- Too much information, too fast
- No natural stopping point
- Constant comparison with others
- Emotional whiplash (funny → sad → angry → shocking)
Your nervous system stays in a mild “alert” state. That’s why after long scrolling you often feel tired, anxious, foggy, or even sick. Reading a good book is the opposite experience:
- One story, one voice, one pace
- No sudden surprises every second
- Your brain can settle into focus
- Imagination replaces overload
This activates the calm side of your nervous system. Your breathing slows, your thoughts become steadier, and your mind feels safe to rest. Instead of being pulled in many directions, your attention flows in one direction. So:
- Social media = stimulation without rest → mental exhaustion
- Reading = gentle focus → mental relaxation
That’s why scrolling drains you, while a good book often feels like a warm blanket for the mind. [15/01, 17:25] Urs-Li: books alone do not work either; do not waste more than 20h with the bible or my book; i recommend already 3h in; you need to start playing the GamE; or you will end up like my former therapist in the best case; you can always revisit the books later; [17:33, 15/01/2026] Urs-Li: i will go for 666 pages and 109 chapters; it could be reduced to 1/7 if someone feels like editing; i try to make the last dozen pages count;
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IronSonik — 02:07 Oh, die neue Zoom-Konferenz ist ja toll! Mitglied des Bundesrates zu werden, ist eine wunderbare Idee. Was studierst du eigentlich dafür, oder welche Kriterien muss man erfüllen, um diese Position zu bekommen? Natürlich glaube ich an Gott, aber ich glaube langsam, ich denke an mehrere G?tter gleichzeitig.
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?Formal kann zwar jede Schweizer Bürgerin und jeder Schweizer Bürger kandidieren. Aber real ist das System nicht wirklich inklusiv. Ohne Geld, ohne Partei, ohne Lobby hat man praktisch keine Chance. Eine sogenannte Blindkandidatur ist symbolisch, aber politisch chancenlos. In der Praxis werden nur Personen gew?hlt, die bereits ein Amt hatten, Parteipr?sident waren oder stark vernetzt sind. Das widerspricht zumindest dem Geist unserer Verfassung, die Gleichheit und Offenheit verspricht. Deshalb ist das für mich eher eine rhetorische als eine reale M?glichkeit.“
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?Und zu Gott: Mir geht es in diesem Projekt nicht um die Frage ob man an Gott glaubt, sondern warum. Genau diese Warum-Frage habe ich früher gestellt, sogar bei Freunden, die ins Kloster eingetreten sind – und ich habe keine wirkliche Antwort bekommen. Bei mir ist der Glaube nicht aus Tradition oder Gewohnheit entstanden, sondern aus einem Experiment, aus einer Suche. Auch durch sehr ungew?hnliche Erfahrungen, zum Beispiel durch meine Beziehung zu einer Kr?he. Das war keine Romantik, sondern eine reale, tragende Beziehung. Ich habe darin etwas von Sch?pfung, Beziehung und Sinn verstanden. Und ich glaube, auch die Gedanken einer Kr?he geh?ren zu dem, was bei Gott ankommt. Darum fühlt es sich für mich manchmal so an, als ob ich mehrere Gottesbilder gleichzeitig trage. Nicht weil ich unsicher bin, sondern weil Gott gr??er ist als eine einzige Vorstellung. Wenn jemand einfach sagt: Natürlich glaube ich an Gott, ist das für mich philosophisch keine Antwort. Das ist oft eher ein Ausweichen vor der eigentlichen Frage. Die Warum-Frage ist unbequem, sie kostet Mut. Aber ohne sie bleibt der Glaube flach und hilft weder einem selbst noch anderen wirklich.“
Let me try to put this into clearer English, and also separate what is philosophical from what is psychological.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
So, the question “Why do you believe in God?” leads to the same problem Socrates faced: people cannot really deal with this question. Whatever answer you give is never “enough,” because the question is not technical, it is existential.
I think I now have two kinds of answers.
The first is close to Blaise Pascal. If you look at biographies, at history, at human lives, believing in God often seems to “work out better.” Not in a mechanical way, but in terms of meaning, resilience, responsibility, and hope. And even if the probability of an afterlife is very small, it is not zero. It cannot be excluded. So belief is not irrational; it is a reasonable wager.
The second answer is much more personal and emotional.
The godmother of my brother understood my book intuitively, even without really reading it, because her own brother committed suicide. She understood what I was trying to say: that the real tragedy is not only the act itself, but that the person did not find the courage, or the space, to speak. That is what she wished for her brother.
She told me a story about how, many years later, she was talking to herself, still carrying this pain, and suddenly something like a light went on. Because her brother was good at fixing things, she interpreted this moment as an answer from him. Not in a scientific sense, but as a form of closure. It takes trust to accept something like that. And you cannot really tell such a story to a psychologist, because it would immediately be reduced to a symptom or a projection. That is the difficulty: these experiences live in a space that is neither fully rational nor simply pathological.
The former abbot of Einsiedeln (I think you meant him) told me something similar, but even more minimal: he had a dream, heard a loud bang, and suddenly knew again what his purpose was. Like Simon of Cyrene, who helps carry the cross. No complex story, just a reset of meaning.
My problem was that I was talking about a “third testament,” about Heinrich Heine, and about new forms of religious language. At the same time, I had very intense dreams:
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A dream where a part of heaven collapsed onto Blocher’s house, and I felt like I had “blown up heaven” with my own resonance frequency.
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Another dream where I pulled the trigger of a gun.
Because nothing else was happening in my life at that time, I connected all of this into a single narrative. That is where it became psychosis: not because dreams exist, but because I treated them as objective cosmic events instead of symbolic or psychological material.
And this is important:
Your stories have more substance than many religious stories if we compare them strictly. But that comparison is already dangerous. The abbot’s dream, your godmother’s experience, your own dreams, and your interpretations all belong to the same category: meaning-making. They are not proofs. They are not revelations in the biblical sense. They are human attempts to survive, orient, and continue.
Where it becomes risky is when the symbolic becomes literal.
When you say:
It may have been a “Denkanstoss” by God for Blocher.
That is still symbolic and philosophical.
When it becomes:
I caused something in heaven, I triggered something cosmic,
then it crosses into a place that is psychologically unsafe.
So I would frame your position like this:
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Belief in God is not about having supernatural powers or receiving secret messages.
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It is about having a framework that allows suffering, guilt, coincidence, and hope to be integrated into a meaningful story.
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Dreams, intuitions, and encounters are not evidence. They are material for reflection.
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The danger is not belief itself, but confusing inner experience with outer reality.
In that sense, your faith is actually very close to Socrates:
Not “I know,”
but “I am searching for what makes a human life bearable and honest.”
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