March 3 is “World Hearing Day”. The World Health Organization released its first “World Hearing Report” on the same day, stating that by 2050, nearly 2.5 billion people (1/4 of them) in the world will have hearing problems of varying degrees.
According to the report, the WHO has issued a warning that if countries do not take timely action, at least 700 million people will need to receive ear and hearing and other rehabilitation services. WHO Director-General Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus said: “Our hearing is very precious, and the lack of treatment for hearing loss will have a great impact on people’s communication, learning and living ability.” In addition, most countries have not yet Ministry and hearing care are included in the national medical insurance system, and it is not easy for patients to get services. Countries need to make up for shortcomings as soon as possible and strengthen prevention and screening efforts.
I am no longer writing this last page in Baden. I am no longer there, I am – my head already full of new attempts and plans – outside again in my steppe, again in my loneliness and hermitage. The spa guest Hesse died thank God and is no longer our business. Instead of him, there is now a completely different Hesse, also a man with sciatica, but he has her, not she him.
When I left Baden, it was indeed a little difficult to say goodbye. I had developed a love for all sorts of things and people, which I now had to tear loose, for my room, for my host, for the trees on the riverbank, for the doctor who once again proved himself most beautifully in the farewell audience, for the martens the friendly, pretty hall daughters Rösli, Trudi and the others, to the gaming room, to the faces and figures of some fellow sufferers. Farewell, friendly, always in a good mood, always willing helper at the diathermy machine! Farewell, giantess from Holland, and you too, blond-haired hero Kesselring!
The farewell to the innkeeper of the Heiligenhof was very nice. Smiling, he heard my thanks, my praise on his house, then he asked how satisfied the doctor was with me and my cure, and when I told him that the doctor had praised me very much and that I had the prospect of a complete cure, so that I could now leave Baden calmly, then the smile of my host rose to comfortable rascality, he put a friendly hand on my shoulder and said: “Yes, you travel quite happily! I congratulate. But look, I know something that you may not know: you will be back! ”
“I will come back? After bathing? ”I asked.
He laughed brightly.
“Yes sir. They all come back, healed or unhealed, nor has everyone come back. The next time you will be a regular guest. ”
I have not forgotten this parting word. He’s probably right. I will probably come back once, maybe many times. But I’ll never be who I was this time I’ll bathe again, I’ll be electrified again, I’ll be well fed again, maybe I’ll have depression again and get disgruntled and drink or play, but everything will be completely different, just as my return to the wilderness this time was different from any previous one . In detail everything will be the same, everything will be very similar, but on the whole it will be new and different, other stars will stand above it. Because life is not a calculation or a mathematical figure, but a miracle. It was like this all my life: everything came back, the same needs, the same desires and joys, the same temptations, I kept bumping my head on the same edges, fought with the same dragons, chased the same butterflies, repeated always the same constellations and conditions, and yet it was an eternally new game, always beautiful, always dangerous, always exciting. A thousand times I’ve been cocky, a thousand times dead tired, a thousand times childish, a thousand times old and cool, and nothing lasted long, everything kept coming back and yet was never the same. The unity that I adore behind the multiplicity is not a boring, not a gray, conceptual, theoretical unit. It is life itself, full of play, full of pain, full of laughter. She has been portrayed in the dance of the god Shiwa, who dances the world to pieces, and in many other pictures, she refuses to be represented or parable. You can enter it at any time, it is yours at any moment when you know no time, no space, no knowledge, no ignorance, where you step out of convention, where you are in love and devotion to all gods, all people, all worlds belonging to all ages. In these moments you experience unity and diversity at the same time, see Buddha and Jesus pass you by, no parable. You can enter it at any time, it is yours at any moment when you know no time, no space, no knowledge, no ignorance, where you step out of convention, where you are in love and devotion to all gods, all people, all worlds belonging to all ages. In these moments you experience unity and diversity at the same time, see Buddha and Jesus pass you by, no parable. You can enter it at any time, it is yours at any moment when you know no time, no space, no knowledge, no ignorance, where you step out of convention, where you are in love and devotion to all gods, all people, all worlds belonging to all ages. In these moments you experience unity and diversity at the same time, see Buddha and Jesus pass you by, talk to Moses, feel the Ceylon sun on your skin and see the poles stare in the ice. I’ve been over there ten times in the short time since my return from Baden.
So I did not get “healthy”. I feel better, the doctor is satisfied, but I am not cured, it can come back at any time. In addition to the actual improvement I brought with me from Baden that I have now stopped pursuing my sciatica all too grimly. I see that it belongs to me, that it is well acquired like the gray that is beginning to appear in my hair, and that it is unwise to simply erase it or to wipe it away. Let us be compatible with it, let us win it through forgiveness!
And when I come to Baden again, I will step into the warm water differently, experience different things with my neighbors, have different worries and games, write different things on my papers. I will sin in new ways, find new ways to find God again. And I will always believe that I am the doer, the thinker, the living, and yet I know that it is He.
When I look back on the few weeks of the cure, as with every review, that pleasant illusion of superiority, understanding and looking through arises in me, which one enjoys so deeply in youth at every new stage of life. I see the sufferings of mine The most recent self, the physical pain and the emotional distress are behind me, the fatal situation is over, and that Hessian who recently behaved so strangely in Baden seems to me to be far below the clever Hessian of today, who looks back on him. I see how exaggerated this spa guest Hesse reacts to ridiculous little things, recognize the funny game of its boundaries and complexes and forget that those little things only seem small and ridiculous to me because they are no longer relevant.
