Death is a recurring theme in nearly all of my works, and all too quickly, this might give the impression that I am weary of life. That is not true. I love life, I love feeling the sun on my skin and taking in the smells of nature. This morbid fascination with death—I think it stems from the fact that I came into contact with death and its effects far too early in my life.
I approach the subject differently than most. I firmly believe that death is not the end. I don’t believe that when the body ceases its functions, we disappear into a hole and that’s it. No. I am convinced of the existence of the soul, and its continuation after the body’s demise. I cannot prove it, and for various reasons, I don’t even want to, but I have experienced enough to say: There is something beyond.
I’ve titled this short article „On Dreams and Journeys,“ because, in my perspective, many dreams and dream experiences are a kind of journey. Sometimes into the incredibly vast depths of one’s unconscious, sometimes actual journeys of our souls, detached from the physical vessel. Traditionally, death and sleep are often regarded as brothers.
Of course, I grieve when a loved one or an animal that accompanied me passes through this final portal of life. It’s not as though I celebrate death—quite the opposite. It brings much pain and suffering; sometimes, it approaches cruelly, leaving one writhing under its influence. Yet it can also be gentle, a release from suffering and illness. And yes, I fear it!
Hey, just because I believe that death is more of a transformation than an end doesn’t mean I’m in a hurry, even if my loved ones are waiting for me behind that final door.
I do, however, always look forward to the little brother of death—namely, sleep, and the dreams he brings. I rarely have nightmares, and even when I do, I have learned to access my consciousness and act within the dream itself. They sometimes show me what is amiss, or herald other things I face with wonder.
Dreaming and traveling—no matter how often I delve into this world of dreams—it remains a vast land full of wonders and horrors. A place where longing resides, along with anticipation. Where the ghosts of unsaid words linger in the shadows, and where the things I didn’t find in life are named hope and guide me.
In my dreams, I travel, like a drunken butterfly, through landscapes, to distant places, and into foreign times, bringing back from there what longs to be written—this is how my stories come to life.