H. Adler - The Journey

At one point Paul wakes up. He feels sick and miserable. He has lost everything, though it could also be that he himself has been lost. Afraid, Paul yells out, “Where am I?” Yet no answer is offered in return. Indeed the question could not have been heard, his voice was not there, it’s spent. Paul has no voice. He has no idea whether it’s night or a new day. Curtains hang all around, which don’t allow in the slightest light, making it impossible to figure out what time of day it is while in bed, requiring the desire and ability to get up. Paul also doesn’t know if there’s a window. He only hopes so, as he hopes also that he can find a door, a switch in order to have some light in the room, or at least a candle and matches. Yet that’s asking too much. Everything is thickly tarred with misfortune, the viscous slime having hardened so that it is impenetrable. He seeks nothing but peace in the grave. There you can relax because you are forgotten and don’t have to remember anything. Paul is surprised to find that the grave could feel so soft and comfortable. His limbs are not held in, he can move them, even if just slowly. Whatever happened, it’s fortunate that Paul has been allowed to remain alive in his body and not been reduced to ashes. It was a huge cathedral with two towers and a colorful slate roof, the high building having collapsed, dissolved into one’s consciousness, and that was for the best. Then there was nothing more, the worries faded, no hunger pangs, and no thirst. The high office that had been held had indeed been brought down, the blessing could no longer be given, yet from now on was one continuous holiday, because time had been done away with as well.

The journey is over, and there is no one who can do evil. The judgment of blind hatred that drools with revenge remains unimposed. The recent peace has been much too short to justify having such horrors consume the heart with overwhelming force. The crypt in the basement of the cathedral is the best grave. Nobody comes there and nobody is disturbed. The other dead ones had it a little better. Did they have a different hand directing them there? There is no longer any hand, none whatsoever points into such darkness. The direction has been lost, any way forward leads only to nothing, which is why nothing moves forward; not a step can be taken, neither left nor right. Even if the feet want to, there’s no going forward. No orders can be given where every command is ignored. That’s why it’s better to get used to being dead and not to look for any way out. Seek nothing. That’s at least a pure goal, to remain distant from everyone and solitary, but without any pain, just a feeling that rises within oneself. All desire is also extinguished. Not even freedom is longed for or thought about. When everything exists, even that which does not, but nonetheless is, then joy is attained, one that no striking of the hour can disturb. Every effort has withered away. All knowledge striven for now means nothing. The next moment can’t even occur, for it will not happen, it will not pass, it’s severed itself from all Being, because every moment is now eradicated. No other existence is possible, it doesn’t even attempt to assert itself; what is not itself is eradicated, done away with, no longer accepted, for it cannot be withstood; it is tossed away. The hand now dipped into the darkness, perhaps closed, perhaps open, yet without any fingers, no way to point and no meaning.

How wonderful that one can breathe freely in a grave. Paul feels the soft, warm air that doesn’t stir, a sweet, dark honey that moves through the tomb. Honey, and not the tar of misfortune. Does Paul still have hands? Do the dead have hands? If there can still be horrors inside the grave, that would be one; but Paul is calm because all around him the stillness remains unchanged. He can still risk believing in himself; what he is seeking is not a bad thing and will not hurt anyone else, nor disturb anyone. He can do what he wants in the grave, and thus not be called upon to bear witness or hear confessions. The hem of justice, which everyone seeks in the end, is like a shadow; but where is there room for injustice? The desire for punishment has faded from the body, for a blesséd compassion does not assert guilt, and is not guilty. If there is any thought of pursuing such a thing now, it is dismissed outright, especially when a world outside continues to exist that could put fear even into the dead. Yet nothing is outside, nothing has remained in the past, but what comes from within has nothing to do with creation and means nothing, has no reason to be and no content. No protest holds sway; yet because there is something that can still assert its strength, so the unburdened spirit arises, it comes to its senses, it lifts itself up and it sinks down, it collapses upon itself in order to rest quietly, as it falls back upon itself before it rises out of itself again.

That one can be happy in the grave is an unexpected wonder worth pursuing, because there is no risk of failure. Thus contentment as well as joy are encouraged and constantly approved of; it helps lull one into a feeling of certainty. The wrappings protect you lightly and flexibly, applying a slight pressure. A grave is large as soon as one does away with the coffin. There was no time to box up the corpse. It’s relaxed and not stiff. Paul is surprised that he knows nothing more of the other dead ones. He thought he was tied to all who once lived, but it was not so. Paul gathers himself to call out a name, but none occurs to him, thus making him all the more acutely aware that the dead know no other names than their own. What the newly dead imagine as possibly being outside cannot be imagined, which is why everything is placed within the grave, whatever was and could be given. Death is the great remover that doesn’t miss a thing. Its realm contains no borders. If Paul feels inhibited, perhaps this is only the beginning of death. But soon he will not feel inhibited. Wherever he feels constricted, death has not yet taken hold.

Paul lets himself fall deeper and deeper in order to attain this outward condition, yet he is surprised to find that nothing happens, no matter how much he’s willing to let go. Since he is not lying down, he floats. He floats within himself, closed off from all else. Yet if death itself was afloat, then he himself should be able to climb onto it or sink. There is no need for death to risk being so shy. Whatever happens will be gentle, he will not be eaten by bugs. Paul finds it easy to begin. He lifts the limbs that were once his arms. They obey without weakness or anger. They are still arms, they burst through the inner wrappings of the grave and reach the outer wrapping, which was not at all expected, it appearing to go on as eternally as eternity itself, which is what it encased to begin with. But then Paul was reassured that he would not be wounded in death; the incident that had allowed him to die had not at all changed the body that felt life within. Nothing is rotted or dried up; the bones are intact and covered with warm flesh, healthy skin protects them both.

Paul lifts himself up to sit, first his head, then his back; he listens without straining. The eternity inside him has suddenly fallen away, it becomes a bit cooler, yet not cold, just fresher. It would now require a second game of chance to get the legs going, this being a fantastic grave in which one is free and certain that he is allowed to stand on his own two feet. And yet it’s a success, a yearning is coupled with energetic strength, the legs lift and carry the dead man straight up from the grave, he himself grateful that he died in such good shape. Paul is excited, he wants to try taking a step, yet he’s careful not to let his eagerness get ahead of him. It’s fine to be eager, but overconfident will not do. Paul sits down, he wants to check his legs, to touch them. He thinks anxiously whether that’s possible without any hands. A dead man wants to have all of his limbs, but he’s not allowed to have hands since hands are sinful. Yet as the dead man reaches down, his arms split open, meaning there must be hands with fingers that spread and feel like they are supposed to.