Sunday, January 29

The Key to the Kingdom






















A new day is dawning.


The first rays of the sun are seeping around the peninsula’s promontory and like the tip of a painter’s brush they tenderly touch the bending coastline. Still enveloped in the night’s dozing colors, the clouds, the sea and the beach come slowly to life. This is how it appears to a mind that has just left the kingdom of dreams and is half-immersed in drowsy consciousness.

The breeze that touches the bare skin is like a gaseous extension of it, with every breath the fragrance of the sea seeps through the body like non-physical ambra and the sounds of the incoming waves provide a bed of soft vibrations. The existential feeling is dissected from the social being, it has a universality that soars above the incident-satiated, fast-paced, ever-moving and jumping character of the mind in its daytime state. It is quiet, constant and motionless.

There is not much to share conservatively with somebody else. Everyone has to experience the white dove that crosses the void by himself. Doing so, unity and oneness furnish a wordless realm. Sharing arises within non-verbal sharing.

How evaporating and pointless are most upheavals of the mind and of our emotions that guide us through our life. How pinned-down and caged are we then, voluntarily carrying fetters that so easily would slip from our ankles: slaves traveling along the narrow band of naive words and opposing values - showered by volcanic eruptions, freezing rain, biting frost and the piercing heat that produce the climate and mental geography in the realm of emotions. From this early morning vantage point it is utter simplicity, vulnerability and the consequent wallowing in self-pity, buried under thoughtless haughtiness, that characterizes our life. Whenever we experience beauty, then it is when we come close to moments like this when the enemy within us is absent.



Within the many genres of literature there is that of family sagas. It conveys a different existential feeling. Its focus, which the authors occupy, is from the high point beyond the individual’s, the generation’s truth. The shape of the individual’s dependence on inconspicuous powers appears – his concept of life: a mirror of his time and place.


This view is by itself still narrow, but applying its pattern onto one’s own life, we are able to see us as actors on an already preset stage. We have the power to change some words of our script, but there our abilities end. By doing so, we are in a constant rebellion. The life of most men, most generations is marked by this unconscious revolt against growing old, against reducing a long life into the sentences of a few pages, against disappearing in the memory of minds that are themselves ephemeral.

The two mynahs which visit me every morning, sit, not 20 cm from my feet, they pick at the bare floor and look at me with demanding eyes; they want to be fed. They are not rebelling; they have their place in creation like specks of color in a perfect painting.


Beyond the genre of the family saga there is the view of the anthropologist and the historian.

It offers us a vista onto the family of man as it slowly emerges from the multitude by domesticating plants and animals. Changing, as it rises from an animalistic hunter and gatherer stage onto the stage where it acquired a more structured mind that becomes visible in the development of languages and scripts. Memory started to transcend generations.
Thus, a rising structured approach helped us to come closer to more accurately assessing ourselves and the reality of which we are a part.

Emotions are the rough impurities that make us the humans we are. They tint the purity of the mind and the soul. Instead of lifting us up beyond the roof of the circus’ tent, they make us travel in circles around the arena, through its shades, spotlights, its orchestrated events. Like the mind that has gone through a process of clarification, so our emotions still need to travel a similar path. They need to become domesticated by our soul.

It is then, when the dhamma, the very fabric of our soul that encompasses all sentience rises to fill our being, that we realize that we have left the realm of duality and contradictions.

Khun Meao, the kitten, sits on my lap, sharing the small space with my Libretto, she sleeps peacefully while I type. The mynahs are picking at the crumbs of whole wheat bread that I spread for them onto the verandah’s railing; they seem not to be concerned at all about the close presence of the cat.

While still being stunned by our self-consciousness, we behave like the survival-driven hunters and gatherers, the band and tribe defined social beings. While the scope of our vision has clearly widened, while we have rebelled against and successfully tackled some natural calamities, we have lost sight of the oneness of creation. In our self-assessment, we follow the misleading notion that we are protected by the love of God, that we are something special and that our abilities can lift us above the rest of nature – that we have a mandate to be cruel if we decide so. Worse even if we are so enthralled with our accomplishments, we don’t spare any thoughts at all on it. Thus we discard our potential capabilities and follow the rough road of our unconscious sentient brothers; we stray from our path. Being human means being obliged to use our abilities, means not being helpless victims of our instinct, our emotions and a mind that still clings to pre-set pattern. We have the ability to rise above our mind, to be witness to ourselves.

