Wednesday, December 01, 2010
It is strange how the past appears to us: as series of sharply recollected moments against a more general background of imprecise atmosphere. I have had reasons lately to recall a past conversation that for some reason has been etched very clearly to my mind. The words do echo through the still time. I was 18 at the time, and frozen. I was debating with a pietist friend about praying, I was already then a vague pietist-agnostic, not really much concerned with God, but still vehement on this issue. My friend had said that he would certainly pray for example in the case of a loved one being seriously ill. I disagreed very strongly: I would not beg for what is right. A question of pride then, largely. I thought I knew sorrow but I only knew pain; I was frozen and burning at that time, flaming ice. Now melted for many years with just vague memories of that all-pervading hurt. But not without sorrow.