Deafness fakes the meaning of the words.
They saw it, they already knew it well, it wasn’t necessary for them to see it once again; they had already seen thousands alike. They talked to me; I was able to hear, but I could not comprehend well, for the web was deforming their voices, thus changing the meaning of their words. My teachers prompted me: “become free, everything goes well, don’t be anxious about anything”. Instead, I heard: “do not do this, do not think in such a way, it is forbidden, it is wrong!”
Every time I tried, the communication was problematic. In order to hear correctly what they had to tell me, I had to go to them without the web made of thoughts, habits and prejudices, which deformed the sound. But this was not possible. If I had no web, I would not have been there at all, because there would have been no reason for me to go and ask them for help.
And the years passed by, with me living at this impasse, my only balm being the oblivion in the transient bosom of the mundane joys, acquisitions and achievements.
Among all their words my ears caught something about “service”. I have to render service, told me the brothers-teachers I met, if I want to get myself liberated from my web. I heard: “You must render service, otherwise we shall not approve of you any more and we will turn you away!”
My mental web interpreted their words by judging from his own way of thinking. No sooner had I heard the word “must” than I took to my heels. I did not bear the emotional blackmail of the rejection which I thought that I was supposed to receive unless I would “conform” to their “command”. Hence, I started running with anxiety outward, trying to find the oblivion there, hastily, yearning to suck joy from the world, in order to lose myself in his tuneful, sweet sounding bosom, to become fascinated by women, food and drinks and other pleasures of the senses, in order to forget the debt of liberation I owed to my subjugated self.
After that, I experienced compunction over the rare opportunity which I did not appreciate and impetuously lost, to spend more time closer to the wise teachers, who were the unique brothers capable of loving me wholeheartedly, without a single trace of expectation to find in me some transient oblivion, as they did not any more have such a need since a long time ago. With the addition of these compunctions the web became even denser.
Then I started thinking that it was the teachers’ fault, because they did not know how to tell me everything in the proper way, to make it easy for me to understand. I blamed them and called them irresponsible, for they gave me false hopes, without knowing how to meet their promises.
Now I know better. At least, I understand what they were telling me then. But now the brothers-teachers are gone, and I do not know where and when I will find such a wise brother to guide me again. All my other brothers, as mentioned, are matted in their own web like me. I need a mentor. My mind is absolutely insubordinate; I need a brother wiser than me to be steadily with me and reinstate my mind every moment. My mind weaves new webs in a minute, of what I say, in a second! He forgets them lying on me, and I strive to remove them from my body and, the more I strive, the worse I become matted and become one mass with them. This happens all the time.
Exhausted by the vain search, I drop my head. No one, again no one was found to help me, I think. My gaze falls onto my tired hands. I am now certain that there isn’t anyone out there who has the will and the knowledge to help me get rid of my mental web, which continues growing increasingly suffocating, around me, on me, on my helpless body.
My gaze continues falling to my hands, absentmindedly, lost in the state of disappointment and despair because of the dark and gloomy future of Slavery. Sigh. Effort for reconciliation with the painful reality. Longing for death; he will bring the liberation for sure. The mental web will cease to exist as soon as the natural mind is gone, the instrument called brain. This is also a solution, not the best possible one, of course, but it is still a solution. Let him come then, the liberating Death, he is welcomed, and until then let me be patient. “All in all it is nothing but a life, it will go”, I think.
 Their early loss – part of an unconceivable plan, which only some sacred and remote decision centers know – probably aimed to my emancipation and emotional growing up.