beliefs in terms of 'ethnology', or in terms of the 'comparative history of religions'.
Indeed, this is the Western way of hiding one's heart under the cloak of so-called scientific
understanding. We do it partly because of the misérable vanité des savants which fears and rejects
with horror any sign of living sympathy, and partly because a sympathetic understanding might permit
contact with an alien spirit to become a serious experience.
Carl Gustav Jung Commentary to “The Secret of the Golden Flower”

65
My contact with the alien spirit of the East became indeed are serious experience. In Jung’s
Commentary to “The Secret of the Golden Flower” I encountered a passage that struck me:

I have often seen in individuals who simply outgrew a problem which had destroyed others. This
“outgrowing”, as I called it previously, revealed itself on further experience to be the raising of the
level of consciousness. Some higher or wider interest arose in the persons horizon, and through this
widening of his view, the insoluble problem lost its urgency. It was not solved logically in its own
terms, but faded out into contrasts to a new stronger life-tendency. It was not repressed and made
unconscious, but merely appeared in a different light, and so became different itself. What, on a lower
level, had led to the wildest conflicts in two emotions full of panic, viewed from the higher level of
personality, now seemed like a storm in the valley scene from a high mountain top. ..With respect to
the psyche, we are both valley and mountain, it seems a vain illusion if one feels oneself to be above
what is human. The individual certainly does feel the affect and is convulsed and tormented by it, yet
at the same time he is aware of a higher consciousness which prevents him from being identical with
the affect, a consciousness which takes the affect objective, and can say, “I know that I suffer.”
32
Carl Gustav Jung

“I know that I suffer! – in India a year ago I didn’t know I was suffering, I just suffered -
the insoluble problem had not yet lost its urgency. After my bonfire I very slowly learnt to
accept: yes, I suffer! - I need to learn to outgrow this suffering. It wasn’t easy and it took me a
long time, a lot of “chingelling” (what in India I had called “gingele” in my native Swiss
German, I translate into “chingelling”, consulting the I Ching). My obsession with “chinelling”
continued for some years. I had a hard time overgrowing my insoluable problem. Looking
back I might say that in those years I underwent a psychotherapy - not with a therapist but
with the Books of Wisdom. I learned to talk to myself asking the Oracle. I also learnt to be on
my own reading the Dao Te Ching – the beautiful poems by Laozi

Ordinary men hate solitude.

But the master makes use of it,
embracing his aloneness, realising
he is one with the whole universe. Laozi 42

To be one with the whole universe - I would translate that: “to be at home in the universe” -
I did not learn in those first years of trying to understand Daoist thinking, but I did try hard.
I even tried to learn some Chinese pictographs and enjoy the elegance and beauty of
Chinese calligraphy. The first sign I learnt to recognise was DAO

道 可 道， 非 常 道。名 可 名， 非 常 名。

The Tao that can be spoken is not the eternal Tao

The name that can be named is not the eternal name Laozi 1

有物混成，先天地生。寂兮寥兮，獨立不改，周行而不殆，可以為天下母。吾不知其名，字之
曰道

There was something formless and perfect

before the universe was born.
It is serene. Empty.
Infinite. It turned a present.
It is the mother of the universe.
For lack of a better name,
I call it the Tao. Laozi 25

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Richard Wilhelm The Secret of the Golden Flower, Commentary by C.G. Jung, pg. 77
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道沖而用之或不盈。
淵兮似萬物之宗。

The Tao is like a well:

used but never used up.
It is like the eternal void:
filled with infinite possibilities Laozi 4

谷神不死， gu shen bu si
是謂玄牝。 shi wei xuan pin
玄牝之門， xuan pin zhi men
是謂天地根。 shi wei tian di gen
綿綿若存， mian mian ruo cun
用之不勤。 yong zhi bu quin

The spirit of the Valley never dies.

It is called the mysterious female.
The gateway of the dark female is called “the root of heaven and earth”
Uninterrupted as though persistent
it is effective without effort. Laozi 6

The next two Chinese ideograms I learnt to read where the two concepts in the title of the
Book that I consulted so often in my “overgrowing exercises” - yi - the changes and jing - the
classic book.

周易 - Book of Changes
I tried to understand “The Book of Changes” by studying its structure, trying to learn how the
Chinese sages of old had constructed their divination machinery of Yin lines and Yang lines

If we inquire as to the philosophy that pervades the book, we can confine ourselves to a few basically
important concepts. The underlying idea of the whole is the idea of change. It is related in the
Analects that Confucius, standing by a river, said: "Everything flows on and on like this river,
without pause, day and night." This expresses the idea of change.

He who has perceived the meaning of change fixes his attention no longer on transitory individual
things but on the immutable, eternal law at work in all change. This law is the tao of Lao-tse, the
course of things, the principle of the one in the many. That it may become manifest, a decision, a
postulate, is necessary. This fundamental postulate is the "great primal beginning" of all that exists,
t'ai chi -- in its original meaning, the "ridgepole". Later Chinese philosophers devoted much thought to
this idea of a primal beginning. A still earlier beginning, wu chi, was represented by the symbol of a
circle. Under this conception, t'ai chi was represented by the circle divided into the light and the dark,
yang and yin. This symbol has also played a significant part in India and Europe. However,
speculations of a gnostic-dualistic character are foreign to the original thought of the I Ching; what it
posits is simply the ridgepole, the line. With this line, which in itself represents oneness, duality comes
into the world, for the line at the same time posits an above and a below, a right and left, front and
back-in a word, the world of the opposites. I Ging Introduction Richard Wilhelm XLVII

Everything flows on and on like this river, without pause, day and night – Confizius advised.
Reading this gave me a first indication, a first clue, to overcome my dualist thinking,
to reflect on what the Atlantic breakers at Finisterre had told me – beyond Good and Evil!
Heraklit came to my mind : Panta rhei – Everything is streaming, the law of change – Dao,
the course of things, the primal beginning, the transformation of my fixed, static worldview
into a flowing, dynamic look at life.

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Dao

Dao - the dao (the Way) is both fixed and moving at the same time. The Dao governs
the individual just as it does visible and invisible nature (Earth and Heaven).
On the left side of the ancient Chinese pictograph, which is linked to the Earth, the upper
part signifies going step-by-step, but the line underneath connote standing still. On the right
side is a head with hair above, which is associated with Heaven, and interpreted as the
beginning or source. The original meaning of the whole pictograph is of the Way, which,
though fixed itself, leads from beginning to the end and back to the beginning.

The Magic Uroboros

Circle
Mandala

"Everything flows on and on like this river, without pause, day and night." This expresses the idea of
change…The Way, which, though fixed itself, leads from beginning to the end and back to the
beginning.

Wu chi Tai Chi -

oneness the ridge
pole

Later Chinese philosophers devoted much thought to this idea of a primal beginning. A still earlier
beginning, wu chi, was represented by the symbol of a circle. This law is the tao of Lao-tse, the course
of things, the principle of the one in the many. That it may become manifest, a decision, a postulate, is
necessary. This fundamental postulate is the "great primal beginning" of all that exists, t'ai chi.

Dao - the Way of transcending opposites - Beyond Good and Evil - the possibility for
constructive change in the midst of chaos. Confuzius called the Dao “Decree of Heaven”.

The Master said,

At fifteen I set my heart on learning;
at thirty I took my stand;
at forty I came to be free from doubts;
at fifty I understood the Decree of Heaven;
at sixty my ear was atuned;
at seventy I followed my heart’s desire without overstepping the line.
Confuzius Analects II.4

The most important book that I read in the months after the cleansing bonfire on my fiftieth
birthday was Jung’s Memories, Dreams, Reflections. His “Septem Sermones ad Mortuos”
influenced my thinking deeply.

Sermo I: The dead came back from Jerusalem, where they found not what they sought. They prayed
me let them in and besought my word and thus I began my teaching:
I begin with nothingness. Nothing is the same as fullness. In infinity is no empty. Nothingness is both
empty and full. As well might ye say anything else of nothingness, as for instance, white is it, or black,
or again, it is not, or it is. This nothingness or fullness we name the Pleroma. In the pleroma there is
nothing and everything. It is quite fruitless to think about the pleroma, for this would mean self-
dissolution. Creatura is not in the pleroma, but in itself. What is changeable, however, is Creatura.

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Therefore the pleroma is the one thing which is fixed and certain.The question ariseth: how did
creatura originate? The pleroma hath all, distinctiveness and non-distinctiveness. Distinctiveness is
Creatura. If we do not distinguish, we get beyond our own nature, away from creatura. We fall into all
indistinctiveness, which is the other quality of the pleroma. We fall into the pleroma itself and cease to
be creatures. We are given over to dissolution in the nothingness. This is the death of the creature.
Therefore we die in such measure as we do not distinguish. Hence the natural stirring of the creature
goeth twoward distinctiveness, fighteth against primaeval, perilous sameness. This is called the
principium individuationis. This principle is the essence of the creature. We must, therefore,
distinguish the qualities of the pleroma. The qualities are pairs of opposites, such as -

Fullness and Emptiness.

Living and Dead.
Difference and Sameness.
Light and Darkness.
Force and Matter.
Time and Space.
Good and Evil.
Beauty and ugliness.
The One and the Many.

As we are pleroma itself, we also have all these qualities in us. When we remain true to our own
nature, which is distinctiveness, we distinguish ourselves from the good and the beautiful, and
therefore, at the same time from the evil and ugly and thus we fall not into the pleroma, namely into
nothingness and dissolution. Therefore not after difference, as ye think it, must ye strive; but after your
own being. At bottom, therefore, there is only one striving, namely, the striving after your own being.
Jung Septem Sermones MDR379

our own nature, which is At bottom,

distinctiveness, we distinguish therefore, there
ourselves from the good and the is only one
beautiful, and therefore, at the same striving, namely,
time from the evil and ugly and thus the striving after
we fall not into the pleroma, namely your own being.
into nothingness and dissolution.

“Striving after your own being” - that is what I had been trying to achieve talking to the Book,
asking how I could stop my suffering. The book had always given me the same answer:
Be patient!

We are surrounded by obstacles; at the same time, since the mountain has the attribute of
keeping still, there is implicit a hint as to how we can extricate ourselves. I Ging 39

The hint to extricate myself – my Self - I found in Jung’s Sermones - find your own inner self,
pull yourself out of the mire by being patient. Do not force it, let it happen.

It is not I who create myself; rather I happen to myself. Jung CW 10

It has taken me thirty years to “happen to myself”, to accept that I could not create myself,
that I cannot be other than the Self deeply hidden inside. One cannot seek it, one has to let it
happen. This I only realized in spring 2015 at my vipassana experience – Welcome to
Reality! When I first read the Sermones in autumn 1985 I was still stuck in outer reality, and
could not think my true nature, which is distinctiveness.

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Distinctiveness is Creatura.
Fullness and Emptiness
The One and the Many
Good and Evil

Distinctivness - the primal beginning of Life is born out of the Pleroma, the One being split
into the world of Two. Creatura necessarily is a dual, to live means to distinguish, to establish
opposites. It suddenly occurred to me that Western thinkers adhere to the conviction that
opposites must be placed - here or there, fullness is here and emptiness is there, the One is
there, the Many is here. The Good is above, Evil is below, God is above, Hell is below.
Our world model is vertical and static.

Yin and Yang are not here or there, not above or below. The Chinese world model is
horizontal, a dynamic model of movement, of change, of enantiodromia and homeostasis.
It also occurred to me that to attempts to way my Way beyond Good and Evil, to unite the
opposites, to find a way to a coincidentia oppositorum – the coincidence of opposites -
I would have to find a way out of my vertical world model.

The road up and the road down are the same thing. Heraclitus

It is not enough to say that the way up and the way down are the same. In my learning to fly
in abstract space of reflection I found a solution, my way of waying the way - 道 可 道 非 常
道 - is to go in circles.

the uroboros

To overcome my habitual ways of thinking I invented a Latin motto, I transformed what I had
learnt in my Latin lessons “navigare necesse est” into “circumambulare necesse est” - I had
found that idea in Jung’s Memories.