After being able to memorize events across generations, we now need to grasp and memorize non-events and embed them in our consciousness. They are like the expanse of water on which a never-ending series of event-waves roll along.

The notion that we have a mandate to manipulate nature is just a waypoint in our development, the chance outcome of a mutation that took place hundreds of thousand years ago. One of the many mutations, on the mental and physical level that nature produces abundantly day after day. Mutations are the driving law of nature, the engines of change that drive the ever-turning wheel. Their consequences energize whatever is sentient. We judge and we try to influence these mutation-driven shifts. We do so by assessing if they are serving us or hindering us in our present individual or common aims. Then we act, starting from the erroneous position that we are at the center of creation, that we have a closer link to God than the rest of nature - that we are his hands that can manipulate creation even without compassion. Thus we shame our true abilities.

God settled down in our mind when we became self-conscious. His appearance was necessary for self-consciousness to arise within our duality-structured mind. Looking at ourselves from beyond the anthropologist-historian’s point of view, we realize that the ever-changing landscape of our mind is itself entangled in a web of necessities from which it cannot escape. The mind is a dependent product of nature and cannot be the instrument of enlightenment.

The rebellious words that arise within our duality structured mind make up the ephemeral script of the play we call life. Most happenings that make us move and that move us, are non-happenings, mental constructs that interact on a temporal stage. In the background our soul provides the non-rational, though undeniably present link with the truth, the dhamma, the beauty and ultimate reality. Through our soul we can rise to the moment of realization. Beyond their physical/mathematical presence, as conceived by the mind, our soul provides us with the ability to cherish the sparkling of stars in the depths of the night that encompasses us. If we do not follow its subtle inducement, if we don’t comprehend the soul’s language in times of contemplation, our speech on the stage of life will remain a baby’s bubbling. If we listen carefully, we will be able to dismount the horse of foolish haughtiness that has guided most of our vulgar assumptions in the past.

We have to play our part on the stage of life, we change the scrip and the coulisses. What is left for us to do is to become onlookers, witnesses that observe the development of our fancies with a compassionate disposition toward our own flaws and defects. In the long run it will influence the quality of our acting.

This realization has all the beauty to sustain us. It connects us with our ancestors, our offspring and the entirety of sentient and non-sentient nature. It is the door that opens wide to let us re-enter paradise lost, which we have left when we became self-conscious. With the realization that we are part of a universal goodness, we can cope easily with whatever makes us feel downtrodden or with what elates us emotionally and lets us loose control and understanding. Whatever we experience on the level of the senses are passing notions and feelings, evaporating ideas, changing colors that appear and recede while the days tear on.

The stars we see on the roof of the circus’ tent are painted copies of what sparkles beyond. Seers walk the wide expanse of the desert while the rest of mankind applauds the gladiators in the arenas.




The sun has risen above the knoll behind the house, it is awaking whatever has succumbed to the law of the night. The mynahs are fed, Khu Meao is licking the front leg of Elfi, our domesticated beach dog, sporadically looking at him as if she’d ask him to become friends, he quietly consents, it seems they have overcome their original animosity.

The wheel starts turning and churning again. In the light of the day nothing of what has been said is relevant, at least not until a new morning is dawning, until I can again come home and experience another hour of bliss in unity.



The high tide washes against the beach, the rain showers have subsided and the colors of the morning – normally changing every minute at this time – are equally blue-gray with light shades where the sea becomes deeper. Soothing colors and a soothing mood cover this hour - very conductive to move away from the rigidity of ones individuality with all its dressings; conductive to let the soul dive into the colors, the sounds and the smell of the sea. It helps to disconnect consciousness from the ‘me’, letting it settle within the intelligence that pertains the appearances.


No rough dividing lines for the senses.

Light, sound and fragrances connect and become one, one state of undivided existence: a mind without the crushing waves of ideas at its door. A strong and all penetrating power is present that makes it easy to disconnect from the hotbed of feelings that emotions put as garnish on top of ones individuality during the noon hours.

An hour like this in the morning and similarly in the evening when the light disappears gives enough strength to live the hours of daylight within the mind-frame that is man’s destiny, his universe. He cannot escape it when the senses dominate his being - when they give names and values to appearances and single them out as distinctive unconnected forms.

Such hours are the bedrock of an understanding that lingers perennially in the background. They smooth what seems to have rough edges and do not taint their revelations with the mind’s machinations.

This is the only way to go to understand deeply.



