creatures - called ‘human beings’- become rats at an increasing speed recently,
for the settlements were transformed into drains? So many cities, conurbations
had been transformed into drains probably because the creatures – called ‘human
beings’ – had become rats at an increasing speed recently.
Were the so-called modern (!) human beings destined to become rats? Were the
settlements all polluted, could one not give up all he had – just like a
Don-Quixote – and go out to the highlands?
(Having taken the image of transcendence as his guide, the man set out his way
for the mountain peaks where he looked for purification.)
Cervantes had killed Don-Quixote but Son-Quixotes were alive, each of whom was a
symbol of uncompromising lives that were pregnant with principled struggles.
Each was a beginning to become a ‘human being’, a lance against passions for
possession, a sword against the love of ego, a shield against longings for being
admired. Each was a mature spirit to be peeled off from their body cage in order
to attain divinity; their goals were boundless. And end/less were the Son-Quixotes;
the Son-Quixotes were end/less.
(The man learnt to be ‘a man’ from Son-Quixotes that he painted on papers, on
clothes for months.)
Mountains were still full of mysteries, full of miracles: One day a pure white
sparrow, among the flowered brunches of an almond tree said “Hello world!” How
divine it was for this white (as if sunken in lime) sparrow to sustain – as if
denying its species, nevertheless – its existence!
The letters from a quite young person – who furthermore resided in cities – to
the man in the mountains those days were dispersing tones of maturity,
vibrations of whiteness around.
(The man gave the name of Albino Sparrow to that juvenile.)
Everywhere the man in the mountains lived was full of Son-Quixote paintings in
away...” was what they said, “Maybe a few captive souls thus have us in mind and
give up to be converted into rats. We are enlivened remedies for the ‘white
sparrow souls’ squeezed among brown sparrows.”
(The man heartily felt the enthusiasm to introduce ‘Son-Quixotes’ with the
‘white sparrow’ in the city. He came down to the cities from the mountains.)
Those who had become rats completely; who had just begun to become rats; who
were trying not to become rats listened to Son-Quixotes. The Son-Quixote
paintings lined on the walls whispered into eyes and hearts the principle, the
necessity that the struggle is to be carried out against our egos, the soundness
of solitude for days, without wearying of what they did.
However, they had perceived that the so-called transcendent youngster, who was
assumed to be Albino Sparrow, actually was a rat that had fallen into a vessel
of yoghurt and then had feathers stuck on.
(Having cut off the root named ‘Hope’ from the very deep, the man has been
hawk’s wing and pure cloud.)
The Son-Quixotes took no notice for the agony of being mistaken: “Even though
you consumed the hope, you have to shed colour on Albino Sparrows, the ruthless
rats and us, the Son-Quixotes to help us live forever.” they kept uttering: “We
are to be introduced to the real ‘white sparrow-souls’ residing at unknown
whereabouts; thus might be a remedy, a way, a light for them. The first one was
an illusion but maybe second, third or fifth...”
(Slipping his collar from the hope, the man wrote these on paper, painted these
('Son' means 'the end' in Turkish, i.e. the original language of this manifest.)