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I thought about the significance of what I was doing, and ask myself, “Now, really, what are you
about?... I had no answer to my question, only the inner certainty that I was on the way to
discovering my own myth. The goal of psychic development is the self. There is no linear evolution;
there is only a circumambulation of the self. One could not go beyond the centre. The centre is the
goal, and everything is directed toward that centre. The self is the principal and archetype of
orientation and meaning. Therein lies its healing function. For me, this insight signified an approach to
the centre and therefore to the goal. Out of it emerged the first inkling of my personal myth.
Jung Memories, Dreams, Reflexions

What is my personal myth? I did not know then. Learning to walk in circles, to live
circumambulando, to think in reflexive circles was not easy. For more than twenty years I had
to repeat my motto “circumambulare necesse est” very often. Jung had written in his diaries:

There is only one way and that is your way; there is only one salvation and that is your
salvation. Why are you looking around for help? Do you believe that help will come from outside?
What is to come will be created in you and from you. Hence look into yourself. All other ways deceive
and tempt you. You must fulfill the way that is in you. Jung Red Book 384

I couldn’t fulfill the way that was in me, I didn’t even know who I was in those very difficult
years after my return from India.

Whenever the psyche is set violently oscillating by a numinous experience there is a danger that the
thread by which one hangs may be torn. Should that happen, one man tumbles into a absolute
affirmation, another into an equally absolute negation. Nirdvandva (freedom of opposites) is the
Orient’s remedy for this. I have not forgotten that. The Pendlum of the mind oscillates between sense
and nonsense, not between right and wrong. The numinosum is dangerous because it delivers men to
extremes, so that a modest truth is regarded as the truth and a minor mistake is equated with fatal
error… We are still a long way from understanding what it signifies that nothing has any
existence unless some small - and oh, so transitory - consciousness has become aware of it.
Jung Memories 154

Copying this passage by hand into my diary, in 1988 there was no desktop computer
available, I had a hard time understanding what Jung meant. I had learnt to apply the
Orient’s remedy (nirdvandva) to some of my problems, but I had not yet learnt to solve
“the numinous experience”, my regurgitating attacks, until one fine day I had an inspiration.
The other in me started pestering me with Barbara thoughts and I said to him: If you want to
go on ruminating, just go on, but I won’t listen, I’m sick and tired of it, I won’t listen. To my
great surprise, he stopped. To be quite honest he still comes back, sometimes, when my
inner homeostasis doesn’t work properly, but nowadays all I have to say is: stop it.

Four years after my bonfire anniversary I spent my fifty-fourth anniversary in my garden

again. It was no longer a wilderness, it had become a well tended wild garden. I remember
saying to myself: you’ve come a long way, fool! It’s time for you to become an educated fool.
I found my personal myth – back to linguistics, back to studying human communication, back
to the question that I had asked at school thirty-two years ago: how do humans cooperate,
how do humans communicate, how do humans live together? But before I could even begin
to become an educated fool, the very poor and stupid fool had a lot of „overgrowing“ work to
do. The intellectual tools to tell that story I found in in a book by Jaak Panksepp on the
neuroevolutionary origins of human emotions I read recently.

Neuroscience has remained largely silent about the nature of joy, while psychology has seen a
revolution in the study and discussion of its cognitive derivative, happiness, with few insights into the
neural nature of joy. Traditional neuroscience has had relatively little to tell us about how the
intense emotional feelings that we call affects can arise from brain activities. This is because
feelings are subjectively experienced, and some say the traditional third-person measurements of
science (i.e. external observation of phenomena) cannot deal effectively with first-person experiences.

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This book describes a new scientific discipline called affective neuroscience which seeks to
illuminate how our most powerful emotional feelings - the primal emotional affects - arise from
ancient networks situated in brain regions below the neocortical “thinking-cap”. The neocortex is an
organ that generates complex cognitive abilities as well as culture, and it is definitely important for
complex perceptions, learning, and cognitions. The neocortex is responsible for almost all of the
cultural milestones that human beings have been able to achieve. And neuroscience has also
provided an important message - practically all of the psychological specialisations within the cortex
are learnt. However, the cortex could achieve nothing without an evolved foundational mind
deeper in the brain. Those ancient neural territories below the neocortex constitute our ancestral
mind - the affective mind, which is evolutionarily specialised and that we share with many other
animals. It is “archaeological treasure”, for it contains the source of some of our most powerful
feelings. Those ancient subcortical brain systems are precious, multihued “jewels” for anyone wishing
to understand the roots of all the basic values we have ever known and will experience in our lives.
The affects are the foundations upon which the beauty and ugliness of life has been constructed.
We have found that the ancient subcortical regions of mammalian brains contain at least seven basic
affective systems: SEEKING (expectancy), FEAR (anxiety), RAGE (anger),LUST (sexual
excitement),CARE (nurturance),PANIC/GRIEF (sadness, and PLAY (social joy). They designate
specific functional networks of evolutionarily very ancient regions of our brains. Our focus here will be
on the primary-process nature of these systems, but will not neglect the levels that most other
investigators are studying - the secondary process (inbuilt emotional learning mechanisms) and the
tertiary process (emotional thoughts and deliberations that are so evident in human experience).

The nature of conscious experience

How are raw affective experiences created in the brain? The answer could help to clarify the
foundational nature of experience in general (i.e. primary process consciousness) as well as the
diverse affective disturbances that human souls can suffer. Thus for depression, I would specifically
ask: Why does depression hurt? Why is it so psychologically painful? Few neuroscientists have been
willing to ask such questions, but some working hypotheses have been garnered from affective
neuroscientific perspectives on primary process emotionality, based on John Bowlby’s seminal view
that the arousal of GRIEF - the acute psychological distress engendered by separation from maternal
CARE - if prolonged, leads to the sustained despair that is the gateway to depression.
The general failure of the psychological science community to recognise the primary process
emotional aspects of brain organisation leave many debates like this unanchored by neural
considerations, and thus restricted largely to a very difficult and intrinsically confusing tertiary
process considerations: Those higher levels of mind are largely socially constructed, leading to
great ideographic varity. But animal brain research indicates that there must also be inborn feelings in
human brains. If primary-process affects have any evolution function at all, besides simply guiding
learning, it is to intrinsically anticipate future survival needs. If affects provide immediate unconditional
“valuative” guidance of behaviour, then it would be most useful to have accurate affective signalling of
diverse internal states and external stimuli that threaten survival as well as those that promote
satisfying, even happy, living. A complex human reflective-affective consciousness emerges with
learning and thought. Given the hierarchical systems that are present at many levels of Brain/Mind
evolution, many of the complexities are instantiated in the nested hierarchies of Brain/Mind functions,
where the lower effective brain functions become re-represented in higher functions. With time and
education, the higher functions develop recursive supervisory (executive) control over
33
emotional expressions. Jaak Panksepp

Reading about affective neuroscience provided tools that help me to understand that
“an evolved foundational mind deeper in the brain”, “basic affective systems” build up
“primary-process consciousness”. What the psychologists of the twentieth century had called
the “unconscious” is a primary process in the deep layers of human brains. And since all
mammalian brains experience affects, but the brains of the human animal can think about his
feelings and can name them, a hundred years ago Jung invented the name “collective
unconscious”, for the part of experience that cannot be controlled. Consciousness is the set
of “higher functions” that develop recursive supervisory (executive) control over emotional
expressions. What is involved in Jung‘s „overgrowing“, I suddenly realized reading
Panksepp, is exactly this „recursive supervisory (executive) control“.

33
Jaak Panksepp The Archeology of Mind, W.W.Norton, 2012
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I was very pleased with myself, when I was able to think that thought. I was happy sitting in
my wild garden, talking to the flowers and the trees and I told my fellow mammalian, my dog
Terry: We have come a long way! Terry waved his tail and agreed. The next musings I could
not share with Terry.

I seem to have a highly developed SEEKING system, I said to myself, I am naturally curious,
I want to know. Wanting to know is my personal myth. I was very happy that evening and
began to reflect on how the stupid fool had managed to become an educated, happy fool.
I returned to my typing machine and started a new chapter about the road, the way, that
I had travelled building my airy, flying worldview model. It had started with advice that I had
found in many books:

It is a good morning exercise for a research scientist to discard a pet hypothesis every day before
breakfast. It keeps him young Konrad Lorenz

Wären überhaupt die Dinge das, was man ihnen sofort ansieht, so müssten jede Untersuchung und
34
Wissenschaft sich erübrigen. Peter Sloterdiijk

Unser “Weltbildapparat” (Konrad Lorenz) ist folglich so etwas wie ein vereinfachendes
Standardmodell, zugeschnitten auf ein Lebewesen, dass sein Überleben unter „mesokosmischen“
Bedingungen zu bestehen hat er ist zugeschnitten also unter anderem auf durchschnittliche
Geschwindigkeiten und mittlere Distanzen, unter Verzicht auf alle Extreme innerhalb einer Welt, die
sich objektiv von den Verhältnissen auf der subatomaren Ebene - auf der die uns gewohnten Begriffe
Raum und Zeit fragwürdig werden - bis zu kosmologischen Distanzen und Geschwindigkeiten
erstreckt, für die dasselbe gilt. Wir leben nicht in der Welt, sondern nur in dem Abbild, dass unsere
Köpfe von ihr entwerfen. In einem winzigen, auf unserer biologischen Bedürfnisse zugeschnittenen
Ausschnitt, der über dies den Teil der Welt, über den er uns überhaupt informiert, grob vereinfacht
wiedergibt. Die uns angeborenen Anschauungsformen gleichen “plumpen kategorialen Schachteln”
35
Hoimar von Ditfurth

…..die tiefer liegende Vorstellung einer Grenzlinie zwischen der Welt des Lebendigen (wo
Unterscheidungen getroffen werden und Unterschiede Ursachen sein können) und der Welt
unbelebter Billardkugeln und Galaxien (wo Kräfte und Wirkungen die »Ursachen« von Ereignissen
sind). Dies sind die beiden Welten, die Jung (im Anschluß an die Gnostiker) creatura (das Lebendige)
und pleroma (das Unbelebte) nennt (C. G. Jung, Septem Sermones ad Mortuos (1916)). Ich fragte:
Welches ist der Unterschied zwischen der physikalischen Welt der pleroma, wo Kräfte und Wirkungen
eine hinreichende Erklärungsgrundlage bilden, und der creatura, wo man nichts verstehen kann,
ohne Unterschiede und Unterscheidungen heranzuziehen? In meinem Leben habe ich die
Beschreibungen von Stöcken, Steinen und Billardkugeln in eine Kiste, die des Pleroma, gesteckt und
sie dort liegen gelassen. In die andere Kiste steckte ich die Lebewesen: Krebse, Menschen, Probleme
der Schönheit und Probleme des Unterschiedes. Gregory Bateson

„Problems of distinction“ - that had been the motto that accompanied me from 1985 to 2005.
Bateson’s “Mind and Nature – A Nessessary Unity” confronted me with way of thinking that
took me years to understand. It also confronted me with a vocabulary that was totally
unfamiliar: the Science of Mind and Order, ecology of mind, and many more. Erich Jantsch’s
“The Self-Organising Universe” pushed me to the limits of my possibilities of comprehension.
Humberto Maturana’s “Tree of Knowledge” forced me to rethink everything that I had learnt
about language in the years that I had studied linguistics. “Problems of distinction” were also
the central theme of Niklas Luhmann’s Systems Theory, his theory of communication, his
theory of observation that he built on George Spencer Brown’s “Laws of Form”.

34
Peter Sloterdiijk Kritik der Zynischen Vernunft 1983
35
Hoimar von Ditfurth So lasst uns denn ein Apfelbäumchen pflanzen, Rascher 1985
73
 What we mean by information - the elementary unit of information - is a
difference which makes a difference, and it is able to make a difference
because the neural pathways along which it travels and is continually transformed
are themselves provided with energy. The pathways are ready to be triggered.
We may even say that the question is already implicit in them.
1) A mind is an aggregate of interacting parts or components.
2) The interaction between parts of mind is triggered by difference, and difference
is a nonsubstantial phenomenon not located in space or time; difference is
related to negentropy and entropy rather than energy.
3) Mental process requires collateral energy.
4) Mental process requires circular chains of determination.
5) In mental process, the effects of difference are to be regarded as transforms
(i.e., coded versions) of events which proceeded them..

