This week, I’ve actually maneuvered myself into quite a peculiar dilemma. I was firmly committed to my plan to follow up my past few, emotionally heavy, word-laden blog posts with something completely different. For balance so to say. What I had in mind was some kind of follow-up post that not only had nothing to do with my previous ones but which didn’t have any need for a meaning or a punchline. One that existed without any context to anything. A leightweighted one that was able to lift the heavyness behind rationality, even if only for a brief moment. A post that should also arrive here as unexpected as the Spanish Inquisition (not the real one, but the one from the Monty Python sketch) and that featured one of my many, strangely-awkward, a little funny but totally unexplainable associations of my mind (like how that place from the photo above somehow always reminds me of an old, mystical elephant graveyard). A post that’s short and sweet. With a dash of Dadaism. Exciting in taste, somewhat funny on swallowing, and above all: easy to digest.
But then the unexpected happend, things changed. It is said that in life everything is interconnected, relates to each other. People, their stories – everything. I couldn’t agree more. After reading Sarah’s last, deeply personal blog post, my original idea no longer felt right. In any way. I simply couldn’t and didn’t want to leave Sarah and her post standing there alone and unadressed – like, yes, like a solitary porta-potty on a vast, open storage site.
A transformation was needed. Urgently.
How could I bid farewell to my original idea, perhaps approach it from a whole new direction instead, and thus create a new connection, contact with Sarah’s post – without making the whole of it feel ridiculous or even trivial. Where is that one, probably very small, intersection? Between the emotions of Sarah’s post, my reaction after reading it, my strange photo, and maybe also my original idea to maintain a certain balance between all of it. How can deeply personal memories, the moving act of retracing steps and the mood of Ichigo Ichie go together with a rainy-day photo of dozens of Austrian chemical toilets – in a way that has some warmhearted, lightweighted, meaningful and – above all – truly compassionate outcome?
It has taken me longer once again. Until the essence of the matter came to light. And until it felt “right”. Somewhat “right”……
What’s going on here is something deeply human and personal. A story as life is, as life happens. The usual gets interrupted. A sudden change of situations. Urgency, Tension. No more holding it in. Something that needs to be dealt with carefully. Preferrably alone. Just by oneself. Certainly in a safe place. Some kind of shelter. A discreet place of tranquility, peace and quietness. A place that’s fine for such deeply human encounters and personal needs. Letting go of things. Lightness. Peace.
What happens next is even harder to put into words: one hears a cautious, gentle and respectful knocking from outside. No, it’s not an intruder – it’s an ally, a friend. No harm at all. Just understanding. The oldschool, altruistic kind. The lock’s undone from the inside, the door gets opened a tiny crack wide. Alright, now it’s obvious what was missing all along. It’s not something that’s life-saving per se but something that’s…that’s crucial nevertheless – particularily in such vulnerable and sensitive situations. Carefully, without any piercing glances and again with respect and silent sympathy something gets passed inside: a fresh roll of toilet paper. For those in need.
“As long as you can savor the humorous aspect of misery and misfortune, you can overcome anything.” John Candy
“Hm! She is made of harder stuff! Cardinal Fang! Fetch…the comfy chair!” Cardinal Ximénez of the Spanish Inquisition