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If we think progress means that man is making himself independent of nature, we seem to be close to its peak. To believe this, we have to forget that with every step of estrangement from nature man, in his very self being nothing but nature, more and more becomes a stranger to himself. Alienated from nature and from himself, he meanders through landscapes of glass, leans on trees made of metal and breathes his solitude which is covered but most of all nurtured by the splendidness of those artificial things around him. The concrete world grows, glows and glares, making it easy to ignore her true nature being sham. Lifting the grey, yet lurid-coloured blanket covering all consciousness with gentle sleep, we see that the world is lying in ruins. What lasts, is an image of the world. Maybe weak, but audible and visible: truemmerstaub. |