being alive. or so.

We think so we are, someone said. But what are thoughts? And even if we think are we what we think we are? Are humans as special as they think they are?

On the one side I think surely yes. As humans are the only ones who can use their mind to develop stories way beyond reality. Only humans have a thing called religion and only humans are afraid of monsters and aliens. So. yes. special.


A thought seems to be something which is based on electrons moving along certain routes in our brain. Our senses are able to see the world in a certain way. Based on what the senses sense a signal is sent along a nerve until the signal is strong enough to trigger an action in the brain. No need to understand completely what happens then. The only thing we need to understand is that the thing out of our brain is a thing that talks to another thing (nerve, neuron or electron) in order to move many things (thought). So the connection is between the thing outside of our mind with a thing inside our brain. So a thing connects to a thing to trigger something we call thought. What the trigger from the outside does to the inside is based on the individual story of the thinking brain. This and the genetic coding makes the difference. Besides the genes all the rules in the brain are learned or experienced (language for example).

So a thing talks to a thing based on rules we had no control over. And all this makes then the thing we call thought.

Emergence. Of course. The outcome is more than just the sum of the parts. It is said. Emergence is only described by humans. It is the human mind that sees these things based on the ability of the human mind to fantasize. The human mind needs proper boxes with things inside to be able to function. Each box is labeled with its content like “society”, “home”, “family”. This goes well as long as nobody asks to open the box and to take a deep look inside. In these boxes there are other boxes and in these boxes there are other boxes, until nothing is left. The human mind works with labels which stand for certain ideas about something. These ideas are mainly based on the culture the mind was taught to function in. Emergence is one of these ideas. There is no thing called “society” or “religion” or “me”. All these are just labels on mainly empty boxes.

So I am sitting here and writing and saying at the same time that it is not me who does that. As weird as it can go.  It is me. But. I learned a certain language which gives me certain rules to put things into words. The style of writing is mainly owed to the authors I read before,  and same for the the knowledge in my mind. My emotional world is based on the genetic set and the mainly uncontrolled reality I find myself in. I type on a keyboard and see what i wrote. While reading another thought emerges based on what my eyes see on the screen and what my mind makes out of it. Sometimes i make a brief stop to find the words for something that i want to say. The wish to find the words for something is based on the evaluation that something is wrong or missing. This evaluation is done based on the set of rules in my mind. This set of rules says the argument needs to be logical and consistent. So it is the things in the past and the things happening now triggering certain reactions which make my hands write what I write. Still I am not a machine. At least not a simple one. And if one then a special one which changes its source code all the time.

But even if i know better, i  cannot not feel like a thinking thing. This makes things tricky.

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once we are not

…and the short time in between we are. There are aeons before and aeons might follow. And we did not care before nor will we care afterwards. It is said. This would mean that back then there was a me that used the senses and the mindset to realize an environment. As far as I can tell there was no me nor any sense. This argument triggers the next question: What can i remember? But first the question if we should care about what was before and what might follow.


Everyone´s personal story started the moment the senses filled the mind with information. This is the information we remember or we don´t remember. The decision if there was a time which was painful or not depends on the things we are able to remember. What we are able to remember is strongly connected to working senses. The moment we are not are no working senses anymore. So the argument is nor valid as there was no me – back then.

Now we are. Now we have senses which fill our mind. And of course it is not nice to let something go as precious as this. It might not bother us once we are gone, true. But this only because we are not and can´t evaluate the situation anymore. So we tend to spend a lifetime to be bothered about this moment in which we will lose the ability to remember. And hell yeah! It is fuckin´spooky!

There is no solace to offer. There is this one life we have to live in the best way possible.

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Dahab in June

This gallery contains 13 photos.

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the shepard left the green…

… long ago. And the sheep realize it just now.

So the sheep are scared. Nobody to feed them, no shelter, all the other sheep over the hill and not at last the weather! So they think.

The thought takes over and becomes fear. The ugly clouds of fear make it tough to think through. So the sheep decide that something needs to be done. Something needs to happen. Before the fear becomes real.

Nothing should be allowed to change!

So the sheep build walls. They tell themselves the tale of how tough life might be. The story how everything could be without the wall and without the tough decisions to be done makes the round. Sheep talks to sheep and the cloud grows.

Some sheep remember how good the time was when the Shepard took care of everything. So the sheep decide that they need a new shepard. One of them should do it. All the fear and this dark cloud: Only the strongest one could keep them safe! They need the one who gets things done and who does not care about stupid rules!

So it goes. They get the one. And they are not alone. Behind all the green hills are sheep who do the same. The cloud of fear darkens the sun. Nobody new where it started. The surviving sheep remember how it ended. The cloud found a way to become real.

