Not the one who has built himself a “someone”
and lives in the house of his address
behind the fence of conceited justice,
but the one who asks for mercy
on the doorstep of a foreign address.
For in the moment he is heard,
all own houses become but illegal construction.
And one divided by three never reaches home,
while three multiplied by the divisor one
sets up an eternally new home.
And you will know forever
that we were starting points to each other
and not each other’s address.
He who cried out “Eli, Eli!”
left all his days of the Lord’s week
and laid down his life on Sunday –
the eye, the palm of the free will of each one of us.
But only Elijah in your heart
returns His heart to the day when He will stand before you
and you before Him.
While everyone of his own days
– of the Sunday of his own eye –
with be trisected by his own sword of fire of the triune number phi
in the endless days of the Sunday of eternal eye.
It is the time of the last encounters,
of the powerful with powerlessness and the powerless with power.
For the circle is rounded,
and the water of the devoted
is already becoming the wine of eternal life,
while the noble wine of the powerful in crystal glasses
only water in streams.
Man was not afraid of life,
but of himself the coming one.
But only the departing one could overcome the fear
of the only eyes that see.
Everything else is just an escape
from your own eyes.
When you arrive,
from you the one measured after yourself or himself
resurrects as the number phi.
This world is a world of predators
and laws of predation
that stop human
at the invisible borders of time.
But time has matured,
and the borders of time have become the borders of death,
and human in himself has either chosen the predator
in whom now the human is dying,
or the human in whom now the predator is dying.
From the world of plundered furs
will you end up as your own prey,
or will you fly silently like a butterfly
from your own trap into the sky?
You do not know that in yourself you are death.
The shadow of its shadow to yourself,
struggling before your face
to exist there somewhere as life.
And yet, a hundred and a hundred times
you are betrayed
until you accept the one and only face,
the face of your death.
For only the faces of death
allow each other life and resurrection,
and not the shadows of foreign shadows
that only blind the eyes and the heart
until the day when you will know
what you do not know now.
You don’t know you are a unit of all the rules of life.
Is the entire interweaving of the world not an open zero,
an infinite free line for all?
But as long as it runs behind you,
you are its prisoner.
The path from all contents
does not demand anything from you,
you are the only source of demands
and convulsive clinging for something that is not.
When you realize this,
you, traveller, will rest
and never look back.
One-sided is the sacrifice of the One
who left your home
so that you could enter it,
and all your offerings echo his bells
calling for spring.
Will you bind all the bells
and claim the foreign ones for your own,
or will you allow the sound of angelic bells in you?
You are walking a fleeting path,
living in a foreign settlement,
and searching for yours eternal in a foreign land,
but your rent is expiring.
But the eternally yours
is in all of them you persecute,
instead of giving them home.
Did not the Lord show the way
and himself become the only king to the homeless
waiting for someone to give him back his home?
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