– Confession –
So many times a day I now let myself just cry... over nothing, not over the news, toxic dumping, competitive moves, or pervasive numbness and dullness (those things make me stunned, fearful, fierce, courageous, and clear), but the tears seem to flow when across the realization of how human we really all are, fragile and strong – oh such beauty – and how we forget that fact when we can’t bow, when busy with power struggles – because then we ride high and proud on our horses trampling over the dead, elders, children and our own broken gift of humanity, oblivious to the destruction we leave behind, as if those houses and churches and lives buried in rubble never existed, as if nothing ever happened, as if we are invincible... this makes me cry....
The botoxed face of Putin, the swollen angry grimace of X or Y, the demanding stride and swing of Will, the famed celebrities basking in their glory as nothing ever could touch them, they all feel better than ever, but Will knows he broke something sacred inside of himself... Selling to the devil brings us closer to the hell realm after all. Chris received, yielded, and named what happened. At times I feel tenderness towards the enemies of precious life and their follies... At other times I can only refuse to be seduced, bought, and used...
I definitely don't see enemies, and if needing to defend a child I might take up a gun, too, but I still could not see the enemy. I wonder… this must be my father's legacy and gift to me... And these days, having heard myself tell in a few short sentences his “story” of miraculous survival as teenager in war times – something I religiously shied away all my life – now the words want to be spoken, be dislodged from my throat, and some day perhaps appear here in written hieroglyphs…
Comments
But by now this belief has been thoroughly pierced for me. As we start to question worldwide: does it matter who perpetrates? Victim and perpetrator are intertwined, both suffering, being killed and wounded. They are brothers and sisters, like Germans and Jews, like Russians and Ukrainians, like white and Black people in America. I have seen some deep waking-up about this in me and in parts of the culture world wide. I am utterly moved by Russians who feel guilty and complicit through their silence. Or by Ukrainians who see the confusion of some Russian soldiers. This more nuanced promises healing and lasting insight. Unlike denial, sugar coating, and ferocious condemnation, the complexity of human existence begs for being held with open heart, even or especially when bleeding. I bow deeply to all those who can live this way, like your Jewish father and my German father. Both their stories so shocking, almost not comprehensible, and yet they survived with utter humanity. How blessed we all are to have these models and ancestors. May we live up to to this legacy! May we be guided by true north.
Ich bin dankbar für dein tiefes Fühlen und diesen Weg der Annahme der Tränen, wie auch der Klarheit im Sehen, wie auch des Weiter Atmens mit dem kompass unseres Lebens ... der Liebe.
Ein Ja zum Leben in den Zeiten der Verhärtung ....
Your brother Matthias
I am going to translate for English speaking readers:
"Yes, dear Karina. I am thankful for your deep feeling and this path of accepting tears, as well as clarity of seeing, and the continuation of breathing with life's compass: love. A Yes to life in times of hardening... ..."