We can’t escape permanently the dominating presence of the senses, the intellect and the emotions. They constitute our reality and as long as they are in the foreground we are their pawns. We think that we command them, but in actuality they command us. The ‘us’ in this definition is what we are beyond their dominance.

Consciousness is present, it takes these hours of peace to escape the totalitarian preeminence of the senses and makes us understand that the ’I’ is something that is beyond our corporeal appearance - understand, that it is an ever existing intelligent energy that settles in man as it settles in all the other fleeting appearances that make up the universe.

It is hard to emigrate to this ‘I’ from our personality, which we are conditioned to mistake for it. The true ‘me’ is the pervading intelligence, the consciousness that is interwoven in the energy that makes up what is. Once the ‘personality I’ disappears, also the mind, which is the platform for the combined assessment of what the senses produce subsides. It is substituted by consciousness that works without the garlands of words or emotions.

Universal consciousness then is the true home of the authentic ever-present ‘me’.

It is still and will remain so, the early Samuian morning hours that provide the salt to the dish that is served every day to me with the rising sun.

After a good night’s sleep the mixture of mind and emotions seem to be in a state of drowsiness. If I manage not to wake them up through hectic activity, the senses are still fine-tuned. The pastel colors of the morning produce no clear-cut edges, distances appear two-dimensional and the light has the same strength and quality across the entire field of vision.

Similar is it with the sounds. The splashing of gentle waves against the beach, the morning songs of the birds and the cicadas mix with the rustling sound the leaves produce when touching each other in the light breeze that comes up with the sun.

That same breeze, when touching the bare skin is like merging you with the rest of creation. It lets you forget the isolation of your body and makes it touch and connect with the subatomic particles that are equally present in the body and its surrounding.

When the fragrance of a seaside morning touches your nostrils it is already a mixture of the smell of the sea, the vapor of the humid earth touched by sunlight and the sweet smell of the blossoms that are opening when the light of the new day has reached a certain strength.

The taste buds are still asleep in the morning, not enticed by spices or aromas – there is no agitation, no feeling of hunger or thirst.



With the senses thus not incinerating the mind, not making it react to the staccato of a variety of impressions, consciousness has a chance to free itself from the shackles of the mind which normally bury it under its foreground presence.



Consciousness becomes recognizable to itself. 
Consciousness then is present.

It starts to mirror itself in the profound peace and solitude in which it exists. It disentangles itself from the body where its function is to provide the intelligence and life force that goes with sentient beings. It doesn’t show up anymore through the mind’s ability to categorize, to name and to split creation into different parts.

It is pure consciousness that appears subtly during Samuian morning hours. Time and matter then are not divided. Matter is not classified and values disappear. Primordial consciousness substitutes the senses and becomes the mirror of the all-uniting presence of creation.




This is not meditation in the usual sense, it is meditation with open eyes, with present, but subdued senses. Thoughts still appear, but they appear as if in the mind of an imbecile, they take a long time to rise, the mind is too weak and cannot connect different sub-thoughts into strings and they disappear as forceless as they arise.


The overriding presence then is consciousness. Consciousness that does not name what the senses provide for the mind, it just recognizes it.

No names, no values, no distinctions. Simply pure being.

Intelligence and energy unite in the final, the ultimate bliss of creation.


At this point the usual ‘I’ and with it mankind with its megalomaniac claim of being the cream of creation has long since disappeared in the realm of a simple, inadequate ephemeral apparition.

We know that feelings and emotions consist of a kind of energy, an energy that is barely measurable, but which is there whenever emotions are set in motion. Since we also know that matter and energy are the same, we can see that feelings and matter have the same origin and we know that emotions have to follow the same law that guides thermodynamics. If something is set in motion it takes an equally strong energy to stop it or it takes a different energy to redirect it.

Seeing this clearly we can realize that beyond the world that is perceived with our sensory organs there is an equally potent region of invisible energy that pertains the universe and that follows the same rules as energy and matter. Actually it is the same pool of the all-pervading intelligent energy that makes up matter, thoughts and feelings. And as we can follow the motions of matter with our senses, we also have to follow and understand the motions of  nonphysical energy.

