H. Adler - Panorama

Josef is at peace with everything here and is even happier here than at the hotel, for he feels better in the park and more readily engaged, sensing a deep connection between the setting and himself, he feeling safer than he has ever felt before, on more solid ground, as if it were a home of his own, although he is only a guest, albeit a welcome stranger, welcomed with ample friendliness, which allows him to feel at home, he knowing for the first time that it is possible to feel at home anywhere once again, a feeling almost forgotten, as if there were a sunken golden city beneath the castle, with its cathedral and its famous stone bridge running between two towers above a stream. A home and the feel of home, something Josef has not been granted for some time, a painful expulsion that is now chosen, as Josef feels forever cut off from everything back there, where he cannot be, where he does not want to be, where he is supposedly answerable to many layers of public authorities, even after the Conqueror was incinerated, the authorities still feeling they have the power to debate where he should reside, and then he reached the island, passing more than a year of uncertain status here as well, but in the castle grounds of Launceston all such limitations fell away, no one asking him for his papers at the gate, for at last he was simply allowed in. Josef is not demanding anything, he expects nothing more than to be allowed to simply be here, which he appreciates in itself and feels grateful that he has been accepted as someone familiar to this site. He is pleased that no entrance fee is charged for this prison, that it is a free prison, unlike the Spielberg in Brno, or like torture chambers and towers and dungeons throughout the world which people ignobly and shamelessly charge to visit, though no one has a right to demand the merest of coins for the chance to see wretched sites of degradation. That it’s different here likely has to do with the fact that initially Launceston was not a prison but rather a castle that William built and which belonged to several powerful kings, a dungeon also having modestly been incorporated into the castle in order to have a bit of pain contained within its walls and close by, an inconspicuous chamber to the wayside, while the arches and halls of the castle were decorated with the vain pleasures of guest artists, these remaining undisturbed, for, indeed, it is good when a castle has a dungeon, even if in our more fastidious times people complain that, be it the Tower of London or the Bastille, they were also dungeons, though recently such places experienced a sad transformation, helped on by the modern jails that take such torments out of the home of the oppressors that build them.

Josef sleeps, though it is not a normal sleep, he is still conscious. He looks inward and can almost see himself entire, though he doesn’t know whether he can entirely penetrate within, it remains uncertain whether one can know oneself completely, because while it certainly seems impossible to know all else, even one’s true self can seem distant and unknowable. Most likely nothing is what it is in and of itself, the past exists only within humans, yet in the outer world it is not manifest, which is why in the deepest sense it doesn’t exist, all efforts to conjure it being devices, meditative attempts. It involves only groping in the dark amid uncertainty, nothing true any longer, though it should not be taken as untrue, that can be dangerous for the soul, as one needs to surround oneself with fictions, to look around oneself, which only means to look within oneself. There he will find images that one cannot say if they exist within or are projected without, though they indeed exist somewhere, even if they cannot be precisely placed, the images visible, though they cannot be approached, oneself simply a witness to these images, a witness to oneself, since it’s in the nature of Time that one cannot exist at all, for Time controverts reality, and so Time is always in counterpoint to Being, which is hardly or only partially bound to Time, for even though physical reality doesn’t altogether disappear, space is still devoured by Time. All times and Time itself encompass all spaces or any single space, both being conflated with each other within man’s consciousness, since consciousness needs Time and has no space, while Being needs space and has no Time.