Self-organization is the dynamic principle underlying the emergence of a rich

world of forms manifest in biological, ecological, social and cultural structures. But
self-organization does not only start with what we usually call life. It characterizes
one of the two basic classes of structures which may be distinguished in physical
reality, namely, the dissipative structures which are fundamentally different
from the equilibrium structures.
It becomes possible to view evolution as a complex, but holistic dynamic
phenomenon of a universal unfolding or order which becomes manifest in
many ways, as matter and energy, information and complexity, consciousness
and self-reflexion. It is no longer necessary to assume a special life force - such
as Bergson’s elan vital or prana of Hinduism—separate from the physical forces.
Erich Jantsch, The Self-Organizing Universe

As I found myself facing the matter of cognition I became aware that I had to
consider language as a biological phenomenon and that any attempt to
understand language through philosophical reflections would be inadequate
because such reflections had no way of taking into consideration the way living
systems operate as structure determined systems. We human beings exist as
observers in language as we operate in the domain of structural coupling to
which we belong. I realised that the central aspect of languaging was the flow in
living together in recursive coordinations of behaviours or doings, and that notions
of communication and symbolisation are secondary to actually existing in
language. Language is a manner of living together in a flow of coordinations
of coordinations of consensual behaviours that arises in the history of living in
the collaboration of doing things together. Humberto Maturana

We human beings exist and operate as human beings as we operate in language: languaging is our
manner of living as human beings.

Autopoiesis: Living systems are molecular autopoietic systems. As such the natural world is in its
spontaneous presence the proof of its own existence. Natural phenomena occur when they occur, and
we human beings as observers distinguish them, as we distinguish what we do, as we distinguish
what happens in us or with us. An observer attempts to explain only those of his or her
experiences (phenomena) which do not seem obvious to him or her. In order to do so, he or
she resorts to the coherence is of his or her experiences and uses them to propose a
generative mechanism under the operation of which the phenomena that he or she wants to
explain will appear or result spontaneously.

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 Pursuing this line of questioning, we once again encounter the more recent
development of systems theory. Specifically, we must consider all the
developments in physics after it was recognised that all observations of
physical phenomena for physical reasons change these phenomena and that
the observer - regardless of whether we are dealing with a human being or an
instrument - must function physically in order to be capable of observation.
By means of a formal analysis we recognise that a system is a form with two
sides, - the sign is a form with two sides and that, in using it as a sign, we
must always move to and operate from the inner side of the form - that is, the
side of the signifier. Thus, language is used on the assumption that words
signify something we do not know very clearly. The consequence of this notion
of “form” for systems theory is that the“system” can be called a “form” under
the condition that the concept of form must always applied to the difference
between system and environment. Niklas Luhmann

Laws of Form, (1969)

We take as given the idea of distinction and the idea of indication, and that we
cannot make an indication without drawing a distinction. We take, therefore, the
form of distinction for the form.
Let us consider, for a moment, the world as described by the physicist. It consists of
a number of fundamental particles which, if shot through their own space, appear
as waves. All these appear bound by certain natural laws which indicate the
form of their relationship. Now the physicist himself, who describes all this, is, in
his own account, himself constructed of it. He is, in short, made of a conglomeration
of the very particulars he describes, no more, no less, bound together by and
obeying such general laws as he himself has managed to find and to record. Thus
we cannot escape the fact that the world we know is constructed in order
(and thus in such a way as to be able) to see itself. This is indeed amazing. Not
so much in view of what it sees, although this may appear fantastic enough, but in
respect of the fact that it can see at all. But in order to do so, evidently it must first
cut itself up into at least one state which sees, and at least one other state
which is seen. In this severed and mutilated condition, whatever it sees is only
partially itself. We may take it that the world undoubtedly is itself (i.e. is indistinct
from itself), but, in any attempt to see itself as an object, it must, equally
undoubtedly, act so as to make itself distinct from, and therefore false to,
itself. In this condition it will always partially elude itself.

How was I to understand Gregory Bateson’s “pattern that connects”, the necessary unity?
And how was I to understand Humberto Maturana’s theory of autopoesis and his theory of
“languaging”? How was I to internalise Jantsch’s universe that is a selforganising process in
which everything is connected to everything?

from The Tree of Knowledge

75
It took me many years to understand Luhmann’s „fundamental form of ordering experience“.
The word “experience” I am using to translate “Erleben“ is weak, it does not include
connotations on „living one’s life“. “Erleben” is both a passive and an active way of life, it is
about life with a purpose, about living in „time“. Life is a process in time, a process in which
we humans have to make “meaningful” choices from an infinite horizon of possibilities.

'Sinn' ist als die fundamentale Ordnungsform menschlichen Erlebens gedacht, die alles, was erlebt
wird, in einen Horizont anderer Möglichkeiten plaziert und damit selektiv stellt.".
36
Niklas Luhmann

Reading Luhmann introduced me to ideas about circularity and self-reference, about

information and creativity, about „self“ and other „selves“, about consciousness, about life
and experience of life. I had to re-think my basic assumptions and reflect on matters of
epistemology that I found in Douglas Hofstadter‘s book „Gödel, Escher, Bach“ a first
formulation of the transition from „object-thinking“ to „process-thinking“, from „individual
consciousness“ to a „social consciousness“ - a fluid epistemology that reintroduces „Me“ (as
an individual) into the realm of „Us“ (social thinking), the world of communication, the world of
social systems.

Social Systems - problems of form - problems of distinction and problems of understanding

were for many years “my problems”. I read hundreds of books on these problems and
I worked through hundreds of books to extend my knowledge on the origin of language, the
origins of society, the evolution of life and the evolution of human thinking.

From 1990 to 2005 I collected excerpts from what I had read for my students at SAL, a
professional college in Zürich. I built a web page from which my students could download
texts that I used for my courses.

36
Niklas Luhmann, N., Einfache Sozialsysteme, in: Soziologische Aufklärung 2, Opladen 1975, S.21-38, S.22.
76
FIELDS OF STUDY:

Where do we come from?

History - Evolution - Mythology - Religion - Cultural Knowledge -Language
Religion: index_religion
Daoism: index_dao
Buddhism: index_buddhism
Evolution: index_evolution
Evolution of Society: index_evosoz.html

My very personal list must give a prominent place to the study of language. I have asked questions
about how we humans cooperate, how we communicate, how our capacity to speak is related to what
we call Society or Culture.

Language: index-language
Evolution of Language: sprachevolution.html
Origins of Language: index_origins-language

Who are we?

Our bodies - our brains - our thoughts - our dreams - our imaginations - our knowledge - our beliefs -
our fears - our hopes

Brain: brain.html
Mirror neurons: index_mirror-neurons
Neurolinguistics: neurolinguistics
Cognition: index_cog.html
Cognitive Linguistics: index_cog.linguistics

I learnt - fifty years ago - that we became "human" by growing a big brain, which allowed us to develop
language, thinking and consciousness. Is the big brain really all we need?
Cognitive Scientists have shown me, that studying the functioning of our brain-mind can teach us deep
insights on the Perennial Question: Who are we?

Consciousness: consciousness.html
Computation: computation
Complexity: complexity
Selforganisation: index selforganisation
Communication : index_Kom.html
Media: index_medien
Information: index_information
Intelligence: index-intelligence
Mind: index_mind
Theory of Mind: index-ToM -
Intentionality: index-intentionality
Systems-Theory: systemtheorie.html

Texts on the evolution of Cognition - Language - Communication - Society:

Kommunikation - Interagieren - kooperieren - koordinieren
Kommunikationstechnologien: Medien - Sprachtheorien
Denken - Psycholinguistik - Kognitionstheorie
Sprache - Evolution der menschlichen Sprachfähigkeit
Gesellschaften) - Gesellschaftsformen: Horde - Stamm - Staat

Where are we going?

Our plans - our future...the future is wide open. I no longer desire to plan it!

Who are we? How does the world work? Can "science" answer such questions? That is a question
which points to a fundamental question:What is the difference between "knowledge" - and "wisdom".
That is what I should like to know. I am searching for a synthesis of knowledge and wisdom.

77
This story is from a lecture course „MENSCH UND SPRACHE” that I wrote 1995 for my
students.

DIE EVOLUTION DES GEISTES EIN MODERNER MYTHOS

Es war einmal - am Anfang - ein Planet und der Planet war wüst und leer. Er war heiss und kein
Leben war auf ihm. Nicht gab es Unterscheiden, nicht Vergleichen, nicht Lernen und nicht Handeln.

Das war vor 4700 Millionen Jahren. Dieses Alter haben Kosmologen errechnet. Geologen haben in
Australien Felsbrocken untersucht und darin Versteinerungen von einzelligen Lebewesen gefunden.
Sie schätzen das Alter dieser Fossilien auf 3400 Millionen Jahre. Manche Biologen glauben, dass die
ersten Lebewesen schon vor 4000 Millionen Jahren entstanden sind, in heissen Quellen ohne
Sauerstoff. 3000 Millionen Jahre lang - zwei Drittel der Evolutionsgeschichte - belebten solche
Einzeller die Wasser unserer Mutter Gaia. Einzeller bestehen aus hochkomplizierten Molekülen, die
lernten, sich mit einer Haut von ihrer Umwelt abzuschotten und in ihrem Inneren Ordnung aufzubauen.
Die Biologen sprechen von Selbstorganisation. Selbstorganierende “Einheiten” können mit ihrer
Umwelt Energie austauschen. Dies nennen die Biologen Metabolismus. Lebewesen lernten , ihre
eigene Struktur an eine neue Generation weiterzugeben. Sie können sich replizieren. Die Elemente
der Zellen bilden Systeme, sie bauen Ordnung auf, aus sich selber, oder - wie die Biologen sagen -
autopoietisch (sich selbstaufbauend).

Vom ersten Unterscheiden

Und die Wasser der Erde waren nicht mehr leer. Die Wasser enthielten Leben. Aus den Wassern
wurde Lebenswasser. Im Wasser schuf das Leben Unterscheiden von Innen und Aussen. Aus dem
Leben wuchs der Geist des Miteinander. Lebewesen wollen. Sie schufen den Wert des Lebens.

Lebewesen bildeten ein Gedächtnis des Lebens. Sie lernten ihre Baupläne zu speichern. Sie lernten
sich zu verhalten. Lebewesen wollen leben, ihr Verhalten ist zielgerichtet, es ist intentional. Vor etwa
600 Millionen Jahren lernten die einzelligen Lebewesen, sich zu Kolonien zusammenzuschliessen.
Ihre Kooperationsfähigkeit liess “Metazoa” entstehen, Mehrzeller. In ihnen gaben die einzelnen Zellen
ihre Selbständigkeit auf und spezialisierten sich - zum Wohl des ganzen Organismus. Es entstanden
Hautzellen, die den Organismus gegen aussen abschliessen (Membrane) und es entstanden Organe,
die im Inneren den Energiehaushalt regeln. Es entstanden auch Zellen, die zwischen Innen und
Aussen vermitteln. Diese Vermittlerzellen nennen wir Neuronen. Es entstanden Nervennetzwerke,
Gehirne. Wenn sich Zellen zu Zellkolonien vereinen, entsteht eine neue Ebene der Koppelung, eine
strukturelle Koppelung zweiter Ordnung, eine Koppelung einer Koppelung. Mehrzellige Lebewesen
entwickelten das Vergleichen.

Vom ersten Vergleichen

Und die lebenden Wesen erkannten ihre Welt. Sie erinnerten ihre Welt. Sie bauten ihre Welt. Sie
verglichen ihre Welten.

Der Aufbau von Sinnesorganen ermöglicht den mehrzelligen Lebewesen ein repäsentieren ihrer
Umwelt, sie speichern in den Nervennetzwerken Modelle ihrer Erfahrungen mit der Umwelt.
Vertebraten, die Rückenmarktiere, entwickelten zur Speicherung und Verarbeitung von Reizen und
Erfahrungen Gehirne. Die Entwicklung dieser Zentralnervensysteme bestimmte dann in Fischen,
Fröschen und Eidechsen den Umgang der Lebewesen mit ihrer Umwelt. Komplexe Lebewesen
konnten die Eindrücke ihrer Sinnesorgane im Gehirn bündeln und waren in der Lage, das Innen vom
Aussen in einer neuen Form zu unterscheiden. Sie entwickelten Weltmodelle. Alle Mehrzeller leben in
einer selbst konstruierten Welt, und artspezifische Weltmodelle haben den Zweck, den Lebewesen
das Überleben in ihren “Welten” zu ermöglichen. Die Erfahrung ungezählter Generationen wurden in
Reaktionsprogrammen festgeschrieben. Es entstanden instinktive Verhaltensweisen.