Our physical organs are transformation plants for energy/matter that keep this energy in motion, so dos the chemical reactions that happen in every plant. Our soul (as Zukhav calls that extra-physical organ) does the same with the energy that is not accessible with our senses; and as matter has different forms, so this energy appears in different forms. Its two polar extremes (they could be seen like electromagnetic poles in the physical world) are compassion and hatred, both appear as energy with different frequencies. Low frequency energy disempowers man, drains him, high frequency energy empowers him makes him buoyant and whole. It is man’s soul where they ‘materialize’ where they, according to the law of thermodynamics, can be set in motion, where they can be stopped or redirected. The tools are intentions and actions.

If man is seen as consisting of matter, intelligence and emotions then intelligence can influence these otherwise wild-running emotional flows of extra-physical energy. And as man can harness and convert a wild stream into a placid lake in the physical world so he can control the energy flow of emotions with intelligence. But to be able to, we first have to realize its presence, we have to assess its laws as we have assessed those of the physical world. We have to understand that its presence is not a power that is beyond our intelligence and we have to see that accessing and controlling it can have similar positive effects as dealing thoughtfully with the laws of physics.

By understanding that we have the power to influence, to redirect and to produce compassion and love, we are like gods. All we were missing until now is the understanding, the knowing that this power is there and at our disposal. As long as we see ourselves as helpless mortal visitors to the universe, as long as we think that the outer shell of our self, our personality is all we are, we will remain blind to our abilities.

If, on the other hand, we understand ourselves as the immortal intelligence that pertains the universe, that moves with light and energy and changes its forms and rhythm all the time and which in this incarnation makes itself visible in verbal, thinking intelligence in ’us’, then we will act totally different when confronted with situations where we could actively apply the power of compassion and love.

Just looking at two individuals in recent history will prove it. Gandhi, for one, has produced compassion, has created an ocean of goodness through his example, an ocean that is still washing the shores of millions of individual existences. Hitler on the other hand produced a similar ocean of hatred and pain that has influenced, killed, maimed and psychologically mutilated an equal number of human beings.

What the Indians call Karma is powerfully present even though it ignores individual histories. This, by the way, proves that for the true power that governs the universe, the individual does not exist as recognizable entity, it is just the temporary shell in which the true ‘self’, the universal intelligence, materializes. The personality of the individual is thus just a chimera in the mind of man. At best it is the short-lived, ephemeral tool that carries the soul’s intentions into the world of matter.

Nevertheless, what is happening in this ‘intelligence clearing house’ is mental and physical action that could go this way or that and that is what can be influenced. It is the dance of life in which the ‘self’, the intelligence within intelligence, the Atman within the Brahman, can set the steps and the rhythm.

All that does not stop to be applied to human beings. Daily we direct compassion or hatred, love and sorrow and a variety of emotions of different frequencies at the entire creation, towards animals and plants, against so many receptors that can suffer and enjoy. Even the harmony that governs this planet’s physical equilibrium is in disarray due to the plunder we have committed with unwholesome intentions. As long as we see us as unconnected individuals, as long as we see us as the masters of nature just because we have managed to get an insight into some of its physical laws, we will not understand that what could destroy the planet starts with wrong intentions, with thoughts that can only access half the truth.

Intentions are a universal power

Once we understand that not only our acts but also our intentions are a power that count in the universe - that they are not just appearing and disappearing mind-games without consequences - will we learn to produce harmony. Good intentions, even in the face of adversary, become the healing medicine that can change low frequency energy into energy of high frequency. Applying our intelligence in the search for truth just within the physical sphere is like trying to father a child without sperm. We have accessed Yin but we are still missing Yang.

Thus we start do understand that our feelings are a similar platform as is our mind. They process the universal energy into which we are embedded. Knowing that with our intentions we can direct the current of this invisible energy, change its frequency and format reality as we do it when juggling with matter, opens a totally new understanding of ourselves and the world that surrounds us.

Empowerment in this sense means that we learn to rid ourselves from the shackles of the subconscious, of the powers whose presence we sense but whose structure has rarely been a subject of serious scientific research. The same laws that govern the world of matter also govern the world of emotions and the same intelligence that pertains substances is also intern to matters of feelings and emotions.

That we judge ‘good’ as superior and higher than ‘bad’ is humankind’s unconscious acceptance of the direction universal intelligence is taking. It has found a home in religions and in social systems. It proves itself to everybody whenever one gets into contact with compassion or hatred, with love or with sorrow. This unconscious acceptance of the basic law of the universe, the aim of energy to flow towards the ‘good’ and its transformation into model values has been the background that has helped man to evolve from primates to intelligent beings capable of reflecting the world beyond their five senses.