Josef is alarmed by the possibilities resulting from such wayward thoughts, but he can’t keep himself from falling into such thoughts, while as soon as he immerses himself in a thought he wants to rebel against it, but that doesn’t work, for it is always with him, a panorama he cannot escape, himself invited in, no entrance fee required, it taking no effort at all, he is already there, his spot ready and waiting, the only question being whether he wants to open his eyes, though the answer is easy for Josef, he not wanting to protect himself from himself, even when no one is looking. Who in Launceston cares that he has quietly and inconspicuously traveled across the sea? A stranger is allowed to show up unnoticed, he can travel by train or by car, he showing up one day, The Red Bull taking him in, everything in order, it being only for a few days, Josef needing no permission to visit, he knowing neither the town fathers nor their constituents, they knowing nothing of him, Josef nothing more than a chance visitor in Launceston, not a conqueror who wants to build a castle but someone who will leave quietly, carrying his little bag to the train and in the process passing the ruined castle once again. Then everything is over, the chance encounter dissolves in the end, the history of Launceston and Josef undisturbed by each other, the place not remembering the visitor, though Josef picks up a few postcards and maybe never looks at them again, he certainly throwing away the hotel bill before he climbs onto the train that stops briefly in Launceston proper, Josef then traveling on, leaving Launceston behind after a few minutes, other places appearing, places from the past, where certain acts were committed, where events unfolded, moving ever forward and back again. Which is why it’s good that all of this takes place during sleep, for it’s comforting, they being images that remain for a brief while, a little bell rings, attention, a new image is on the way, or an old one, it’s hard to tell, the overview is lost, nothing but heightened momentary views that continually greet and confront one.

“Don’t you recognize me? You once stopped here. Why won’t you admit that it was really nice here with me? Three years ago you were here for a couple of months. Then you went away. Then the cherry trees in front of the gate blossomed, the countryside was ravaged by war, but spring returned. You wandered off to the nearby city, which was in ruins. Amid the rubble you found refuge. White and black soldiers tramped through the destruction, the inhabitants intimidated by them. You got sick and couldn’t take care of yourself. Everything in you was also destroyed. Had enough? Then move on! Head this way and that, in order to find your way. These memories aren’t good for anything, they’re extrinsic and contain nothing of your experience. You are now too old. You know it when you look back. They never completed the railroad. The countryside is exhausted, the traces of its humble life erased, yet the hills are still there, the little village by the river, though you had forgotten it. Then they loaded you on the train. Why did you resist? You didn’t resist at all, except to take care of yourself until you were transported, the train slowly rolling along, locked down so that you couldn’t escape. At first the familiar landscape passed slowly by through the valley of the Moldau then the plains, over the Georgsberg, where the legendary Krok dispensed the land to the Bohemian princes. You should have had a chance to say goodbye to your homeland, for there was no way to know if you would outlast the Conqueror. You kept up your hopes, you had no idea of the threat. There was an unbelievable giddiness, as though someone had freed you of the idea that the journey and banishment spelled your annihilation. Go back further! You lived in your fatherland and resigned your position at a cultural center. You left your home and traveled about the world. You believed victory would be yours, and that anything in between would easily be overcome. You also believed whoever strode on confidently would reach his goal. Did you never think that no one awaited you? That you were nothing but an intrusion? Anyone is in some ways superfluous. You always took yourself too seriously. You don’t seem to be cured, your appetite remains insatiable. Do you still want to educate the young? You resigned as a tutor. Don’t you see that no amount of will can overpower the world? Will can only destroy you. Whenever anything is too much for you, you fall asleep. The gong sounds, the window is opened. Below on the street you stand amid the whirling noise of the night, but the sounds of the struck gong above in the tower hurry you along. You act as if nothing has happened, because you are frivolous and want to enjoy yourself. But what did you once say about symbols? Sunbeams shimmer on the wind. You stand upon the fallen castle and gaze off into the woods. You don’t let yourself think about how shallow you have always been. Why did you pass so sadly over the bridge? I won’t go any further with you in order not to sadden you any more. There is still much to say. You didn’t want to become a doctor, for you didn’t believe in helping others. You have settled in wherever you have been and taken each place as your own, but did you never consider yourself a stranger? Not even in the park? In the ruins? In the fields? Always you were a stranger. You didn’t realize it for a long time. Now that you know it, you don’t want to change it. And so it’s done. You will have to take care of yourself or I’ll demolish you. I have already given you many signs. You say that they haven’t bothered you, but words fall easily from your lips.”