Steiner's Digest

Today wasn’t so bad. A few minor skirmishes that didn’t turn out the way I wished (why do I still have expectations, why do I still hope for some – most likely – illusory outcome?). But the war isn’t lost yet. The problem is that I don’t know what the war is about anymore. Life, like any war, develops its own dynamics. It grabs you and carries you off like a torrent, and all you can do is try to keep afloat and catch your breath once in a while.

Today I was able to do just that. It was after those skirmishes. A blissful moment of total exhaustion and sweet indifference, so soft and light that I almost failed to realise it before it was over. There was a hint of melancholy in it, a subtle taste of forgiveness and absolution, ever so faint and soft, like a warm breeze that caresses you briefly on a summer evening when the day’s heat has subsided and the sky turns pink and then ruby-red and finally purple before the dark envelops you and – if you’re lucky – lets you forget and hope and just be.

It’s probably not much. But it’s a beginning.