Everybody lives within his own web, my in mine, the others in theirs

Everybody lives within his own web, my in mine, the others in theirs.

But will there ever be a possibility for breaking through this web, just like the butterfly, which breaks out from its cocoon?

This web, this cloth, this case, is language, and it consists of your worries for your own person, and the others for theirs, your wishes contrary to theirs.

This capsule is language, and language is the past, which have with personal and collective images in time to do.

The web consists of all this.

It is not one defined thing, but a whole heap, which the mind is carrying.

I have my burden to drag on, the others have theirs, and in such a way we ramble through the world, alienated to each other.

Can these burdens ever be put away, so that the mind meets the mind, the heart meets the heart?

This is the actual question of the Life Artist.