Vom ersten Lernen

Und die Erde war nicht mehr wüst und leer. Tiere und Pflanzen verliessen die Wasser und nutzten die
Nahrung der Erde. Sie verliessen das ewig gleiche Wasser und siedelten in der veränderlichen Welt
des festen Landes.

78
Sie mussten dabei lernen, sich an eine schnell verändernde Umwelt anzupassen. Instinktgelenkte
Lebewesen können nur auf immer gleiche Reize reagieren. Sie können nicht handeln. Erst die
Brutpfleger, die Vögel und die Säugetiere, lernten Neues zu lernen. Ihre Verhaltensprogramme
wurden flexibler. Ihre Weltmodelle waren nicht mehr gänzlich genetisch festgelegt, sie konnten sich
als Individuen an Veränderungen der Umwelt anpassen. Ihre Verhaltensprogramme waren nicht mehr
durch Vererbung (phylogenetisch) determiniert, sie lernten während ihrer eigenen Lebensgeschichte,
sie waren ontogenetisch geprägt. Diese ontogenetische Prägung der Verhaltenssteuerung verlangt
den Aufbau von Gedächtnis, das heisst der Speicherung von Erfahrung. Neue Eindrücke werden mit
Erinnerungen verglichen. Gedächtnis erlaubt das ursprüngliche Unterscheiden der ersten Lebewesen,
das Wahrnehmen von innen und aussen durch die neue Ebene der Vernetzung von Erinnerungen zu
erweitern. Tiere, denen die grössere Speicherfähigkeit des Gehirns die Speicherung individueller
Erfahrung ermöglicht, entwickelten ein neues System der Unterscheidung und des Vergleichens, die
Gefühle (Emotionen). Sie ordnen angenehme und unangenehme Eindrücke. Angenehm ist “gut”, das
kann das Lebewesen brauchen und kann sich “wollend” solche Eindrücke suchen. Unangenehm ist
“schlecht”, das suchen sie zu vermeiden. Diese emotionale Verhaltensteuerung ist im limbischen
System lokalisiert, einer Hirnschicht, die sich in den frühen Säugetieren entwickelt hatte. Die
Geschichte dieser neuen Form der Verhaltenssteuerung nahm ihren Anfang vor etwa 150 Millionen
Jahren. Es ist die Geschichte des Lernens. Sie dauert bis heute. Wir lernen noch immer. Die
Geschichte des Lernens ist eng gekoppelt an die Geschichte des Miteinander, der Kommunikation.
Lebewesen lernten ihre Reaktionen zu koordinieren. Sie lernten auf Reaktionen der anderen zu
reagieren. Wo in den Gehirnen komplexere Modelle der Welt gespeichert werden, wächst auch ein
Modell der Innenwelt (Subjektivität). Lebewesen fangen an, sich selber wahrzunehmen. Zu der so
entstandenen Innenwelt haben die anderen nie direkten Zugang. Wir können uns aber in unsere
Nächsten einfühlen (Empathie). Lebewesen lernten auf einer neuen Ebene zu kommunizieren. Im
langsamen Laufe der Zeit, als Vögel und Säugetiere lernten, ihre “Nachbarn” zu erkennen und auf sie
zu reagieren, entstand Sozialität, Gruppenverhalten. Wir können diese innerspezifische Koppelung
als Koppelung dritter Ordnung bezeichen: Koppelung der geistigen (mentalen) Welt der Individuen mit
der Welt der Gesellschaft, dem System der Kommunikation (Luhmann).

Vom ersten Handeln

Und die Menschen dieser Erde schufen sich eine Menschenwelt. Sie unterschieden das Innen vom
Aussen und bezeichneten das Ich und das Du. Sie trennten das Gute vom Bösen und besprachen ihr
Dasein miteinander. Sie lernten das Glauben, das Wünschen und das Handeln.

Als die Menschen sprechen lernten, wurden ihnen die Augen aufgetan für die anderen. Sie erlebten
sich im Spiegel der anderen, sie erkannten sich selber im Spiegel der anderen, sie erkannten sich in
der Sprache. Es entstand das “zoon politicon”, der Mensch der Gemeinschaft. Der Ursprung der
Sprache liegt im Einfühlungsvermögen. Wer sich in einen anderen hineinversetzen kann, erlebt sich
selber als ein eigenständiges “ego”. Primaten entwickelten Selbst-Bewusstsein als sie lernten, sich
vom Nächsten zu unterscheiden und mit den Nächsten zu kommunizieren. Lebewesen hatten im
Laufe der langen Geschichte gelernt mit der Umwelt zu kommunizieren (Chemotaxis, Tropholaxis).
Soziale Lebewesen lernten auch ihr Verhalten mit den anderen zu koordinieren. Diese im Laufe der
Ontogenese gelernte Verhaltenskoordination ist der Anfang des menschlichen Kommunikations-
systems (Linguolaxis). Seit wir sprechen können, nehmen wir nicht nur wahr, wir nehmen bewusst
wahr. Wir können über unsere Wahrnehmung nachdenken, reflektieren. Wir nehmen wahr, dass wir
wahrnehmen. Wir denken, dass wir denken. Wir nehmen bewusst wahr, was für uns wichtig ist. Wir
nehmen wahr, was “relevant” ist. Wie wir Wichtiges von Unwichtigem unterscheiden, wissen wir nicht.
Es sind sicher keine “einfachen”, linearen Rechenprozesse, sondern komplexe, nichtlineare
Gehirnprozesse, die aus Chaos Ordnung herausfiltern, die aus Chaos Kosmos schaffen.
Menschliche Gehirne haben beim Sprechen dazu noch gelernt, die so entstandene Welt der Ordnung,
den Kosmos, zu benennen und diese Ordnung mit anderen zu teilen. Sie erfanden Symbole,
Verbindungen von Lauten und Vorstellungen. Alles was benannt ist, existiert. Und - es existiert erst,
wenn es benannt ist. Wir planen mit der Sprache. Pläne sind Geschichten. Wir planen und handeln -
gemeinsam. Wir fragen und wir erzählen Geschichten - miteinander. Wir fragen, woher wir kommen,
und erzählen Geschichten über unsere Geschichte. Wir lernen, wer wir sind in Gemeinschaft. Wir sind
unsere gesammelte Erfahrung, wir sind unsere Geschichten. Unsere Welt ist eine in Sprache gefasste
Menschenwelt. Unsere Welt ist unsere Kultur, die wir uns sprechend formen.

79
3. My BonFires
Learning to live with my transformed creative worldview model

Gregory Bateson’s “pattern that connects”, the nessessary unity? - Humberto Maturana’s
theory of autopoesis and his theory of “languaging”? - Erich Jantsch’s universe that is a
selforganising process in which everything is connected to everything? - questions I had
asked flying in the abstract space of studying modern science in which subjective questions
on how we internalize, how we understand, were not allowed. When subjective questions did
come up - like in studying Jung - I treated them as a knowledge game.

The daimon of creativity has ruthlessly had its way with me. Carl Gustav Jung

What is a daimon, stupid me asked. To play knowledge games these days is very easy, you
type “daimon” into a Google field and within milliseconds, you get your answer:

The words "dæmon" and "daimōn" are Latinized versions

of the Greek "δαίμων" ("godlike power, fate, god"),
a reference to the daemons of ancient Greek
religion and mythology, as well as later Hellenistic
religion and philosophy.

Daemons are benevolent or benign nature spirits, beings of

the same nature as both mortals and deities, similar
to ghosts, chthonic heroes, spirit guides, forces of nature or
the deities themselves (see Plato's Symposium). Walter
Burkert suggests that unlike the Christian use of demon in a
strictly malignant sense, “[a] general belief in spirits is not
expressed by the term daimon until the 5th century when a
doctor asserts that neurotic women and girls can be driven to
suicide by imaginary apparitions, ‘evil daimones’. How far this
is an expression of widespread popular superstition is not
easy to judge. On the basis of Hesiod's myth, however, what
did gain currency was for great and powerful figures to be
honoured after death as a daimon…” Daimon is not so much a
type of quasi-divine being, according to Burkert, but rather a
non-personified “peculiar mode” of their activity.

A painting (Herbert James Draper, 1909) of Lamia, the queen of

Libya, who, according to Greek mythology, became a daemon

80
It does however take a little more time to understand the answer. As a matter-of-fact it took
me twenty years - or even longer - to even fathom the answer: imaginary apparitions.
My imaginary apparitions are not beautiful women, like the picture of “Lamia” in the
Wickipedia answer - my imaginary apparitions are “Fools” in many forms, stupid fools, angry
fools, smiling fools, even educated fools. To find out about them I googled again, I typed
“fool” - and was advised to click on http://www.thefreedictionary.com/fool:

fool
1. One who is deficient in judgment, sense, or understanding.
2. One who acts unwisely on a given occasion: I was a fool to have quit my job.
3. One who has been tricked or made to appear ridiculous; a dupe:
They made a fool of me by pretending I had won.
4. Informal: A person with a talent or enthusiasm for a certain activity:
a dancing fool; a fool for skiing.
5. A member of a royal or noble household who provided entertainment, as with jokes
or antics; a jester.
6. One who subverts convention or orthodoxy or varies from social conformity in order
to reveal spiritual or moral truth: a holy fool.
7. A dessert made of stewed or puréed fruit mixed with cream or custard and served cold.
8. Archaic: A mentally deficient person; an idiot.

Except for number 7, it seems to me, I was all of them: deficient in judgement, a dupe, a
person with talent or enthusiasm for a certain activity, a jester, an idiot, and a holy fool.

Fool – Trottel; gawk -Tölpel; half-wit; blockhead - Hornochse; idiot – Dummkopf; a jester, a
wizard, a conjurer, a mage, a magician, a sorcerer, a warlock, a witch.

Who am I? Am I a stupid fool, an educated fool or a creative fool, a trickster, or a wizard, a

Hofnarr? Wer bin Ich – und wenn ja wie viele?37

A wizard is a person who claims to be aptly skilled in arts considered

hidden or arcane. Throughout history, there have been many who have
claimed having secret knowledge was a result of supernatural powers,
insofar as certain platitudes alluding to an ability and knowledge of
the occult (literally, "hidden") techniques often felt could be of great
importance. Perhaps the oldest example of this is knowledge of the
jealously guarded secret of the making and tending of fire.
In particular, the practice of Alchemy contains many elements that in
the modern era would now be considered magical, while other sciences
unknown by practitioners of the past have been incorporated into the
study and application of chemistry. Legends in medieval Europe
attributed Virgil with prophetic powers, and sometimes more magical
abilities, as in the fairy tale "Virgilius the Sorcerer" collected in The
Violet Fairy Book. The figure of Faust appears to have been based on
an actual alchemist, Johann Georg Faust, who was accused in his
lifetime of practising magic. Merlin, a magician of Arthurian Legend, is
among many other legendary characters with a basis in fact or, indeed,
pure fiction. See also, Esoteric Christianity, Kabbalah, Renaissance
magic, Mysticism.

Merlin is a legendary figure best known as the wizard featured in Arthurian legend. The standard depiction of the
character first appears in Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae, written c. 1136, and is based on an
amalgamation of previous historical and legendary figures. Geoffrey combined existing stories of Myrddin Wyllt
(Merlinus Caledonensis), a North Brythonic prophet and madman with no connection to King Arthur, with tales of
the Romano-British war leader Ambrosius Aurelianus to form the composite figure he called Merlin Ambrosius
(Welsh: Myrddin Emrys). He is allegedly buried in the Broceliande forest, near Paimpont in Brittany.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merlin

37
Richard David Precht Wer Bin Ich – und wenn ja, wie viele? Goldmann 2007
81
 Witches by Hans Baldung. Woodcut, 1508

Witchcraft (also called witchery or spellcraft) broadly means the

practice of, and belief in, magical skills and abilities that are able to be
exercised individually, by designated social groups,
or by persons with the necessary esoteric secret knowledge.
Witchcraft is a complex concept that varies culturally and societally,
therefore it is difficult to define with precision and cross-
cultural assumptions about the meaning or significance of the
term should be applied with caution. Witchcraft often occupies
a religious, divinatory, or medicinal role, and is often present
within societies and groups whose cultural framework includes
a magicalworld view.