The next step for man will be to integrate this reflection into his basic fabric, into his perception, his understanding of the invisible link that weaves him into the universal mantra.

What is a next step for mankind can be a step taken by single human beings here and now. No one needs to wait until it has become common consciousness.

This understanding is there for the taking.

Applied, it gives and makes sense to be alive and it provides a warm home for those who see themselves as lost, unloved and dispossessed. To apply it is not difficult: reflect on whatever you do and find out if it contains or leads to love and compassion.      However, it will remain guesswork as long as the powers that control our intentions are not properly understood.

By knowing that emotions are pure energy and by applying the Universal Laws of Thermodynamics, one can switch from being their helpless object to becoming a subject that can overcome anger and hatred and can produce love and compassion instead.





It is the Key to the Kingdom, the passe-partout to the universe. There can be no higher and all-encompassing aim in the life-plan of a man.

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Glücklich entwurzelt


„Nirgends ist, wer überall ist“, sagt Seneca.
Erkundungen im Lande „Flux“.

„Wohin gehen wir? Immer nach Hause“, sagte Novalis. Ob es auf diesem Sehnsuchtsweg ein Ankommen gibt, ließ der Romantiker offen. Das Unterwegs- und Umhergetriebensein gehört bekanntlich zur Grundausstattung romantischer Vagabunden. Ihr Heimweh ist genau genommen ein Hinausweh. Das Glück liegt für sie immer hinter den sieben Bergen, und es will erobert werden – zu Fuß, mit der Kutsche oder auf dem Segelschiff.

„Fahre zu!, ich darf nicht fragen, wo die Fahrt zu Ende geht...“: Auch Joseph von Eichendorff schickte seine Helden mit Vorliebe auf unendliche Fahrt. Mehr als 150 Jahre später sind sie immer noch unterwegs – umgestiegen auf den Hochgeschwindigkeitszug oder das Flugzeug. Die Geschäftselite hat das Erbe der fahrenden Leute angetreten. Manager und andere freischwebende Existenzen verbringen inzwischen einen Großteil ihres Lebens in der Luft. Oder in den Lounges und Shoppingmalls der Flughäfen dieser Welt.

„Flux“ – was so viel heißt wie „fließende Bewegung“, hat der amerikanisch-indische Autor Pico Iyer diese Welt der luxuriösen Zwischenräume und Zwischenzeiten genannt – eine Terra incognita, für die, so Iyer, der Reiseführer noch geschrieben werden muss. Das Kunstwort bezeichnet ein Leben im Transit, auf der Flucht, zwischen den Kulturen und Destinationen. Einen Lifestyle, der es dem Reisenden ermöglicht, unterwegs zu Hause zu sein, mit dem Notebook als portablem Vaterland. Ein Paralleluniversum, in dem Bewegung und Aufenthalt ununterscheidbar ineinander fließen und die Passage zur stabilen Existenzform wird.

Gestern Hongkong, heute Moskau, morgen Paris, übermorgen Kapstadt – und immer das gleiche Ritual der inszenierten Übergänge, die, genau genommen, moderne Trampelpfade sind: Auf der Fahrt zum Terminal wird per Handy eingecheckt, dann geht es durch die Sicherheitsschleuse direkt in die Business-Lounge, man eröffnet für 20 Minuten sein improvisiertes Büro, um zu telefonieren oder die E-Mails abzuarbeiten – oder man legt sich, begleitet vom Rieseln der Wasserspiele und von heroisch orchestrierter Popmusik, auf eine der bereitgestellten Kippliegen im Wellnessraum.

Langeweile wird planmäßig vermieden. Die unvermeidlich leeren Augenblicke sind für Vielflieger dazu da, möglichst effizient und angenehm überbrückt zu werden. Im Lande Flux wird der Weg buchstäblich zum Ziel und der Ankunftsort zum Ausgangsort der immerwährenden Durchreise. Fluxianer verstehen sich als glücklich Entwurzelte, als medial verknüpfte Luftwesen, die der Zwang zur Ortstreue zu Boden drücken würde. Sie hausen im Exterritorialen – weshalb Entzugserscheinungen unvermeidlich sind: Nach drei Monaten an einem Ort, so Iyer, fühle er sich schlicht „unbehaglich“.

