It is to forget wisdom and finding it. Yes, there are mistakes, the unthinkable. There is mess, the intolerable. There are undesirable things that appear to you and you won’t like them. They drive you nervously out of balance. Things that are found under that shouldn’t be there, something should be solved, but not the things that can be forgotten or leave unsorted or get over with the easy stuff first. There isn’t a time without something to be solved, mostly it is you, it is always you. One thing is the cover suit that protects you from infection, it is for your own good and courtesy to other people. They will know your task. It is to avoid from getting dirty, from harm, from others, from touching, from contact, that fear that suspicion, skin and cells, hair and smell. To be protected from contact, wear a mask not to be seen, not to inhale the unseen, unpreventable still, unpredictable deadly disease that spreads via secretion and breath. Afraid of the deadly virus and there is no cure. It is precaution, it is to be sure in isolation. Desire in the world of neurosis gets shrunk. It is death. All is covered by death. The want and the need to live, smell of death and you have to breathe it in order to solve it, to have the wisdom to know the world, to have time to know the world. To pass on wisdom of the world, to keep on living, to reflect the world outside of me, world which affects me, shapes me and is me, is in me. To fall apart inside a suit that I put on to protect me.