1 Daniela Noitz: Seeing Unites

 

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Introduction

Reality is mediated regularly by our senses. Perception and admission requires a mediator, who translates the outside world into a comprehensible inner world. Transformed. Descartes can bite into his “Cogito ergo sum”, it does not change anything, thinking has never helped anyone. For even this requires an object of intuition. Descartes spoke, we do not listen to him. With good reason. Because the day-to-day challenge called life requires a correspondence, and not one at the desk. Let him sit there. He sits well there. And do not be confused in the way in which we grasp the world. In all fragmentation, in all limitedness, but after all a grasping, at first in sight, which first of all first discovers the world around us (see part 1). In the picture, this section of perception is transformed from artificiality into art, setting the focus. Taking into account the limitations of the seer, the invitation to move into this limited art space (see Part 2) and to let yourself be touched (see Part 3).

It does not take the image, because it can only be an image in itself, which we understand as acceptance, call and solicitation, and become open in touch. Open to the presenting, opening as a source of origin. The origin, the primordial we buried in ourselves, since we do not remember, unaware, willful, and certainly not thinking, but it manifests itself in utopia, as the non-place, which thus also place is, because what is nowhere, can also be everywhere. Ark as the principle in which we are rooted, nourished and strengthened, nourishes and strengthens, symbolizes in Mother Earth. In the image, the address, which touches us and allows us to open, the spring begins to bubble, and finds itself united with the others. Security as a harmony in the primal force. You are like me and I am like you, in the basic sense. It’s good to find yourself. It’s good to understand. Understanding never happens in a vacuum. Where we find no connection, no point of contact, there can be no understanding. This means that we only turn to an image, yes, only to see it as true if it somehow ties in with this originality of experienced world, if we find something with which we can knot our own experiential thread. Mooring. Anchor point. The one thread that allows many others to be moored has recognized the basic condition. Ariadne’s thread of orientation in the new, alien space that captures the familiar in the image. We are not lost. We will find each other and us again. The thread in our hands, which guarantees us that we will not be lost in the labyrinth of the world of experience and perceptions, we can pick up piece by piece, become more. Step by step. Finding safe ground. Testing. Realizing. Continually. Nothing can happen, we are not lost.

The invitation to the place, which can be anywhere and nowhere, goes out and we accept it. Because we dare and trust each other. Confide. The fundamentally connecting human being, which is the same to us all, not evocative as a deluding speculation, but a shared experience and responsibility. To be responsible, in the speech, the given and the answering, which rises and falls again and again. Like a seesaw fixed in motion in one point. Beneficial reliability and regularity.

Remaining in the image, yet not arrested, to find the one that genuinely unites us as a vision of successful human being, of a moment. Together, connecting, interwoven, an illusion of being familiar, because the Thou can be experienced as the basics of the self. Consistency, familiarity, affirmation, united in contemplative vision.

Being united in the image

The Image

Description

A small street, in any city. The glaring neon lights are reflected in the wet cobblestones and break through the contemplative darkness of the night. At some point in the early morning. The road is deserted and lifeless. A moment in which one would like to believe that the inhabitants left the city in a hurry. Everything has remained. Announcements in showcases. Many little notes that point to something that is not recognizable. It’s not important either. There are too many of them. Only the bright red heart stands out and emphasizes by the kitschy manner of the presentation, the unmovedness and tranquility of the rest of the scenery. The stylized heart. Long forgotten that it was a symbol of female sexuality. Pouting labia, revealing access to the innermost mystery that is at the same time the origin itself. Euphemistically trimmed, it has lost none of its appeal. The place is in the bright light, the passage in the warm shade. Transition, from the twilight to the brightness, from the closed to the openness. Life and lifelessness in one. Changeability and seemingly permanent. A place that is nothing but passage. Place that is passed unnoticed to reach any destination that is elsewhere

History: While life passes me by

The dizziness is still in my head. It seems like nothing else has ever been in my head, as if he had never left me. The only one in my life who has never left me and will probably remain loyal to me. Until the end of the day. Until the end of my days. Mind you. But what does that mean? It may be that it was and will be like that. I will not know anything about that. And I do not know anything about the was – the history. At some point on the way here I dropped everything. My keys. My bag. My shoes. And my memory. As if I could say that there was a way here. It’s just a reflex. Because it would be consistent with the logic that you have gone astray before, when you find yourself in a certain place. Retrieval.

