What's allowed is right 

It's Easter Sunday! I thought about it, also because my long-time teacher and confidante in Guatemala had looked at the rough version of this text (in Spanish) and wrote me, you are absolutely right! and also, I understand you!
In the second part of her message, however, she had struck a subtly different note, which I immediately felt was a reprimand. Rightly I understood this as a reminder! I also thought, as so often, of that person with whom I keep getting into a fight over subjects like health and rules. Both voices are important to me.

In order to understand my point of view, you must know that I have been struggling for breath ever since I was born. A clogged lung, cured by medical intervention, pneumonia and an incubator, and again and again breathlessness without end. And all further medical efforts without effect. At the same time the perhaps absurd question whether I had been dragged into this life against my will, or whether I had pushed myself into it without having been invited. Yes, pretty hopeless!

I was forced, even encouraged, to find my own way. Also I do like smoking, I am rebellious, and I often say that smoking has saved my life: the peace pipe!

"A likely story! (Believe it or not, you'll be saved!)"
      or
"He who believes will be saved."

Colors of knowledge, doubt and hope.

[Lament – unedited]
Oh God, I'm desperate again, I could scream out loud! I understand all the caution, and I appreciate that the daily madness has come to a standstill. That nature breathes a sigh of relief and the dolphins are playing in the harbors of the imprisoned again. And in the evening, peace has returned to this main street. Also that I can listen to beautiful music and read hopeful texts that my friends share with me. But slowly I realize that I won't be able to stand it for long enough to only move in a virtual world, at a distance.

At the moment I am even doing this with passion, in the same way as I do other things. But then, slowly it drives me to the brink of madness. I have realized how often I have walked and met people without them looking at me anxiously or even – almost horrified – avoiding me. And then I even find myself doing the same sometimes – already infected by the virus I fear the most.

The physical contact is missing, the hugs, the hands that touch each other. Glances that can also be absent or repellent, sure, but always those that smile without fear, and even those that seem to promise something. The fact that the trains are emptier, if I dare to board them at all, I like. But all the anxious rejection I encounter when I suggest a visit to a balcony or terrace, or to the lakeside – even at the necessary social distance – makes me angry, frightens me. I even understand it, and that drives me even more insane.

I'm looking forward to the time when I have to leave this apartment at the end of May because I gave it up, and then I'll be standing on the street. Do I go right? Do I go left? Maybe – before I can set off for Guatemala – I'll go on foot, off into rural areas, into the mountains, to places where people are not yet so anxiously spellbound by Covid-19 and stare at questionable statistics, all of them strangely united and tightly aligned. There, where people do not yet know or do not want to know what modern health is – the density of medical practices even lower, and no hospital with an intensive care unit in sight. Where the methods of cognition are also subjective, the most objectivity can be found at the local bar.

Where people don't know that their lives are threatened by Covid-19. No, not by a simple flu, nor by life fatigue or the desire for a change of scene. No, it's a clearly identifiable disease with a fatal outcome that could be avoided. And preventing it, of course, a matter of humanity.

I'm happy when I meet people who hardly speak German, like the one we meet now and then on the way down through the nearby ravine, and with whom we gossip a little freely – refreshment for the soul. He talks radiantly about how he smells the saltwater, and points south, and about his olive trees. I am happy when a saleswoman still likes to take cash in hand, and touches me with the change without hesitation, in more than one sense. How nice it would be to have a spontaneous hug again. Impulsively, without prior assurance, without a certificate that it is done in mutual agreement, instinctively and without it being expected of one, without fear of dragging others to their death. This is not a modern way of dying. And being able to touch dirty hands without the protection of disposable medical gloves used in hospitals. And without disinfectant, in the way I used it yesterday in the shop, more for fear that others might discover my irresponsible negligence. Afterwards my hands itched and were very dry, felt strange. No feeling that this would have been particularly beneficial to my health.

Do we all just want a virtual, and guaranteed healthy and clean world? It is virtual anyway, some might say. Or: maybe we will learn to be considerate of each other and not to push! Yes, well – that wouldn't be bad – but I'm afraid it just that won't happen. How quickly we are back in the old circus, in the old routine. Because: What is allowed is also – again – right.
[Lament - unedited]

But who knows, miracles do happen, and the virus may still become reasonable, perhaps a little more poetic, less determined by prose – on this day of resurrection.

PS1: Nightmare: the deathless cyborg, the human-machine, worse than the mercilessly intelligent robot.

PS2: Maybe good, we wouldn't have a plan for once, although I do love concrete plans. But maybe we could talk again – right at the beginning, even at school – not only about concrete and proven goals (no alternative!) or about competences that are considered good – but also about where we want to go. Each individual. And maybe we can do it together. And also ignorance, and cluelessness, are allowed. Sure, no abrupt change, no, not acting straight. Just reflecting ...
We have time, all the time in the world!

PS3: Something sweet, as compensation, from my neighbor (her birthday!), thanks! (see photo)

Song, unforgettably sung by José Feliciano: "Old Turkey Buzzard".