“There is no way out” the surviving sheep say. Sheep are pushed by their fears. And a sheep can´t be a shepard. Fear needs to feed on itself. So it needs to find reasons. So it becomes real.

If the sheep would have the possibility to go back in time they would say: Take the change! The world always changed! It will come as it comes. And the worst thing to do is to be afraid of it. What is helpful is collaboration and the preparation of the best future possible. Hope. Not fear.

If the sheep would just have another chance.

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lost we are, anyway

Nothing to win. Everything to lose.

We have a life. Only one. The one chance to live it. The one change to find the right way.

Anyone mentioned here something about a secret path called the Right Way? Who is talking about this secret path nobody is ever able to find? It is just the ugly truth that there is not such a thing as the right path. There is a path which is always under construction and still no other one than that available. Many people build this path. People we know and people we don’t know and most probably people we will never know. We walk on a path other people build for us. We also live in houses other people build for us. In the end everything around us is made by other people. Including us.

Guilt. What is that based on what is said before. Guilt, this burning stone in the chest that takes away all energy, that turns into depression or aggression. This monster guilt feeds on us and feeds on the fear of what other people will think about us or will feel about us. The guilt mirrors more or less what we would feel if the things we did would have been done to us. And here the reasons for feeling guilty go way deeper than the obvious ones. Guilt is the necessary outcome of being human. The world tumbles and turns and the human is an imperfect being. Guilt is a wrong idea. A good idea would it be to find a way to deal with the shit that happens. Because it happens.

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some diving

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The darkness within

Once something big happened, something that made us sick of being afraid, it might stay a while with you. Even if everything went fine and things worked out: The time of terror leaves some deep grooves in the mind. Thoughts love to jump into these grooves. Thoughts will stay there until something else happens to set the thoughts free, for a moment or two. Whatever it is that sets the thoughts free again – it needs to be found first. It also happens that the cure finds you. The thing to keep in mind is that the thoughts in the groove are normally not the reason for the groove. The original reason for the groove was the fear of something that made us fear something else. The tricky thing is to find the original fear, the real reason.

Good luck.

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the nonsense about words

Nothing should be said. All reality is described by words and all reality is beyond all words. Words just simplify the world out there. Words make connections which are not there and announce scenarios which cannot be real. Words tell stories; humans tell stories. In the end this is all they do: A world built on stories; on stories which develop themselves word by word away from all reality. And so we end up in the cold hell of words without any meaning.

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winter tales… part two….

Sometimes time teaches us something in a different way: Sometimes time tells us that it will be left behind – after a while. Sometimes we cannot see this end being trapped somewhere in the darkness of the hours and days. Once the time passed we know that it is gone. Only then we know.

The main reason for this nightmare which seems to put everything in questions is that the very inner core of us itself is put in question. We have an image of ourselves which is carefully built over time. This picture contains all the stories we tell about us and which we want to be told about us. This picture is us. And we die once the picture dies. We die as the one we were and need to assemble the leftovers to become something new.

Everyone is afraid of that. It steals the breath, it takes away the wish to eat, it triggers the wish to sleep without end, to run away from reality which is hunting one the moment being awake. The muscles prepare for impact, everything is tense. The pressure in the head finds no valve and makes the head explode. After a while the body cannot deal with all that anymore and the mind switches to a moment of ignorance. A brief moment of relief which suddenly ends with an attack of fear from deep within. An icy ball is expanding from the chest to all the other parts of the body just to fall apart into tiny sharp pieces which seem to penetrate our skin from within. Again. And again.

The future falls into pieces and from whatever kind of angle it is examined the outcome is a disaster. There seems to be no future for the us we know. Time will proceed but should not. The planet won´t care, even if it should. Just we will be gone.

12.12 until. 15 days a refugee from reality. 15 days which ended. There might be longer time. There might be a situation we only know of that it has the potential to change everything. We might lose everything we knew about us and what we wanted other people to know about us. We will die. We will actually die as who we were. And we will become someone else. We will survive. As long as we can take who we will become. Or who we became.

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winter tales. part one.

Winter ends all things. All that was alive needs to die. Cold air will fill the lungs and hearts of the ones who still breathe and are left behind. The heartbeats pump the cold blood against the time. A time which always runs faster than the heart is ever able to pump. The winter will win. It always does.

What felt warm and close will become cold and air. All things need to die. And so do we.

Winter fills the body with sadness about the lost, with hopelessness about what might become, with anxiety towards the unknown. Winter takes everything and promises nothing. Winter kills without remorse. The things that die have no idea that they die for a reason, that they die to leave the summer for others.


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