The Red Cliff

Karin did not like the film. Too many battle scenes. Why would the Chinese allow and sponsor such a film? Well, after the devastation of the so-called cultural revolution, after the taste of Mao had turned sour in their mouths, it was time to re-discover the past. And there is enough political and cultural ideology embedded in the film for political correctness. Furthermore, we are showing the world, Holly- and Bollywood what the Chinese film industry is capable of. I enjoyed the film from beginning to end. It’s an operatic masterpiece. Very satisfying for the eye and lovely little cameos. Letting the cup of tea overflow: You are so full of yourself that nothing else has space in it. Or: will you be our ally? Instead of answering in so many words they sit down to play a many-stringed instrument. And their question and answers are exchanged through music.

Letting our own personal histories run like sand through our fingers. Considering the quality of the sand. Considering the element of time while watching the breakers roll onto the beach churning the sand. Every grain of sand has its own span of time assigned to it. There is so much of it. Of grains of sand of time. When I am overflowing with emotion, am I emptying myself to make room for firmer, more settled thoughts?

Empfindungen. Die Betrachtung der Zeit. Betrachtung der Wogen wie sie an den Strand rollen und den Sand zermalen. Oder dem Wind zuhören. An manchen Tagen lässt er den Dünensand singen. Ist Zeit dann auch Musik? Hat Zeit Klang und Farbe? Zeit des Windes. Und Zeit selbst? Was für eine Zeit hat sie? Was ist über folgendes Bonmot zu denken: Gott hat den Europäern die Uhr gegeben und den Afrikanern die Zeit.


The voice of thunder

The voice of thunder is a powerful thing. It awakens you at night. And you have nowhere to turn. The voice of God in its many disguises. And you are full of fear. What if? What if the roof caves in under the weight of water thundering down. What if lightning strikes your neighbour’s shining new chimney pipe? And the house goes up in flames. And frantically they rattle at your door begging for help. What if. And then the thunder moves away over the mountain and growls from far and it has passed and the rain is falling soft and you are released.

Am nächsten Morgen der Tag so frisch und klar und die Ängste der Nacht wehen wie Wolkenfetzen ins Himmelsblau. Die Stimme des Donners ist verhallt. Und du nun wieder stark fürs Leben.

Adieu, Freunde.