Old English had hægtesse "witch, fury", whence Modern English hag,
of uncertain origin, but cognate to German Hexe, from an Old High
German haga-zussa, Common Germanic *haga-tusjon , perhaps from
a *tesvian "to mar, damage", meaning "field-damager" (the suggestion
of Grimm). The element hag- originally means "fence, wooden
enclosure", and hence also "enclosed fields, cultivated land".

Here I shall end my “foolish” fool’s knowledge game. Most of my knowledge-seeking games
end in my being frustrated, I get a lot of data but no information. To make sense, to create
sense, I need to be in-formed, formed inside. The educated fool - studying hundreds of
books - had not been able to find his way to transform his knowledge into wisdom.

The story of my Werdegang

It begins with Heraclit:

οὐκ ἐμοῦ, ἀλλὰ τοῦ λόγου ἀκούσαντας ὁμολογεῖν σοφόν ἐστιν ἓν πάντα εἶναί
He who hears not me but the logos will say: All is one.
πυρὸς τροπαὶ πρῶτον θάλασσα, θαλάσσης δὲ τὸ μὲν ἥμισυ γῆ, τὸ δὲ ἥμισυ πρηστήρ ...
θάλασσα διαχέεται καὶ μετρέεται εἰς τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον ὁκοῖος πρόσθεν ἦν ἢ γενέσθαι γῆ
The turnings of fire: first sea, and of sea half is earth, half fireburst.
Sea is dissolved and measured into the same proportion that existed at first.

I simplified Heraclit’s complex machinery of change into a linear one: from Earth to Water, to
Air and to Fire. I learnt to transform my fixed, static worldview into a watery world view float
at the End the World. And then my Werdegang led me into an abstract flight of research in
the element of Air. Studying the history of language, the history of ideas, the history of
everything, I became an educated fool:

The more energy, the faster the bits flip. Earth,water,air and fire in the end are all made of energy,
but the different forms they take are determined by information. To do anything requires energy. To
specify what is done requires information. Seth Lloyd

"The knowledge of knowledge compels. It compels us to an attitude of permanent vigilance against

the temptation of certainty.It compels us to realise that the world everyone sees is not the world but
a world, which we bring forth with others. It compels us because, when we know that we know, we
cannot deny (to ourselves or to others) that we know". Maturana/ Varela

Self-awareness emerged during the evolution of our hominid ancestors together with language,
conceptual thought and the social world of organised relationships and culture. Fritjof Capra

Leben ist laufende Rekonstruktion der Welt. Niklas Luhmann

All of this valuable knowledge did not help me to Self-awareness. Somehow, somewhere,
I was stuck. My inner fire was not turning. I knew that the fire was burning, but I couldn’t feel
it turning. It took me a very long time to find out what blocked me – Anger!
82
I had become an angry educated fool. I remembered a quote from Lee Smolin’s Time
Reborn:

The universe, for the ancients, was split into two realms: the earthly realm, which was the arena of
birth and death, of change and decay, and the heavenly realm above, which was a place of timeless
perfection. For them the sky was already a transcendental realm; it was populated by divine objects
that neither grew nor decayed. This division was the origin of the connection of elevation with
transcendence. God, the heavens, perfection - these are above us, while we are trapped here
38
below. Lee Smolin

Why the bloody hell should I be trapped here below, in the earthly realm? Why does
everybody around me still believe in a place of timeless perfection above? Why should
I believe that there is a transcendental realm of perfection? Turning such questions in my
head made me angry, I only permitted myself to think them “im stillen Kämmerlein” - in the
seclusion of my private quarters. And there the questions just turned round and round, and
remained unanswered, that is what made me angry.

During my years as a lecturer I tried to hide my anger. Sometimes I did not succeed and
started preaching about the stupidity of our vertical worldview, about the utter silliness of
beliefs in an almighty, all knowing personal God. Some of my students, who were believers,
did not appreciate my preaching. In my writing I could hide my anger a little better.
My modern “Myth of the Mind” tells the story of how humans learnt to distinguish, to
compare, to learn and to act. I did not dare to write a passage “On Knowing and Believing”.
Was I afraid to write it? Afraid to express my anger in a chapter on how we learnt to
“Believe”. Why did I not dare to lecture about such questions? Was it because twenty years
ago I still believed in tolerance and political correctness? Has my Werdegang of the last
years made me forget tolerance? In some way it has, I must admit, my last journey to a
country where people believe was a visit to Egypt in 1987. And I swear I shall never again
visit a country with a Muslim majority. I have lost tolerance not only for Muslim beliefs, I have
lost tolerance for all believers. I can smell them from afar, they make me angry and I refuse
to have any contact with believers, any kind of believers, religious believers, spiritual
believers, believers in the New Age, believers in ideologies, they all make me very angry.

And now I’m going to throw even “political correctness” overboard. Reflecting on what I have
to read every day in the newspapers about religious wars in the Middle East and in the
centre of France, the “non-believer me” thinks that no tolerance and no consideration for
minorities will help. Human society will only survive when all humans learn to forget their
belief in monotheistic Gods, whatever their name. We humans must learn to be totally
intolerant to all forms of belief in transcendental powers. I have a faint hope that this is
possible. Our ancestors did not project their spiritual longing into a world beyond, their
religion was based on rituals that they performed as a group, singing and dancing, feasting
and enjoying each other’s company. I am convinced that the religion of the future will no
longer be a religion of belief, but a religion of communal ritual. What forms these rituals will
have I cannot tell, but I know that their universe will NOT be “split into two realms, “the
earthly realm, which was the arena of birth and death, of change and decay, and the
heavenly realm above”, a future society will transform the function of religion into a balancing
of the powers of unconsciousness and consciousness. All humans will have to become
“hagazussas”, hedge-sitters, who will be able to look at two sides at once, to overcome our
“either/or” logic by a logic of the included middle, a logic of “tertium semper datur”, of walking
the middle way.

38
Lee Smolin Time Reborn Penguin Alan Lane, 2013
83
 Janus – the Roman God of passage ways

My passage was a long and torturous, sometimes very painful journey inward trying to
overcome my anger, attempting to listen carefully when hidden voices were trying to talk to
me, the fool with his many foolish voices

The Fool is the spirit in search of experience. He represents the mystical cleverness bereft of
reason within us, the childlike ability to tune into the inner workings of the world. The sun
shining behind him represents the divine nature of the Fool's wisdom and exuberance, holy madness
or 'crazy wisdom'. Wickipedia

Holy madness? Do I want holy madness? How can I get to know myself? Gnothi se auton.
I learnt it speaking with my “voices”, the fool talking to the other fools, the angry fool, the
worthless fool, the trickster fool and all the many fools I am, the naïve fool, the cunning,
clever fool.

The Fool is standing at the edge of the cliff, but with his head high in the
clouds the Fool doesn’t seem to notice an uneven road or the possibility
of falling down. The image portrays the symbolic child within many of
us, the archetypal puer eternus, symbolising new beginnings, the
potentiality of life, novelty itself. The Fool’s childlike perception of the
world, is not restricted by conventional Euclidean geometry; his world is
not conceptualised merely in terms of rigid axioms of propositional logic.
The chaotic world symbolised by the abyss just a step away, is full
of encounters and experiences, of which the Fool has no knowledge
yet. The Fool’s youthfulness, bordering on infantile carelessness,
expresses a sense of connection that is present in a small child’s
perception of the world as undifferentiated totality, wherein and outer
realities are movable and transient. Only venturing into unknown
territory might bring a relative order into chaotic flux of childish
perceptions. And the free choice - while not strictly rational choice
because formal logic is as yet beyond the symbolic child’s grasp - of
coming to a decision to make a step ahead so as to separate himself
from the unstable present and leap forward into the future in
search of authentic experiences in the process of what Jung called
39
individuation, is transmitted by this image. Inna Semetzky

The stupid young fool that I was long ago, was not concerned with spiritual gibberish.
I was not a spirit in search of experience, I read science books. I wanted to know, not to
believe in mystical nonsense. But I was a young man hampered by an inferiority complex
that hindered me to enjoy myself. I could not accept myself, I was not good enough!
My search of experience happened in a very restricted field. During the first fifty years of my
life I only attempted tasks that I knew I was good at - I could sing, I could speak English,
I could drive a car and I was a good lover. Singing gave me applause, speaking English gave
me admiration, driving a car gave me pleasure and the good lover found acceptance. That
there was an inferiority complex hidden deep inside, I didn’t know and so I could not
overcome it.

39
Inna Semetsky The Edusemiotics of Images, Sense Publishers 2013
84
Diary 30.1. 2015: This text is very difficult to write. In the past three weeks I have written at
least four different drafts and threw them away again, not good enough. Last night I had a
dream, a very unpleasant dream. I went to look for something in a room that I use for stuff
that I no longer want, but am too lazy to throw away. My very large apartment is on the
second floor and the storeroom is on the northern side where the sun never shines.
The first floor of the house is not occupied, nobody lives there. When I opened the door to
the dark room, I noticed a crack in the wooden floor, that obviously had been enlarged with a
saw. Strange, I said to myself and left the room to go back to my library. But then I turned
round and went back to the storeroom to have another look at that strange hole in the floor.
This time I saw two gremlins grin at me with impertinent eyes, four piercing, black, flashing
eyes. What the hell, I thought, goblins have invaded the abandoned flat below. And there
I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.
It’s 3 o’clock in the morning now, I’m sitting in front of my computer screen because vermin
occupy the first floor of the house where I live alone. Who are those new insolent and
naughty co-inhabitants of my house that are coming up from below? I re-read the story that
I had written on my Werdegang and thought, not bad, but there is something lacking, the
irony is all right, but you are hiding something. What are you hiding? Who are the gremlins
that are invading my living space? Are they “voices” that grin at my failed attempts to tell my
“spiritual” life story? Voices that can only grin, but not speak? Then I had an insight, an
inspiration - the voices are “words”, words that are not yet words. The problem that plagues
me telling this part of the story is a problem of vocabulary. The goblin words have not yet
achieved a form. I am talking about fools, about me being a fool and I’m intermingling black
and white “fools”, I am describing “nigredo” and “albedo” and haven’t yet found a way for
integrating “rubedo”. The gremlins pester me with hidden fears. I don’t like Jung’s
vocabulary, individuation, archetypes, numinous experience, “spirituality” and many other
words Jung invented smell of magic, mysticism and obligation to achieve perfection.
It reminds me of the problem I have with Goethe: “Wer immer strebend sich bemüht, Den
können wir erlösen”.

Who ever strives with all his might,

that man we can redeem. Goethe Faust II

Stupid nonsense - I don’t want to be redeemed and I don’t want to strive, I just want to be
myself, at home with myself. I am not Marlow’s Faustus

Both law and physic of for petty wits;

divinity is the basest of the three;
Unpleasant, harsh, contemptible, and vile.
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‘Tis magic, magic that hath ravished me. Christopher Marlow Doctor Faustus

Magic has not “ravished” me, I don’t believe in magic, and I don’t like the word “numinous”,
the word “secret”, and the word “esoteric knowledge”. But what about the gremlin words that
are invading my home? Calm down, I said to myself, calm down, just continue with your own
“true” story.

The mathematical fool - Learning to count in Quality-World

Once upon a time, many, many years ago, my father who was a primary school teacher was
horrified to find out that his six-year-old son was not able to count. He realised that he had a
very stupid son, because little me had refused to go to kindergarten (and pretended to be ill)
three times in three months. When this happened again thirty days later, my mother became
suspicious and made me confess, why I did not want to go to kindergarten and why I had to
be ill on that particular day. I had my good reasons. The day at kindergarten started with
counting.

