20th of August, year 1945
Word is the entire world is in ruins. I should be upset about it, or I should be glad it’s
all going to end soon. But instead I’m just staring at everything that’s going on around like it
isn’t real. Yesterday I got shot in the leg and I just stood there, head on the ground, looking at
the bleeding wound, amazed by how blood would pump out along with the beating of my
heart. I had the strange feeling nothing actually happened and that the hole in my flesh was
just another part of the body’s design.
Everybody on the battlefield has opinions about this war. Some of them are angry,
some think we deserve all of it, some of them are scared and some enjoy the continuous
killing. I, myself, am in between sides. I reached the conclusion that all the years I’ve spent
studying philosophy were in vain, so I stopped having opinions. I figured since the world is
such a nice place to live in and yet there are times when stuff like this happen, which are
totally uncalled for, we are not here to judge things. The world is a paradox. All we’re
supposed to do is observe.
I’m not saying a warzone is the best place to stop and observe and I’m not saying I’m
suicidal, but this very morning I was in the middle of a battle, bombs falling and bullets flying
all over, when I realised I was in the exact same place where my best friend died three months
ago. And I was shocked to see his body was still there, untouched. The ground around him
crawled with worms, but none of them seemed to dare get any closer than two inches. It was
the most curious thing I had ever seen. My friend’s body was like that of a saint. Suddenly, I
decided to lay beside him and place my wounded leg on top of him. I didn’t care about the
shooting around me anymore, I didn’t believe in such nonsense.
The sky was bright blue, not a cloud in sight and there was a gentle breeze cooling me
off. The terrible sound of the war faded, the bombs fell further and further away and the
bullets became scattered and harmless. I wasn’t on the battlefield anymore. I was lying on my
back on a wide plain, filled with silent corpses all looking at the sky. The ground beneath me
was warm and comforting and the sun was just perfect. And then I understood.
The war wasn’t real, it didn’t exist. We were all trees in a huge forest, not being able
to move, imagining we could. The Universe was still and inactive. Our ancestors had never
been animals, nor humans. We all originated from the same supreme almighty all knowing
omnipresent Dandelion. Petals so bright and yellow they were considered to be the sun.Leaves so long they covered the entire planet. Action had never been in our instinct. That is
why this war was growing so badly. We were meant to stay put. Understand the world without
modifying it, as it is and not as we make it.
I looked at my dead friend and I realised that he wasn’t surrounded by worms. There
were termites, white fat and huge, clenching their pincers in a threatening way. Our most
fearsome enemy – termites – surrounding us even in our dreams of moving.
I quickly got up and looked for termites on my body. But there weren’t any. Instead,
the entire field was swarming with them. A horrific view that made me choke with fear. Death
was all around us, clenching its white scythe at us, just waiting to devour us. You have to be a
saint to escape it.
Now, in the silence of the sleeping trenches, I think I must have fainted on the field
and imagined the whole thing, because I have no recollection of how I got back here. Still,
even if it was a dream, it helped me understand why the human world always gets itself into
such messy problems. It is always on the move, it never stops to think of its actions. It never
stops to see where it lives. I got to the conclusion that people should start stopping more often.
And that they should stop having impressions on how the world is. This modifies reality. The
world is not bad, nor is it good. It is simply most interesting.
The curious thing is that my leg is not hurting anymore and there is no sign of my
wound… Most curious.
20th of August, year 1945