"Anyone, however, who comes up with something entirely new and unknown is bound to reaps contradictory reactions from the public. I think it's right to tell you this at the very beginning. We know that our road will not be easy. But a New Age is dawning, we are living through the fresh first seconds of the new millennium, and what was the general rule in the past now applies only in the most tragic cases. True, there will always be tragedy, as there has been in the past and in the entire history of mankind. And prophets are always few. We have to reconcile ourselves to the fact that if we want to be pioneers of the New Consciousness, we shall have to bear, at least at the beginning, the burden of loneliness and misunderstanding, and perhaps even opposition and ridicule. In this one respect, however, history may be offer us consolation, for if we look back at the fate of prophets, we see that the path to recognition of their prophecies has always been thorny. We have only to look at the early Christians, the discoverers of the unknown, the scientists, thinkers and artists! We see their wounds, their blood, the isolation, and poverty that again and again caused them torturing doubts about their mission. Let us look at the stake where the flesh of Giordano turns to crackling, let us drink in the animal fear in the eyes of Darwin, let us chew on the severed, orphaned ear served up on the dirty plate! Let us look at the grey, greasy nails that tear the fine-fingered hands of the crucified Christ! Let us listen to the echoes of derision resonating in the labyrinth of corridors in Jan Hus's prison!
But this is the only look with which we shall favour history. European civilisation is hopelessly shackled by its history and has been helplessly treading water. Every civilisation with an abundant history has gone a little stale and even begun to stink - and the new people arriving in the world have inherited a dead-weight as a christening gift. A smelly burden that prevents them from spreading their wings and flying. A white gull, awkwardly stamping on the sandy seashore with a metal ring around its talon - and they kept telling him to be proud of his metal ring, his history! But in time the ring had grown large as a fetter shackle - and oh how sad the sight of that once free creature!
We want to throw away the manacles and fly off into the great unknown - to experience the true freedom of being, and not stand in the shadow of the archetypes our ancestors have left it - even of this involves the risk of losing our way, and of loneliness and fear of the unknown. Let us not gaze into the grey mists of the last century - but simply use the gains it made as self-evident, ordinary even, and the means to achieve our goal. That goal is progress - by no means only in the field of science or technology - but above all in the way our citizens think and feel, the entire complex of their being. How long shall we wait for permission to be ourselves, unhampered by the prejudices of the past? How can we know, indeed, what it is to be ourselves? Will you ever have the chance to find out? If so, then when? Will it be when the Prophet comes, who at one stroke will sweep away all that accumulated dust of prejudice and make it possible for every individual to see himself in unclouded light - himself and his absolute freedom?"
Flirkal stepped closer to Rosie and took hold of her chin. He looked straight into her eyes.
"I believe that just like me and everyone else, you too are burdened by a feeling of guilt. „You're not good enough, are you?" you tell yourself from time to time. But what does it mean - to be good? Ha! I imagine you summon up a whole set of movie images - a perfect woman, beautiful (in who's eyes?), sweet (why should you have to be?), intelligent (and who the hell decided that intelligence was a plus?), and in every situation „behaving appropriately in every situation" (but isn't that a bore?). You think you're not good enough when other people don't like you, when you don't have a throng of admirers at your back, when your career progress is not outstanding. You think you're not good enough because you don't appear on the cover of a fashion magazine, because you're only average at everything. You think you're not good enough when you make some faux pas in public. Or quite the opposite, you think you're boring because you don't have the courage to „be yourself" in the way you saw in a documentary about Hell's Angels, and it bothers you that you're not as uninhibited as Hippies from the Sixties, and you're ashamed at how much you depend on other people's opinions," Flirkal smiled right into her eyes.
"And all your life you're afraid something out of the ordinary might happen, something that wouldn't correspond to the picture of the old safe world in which you've settled down obediently since childhood," he said in a lower voice. He let go of her chin, turned on his heels and strode to the window with his hands clasped behind his back.
"That's not true," objected Rosie timidly. "How do you know? On the contrary, I'm not specially interested in the past, and I 'm not bound by conventions, at least not as much as most other people. I'm not saying you're not right about some things, but you could say as much to almost anyone..."
"Don't you sometimes feel like stripping in public? Or screaming out loud in the tram? Or running up an down Main Boulevard on all fours like a dog?", he interrupted, looking down onto the street through the window.
"Well, to be honest... not really. Although sometimes....perhaps...er...possibly..."
"But you'll never do it," he said thoughtfully. „You'll live your whole life compromising with the conventions of the old world. You'll try and find a good job, then a good husband, a washing machine, a refrigerator, a nice suit, admiration from your friends. You'll watch TV, work out at weekends. You'll wash with Persil. You'll do it all over and over again. You think you're safe! But there's a fly in the ointment. You'll die anyway! Hahahahaha!"
Flirkal grinned enthusiastically.
The two women, hidden in the gloom of the front corner of the room, joined him in a burst of chuckles.
