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die weisheit des monats, wie lena sie ausspricht:

du musst nur wissen, wie es ist,
glücklich zu sein
ohne äußere einflüsse.
alles andere ist frust.
zeitverlust.
die große rettung wird nicht kommen.
die rettung bist du.

(in jedem moment, in jedem moment, in jedem moment atmen.)

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die weisheit des monats, wie magda sie aus”spricht”:

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PS: es geht nach berlin, endlich wieder freiheit, freiheit. sein, wie wir sind, jeden moment atmen.

It´s exactly the right time to be in Berlin. The past weeks were horribly exhausting and directed by foreign forces. One second later and I would´ve exploded. One second earlier would just have missed. After the farewell I could finally breathe. On my way in the train the pressure passed by. Blurred like the landscape outside. It´s not really about the capital. I myself am the city that I´m entering. To explore it´s hidden corners, known but new. There´s no map and no plan, every movement is improvised. At every fork I have to decide once again, as there´s no routine to draw me. I can´t predict the outcome, because every step opens up another uncertainty, in which I might totally get lost. I´m looking forward to cafés, theatre, museums and a floating here and now. I observe, what only I can see. I recognise and feel what moves me. The silence makes me hear my own voice. And if anybody wants to spoil my mood, then it´s nobody but myself. I don´t need any sense, things happen, because I let them happen. That makes it the right thing. Mainly I can think. Think anyway and think what I want to think. And write.

My first night sitting in the garden. Shadow play. Black leaves canvas the windows of the neighbour´s houses, painting ornaments on the lights behind. A shelter. Surrounding me like a patchwork quilt. Doesn´t warm me, but isolates me from the people around. Protects me. Stays there, constantly, even when I´m gone. Waits for me to come back and to snuggle down in this black bed. Thanks, you trees. I´ll get back to you.

PS: I´ll write my ass off. I swear.