I look down at myself. As far as one can look down on oneself. everything that lies above the collarbone is hidden from view. I’m wearing a jacket. It is probably cold. Now I feel nothing of the cold. But that’s certainly because of the jacket. A pair of dark trousers and at xxx the bottom, as a connection to the earth, my bare feet. I would have thought they are dirtier. Maybe I really did not go here because I just have never been anywhere else. But where would I have lost all this. Key. Bag. Shoes. And memory. I do not even know if I lost that because I do not know if I ever owned them. All these things. Also the memory. Maybe there is just nothing to remember. Involuntarily I raise my head. Now I can also see my head, my neck, mirrored in the glass of the display board. Actually, I’m too old to be so completely without memory, too old to stand here without having come here. If I had always been here, I would have to have a memory of the here. But I do not have one either. Maybe I’m not me, but Kaspar Hauser, who was brought here from his dungeon right here. But I cannot say that I am not this I, but another, because I need to know who that ego is, if only to add that it is not me. The thoughts circle. The dizziness increases. Actually, it has to be that way. I do not know what really needs to be like this. What it can be. Bare feet on the damp cobblestones. Nevertheless, the cold does not reach me. It’s like it’s none of my business. As if it were another. I cannot trust my feelings. Not the environment. Only the dizziness, of which I believe more and more firmly, or believe that he has always accompanied me and will always accompany me. “Sentio angustiae, ergo sum,” I think, “I’m dizzy, so I’m,” think it, without being able to explain or want to. Descartes was definitely wrong, and I probably enjoyed a humanistic education. But that does not help much if you’re in a place where you do not know how to reach it or if you’ve ever gone or who you are, not even who you are not. Only that one is not completely alone. Thinking does not tell me that I am. It’s all about dizziness, and it stays.

A shadow passes by. I startle. Only a moment. He was suddenly there, out of nowhere. Nothing comes out of nowhere, not even the shadow. It would be conceivable nothing itself. It would be a consideration. But that is not the reason it’s worth it. Another shadow. I’m shaking a little bit more. I got used to the third shadow. They come alone or in groups. Pull over. Once from one side, then again from the other. If some come from both sides at the same time, then one must stop to let the other pass. Shadows that undermine the originality. Primal fears. I push myself closer to the wall. Behind me. As if she could hold me. It would be at least a start. The shadows are human, I know that again. The wall is a wall. I know that, too. Is that already memory? Even memory? The dizziness becomes even stronger, as if he is posing as a fiery crescendo before he dies down. unexpected, unforeseen. Will he leave me too? Or did he just make way for me to see. A shadow, moving as a shadow, first, but then he pauses, right in front of me, so that he drops his shadow. I let my eyes wander over the figure. to the eyes. Serious is the look.

“Finally I found you,” says the mouth and I hear without understanding. Maybe so much that you have to have looked for me to find me, at least the figure in front of me, “It’s not easy, not easy to understand, staying and going, even if it’s as natural and commonplace as If it had been possible, if we did not let the world in constantly, this world that really means nothing to us, then we could have loved each other, loving, as that which embraces happiness and also the pain that is more as that all, more comprehensive, than that which does not conceal and frighten but upholds and carries, root and unfoldment, it could have been. ”

Without a doubt, the figure takes my hand, which now promises to become you. Maybe it’s possible to love, that way. Maybe. It does not matter because it just changes that life passes through me from now on and does not pass me by anymore. Then the dizziness goes, too, or he just hides, maybe.

Inspirational reflection

A lost, in the middle of the transmission of a city that remains misunderstood. So much life that does not really touch, that exists only as a shadow. Homelessness in the form of abandonment. What remains if one’s own history is lost. Hustle and bustle, which subsides again when there is nothing left to do. Flattens off into the chaos of the night to raise again in the morning. It has no meaning because it remains indiscriminate. Forgetting it is just not being alone, and if it’s just dizziness. Shadow as the pre-and after-life. But when one of these shadows steps out and gives a story that is happening, then the illusion of connection is opened. Maybe nothing more than an illusion, but at least this one. It can be together. And what has been seen, which is accentuated, finally personalized, becomes the link. Utopia, non- and all-place, which can be home or at least be able to convey the feeling anew because the movement happened and the touch and the opening. The inspiring spark is the centering on the untouchability through the pure facticity. Conditions. They are not insurmountable, even if they stay. They only change the perception. From an exclusion becomes an assumption, by addressing. It is possible. Not only maybe.

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