I asked the Old Monk if monks knew what discovery, creativity, and fulfillment can be involved in intercourse between the sexes and if there was anything in a monk's life that could approach that.
He smiled and said he could not speak for all monks, but that he himself had intimate intercourse with God every now and then, depending on God's willingness.
I told the old monk frankly that on all the great issues I had no solid stand . . . always torn this way and that. He looked at me and said: You are on the right path.
It was the best we could do! His hotel was near ours. Being a U.S. citizens we were allowed in a the high security zone. All we got to see though was his limousine as it rushed by on the way to the conference with the Chancellor, Angela Merkel. But in the park Dresden celebrated his being in town until late into the night. This city we bombed in 1945 was now light-hearted and in high spirits . . . 64 years later.
what I would do if I had a box for a long time in which I believed there was a great treasure but I had never opened it. When I finally did I found it was empty. What would I do?
I said I would get rid of it.
He said no, I should hold onto it and keep believing.
He was 55. They found him yesterday in his room on the floor, dead. We had taught together for over twenty years. His subjects were German, philosophy and religion. Both of us had seminary backgrounds, something in common. He lived alone on a Black Forest hillside. Being together with young students was his life.
He invited the English Department to dine in a cozy restaurant in this Black Forest village near the school where I taught. Even though I am retired, Jack thought I belonged.
Twenty-five of us sat at the table. Lively conversation. Older members talked about change and what it causes. I looked around and saw the young teachers, those who will be carrying the torch. They will be doing it their "new" way, not ours. It has to be that way. And it will work. . .
He a young Soviet Officer, she a teenager in Leipzig. 1946. They fell in love. For disobeying orders concerning fraternization with the enemy he was sent back to Moscow. She wrote letters. He did too, but his were censored and withheld telling that he was married and had children.
After the opening of the Iron Curtain in 1989, some fifty years later, she traveled to Moscow to look for him—and found him. He had never forgotten her, never married.
The undaunted couple celebrated their wedding in 2001.
It is her birthday today. Twenty-five years old. In the little town of Winnenden, Germany, not far from here, they are burying her. She was a young woman doing her practice teaching when the boy with the pistol came into the classroom and shot her through the head. And killed fifteen others. Then himself.
I told them one of the nuns in the 5th grade had a thick, wide paddle she would whack us with, and a thin ruler to swat our knuckles with. "Holy smokes!" someone said.
Nikolaus and I sat in this quaint restaurant and over cocktails hit upon a subject that fascinates both of us: crows. We found out that we both envy these birds passionately and would do anything to be able to be one with them in flight.
Our American craftsman with words — oh, to be able to say things with as much feeling insight as he had — passed away today, January 29, 2009. He said he polished words to make them come out right.
I keep hearing a new phrase they have coined over here in Germany: "The Obama Effect". They use this whenever they talk about the future and the hope of change for the better.
On the radio this morning I heard the President say this: "I screwed up . . . made a mistake. I must see that it doesn't happen again." Amazing words. Amazing man.
I stand at my window and think about my path along the edge of the woods. That will be happiness: to walk there, quietly, in the summertime, with the sun shining on my back.