40
Michael Mitchell Hidden Mutualities, Rodopi 2006
85
Thirty children were sitting on benches along the four walls of the classroom and every
morning one of the children had to count all the children present. On the day when it would
be my turn to count I had to be ill because I could not count. I didn't want to count. In my
world 1, 2, 3, was enough. Exact numbers were not part of my world. For me counting was
not a necessary skill. But then my horrified father made me get up an hour early next
morning and go to school with him. Along that way there was a fence, a row of nine small
sticks and a big stick reiterated. There I learnt to count, from one to ten, from 10 to 100, from
102 to 103 to 104. I learnt very quickly. My father didn’t believe me and repeated his teaching
next morning. It took me five early morning walks to convince him that now I could count.

For seventy years I had been plagued with being exeedingly weak in mathematics. I never
trusted my intellect. For me math did not „lead beyond ordinary existence“ and did not „show
something of the structure in which all creation hangs together“(George Spencer Brown).
But looking back over the years of my life, I now feel that my intuition did indeed allow me to
experience the hidden structure that binds the universe into ONE. Now as an old man
I realise that as a little boy I was a precocious daoist.

道生一， The Dao produced One;

一生二， One produced Two;
二生三， Two produced Three;
三生萬物。 Three produced All things

萬物負陰而抱陽，沖氣以為和。人之所惡，唯孤、寡、不谷，而王公以為稱。故物或
損之而益，或益之而損。人之所教，我亦教之。強梁者不得其死，吾將以為教父。

All things leave behind them the Obscurity (out of which they have come), and go forward to
embrace the Brightness (into which they have emerged), while they are harmonised by the
Breath of Vacancy. What men dislike is to be orphans, to have little virtue, to be as carriages without
naves; and yet these are the designations which kings and princes use for themselves. So it is that
some things are increased by being diminished, and others are diminished by being increased.
What other men (thus) teach, I also teach. The violent and strong do not die their natural death.
I will make this the basis of my teaching. Laozi 42

The „breath of vacancy“ the little boy could not yet think, but he knew. He knew there was a
difference between number and quantity. He also knew that there is an even deeper, more
important difference, the distinction between „quantity“ and „quality“ behind the horizon.
In the little boy‘s slowly developing worldview „quality“ was always the principle that guided
learning processes. It allowed me in the course of many years to even develop some form of
mathematical thinking – I slowly trained myself not to be afraid of „circularity“, to trust the
creativity of all life, the self-organisation of life, the autonomy of life, the goal-seeking of all
organisms. To be able to think in the space of this changing epistemology, I had to re-learn
to count - not only forward, as my father had taught me, but backwards into the infinity of
negative numbers and particularly into asking about that strange number in between - „zero“:

We start, then, with nothing, pure zero. But this is not the nothing of negation. For not means other
than, and other is merely a synonym of the ordinal number second. As such it implies a first, while the
present pure zero is prior to every first. The nothing of negation is the nothing of death, which comes
second to, or after everything. But this pure zero is the nothing of not having been born. There is
no individual thing, no compulsion, outward or inward, no law. It is the germinal nothing, in which the
whole universe is involved or foreshadowed. As such, it is absolutely undefined and unlimited
possibility – boundless possibility. There is no compulsion and no law. It is boundless freedom.
Ch.S. Peirce CP6.217

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“Boundless possibility” – Zero is the nothingness and the fullness out of which “Everything” is
born. Zero + anything equals the same thing. Zero times anything equals zero. Zero is in
between. The mathematical fool invented an alternative logic, a logic of multiplicities,
replacing the traditional “either/or” way of thinking by a paradoxical “both/and” logic.

The Fool in its Zero form, due to its quality of paradoxical disjunction, does in fact perform the
synthesising conjunctive role of the production of meaning, of sense, from its own opposite,
nonsense; non-sense, no-thing-ness being the epitome of the Fool. Inna Semetzki

The mathematical fool had indeed learned something very important, but, there remained
nagging voices that I was not really good enough. It took me hell of a long time to accept that
I am also a stupid fool stuck in intellectual knowledge games. The educated fool had not yet
learnt to approach his innermost centre, to talk to many of his hidden voices. It now seems to
me that my “anger” had its roots in my fear of not being good enough, of being stupid. For
fifty years of my life I was afraid of being a stupid fool.

It seems that the emotional Mindscape of our dreams is energized by the same chemistries as the
repetitive excitements of living. This suggests that the function of dreaming is to help anticipate and
deal with the emotional challenges that we face. One can theoretically imagine many linkages to
psychiatric issues. For instance, we wonder whether SEEKING arousal contributes to “narcissistic”
complaints. Narcissism refers to the way that people feel about themselves. In ordinary usage,
narcissism usually has pejorative connotations: it means that someone is excessively self-involved.
However, narcissism can be emotionally healthy so long as one’s self regard is realistically positive.
Pathological narcissism typically occurs when early life experiences have damaged one’s
sense of worth. Jaak Panksepp

Panksepp helped me to “understand” the stupid fool. I am a pathological narcissist, my sense

of worth was severely damaged in the early years of my indoctrination with Christian beliefs
that taught me that I was an unworthy sinner. When I rebelled against indoctrination as an
adolescent, I succeeded in forgetting the “unworthy sinner” - but unworthiness, “general”,
basic unworthiness remained and prevented me from finding my way to “individuation”.

The goal of individuation is the achievement of a greater personality culminating in the Self,
the archetype of wholeness. The search for wholeness is an experiential process that in the
framework of Jung’s depth or analytical psychology means becoming conscious of many unconscious
factors in the psyche. Wholeness as the integration of the unconscious into consciousness is
marked by a change of attitude when the centre of the personality shifts its position from the
Ego to the Self. In his experiential journey in search of the authentic self, the Fool will step - as if by
chance - on the road of self-discovery and will begin apprehending the multiplicity of experiences.
The Fool’s first step is motivated by curiousity. When the Fool spontaneously “decides” to jump into
the abyss, he is bound to create novelty and become-other by virtue of embodied experiences.
The production of subjectivity initiated by the Fool’s jump depends on the capacity “to affect and be
affected” (Deleuze). His experience is permeated with an affective, pre-cognitive, dimension. The
intensity of the encounter with an affect in the world of possibilities marks the passage between
the Fool’s experiential states and, accordingly, almost in a physical sense affects his capacity for
action as the power to multiply and intensify connections. Experience is a milieu full of affective
qualities. Inna Semetzky

I never experienced positive affective qualities, I only suffered from negative ones.
The affective, pre-cognitive dimension was not available to me. I relied on my highly
developed SEEKING system for sense making.

When the SEEKING system is aroused animals become curious about their environments. Seeking
arousal causes people and animals to take notice of and examine any stimuli that might help them
make sense of the world. There is one very special way in which the SEEKING system is able to
learn spontaneously. It is not the kind of traditional condition learning and it does not appear to involve
thinking. Rather, it reflects the way that this system is able to gauge the passage of time.

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This system can learn to anticipate spontaneously various events, especially rewarding events that are
highly predictable. We are beginning to understand the reasons for why organisms become so
marvellously anticipatory. We can be confident that our feeling of the passage of time is a basic
psychological function that allows us to predict changing events in the environment. Whether time is
also a fundamental property of the universe is more debatable, but it is clear that we cannot
coherently discuss the nature of the universe or our place in it without this evolved mental
process. Jaak Panksepp

I relied on my evolved mental processes to ask questions about Time and Order. How does
order arise? How can we tell stories about our lives and the universe? How can we tell
stories? How did our animal core consciousness evolve into human consciousness? It was
asking such questions that helped me to get to know my magician/trickster personality and
I slowly learnt to accept that I was a blind fool..

The Magician/Trickster Fool

The Fool’s symbolic journey is embedded in the continuity of a

developmental and learning process. And this objective process as
semiosis -or the action of signs - exists independently of whether “a
general idea, living and conscious now is already determinative of acts in
the future to an extent to which it is now conscious (Peirce).
The triadic nature of relations between signs led to Peirce’s classifying
signs in terms of basic categories of Firstness, Secondness and
Thirdness: “First is the conception of being or existing, independent of
anything else. Second is the conception of being relative to, the
conception of reaction with, something else. Third is the conception of
mediation, whereby first and second are brought into relation.
Mediation ensures the included middle that constitutes a relation
between what otherwise would have remained too disconnected opposites
as “conflicting, or competing aspects – contraries”. It is by virtue of
relations that “all thinking is dialogic in form” (Peirce). Jung posited the
archetypes of the collective unconscious as having both light and dark
poles; and while the symbolism of The Magician connotes knowledge,
wisdom, insight, vision, and creativity, his alter-ego the Trickster
exhibits not wisdom but cleverness, not knowledge but caprice, not
insight but wit, not vision but voyeurism, and not creativity but trickery.

The blind Fool

The significance of the Fool pictured as blindfolded indicates the

prevalence of a chaotic movement, or - in the world of semiotic reality
that expresses itself in the form of images, symbols and indexes
(Peircean categories of signs) - and implicate perception of a child prior
to a language acquisition.

The information is “perceived” by the blindfolded fool why are the three Is
of insight, imagination and intuition, and is oriented inwards, towards
deep inner knowledge as Gnosis which will have been achieved when the
Fool becomes his authentic self, a whole person. However by the time
the child acquires language and “learns” to reason with cognitive
tools solely, ignoring abductive leaps of imagination, these three Is
might be irretrievably lost. Inna Semetzky

Insight - Imagination – Intuition – Fremdwörter, foreign words for me, I didn’t trust them.
I seem to have lost contact with the feminine side in me very early, depending on the
reasoning with my cognitive tools. It only dawned on me in the last ten years that leaps of
imagination might not be irretrievably lost.

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Becoming a very creative gardener (and a creative thinker) talking to my plants and
conversing with my trees, I slowly developed my ability for imagination. To trust intuition I had
learnt during the five years that I asked the Book of Changes for advice. When my
“catastrophy” mental illness subsided I no longer needed to ask the book, Lady intuition
started to talk clearly, I had learnt to listen to female voices.
What remained was my problem with insight, that to me was too mystical, too “esoteric”.
A year ago I tried to tell Clements that Vipassana (insight) was too much linked to “belief”,
and I threw up my hands in horror when I heard myself uttering the word belief, insight into
enlightenment was anathema. My persistent obstacle, obstruction, barrier, hindrance,
impediment was overcome with the help of Gilles Deleuze:

Sémiotise toi-mème, au lieu de chercher dans ton enfance toute faite. Stopper le monde exprime
parfaitement certains états de conscience au cours desquelles la réalité de la vie quotidienne est
modifié, ceci parceque le flot des interprétations, d’ordinaire continuel, est interrompu par un ensemble
de circonstances étrangères à ce flot“ (Castaneda). Bref, une véritable transformation sémiotique fait
appel à toutes sortes de variables, non seulement extérieures, mais implicites dans la langue,
41
intérieure aux énoncés. Gilles Deleuze :

Semiotize yourself! Stop the world! - opened a way to become a little wiser.

Es gibt einige Begriffe, die sehr selten, mit Klarheit und Bestimmtheit, in irgend einem Kopfe
vorhanden sind, sondern ihr Daseyn bloss durch ihren Namenfristen, der dann eigentlich nur die Stelle
so eines Begriffs bezeichnet, ohne den Sie jedoch ganz verloren gehen würden. Der Art is z.B. der
Begriff der Weisheit. Wie vage ist er in fast allen Köpfen! Man siehe die Erklärungen der
Philosophen. „Weisheit“ scheint mir nicht bloss theoretische, sondern auch praktische Vollkommenheit
zu bezeichnen. Ich würde sie definieren als die vollendete, richtige Erkenntnis der Dinge, im Ganzen
und Allgemeinen, die den Menschen so völlig durchdrungen hat, dass sie nun auch in seinem
42
Handeln hervortritt, indem sie sein Thun leitet. Arthur Schopenhauer

Ever since I encountered Alan Watt’s “Wisdom of Insecurity” on my first day in India 1983,
I had thought about wisdom not in theory but in everyday practice. The last step to find
wisdom became possible when I read Jung. I returned to the daimon - the wise fool.

