Mysteries of life - dancing under the linden tree with a Sphenoid in times of Corona

We are currently being asked big questions about life, something invisible to our eyes has an enormously complex impact on our reality. What helps me to find orientation?
In this video I introduce you two of my personal masters of deeper knowledge of life: The Sphenoid (os sphenoidale), the central bone in our skull and a fresh leaf of a linden tree, the outer contours of which became a symbol of the heart and love internationally. How? What do they teach us?
My name is Andreas Rochholl, I am a Cultural Entrepreneur, Filmmaker and Intercultural Coach based in Berlin. After six weeks of experiencing the worldwide impact of the Corona virus in our daily life, I wanted to share some thoughts with you to inspire you to find your own answers for your personal situation.

The music at the end is from my friend Mehran Ghaedipour, a composer and musician who lives in Bushehr at the Persian gulf.

The poem quoted at the end (by J.W. Goethe)
"Seelige Sehnsucht"

Sagt es niemand, nur den Weisen,
Weil die Menge gleich verhöhnet,
Das Lebend'ge will ich preisen,
Das nach Flammentod sich sehnet.

In der Liebesnächte Kühlung,
Die dich zeugte, wo du zeugtest,
Überfällt dich fremde Fühlung,
Wenn die stille Kerze leuchtet.

Nicht mehr bleibest du umfangen
In der Finsternis Beschattung,
Und dich reißet neu Verlangen
Auf zu höherer Begattung.

Keine Ferne macht dich schwierig,
Kommst geflogen und gebannt,
Und zuletzt, des Lichts begierig,
Bist du, Schmetterling, verbrannt.

Und solang du das nicht hast,
Dieses: Stirb und werde!
Bist du nur ein trüber Gast
Auf der dunklen Erde.

English:
"Blissful yearning"

Tell this to no one but the wise,
for the masses will just ridicule it:
I would praise the living thing
that yearns for death in the flames.

In the cool hush of nights of love,
when you conceive as you were conceived,
a strange feeling overcomes you
when the quiet candle gleams.

No longer do you remain captive
in the darkness of these shadows;
and a new desire rips you
toward a loftier intercourse.

No distance can make you heavy:
you come flying and spellbound,
and at last, eager for the light,
poor moth, you are burned to death.

And so long as you have not attained it,
this, "Die and become!",
you will only be a gloomy guest
on this dark earth.