H. Fischer: What I Most Want to Tell God, Gebunden

Klappentext

This book is not an ordinary reading book. It is not meant to be devoured like a novel, not to be understood like a scientific treatise, not to be read like a report. It is a work of art, a space for meditation, for silence, for inner reflection.

At first glance it appears empty, almost mute. Yet this emptiness is not a lack, but an invitation. It is the open space in which one¿s own thoughts may grow. Whoever takes the book into their hands continues it inwardly, not with ink, but with awareness, with memory, with prayer. In this way, every reader becomes a co creator.

A single word stands at the center, stronger than many others. It is the shortest and at the same time the most sincere prayer that can be spoken. A word that needs no further explanation and yet carries within it countless meanings. The seemingly empty pages are therefore not empty, but a vessel that becomes filled only through the thoughts and feelings of those who read.

Numbers and symbols lend this work additional depth. The number five stands for the hand, the senses, the human. The number seven has always been regarded as the number of perfection and divine rhythm. The number eight, when laid on its side, becomes the symbol of infinity. Nature, too, knows such mysterious signs: the rare green flash on the horizon, a moment between day and night, beginning and end. A symbol of transition, just as this book itself is a transition, between the visible and the invisible, between word and silence, between knowledge and mystery.

This work is independent of religion. It binds itself to no denomination but opens itself to all people, believers and atheists, seekers and doubters alike. It does not provide ready made answers, but opens up spaces. It does not lecture, but accompanies. It does not demand, but invites.

Perhaps the greatest secret lies in the fact that it is not so much about the book itself, but about the dialogue it awakens within us. Every person brings their own story into it, every reader rewrites it invisibly anew. Thus there is not one single book, but as many as there are readers.

A quiet riddle, a meditative space, a work of art that transcends the boundaries of language and religion. A book about gratitude, silence, and symbols. About the experience that the essence does not lie in the abundance of words, but in the depth of emptiness, and in the power of a single word.