The daimon of creativity has ruthlessly had its way with me.
How can one attain wisdom without foolishness? Carl Gustav Jung

I have neither the desire nor the capacity to stand outside myself and observe my fate in a truly
objective way. I would commit the familiar autobiographical mistake either of weaving an illusion about
how it ought to have been, or of writing an apologia pro vita sua. In the end, man is an event which
cannot judge itself, but for better or worse, is left to the judgement of others. Wherever there is a
reaching down into innermost experience, into the nucleus of personality, most people are overcome
by fright, and many run away. The risk of inner experience, the adventure of the spirit, is in any case
alien to most human beings. The possibility that such experience might have a psychic reality is
anathema to them. Whatever one can say, no words express the whole. To speak of partial aspect is
always too much or too little, for only the whole is meaningful. Being a part, man cannot grasp the
whole. He is at its mercy.

41
Gilles Deleuze / Félix Guattari Mille Plateaux Editions de minuit 1980, 172.
42
Arthur Schopenhauer Parerga und Paralipomena II, Zweiter Teilband, Diogenes 1977
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Jung had carved this self portrait as a wizard and a trickster at his tower in Bollingen

When people say I‘m wise, or a sage, I cannot accept it. A man once tipped at hatful of water from
a stream. What did that amount to? I am not that stream. I am at the stream, but I do nothing. Other
people are at the same stream, but most of them find they have to do something with it. I do nothing. I
never think that I am the one who must see to it that cherries grow on stalks. I stand and behold,
admiring what nature can do.The difference between most people and myself is that for me the
“dividing walls” are transparent. That is my peculiarity. Others find these walls so opaque that they see
nothing behind them and therefore think nothing as they are all stop to some extent I perceive the
processes going on in the background, and that gives me an inner certainty. People who see nothing
have no certainties and can draw no conclusions - or do not trust them even if they do. I do not know
what started me off, perceiving this stream of life. Probably the unconscious itself.
It is important to have a secret, a premonition of things unknown. It fills life with something impersonal,
a numinosum. A man who has never experienced that has missed something important. He must
sense that he lives in a world which in some respects is mysterious; that things happen and can be
experienced which remain inexplicable; that not everything which happens can be anticipated. The
unexpected and the incredible belongs in this world. Only then is life whole.
The older I have become, the less I have understood or had insight into or known about myself. I am
astonished, disappointed, pleased with myself. I am distressed, depressed, rapturous. I am all these
things at once, and cannot add up the sun. I have no judgement about myself and my life. There is
nothing I am quite sure about. I have no definite convictions - not about anything, really. I know only
that I was born and exist, and it seems to me that I have been carried along. I exist on the foundation
of something I do not know stop in spite of all uncertainties, I feel a solidity underlying all existence
and the continuity in my mode of being. Carl Gustav Jung

4. Feeling “At home in the Universe”

The wise old fool at home in the universe begins the last chapter of his spiritual life
description with a conversation.

Dialogue with myself - with my many voices

The “hagazussa” witch was the first to speak: The image you chose to illustrate your new-
found “wise” model of the world is all wrong. I am not looking out, I am not looking out into a
perfect heaven, I’m looking inside and outside at the same time, I sit on the border, on the
Zero, I am the witch of infinite potentiality.
The spirit of intuition added: I am your goddess of movement – of change – and of
enantiodromia. I offer you a general theory of knowledge, a new creative “magic”.
And then the third of the witches - intuition - said very quietly: I grant you a new experience of
life, a new category of values. With me you learn about emotions and teleology, feeling about
the future.
Are you the daimon of Cosmology, I asked. She didn’t answer, she never answers stupid
questions.

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The intuitive mode of perception: Etymologically, intuition is derived from the Latin verb intueri,
which means to look upon. Dewey used the metaphor of the spark – “old and new jump together like
sparks when poles are adjusted” - that implies a sense of connection, which is established via relation
rather than an immediate contact; it is a relation that brings “mind in contact with the world”, yet
such a contact is what contemporary physics would describe in terms of non-local, that is, indirect,
connections. It was in collaboration with physicist Wolfgang Pauli that Jung posited his principal of
synchronicity as an acausal correlation between two different, non-local events: mental and
physical. Synchronicity addresses the problematic of meaningful patterns generated both in nature
and in human experience, linking the concept of the unconscious to the notion of “field” in physics and
extending the old narrow idea of causality to a more general form of “connections in nature”.
Inna Semetzky

That was my synchronistic re-entry into the world of the I Ging. On 16 October 2014
I took out the Book of Changes from a dusty corner of my library - it had lain there for more
than twenty years without ever being opened. I had given up using the I Ching as a dialogue
partner at the end of the 80s when my mental illness, my Rha-Barbara-Mus remunching
attacks had subsided. In the years that I trained the fool to become an educated fool the
book had remained silent.

After my “Welcome to Reality” vipassana experience in May I had read all the books again
that I had used to overcome the “catastrophy” but I never felt inclined to ask the book.

The veil of Maya cannot be lifted by a mere decision of reason, but demands the most thoroughgoing
and wearisome preparation consisting in the right payment of all debts to life. C.G. Jung

Using the book did not seem the right way to pay my debts of life. But then a question came
to my mind one evening - Am I really a fool? Is being a fool my personal myth? This is what
the book said:

Hexagram 11 Compenetration

8 泰：小往大來，吉亨。
8 The small departs,
8 The great approaches.
7 Good fortune. Success.
7 Heaven has placed itself beneath the earth, and so their powers unite in deep harmony.
7 Then peace and blessing descend upon all living things. In the world of man it is a time
of social harmony; those in high places show favor to the lowly, and the lowly and inferior
is an end to all feuds.
泰：小往大來，吉亨。Tai: Compenetration, communication - the little gone and the
great come - there will be good fortune, with progress and success. Significant JI : leads
to the experience of meaning; .Ideogram:: scholar and mouth, wise words of a sage.
Wow, I thought, the fool utters wise words of a sage! That’s too good, I don’t quite believe
that. What would the book have to say about the “educated” fool?

Hexagramm 12 Pi - Obstruction

7 否: 否之匪人，不利君子貞，大往小來。
7 To obstruction belongs in no way people
9 not harvesting: a junzi’s trial.
8 The great going, the small coming
8 否: 初六：拔茅茹，以其彙，貞吉亨。
6 Heaven and Earth not mingling. Obstruction.
A junzi uses parsimoneous actualising dao to expell heaviness.
Not permitted splendour in using benefits.
Beings not permitted to use completing interpenetration.

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Strange I thought, the exact opposite. What does that mean?

小往大來 The small going, the great coming – Hexagram 11 - compenetration

大往小來 The great going, the small coming – Hexagram 12 - obstruction

A junzi uses parsimoneous actualising dao to expel heaviness

And how am I to interpret “a junzi” and what is “actualising dao”? I looked it up in the
concordance that the new Eranos translation offers

jun zi - ideal of a person who orders his life in accordance with dao rather than
willful intention, and uses divination in this spirit.

In the Richard Wilhelm translation that I had used thirty years ago the “jun zi” would have
been the “superior man”, in German “der Edle”. Whenever “der Edle” turned up in my oracles
I had felt uneasy, a slight anger had come up. I smiled, the new translation makes
understanding much easier, the old linguist remembered that Chinese is a very strange
language for a European who is looking for a precise meaning, Chinese words never have a
precise meaning. It occurred to me that coming and going do not simply mean coming and
going, there is a relation to Heaven and Earth, Heaven and Earth are coming and going.
Heaven is yang – male; and Earth is yin - female. The compenetration is the masculine and
the feminine intermingling - in hexagram 12 this intermingling is obstructed. So the educated
fool appears to be a fool indeed, he is a person who cannot deal with his feminine
unconscious, the naive fool can. Aha! And then it occurred to me that the opposition is by no
means an exact opposite. Two the lines are moving lines, a 6 in the bottom line and a 9 for
the fourth line from below. I looked them up:

Moving Six:
Richard Wilhelm: Success in a higher sense can be ours, because we know how to safeguard
the value of our personalities.
Rudolf Ritsema:
拔茅茹，以其彙，貞吉亨。
Eradicating thatch grass intertwisted.
Using one’s classification.
Trial, significant. Growing.
Comment:
拔茅貞吉，志在君也。
Eradicating thatch grass: trial, significant.
Purpose located in chief indeed.

“Using one’s classification” - I translate that: Use your head, you fool! Use your capacity to
think, to analyse. Don’t hide your light under a bushel!

Nine at four
有命，无咎，疇離祉。
possessing fate, without fault.
Cultivating radiant satisfaction.
comments:
有命无咎，志行也。
possessing fate, without fault.
Purpose moving indeed.
possess YOU 有 - general term indicating procession, to be endowed with.
fate MING 命- individual destiny; birth and death as limits of life; issue orders with authority;.
cultivate Chou - till fields or gardens; repeat continually, like annual ploughing.
Purpose ZHI - focus of mind and heart, intention, will, inclination; continuity in the direction of life.
Ideogram: heart and scholar, high inner resolve.
move Xing - move or move something; motivate; emotionally moving; walk, act, do.

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Cultivate your garden, one fool is said to the other fools, your destiny is cultivating your
garden, the one inside and the one outside.

Hexagramm 60 節 Jie
安節之亨，承上道也。
Peaceful articulating. Growing.
To peaceful articulating belongs growing.

Looking forward - exploring the future - the storytelling me discovered that there are “timeless
verities”. Some of the stories we humans tell, are timeless truths:

There is a world that we can see

and there is a world that we cannot see.
We call the world that we can see “Reality”,
and we invent words and names for what
we cannot see and call it
“Mystery” – “the Numinous”.

We can tell true stories about the world we see.

We cannot tell true stories
about what we cannot see.

We can observe that we are born and we can observe that we die.
We can tell “timeless truths” about the ages of man
from the cradle to the grave.

When that I was and a little tiny boy,

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man’s estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the rain it raineth every day.
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that’s all one, our play is done,
And we’ll strive to please you every day. William Shakespeare

We can sing true stories about human life. We invented language to tell each other stories
about those others that we spend our lives with, the community. We can tell true stories
about the experiences we share, true stories that bind our groups together.

We cannot tell true stories about what we cannot see, what we cannot hear, what we cannot
experience with our bodies. We cannot tell true stories about what is far away and we cannot
tell true stories about long, long ago, stories of how the world began, the fool in Twelfth Night
sang about “a great while ago the world began”.

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In every human culture our ancestors told stories about the origin; none of them are true,
none of them are timeless verities. Less than two hundred generations ago human
storytellers invented signs and symbols to collect ancient wisdom in written form. They built
libraries and filled them with manuscripts; five hundred years ago they invented printing and
filled libraries with books, our cultural heritage. When I was a young man I used to spend
many hours in the university library trying to learn what people long ago had to say about life,
about man and the life of man.

The Master said,

At fifteen I set my heart on learning;
at thirty I took my stand;
at forty I came to be free from doubts;
at fifty I understood the Decree of Heaven;
at sixty my ear was atuned;
at seventy I followed my heart’s desire without overstepping the line.

子 曰：
吾 十 有 五 而 志 于 學，
三 十 而 立，
四 十 而 不 惑，
五 十 而 知 天 命，
六 十 而 耳 順，
七 十 而 從 心 所 欲，
不 踰 矩。 Kongfuzi 孔夫子 "Master Kong Fu"; 551-479 BCE
Confuzius Analects II.4

I want to talk about my “timeless verities”, the truths I’ve been able to filter out, generalise,
and abstract from eighty years of life experience, by comparing what Confuzius, the wise
master, said 2500 years ago, with the thoughts that the ignorant student of the art of life was
able to produce in the past thirty years:

“At fifteen I set my heart on learning”.

The student remembers his adolescent days: I was relegated from school, because I wanted
to learn, I asked too many questions, but, yes, “my mind was bent on learning”, I was a very
curious, inquisitive young man.

“At thirty I took my stand”

I stood firm in my fight against believers and preached my sermons, at thirty I had reached
the peak of my angry “intolerance”, only therein I took my stand.