Für ihn wird das Flugzeug früh schon zur zweiten Heimat. Der Spross reicher Eltern wird mit dem Privatjet zur Schule gebracht. Die Welt der Pan Am nennt er „mein Harvard“. Mit Reiseführern über Italien, Griechenland und Frankreich verdient er während des Studiums ein bisschen Geld dazu. Als andere Karriere machten, fliegt er durch die Welt – nach Indien, Japan, Südamerika, ohne feste Adresse, mit dem Hotel als permanentem Provisorium. Und dem Flughafen als Bodenstützpunkt.

„Fluxianer“ achten darauf, anschlussfähig zu bleiben. Sie reisen im Netzwerk – eine kleine, privilegierte Minderheit, die sich den Luxus leistet, ständig auf der Flucht zu sein. Während die große Masse der Bevölkerung an der Scholle klebt und nur unfreiwillig ihre Heimat verlässt, ist man im Lande „Flux“ überall zu Hause und deshalb nirgendwo beheimatet. In der Verbindung von Wohnung und Bewegung kehrt der romantische Urtraum von der mobilen Immobilie wieder, den das 20. Jahrhundert von Anfang an träumte. So forderte der russische Architekt El Lissitzky die „physisch-dynamische Architektur“ und damit die „Überwindung des Fundaments, der Erdgebundenheit und der Schwerkraft“. Und Le Corbusier meinte, man müsse das Haus „wie ein Auto oder eine Schiffskabine“ konzipieren.
Verblasste Mythen der Moderne? Keineswegs. So viel Mobilmachung war nie. „Was wir gegenwärtig erleben, ist der Aufbau einer künstlichen Parallelwelt durch Medialisierung, Globalisierung und Hochgeschwindigkeitsmobilität“, sagt Urbanist Wolfgang Christ, „ein Paradigmenwechsel der Architektur und des Städtebaus, so radikal wie von der Agrar- zur Industriegesellschaft.“ Flughäfen seien nicht nur Symbol der beschleunigten, hypermobilen Gesellschaft, sondern „deutliches Zeichen für die Emanzipation der Peripherie von den alten Zentren“ – und damit vom Raum überhaupt.

Die großen Drehkreuze bilden heute ein virtuelles Ensemble von Quasi-Städten, die sich längst aus der Verankerung in einer Landschaft oder Region gelöst haben. Nicht zuletzt deshalb wirken sie oft ort- und geschichtslos – wie Ufos mit mehrfachem Verkehrsanschluss, wie gigantische Pumpen, die für den Durchfluss, den „Flux“ globaler Waren- und Menschenströme sorgen. Der Einzelne wirkt darin merkwürdig verloren, „Lost in Translation“, wie Sofia Coppolas schöner Film heißt, der Menschen zeigt, die sich wie Somnambule durch die Kunstwelt des nächtlichen Tokio treiben lassen.

Die Geschichte hätte auch auf einem Flughafen spielen können, wie Steven Spielbergs Komödie „Terminal“, die das Schicksal eines Staatenlosen aus Osteuropa beschreibt, der am John-F.-Kennedy-Airport in New York strandet und im Niemandsland des Terminals vorübergehend Asyl findet. Der Flughafen ist für ihn ein glitzerndes Labyrinth, ein beziehungsloser „Nicht-Ort“, wie der französische Anthropologe Marc Augé den Flughafenterminal bezeichnet hat: Ein Umschlagplatz von Menschen, die zusammenkommen, um einander zu ignorieren.

Ein idealer Raum für „Fluxianer“ also. Ein Haufen routinierter Antihektiker, Virtuosen des technischen Blicks, das Esperanto der Zeichen spielend durchschauend. Wer ständig unterwegs sei, sagt „Flux“-Guru Pico Iyer denn auch, brauche vor allem eines: „Innere Ruhe“ – wie sie der berühmteste Flüchtling der Welt vorführt: der Dalai-Lama, der auf der Durchreise zu Hause ist, in der Welt der Flughäfen, Kongresszentren und Luxushotels – meditierend, lesend, lehrend. Und, vor allem, schlafend. Denn auch der entschiedenste Fluxianer kommt irgendwann zur Ruhe. Am Ende des Tages hat auch er eine Heimstatt gefunden – im Schlaf, in der eigenen Haut, im eigenen Bett.

Weltoffenheit nämlich, so der Philosoph Peter Sloterdijk, entstehe nur, „wenn Menschen so etwas wie ein operationsfähiges Zuhause haben, mit anderen Worten: wenn sie gut wohnen“.

CHRISTOPHER SCHWARZ Die Wirtschaftswoche

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