But what is big or small, important or unimportant? The psychiatrists declare a person to be mentally ill who reacts sensitively and violently to small disturbances, small irritations, small insults to his self-esteem, while the same person may calmly endure suffering and tremors which appear to the majority to be very bad. And a person is considered healthy and normal, who can be stepped on for a long time without noticing it, who endures the most wretched music, the most pathetic architecture, the most depraved air without complaint and without complaint, but who hits the table and the devil calls as soon as he loses a little at cards. In taverns I have very often met people with a good reputation, who are considered quite normal and honorable, because of a lost game, Seeing and hearing so roughly, so furiously cursing and raging that I felt the need to apply to the nearest doctor for the internment of these unfortunate people. There are many different standards that can all be accepted; but I will not succeed in considering any of them, be it that of science or that of current public morality, to be holy.
And the same person who can laugh at the self-description of the spa guest Hesse and who thinks this guy is quite funny (in which he is right) would be very astonished if he heard one of his own trains of thought, if he exactly and any of his everyday reactions to the environment described and analyzed in detail. Just as under the microscope something otherwise invisible or ugly, a piece of dirt, can turn into a wonderful starry sky, just as under the microscope of a true psychology (which does not yet exist) every smallest movement of a soul, no matter how bad or stupid or crazy, would become a holy, devout spectacle because one sees nothing in it but an example, a parable image of the most sacred that we know, of life.
It would be presumptuous to say that all my literary attempts for many years have been nothing but an attempt, a tentative attempt at that distant goal, a thin, faint premonition of that true one Psychology with the world eye, under whose gaze nothing is small or stupid or ugly or evil, but everything is holy and venerable. And yet it is kind of like that.
And when, now, saying goodbye to these pages, I overlook the whole of my Baden epoch with one last glance, there remains a discontent, a sting, a sadness. This grief does not apply to my stupidities, my lack of patience, my nervousness, my quick, harsh judgments, in short all my human inadequacies and mistakes, which I know are deeply conditioned and necessary. No, my grief, my emptiness and pain go to these records, to these attempts to show a tiny piece of life as truthfully and sincerely as possible. I am sad and ashamed, I must confess, not about my sins and vices, but only about the failure of my linguistic experiment, about the very poor result of my literary effort.
There is a very specific point where my disappointment is rooted. Perhaps I will be able to make this clear by means of a parable:
If I were a musician, I could write a two-part melody without difficulty, a melody that consists of two lines, two rows of tones and notes that correspond to one another, complement one another, fight one another, condition one another, at least but at every moment, at every point in the sequence, stand in the most intimate, liveliest interaction and mutual relationship. And anyone who knows how to read notes could read my double melody, would always see and hear the opposite tone for every note, the brother, the enemy, the antipode. Well, and precisely this, this two-part and eternally striding antithesis, this double line I would like to express with my material, with words, and I am sore working on it, and it does not work. I always try anew, and if anything gives my work tension and pressure, it is only this intense striving for something impossible, this fierce struggle for something inaccessible. I want to find an expression for the duality, I want to write chapters and sentences, where melody and counter-melody are constantly visible at the same time, where unity is always at the side of every colorfulness, seriousness is constantly at the side of every joke. Because for me that is only what life consists in fluctuating between two poles, in going back and forth between the two pillars of the world. I would like to constantly point out with delight the blissful colorfulness of the world and just as constantly remind you that this colorfulness is based on a unity; I want to constantly show that beautiful and ugly, light and dark, sin and holiness are only opposites for a moment, that they always merge into one another. For me are in the back and forth between the two pillars of the world. I would like to constantly point out with delight the blissful colorfulness of the world and just as constantly remind you that this colorfulness is based on a unity; I want to constantly show that beautiful and ugly, light and dark, sin and holiness are only opposites for a moment, that they always merge into one another. For me are in the back and forth between the two pillars of the world. I would like to constantly point out with delight the blissful colorfulness of the world and just as constantly remind you that this colorfulness is based on a unity; I want to constantly show that beautiful and ugly, light and dark, sin and holiness are only opposites for a moment, that they always merge into one another. For me are the highest words of mankind, those few in which this duality was expressed in magical symbols, those few mysterious sayings and parables in which the great contradictions of the world are recognized both as necessity and as an illusion. The Chinese Lao Tse has formed several such sayings in which both poles of life seem to touch each other for the flash of a moment. The same miracle is done in many words of Jesus, even more noble and simple, and even more heartfelt. I don’t know anything as shocking in the world as this, that a religion, a doctrine, a school of the soul through millennia that develops the doctrine of good and evil, of right and wrong more and more finely and more tightly, makes ever higher demands on justice and obedience finally ending at their summit with the magical realization,
But perhaps it is a great error, yes, a sin on my part, if I believe that I have to serve the proclamation of these highest premonitions. Perhaps the misfortune of our present world consists precisely in the fact that this highest wisdom is offered for sale in every street, that in every state church, besides the belief in authority, moneybag and national vanity, the belief in the miracle of Jesus, that the New Testament, is preached Containers of the most precious and the most dangerous Wisdom can be bought in every shop and is even given free of charge by missionaries. Perhaps such unheard-of, bold, even terrifying insights and premonitions, as found in some of Jesus’ speeches, should be carefully kept hidden and surrounded by protective walls. Perhaps it would be good and desirable that a person would have to sacrifice years and dare his life in order to experience one of those mighty words, just as he has to do it for other high values in life. If so (and on some days I believe that it is) then the last entertaining writer is doing better and more right things than the one who strives for the expression for the eternal.
This is my dilemma and problem. Much can be said about it, but it cannot be resolved. I will never succeed in bending the two poles of life towards each other, writing down the two-part melody of life. Nevertheless, I will obey the dark command within me and will have to try again and again. This is the spring that drives my Uhrlein.