Sense proving, 25-9-2021, Zell, Franz Swoboda
Prover 1No claim to special place. Am alone on the ground floor.
Strange: I take a little piece of the hat, then I want to take a little piece of the stem. Then the stem flips open like a door from the Advent calendar. The stem is tall inside and dark brown to black, hard on the inside, as if woody.
1. A strange squeaking sound when rubbing that doesn't change, no matter how fast I rub. Leather on leather? Rowers? Images, hesitant. I feel my orbit, and there's nothing in it. Skulls.
Woodsmen. No language. Single images, no story.
The little door, it points to no future, there is nothing. At least nothing to see. Into the past, then?
The nose in the front area strongly irritated, sneeze.
2. The squeaking becomes quieter, as if moved into the distance, but it's there. Like a complaint, has something of strain, effort. No clear images yet. I think again of the stem of the mushroom, so surprising, the way it's opened up, and is all hard and hollow inside, and dark. Old, crusty inside.
That's when the image comes: I'm in an artery that's already badly calcified. You can't see it on the outside, but when you cut it open, it's very hard on the inside. The squeaking comes from the erythrocytes squeezing through. Like through a door that too many are trying to push through at once. The erythrocytes are not the youngest either, they are already a bit leathery, they squeak when they push through the narrow artery.
3. (now I've written long, should rub again, there's a bit of a rush). Hey, old man, move aside (here come the young fresh erys from behind), make room, let us pass. Hey, you're no good any more, get lost, what are you doing there, you're just getting in the way. Man, you're dull. It's paralysing. Come on, move aside, can't you hear? You really have to give him a leg up, man, it sucks.
The old Erys, pushed to the edge, dry up on the wall, are fixed, leucocytes clear away what dangles loosely inside, the rest attaches itself to the inside of the vessel, thrombos stick and seal the corners and edges.
Now the young erys can go full throttle.
4. But with time the vessel becomes narrower. The erys from behind who are pushing become younger and younger. Those pushed to the edge also, earlier and earlier the older ones are squeezed to the edge.
Hey, speed up a bit. - I am. - No, you don't, you have to go faster. Let me pass.
And so on: younger and younger erys are pushed to the edge by younger and younger erys, hardening the inside, making it narrower and narrower. As a result, the speed inside increases more and more. The pressure from behind gets stronger and stronger (yes, the blood pressure...). From it becomes narrower and narrower. Finally, even the youngest and smallest Erys can no longer cope, give up, sink in, age before they can get rid of their load at the finish. In the end, no one makes it to the finish line. (This is then called a heart attack or stroke. I've never thought of it like that before).
5. In the end, nothing works at all. Not even the best make it to the finish line. What went wrong?
No, this is not about old age pensions, early retirement, euthanasia or dying with dignity/dignityless. It's about my arteries, my circulation, that I screwed up. What's wrong, what needs to be done differently?
6. I don't know, but there are images coming up that feel pretty good.
One is of a young one swimming to a squeaky old one, tying up, and the old one handing the young one his baton, the heme with the iron, the tools, the tractor, the engine, the motor. Then it is not a question of the old one dying, but a question of the younger one living on. Not a farewell, but a handover. What is important is not that I reach the goal, but the baton.
The other image: I should see in time what has become too much for me. To hear my own squeaking. What I am complaining about. Let the complaint be heard where it needs to be heard, namely within myself. And when it squeaks, then I look for what is wrong. And I find it in everyday life. There is something about my daily activity that no longer fits, that I have to change. It was too much, too long, too one-sided.
Thrombosis of the ageing surgeon.Trembling of the ageing watchmaker.
Forgetfulness of the ageing philosopher.
Dizziness of the ageing roofer.
Vascular disease of the endurance athlete.
Carotid stenosis and atrial fibrillation of the 80-year-old do-it-all maker.
Also:Thrombosis of the not-yet-old surgeon. Tremors of the not-yet-ageing philosopher, etc.
"But that has never been a problem" "It has always worked until now".
Order to change the everyday as a result of vascular disease.
DiscussionJoy and love were not in there. Fir Christmas.
Doors - like peeling out a carotid artery.
Prover 2A little door opens in the stem; Advent calendar; inside dry, brown, woody, hard, as if dead; Through door "nothing" seen...squeak like complain, effort; old crusty...
Calcified artery - you can't see it from the outside; like a door through which many people want to force their way....
Old people are pushed against the wall; young ones push forward; it's getting narrower and narrower; Speed is increasing, pressure from behind is getting stronger and stronger....
The young age earlier...
Heart attack, stroke, thrombosis.
Living on in younger people; passing the baton.
See in time what has become too much for me; I have to hear it in myself.
Everyday life makes the problem, what one has always done; Thrombosis of the ageing surgeon; Trembling of the watchmaker
"but that has never been a problem, it has always gone well.
Order to change the mundane; Vascular disease
Pass on to the younger ones before the stroke comes
Step aside; find love for myself again
Iron series, order, rigidity.
The old encrusted must come out; Thrombosis, post thrombosis; recurrence prophylaxis.