Manual Frau Sein ist heilig: Sie ist die Eine, bekleidet mit der Sonne (German Edition)

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What he said infuriated the woman. Tom Willard was ambitious for his son. He had always thought of himself as a successful man, although nothing he had ever done had turned out successfully. However, when he was out of sight of the New Willard House and had no fear of coming upon his wife, he swaggered and began to dramatize himself as one of the chief men of the town. He wanted his son to succeed. He it was who had secured for the boy the position on the Winesburg Eagle. Now, with a ring of earnestness in his voice, he was advising concerning some course of conduct.

He says you go along for hours not hearing when you are spoken to and acting like a gawky girl. What ails you? You re not a fool and you re not a woman. You re Tom Willard s son and you ll wake up. I m not afraid. What you say clears things up. If being a newspaper man had put the notion of becoming a writer into your mind that s all right. Only I guess you ll have to wake up to do that too, eh? The woman in the darkness could hear him laughing and talking with a guest who was striving to wear away a dull evening by dozing in a chair by the office door.

She returned to the door of her son s room. The weakness had passed from her body as by a miracle and she stepped boldly along. A thousand German advising: ratend, beratend, raten, Beraten, Ratschlag, Rat. Sherwood Anderson 33 ideas raced through her head. When she heard the scraping of a chair and the sound of a pen scratching upon paper, she again turned and went back along the hallway to her own room.

The determination was the result of long years of quiet and rather ineffectual thinking. There is something threatening my boy and I will ward it off. Although for years she had hated her husband, her hatred had always before been a quite impersonal thing. He had been merely a part of something else that she hated. Now, and by the few words at the door, he had become the thing personified. In the darkness of her own room she clenched her fists and glared about. Going to a cloth bag that hung on a nail by the wall she took out a long pair of sewing scissors and held them in her hand like a dagger.

When I have killed him something will snap within myself and I will die also. It will be a release for all of us. For years she had been what is called "stage-struck" and had paraded through the streets with traveling men guests at her father s hotel, wearing loud clothes and urging them to tell her of life in the cities out of which they had come.

Once she startled the town by putting on men s clothes and riding a bicycle down Main Street. In her own mind the tall dark girl had been in those days much confused. A great restlessness was in her and it expressed itself in two ways. First there was an uneasy desire for change, for some big definite movement to her life.

It was this feeling that had turned her mind to the stage. She dreamed of joining some company and wandering over the world, seeing always new faces and giving something out of herself to all people. Sometimes at night she was quite beside herself with the thought, but when she tried to talk of the matter to the members German dagger: Dolch. Winesburg, Ohio 34 of the theatrical companies that came to Winesburg and stopped at her father s hotel, she got nowhere.

They did not seem to know what she meant, or if she did get something of her passion expressed, they only laughed. Nothing comes of it. Always they seemed to understand and sympathize with her. On the side streets of the village, in the darkness under the trees, they took hold of her hand and she thought that something unexpressed in herself came forth and became a part of an unexpressed something in them. When that came she felt for a time released and happy. She did not blame the men who walked with her and later she did not blame Tom Willard.

It was always the same, beginning with kisses and ending, after strange wild emotions, with peace and then sobbing repentance. When she sobbed she put her hand upon the face of the man and had always the same thought. Even though he were large and bearded she thought he had become suddenly a little boy. She wondered why he did not sob also. In her room, tucked away in a corner of the old Willard House, Elizabeth Willard lighted a lamp and put it on a dressing table that stood by the door. A thought had come into her mind and she went to a closet and brought out a small square box and set it on the table.

The box contained material for makeup and had been left with other things by a theatrical company that had once been stranded in Winesburg. Elizabeth Willard had decided that she would be beautiful. Her hair was still black and there was a great mass of it braided and coiled about her head. The scene that was to take place in the office below began to grow in her mind.

No ghostly worn-out figure should confront Tom Willard, but something quite unexpected and startling. Tall and with dusky cheeks and hair that fell in a mass from her shoulders, a figure should come striding down the stairway before the startled loungers in the hotel office. The figure would be silent--it would be swift and terrible. As a tigress whose cub had been German braided: flocht. Sherwood Anderson 35 threatened would she appear, coming out of the shadows, stealing noiselessly along and holding the long wicked scissors in her hand.

The strength that had been as a miracle in her body left and she half reeled across the floor, clutching at the back of the chair in which she had spent so many long days staring out over the tin roofs into the main street of Winesburg. In the hallway there was the sound of footsteps and George Willard came in at the door.

Sitting in a chair beside his mother he began to talk. An impulse came to her. You will go to the city and make money, eh? It will be better for you, you think, to be a business man, to be brisk and smart and alive? The son shook his head. I don t try. There isn t any use. I don t know what I shall do. I just want to go away and look at people and think.

