The honest-true would still burn in man - even if only half, or in captivity of crossroads. He should not give up or let go of his convictions, wherever this unfair, wicked-comic milieu may carry him. His eternally restless, petty, eternally peaceless soul would be so good for some kind of momentary redemption, from which he could still build and perhaps start a new life. Bars and cages stretch around him, while his constant kilometers of walking are tied to the shackles of his sickly legs, or even a vile physical disease.

- It is known: a hundred, and a hundred years quickly pass and where does Zhuangzi's imaginary dream of the fulfillment of the happiness he has found, like a kind of Nirvana-idea striving for perfection, remain? He bows his forehead in repentance before his distorted reflection in the mirror; like a sinking Saturn waiting for the mortal Jericho trumpets of doom to ring into his deliberately deaf ears; he is seized by a consuming guilt that in a given situation he did not dare, perhaps did not want to act.

Man often stands hesitantly on an empty horizon, because he feels that he should turn his life, which is rather doomed to mortality, back into non-existence; he sees daily how the World dismantles, destroys itself, crumbles to pieces. The Soul, like a secret, special mirror, can take on a new body in someone else, the metamorphoses of immortal Beings are greeted in a single movement, or in the comfort of embraces, as when the corpus turns into a silent, echoing cave, where the seeds of instinct are still created and conceived.

Because sooner or later man deliberately retreats towards his own future; he is unable to do anything with uncertainty; to formulate, to understand the hidden Morse codes of reason. - The snarling Cerberus jaws of beasts can rarely be closed forever by the historical century!