Wann sag ich wieder mein und meine alle?

Berlin, 9 november 1989.
A huge crowd of agitated citizens gathers at the wall which splits their country in two parts. A physical wall, seperating loved ones, family, friendships. An idealistic wall, dividing two political systems, two utterly different beliefs in how to cope with a society and all its problems. A symbolic wall, representing fear and misunderstanding.
The people scream, push and try to climb theĀ ‘Mauer’ in a struggle for unity. The guards – and they too, have a voice- totally overwhelmed by the mass, hesitate and at last, cannot hold back the mass.
There falls the wall. The physical wall. The temporary wall.

Facebook, 9 november 2016.
An invisible wall divides the country across the sea. It is invisible but can be felt by every single person. It is a wall that stretches across the ocean, pushes forward across the internet into peoples bedrooms, living rooms, kitchens. It grows into people’s hearts. We built it. And are still building it.

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A Collection of Impressions

The light was dim in the dining room and nobody spoke a word.
A serene melancholy hung as a murky haze over the group of people
who were gathered together.
Time seemed to go unrealistically slow.

Most of the food – a leftover from the weekend –
lay cold and unappetizing on the large table.
It spread a nasty smell in the house.

Although the silence was full of unexpressed thoughts,
nobody seemed willing to renew the discussion;
it felt like a wordless conversation and provided a welcome respite after the frightening chaos of the last days.

There were no words needed to understand each other.

Together they brought the dirty glasses to the kitchen.
Together they did the dishes, threw away the rotten food,
washed the red wine stains out of the table cloth.

As the evening proceeded, the air became clear again.
Breathable.

Fresh words were found in all languages.

Finally, a neat, white table cloth covered the table again.
A candle was lit.IMG_1173

I Cried

And all of a sudden everybody started to scream. Gasps, cries, shouts, prayers filled the air.
People were running, stumbling through the crowd, terror and bewilderment on everyone’s face.

What had happened?

What had happened?

The air grew dense with anger, leaving hardly any space to breathe.
More and more people came and joined the chaos, astonished by the recent horror.
Upset, vexed, enraged.

Tears.

In the middle of the chaos, a little boy stood on a rock. His name is Libra. Scales.
He silently watched the people around him in wide-eyed surprise.
Never had he seen anything like that before. He turned round and round on his rock and observed the people’s faces, listened to fragments of conversations, watched the bizarre mishmash of ideas and opinions. Some people carried images around and threw them into each others faces, shouting about sickness, about humanity, about war. Some of them closed their eyes or looked away. Some others only whispered soft words of despair, taking a neighbour’s hand.
Finally, he sat down to think.
Words didn’t come as easily to him as they would normally, but maybe it was better that way. Afraid to say something wrong, he stayed silent for a long time.
He thought about the different people he had met in his short life. He felt deeply connected to all and yet as if he really knew none of them. He wanted to understand them.
At last he spoke:
“Please, do sit down and talk.”