But before we go out into the street, one last image of tiredness. All right. It is also my last image of mankind, reconciled in its very last moments, in cosmic tiredness.

be surmounted.

I know of no recipe, not even for myself. All I know is this: Such tiredness cannot be planned, cannot be taken as an aim. But I also know that it never sets in without a cause, but always after a hardship, a difficulty needed to

Everything becomes extraordinary in the tranquillity of tiredness—how

Such confusion is at present just the thing for me and my problem.

In this stage the tired god sat tired and feeble in his tiredness, but—just a notch tireder than a tired human had ever been—all-seeing, with a gaze which, if acknowledged and accepted by those seen, regardless of where in the cosmos, would exert a kind of power.

although none of these may suspect the presence of the others, they are all there together at the moment, my moment.

I have an image for the “all in one”:

And in the tired look, the relative is seen as absolute and the part as the whole.