I begin this writing by quoting the magnificent approach of a World War II hero, Austrian neuropsychiatrist Victor Frankl. At this time, do not interpret – or return – to the consciousness that the noble Frankl was part of any army, but of the army of the dying. Close your eyes: breathe; Inspire. Remember the greatest sufferings of your humble life and obey the ardor in the chest you may feel. Suffer! I want you to cry and be enrited by the passion of your pathetic, worldly problems. He grieves about his needs, whether for space or time, he is restless, stun and deeply values his own suffering. Then you will miraculously open your eyes and notice that you are still here, still, motionless, inert and powerless. Their sufferings, as well as desires, so instantaneous and fleeting that they barely fit in a single glimpse of the film of life itself.

Despite all the enormous effort to search and rummage in the intimate – singular – and non-transferable personal retrospective, you will not find a single moment that portrays the impossible. The impossible is not part of this ultimate, eternal life because of the simple fact that it does not belong to you, but rather you who belongs to it. The carnal individual – matter – has no power over his own existence, because the act of existence was granted exclusively to him out of love, solely out of love.

Act of concession.

It is concluded that the impossible becomes fully achievable by any human because it is inserted in the context, still, material – physical.

… A brief thought that will be depicted in the third book I write. For now, I suggest reading the second.


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