“At forty I came to be free from doubts”

I sometimes wish I could have said “I have no doubts” when I was forty. But I could not, I was
full of doubts, did not know who I was and had no idea what the aim of my life might be, I did
not know what I was living for, nor how or where I would be able to find my little share of true
happiness.

“At fifty I understood the Decree of Heaven”.

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The student me at fifty had no idea what “Decrees of Heaven” might designate. When I
encountered Confuzius’ wisdom, I could not go to a library to find out, there was - for 800 km
around - no library that would allow me to look up its meaning. Now, thirty years later, I can
google it - that, however, does not mean that I now understand the “decree of heaven” – but
let me try to sum up what I found:.

知 天 命 chīh tiān mìng to understand the Decree of Heaven - the dao.

天 tien heaven
命 ming order, command - written order, commandment, send (on a mission)
force - make do - instruct, tell -
will of heaven –
fate - life, lifespan -
call, name, assign a name –
to know for certain.

What is “ming”? What is a “moral imperative”? What is “the pursuit of morality”? What is the
function of morality in human life? It has taken me many years to grasp that the Chinese
understanding of “fate” or “destiny”, law and morality, is quite different from the
understanding I was taught by the Christian church fathers, who taught me predestination,
the Will of the Allmighty God, that condemned me to a life of eternal sin, and a belief that the
“Eye of God” sees and punishes every sinful deed.

Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the
eyes of him to whom we must give account. Hebrews 4:13

The Chinese thinkers never developed ideas of a Big God who orders and controls his
creation from far away; their idea of “fortunes”, of “decrees of heaven”, was based on the
wisdom of the ancestors, the wisdom of the community.
Ancestral religions did not have a clear moral dimension. Omniscient, all-powerful, morally concerned
deities to directly observe, reward, and punish social behaviour are rare in smaller groups, and
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becoming increasingly common as societies scale up. Ara Norenzayan

For them there was no supernatural watcher in the sky. After a lot of pondering, I came to the
conclusion that I had - at fifty – reached an inkling of understanding. I had begun to study the
“will of heaven” – the dao, but I did it without “knowing for certain”; for me “secure
knowledge” is an illusion. I am exploring a “Wisdom of Insecurity”44.

“At sixty my ear was atuned”.

“At sixty, my ear was an obedient organ for the reception of truth”. - In a different translation
I read: My ear at sixty was not an obedient organ for the reception of truth. To speak the
truth about truth - I do not trust any kind of truth, be it religious, philosophical, or scientific,
that I was ordered to believe. I do believe in my way of knowing, my way of learning by
walking. In the past thirty years I enjoyed the privilege of learning by reading as many books
as I managed to digest.

I also enjoyed the privilege of learning to understand that morality is not a collection of laws
and rules that Big Gods - who live in a transcendental realm beyond - ordered us to obey.
Morality is, as I learnt from Chinese philosophers, the wisdom of our ancestors, the wisdom
of living together that our ancestors had collected. This is what I read in the “Book of
Changes”:

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Ara Norenzayan Big Gods How Religion Transformed Cooperation and Conflict, Princeton Univ. Press 2013:
44
Urs Boeschenstein Wisdom of Insecurity
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In the beginning there was as yet no moral or social order. Men knew their mothers only, not their
fathers. When hungry, they searched for food; when satisfied, they threw away the remnants. They
devoured their food hide and hair, drank the blood, and clad themselves in skins and rushes.

Then came Fu Xi and looked upward and contemplated the images in the heavens, and looked
downward and contemplated the occurrences on earth. He united man and wife, regulated the five
stages of change, and laid down the laws of humanity. In the highest antiquity, government was
carried on successfully by the use of knotted cords (to preserve the memory of things).

In subsequent ages the sages substituted for these written characters and bonds. By means of these
(the doings of) all the officers could be regulated, and (the affairs of) all the people accurately
examined. I Ging – The Book of Changes.

Having studied the laws of change and the laws of the world of humans diligently for many
years, I allow myself, like Confuzius, to state, that “at sixty my ear was atuned”.

“At seventy, I could follow what my heart desired, without

transgressing what was right".

Ten years ago, at seventy, I slowly learnt to “follow what my heart desired”, I was no longer
worried about “transgressing what was right”. I slowly became a happy, “woken up” human,
a smiling Buddha, who is not afraid to die.

“At eighty, I am looking forward to the joy of living some more happy
years”.

With a happy face and heart I am inventing what Confuzius might have said about living to
“four score years” (an age I will reach in a few month’s time - if ming 命 - my fate allows):
At eighty, I am looking forward to the joy of living some more “silly” (saelic) years before my
body will tell me that it is now time to disintegrate, from Ashes to Ashes, from Dust to Dust -
the timeless verity of the Ages of Man. My deepest conviction, the grounding of my
happiness lies in my secure knowing that every organism, every living system is immortal.
All the decisions that help organisms to survive will survive in the information processing
phenomenon that we humans call the “cosmos”. We humans - while we are alive - help the
universe to sing its song and when we die, we continue to be part of the memory, part of the
history of the cosmos, thus contributing to its song. This singing of the cosmos may sound a
very odd metaphor - I know that it expresses the most important timeless truth that we
humans can achieve:

There is a world that we can see and there is a world that we cannot see. We can tell true
stories about the world we see. We cannot tell true stories about what we cannot see.

Every attempt to describe in human language the world that we cannot see, a world that is
beyond experience, is by necessity false. So-called metaphysical truths, be they invented by
priests or by philosophers are not true wisdom.

Being guided by fragmentary self-world view, man then acts in such a way as to try to break himself
and the world up, so that all seems to correspond to his way of thinking. Man thus obains an apparent
proof of the correctness of his fragmentary self-world view though, of course, he overlooks the fact
that it is he himself, acting according to his mode of thought, who has brought about the fragmentation
that now seems to have an upon as existence, independent of his will and of his desire. Men have
been aware of from time immemorial of this state of apparently autonomously fragmentation and have
often projected myths of yet earlier “golden age” , before the split between man and nature and
between man and man had yet taken place. Indeed, man has always been seeking wholeness -
mental, physical, social, individual. David Bohm

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The most important truth that concerns the wisdom of our ancestors I found in a two
thousand-year-old story, Ovid’s song of permanent change - Metamorphōseōn libri :

In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas

corpora; di, coeptis – nam vos mutastis et illas –
adspirate meis primaque ab origine mundi
ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen.

My soul is wrought to sing of forms

transformed to bodies new and strange!
Immortal Gods inspire my heart,
for ye have changed yourselves and all things you have changed!
Oh lead my song in smooth and measured strains,
from olden days when earth began to this completed time!

Ovid’s song from olden days is a tale of a self-transforming Cosmos and of a self-
transforming Humanity. All things change, nothing is extinguished, nothing in the whole world
is permanent. Everything flows onward; all things are brought into being with a changing
nature; the ages themselves glide by in constant movement.

When destructive iron came forth then War came forth,

that brandishes in his blood-stained hands the clattering arms.
Piety lies vanquished, and the virgin Astræa
is the last of the heavenly Deities to abandon the Earth,
now drenched in slaughter.

“The Earth, now drenched in slaughter” – For 26’000 days - ever since I first tried to decipher
father’s newspaper seventy-two years ago to this very day, reading the daily paper at
breakfast time, I am drowned in horror stories. 26’000 times in my life I have tried in vain to
shove them out of my view. Fear of the future has accompanied me all my life.
How can I live with that fear? How can I live with the fact that with the coming of the Age of
Iron three thousand years ago -

…every species of crime burst forth,

in this age of degenerated tendencies;
modesty, truth, and honor took flight;
in their place succeeded fraud, deceit, treachery,
violence, and the cursed hankering for acquisition.

How can I still hope for the future? - I learned to keep my hope alive by studying the
evolution of human communication, the forms of human interaction and the survival of
human groups. Homo sapiens learnt to solve problems of living together -

…without any avenger, of its own accord,

without laws, they practised both faith and rectitude.
Punishment, and the fear of it, did not exist,
and threatening decrees were not read upon the brazen tables,
fixed up to view,
nor yet did the suppliant multitude dread the countenance of its judge;
but all were in safety without any avenger.

I became an anarchist. I accept as a basic fact that in the beginning there was LOVE.
The strongest force in evolution is interacting in a cooperative form – reciprocal altruism.

Anthropologists call it “regulated anarchy” - living together without “Herrschaft”, without

mastery, without domination, following the rules that the wisdom of the ancestors taught,
“Love thy neighbor!”, “Quid pro quo” (something for something) or “Do ut des!” (I give so that
you will give.) The anarchist “me” does not imagine the Golden Age as an idyllic, ideal utopia.

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I am aware that the social world, our living together, includes solving tensions that arise from
agonal and affiliative encounters. The social world, the world of relations, is fraught with
problems. I am inclined to call that a “timeless truth” - and - with a lot of tongue in cheek -
close my tales on “timeless truths” with a last important truth: “The cosmos is not a thing, it is
a self-organising process.” – a thought.

I shall end my confessiones with a quote from one of the most important books I had read
twenty years ago:

Science has left us as unaccountably improbable accidents against the cold, immense backdrop of
space and time. The complex whole, in a completely non-mystical sense, can often exhibit collective
properties, "emergent" features that are lawful in their own right. This book describes my own search
for laws of complexity that govern how life arose naturally from a soup of molecules, evolving into the
biosphere we see today. Whether we are talking about molecules cooperating to form cells or
organisms cooperating to form ecosystems or buyers and sellers cooperating to form markets and
economies, we will find grounds to believe that Darwinism is not enough, that natural selection
cannot be the sole source of the order we see in the world. In crafting the living world, (natural)
selection has always acted on systems that exhibit spontaneous order. If I am right, this
underlying order, further honed by selection, augurs a new place for us—expected, rather than
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vastly improbable, at home in the universe in a newly understood way. Stuart Kauffman

Knowing in a completely non-mystical sense - At home in the Universe

Somewhere along our path, paradise has been lost, lost to the Western mind, and in the spreading
world civilization, lost to our collective mind. John Milton must have been the last superb poet of
Western civilization who could have sought to justify the ways of God to man in those early years
foreshadowing the modern era. Paradise has been lost, not to sin, but to science. Once, a scant few
centuries ago, we of the West believed ourselves the chosen of God, made in his image, keeping his
word in a creation wrought by his love for us. Now, only 400 years later, we find ourselves on a tiny
planet, on the edge of a humdrum galaxy among billions like it scattered across vast megaparsecs,
around the curvature of space-time back to the Big Bang. We are but accidents, we're told. Purpose
and value are ours alone to make. Without Satan and God, the universe now appears the
neutral home of matter, dark and light, and is utterly indifferent. We bustle, but are no longer at
home in the ancient sense. We accept, of course, that the rise of science and the consequent
technological explosion has driven us to our secular worldview. Yet a spiritual hunger remains.
Stuart Kauffman

How can we learn to live with that “spiritual hunger”? I learnt it by accepting that purpose and
value are indeed ours alone to make, but for me “ours alone” has a new meaning. We
humans are the purpose of the universe, of the unus mundus, the ONE, the infinite possibility
realm. We can’t observe the pleroma, we are creatura, we must distinguish. We live our lives
in a world of Two, to find meaning in our lives we can only look inwards, we need to find the
infinite at the centre of ourselves.

As to the centre of myself, my Werdegang taught me to accept everything that happened to

me in the past eighty years, the good and the bad, the pleasant and the unpleasant, the
difficult and the easy was necessary. I would not be who I am, a happy contented old man,
without my stupidity that taught me lessons.

Stuart Kauffman’s “spiritual hunger” can be satisfied by contemplating images!

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Stuart Kauffman At Home in the Universe,Penguin 1995, pg.VII-VIII

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11/01/2015 - 19:13
Thank you for your texts

Dear Mr. Boeschenstein,

I just want to say thank you - your website is inspiring, moving, enlightening, sparkling ...
You are a special man, human, spirit, soul ...
As my teacher at SAL back in 1998/99 you gave me insights, smiles, farsightedness, background ...
You left a deep impression on my way of life and education.
Thank you so much for your classes, for your website, for the marks you left with me.
Yours, Mirjam - now 43 and none the wiser anyway on earth, but somewhat closer to the Universe –
maybe?

Nobody is perfect!

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