Demian

Now that I have the book in Esperanto, I've started to re-read it. Hesse is the one fiction author whose books are worthy of re-reading. A thousand times. But that's not really what I wanted to say. I suppose what I really want to say can't be expressed with words. Except perhaps through hints... Dark blue. Lacrimas Profundere. Something I felt so powerfully two years ago and tried so hard to overcome through Kierkegaard. No, that's not right, either, what I felt two years ago has nothing to do with what I feel now. The world of Hesse's books, at least the books I love most... the world and the people. A part of me believes something like that can exist. Something so deep. So genuine. With the border between everyday reality and visions of dreamworld so thin indeed. Mystical. Magical. Archetypal. So utterly different. Something like what I imagined when I was younger. These days, the world and the people around me are wonderful... but everything fits into the frames of the mundane. Going beyond that would be nice.

Of course I have SO much work in the mundane world alone for now. I just had to say something here.