Once again, it is Good Friday, a day on which we become aware of the End, a day in which it becomes apparent that even sons of God can end up on the cross. That makes me ponder…
And when I think about something, it usually gives rise to some of my doubtful poems …
For the preaching of the cross is…
Once a very scholarly professor explained to us
That resurrection was simply a false metaphor.
It was illogical and did not fit with rational thinking
That a celestial intervened in his own order.
Moreover, it was superfluous for redemption, he said.
Truly, there are a lot of people who believe only
In order to receive eternal life in return,
Which, if you think about it, is quite foolish.
However, it is also foolish to put the cross at the centre
When it only means the end: The cross, the suffering, the evil
In life is just as irrational. Death has no meaning in itself.
It would be just a hopeless doctrine from which nothing could arise.
And in faith, something must rise from it, for His name’s sake alone:
For He is the God of life, the aliveness, not the idol of the dead.
* * *
Those who recognise the signs of the times
Can read the weather from the clouds,
Sense it from the wind, feel it within themselves.
You don’t even need to ask. You just know.
And if you know that a storm is coming,
You’d better turn around and leave the place
That offers no shelter.
On the other hand, whoever abandons his destination
Will never arrive. And the one who leaves his home
Without having a new one becomes rootless.
Perhaps he will then give up all that for nothing.
Because whether we reach our destination
Is not determined by the weather alone
– but by our own, inner will.
* * *
There are more than a few people
Who believe they can save
Time with all kinds of actions.
Various guides tell them how
They can supposedly do everything
Much more efficiently.
But time cannot be owned,
It can only be experienced.
And the moments we skip,
We do not live.
Actually, this is a truism – and yet
The gentlemen in grey have triumphed
Almost everywhere. The result of this
Is a severe loss of cordiality.
* * *
With a crowned sense of modernity,
Ailing in selfness with
No hope of return,
We find ourselves again
In the annals of time.
Yesterday’s snow, on our streets,
We rarely find any more.
Too fast and efficient are our
Mechanics who relegate yesterday
Just don’t grow old –
Is the maxim of our time:
To keep our ego open to
Constant change, and with
Fashion we model ourselves
Into modern individuality,
And we kill everything old.
What confidence remains for our elderly,
Who can no longer survive
They are not welcome in our
Brave new world. For their thinking
Is still alive. But weak.
Yes, the hours have become rare
Of hope, of confidence
For only one solid life,
But which would be eternal.
* * *
(for my never born child, written in 1995)
My dear son,
By the time you read this, many things will be different,
Your brick house, despite all the windows I built for you,
Will be so much too small: Your arms and legs sticking out,
Your stupid grin may be silenced, maybe you are wiser,
While a grey beard has masked my mouth and my scrawny legs
Are supported by crutches, perhaps.
With such strength you’ll want to pluck many stars
From the great, great sky. Try it, but do not resign.
If your head should spiral, when you see a girl
(which probably could happen sometimes),
Then give her yourself, not just your money.
The really true is often forgotten in this world:
With many numbers they measure the universe, calculate.
The cosmos, meanwhile, only opens up to you
If you never forget the inner, the true love –
Explore the world with your heart, not only with your brain.
So may your path let mine. It will be time for.
I hope, that you will satisfy your hunger.
You go out to young hapiness and gain many –
My little words return. But remember:
An end is always a new beginning.
* * *
The Four Angels
Everywhere is night, there is no light in the world – and that annoyed me.
Therefore, I sent out four angels into the world, which should dispel the darkness:
First I sent out the Angel of the West, the angel of friendship.
But no matter how much he searched in the great wide world, he found nothing,
For the world was so laden with guilt and grief that friendship was no more.
And he returned to me empty-handed and despondent.
Thereupon I sent the Angel of the North, who has the power to banish dark spirits.
And he banished many demons and made them harmless.
He illuminated the darkest corners and burned the idol altars.
But against the most powerful of the demons, Death, he could do nothing in the end.
And he returned to me sad and despondent.
Thereupon I sent the Angel of the East with the sword of fire, who has the power to set boundaries,
And he built up four sacred walls in all directions, so that no enemy would be able to harm me.
And there he has kept watch ever since and is flying his rounds.
At last I sent the Angel of the South, the angel of justice.
I sent him to all those who suffered from the world – for I thought:
How much more do all those need help who have no angels themselves!
And the angel raised up all those who were sick, the sad, those to whom evil happened in the world,
And he spoke courage to them, and he told them the glad tidings of the time of the Sun,
Which may come when the time of the night is past.
And the angel returned no more unto me.
But I thought: This then is what is meant by „bearing my cross“.
* * *
Good Friday Thoughts 2021
There were mainly three feelings
That played a role in my last decade:
Disgust for brash and insensitive people
Who constantly make the world grayer
Instead of more colorful
And who deeply contradict my inner being.
Sadness for all, that was irretrievably lost,
Sadness for time, the cruel predator, and
Sadness for all the moments that have not been.
Confidence that the world is more than its shadowy appearance
And confidence that one day a new sun will rise,
Confidence for bringing with it the true spring.
* * *