Again, as on the other evenings, they were embarrassed. After a time the boy tried again to talk. In the room the silence became unbearable to the woman. She wanted to cry out with joy because of the words that had come from the lips of her son, but the expression of joy had become impossible to her. You are too much indoors," she said. German blew: blies blight vereiteln, blies, blasen, wehen. He always wore a dirty white waistcoat out of the pockets of which protruded a number of the kind of black cigars known as stogies.

His teeth were black and irregular and there was something strange about his eyes. The lid of the left eye twitched; it fell down and snapped up; it was exactly as though the lid of the eye were a window shade and someone stood inside the doctor s head playing with the cord.

Doctor Parcival had a liking for the boy, George Willard. It began when George had been working for a year on the Winesburg Eagle and the acquaintanceship was entirely a matter of the doctor s own making. In the late afternoon Will Henderson, owner and editor of the Eagle, went over to Tom Willy s saloon. Along an alleyway he went and slipping in at the back door of the saloon began drinking a drink made of a combination of sloe gin and soda water. Will Henderson was a sensualist and had reached the age of forty-five. He imagined the gin renewed the youth in him. Like most sensualists he enjoyed talking of women, and for an hour he lingered about gossiping with Tom Willy.

The saloon keeper was a short, broad-shouldered man with peculiarly marked hands. That flaming kind of birthmark that sometimes paints with red the faces of men and women had touched with red German birthmark: Muttermal. Sherwood Anderson 37 Tom Willy s fingers and the backs of his hands. As he stood by the bar talking to Will Henderson he rubbed the hands together. As he grew more and more excited the red of his fingers deepened. It was as though the hands had been dipped in blood that had dried and faded. Doctor Parcival appeared immediately after Will Henderson had disappeared.

One might have supposed that the doctor had been watching from his office window and had seen the editor going along the alleyway. Coming in at the front door and finding himself a chair, he lighted one of the stogies and crossing his legs began to talk. He seemed intent upon convincing the boy of the advisability of adopting a line of conduct that he was himself unable to define. It is not an accident and it is not because I do not know as much of medicine as anyone here. I do not want patients. The reason, you see, does not appear on the surface. It lies in fact in my character, which has, if you think about it, many strange turns.

Why I want to talk to you of the matter I don t know. I might keep still and get more credit in your eyes. I have a desire to make you admire me, that s a fact. I don t know why. That s why I talk. It s very amusing, eh? To the boy the tales were very real and full of meaning. He began to admire the fat unclean-looking man and, in the afternoon when Will Henderson had gone, looked forward with keen interest to the doctor s coming. Doctor Parcival had been in Winesburg about five years. He came from Chicago and when he arrived was drunk and got into a fight with Albert Longworth, the baggageman.

The fight concerned a trunk and ended by the doctor s being escorted to the village lockup. When he was released he rented a room above a shoe-repairing shop at the lower end of Main Street and put out German admire: bewundern, bewundere, bewunderst, bewundert, bewundre. Winesburg, Ohio 38 the sign that announced himself as a doctor. Although he had but few patients and these of the poorer sort who were unable to pay, he seemed to have plenty of money for his needs.

He slept in the office that was unspeakably dirty and dined at Biff Carter s lunch room in a small frame building opposite the railroad station. In the summer the lunch room was filled with flies and Biff Carter s white apron was more dirty than his floor. Doctor Parcival did not mind. Into the lunch room he stalked and deposited twenty cents upon the counter. It makes no difference to me. I am a man of distinction, you see.

Why should I concern myself with what I eat. Sometimes the boy thought they must all be inventions, a pack of lies. And then again he was convinced that they contained the very essence of truth. I don t remember and anyway it makes no difference. Perhaps I am trying to conceal my identity and don t want to be very definite.

Have you ever thought it strange that I have money for my needs although I do nothing? I may have stolen a great sum of money or been involved in a murder before I came here. There is food for thought in that, eh? If you were a really smart newspaper reporter you would look me up. In Chicago there was a Doctor Cronin who was murdered.

Have you heard of that? Some men murdered him and put him in a trunk. In the early morning they hauled the trunk across the city. It sat on the back of an express wagon and they were on the seat as unconcerned as anything. Along they went through quiet streets where everyone was asleep. The sun was just coming up over the lake. Funny, eh--just to think of them smoking pipes and chattering as they drove along as unconcerned as I am now. Perhaps I was one of those men. That would be a strange turn of things, now wouldn t it, eh? My mother was poor. Sherwood Anderson 39 washing. Her dream was to make me a Presbyterian minister and I was studying with that end in view.

He was in an asylum over at Dayton, Ohio. There you see I have let it slip out! All of this took place in Ohio, right here in Ohio. There is a clew if you ever get the notion of looking me up. That s the object of all this. That s what I m getting at. My brother was a railroad painter and had a job on the Big Four. You know that road runs through Ohio here.

With other men he lived in a box car and away they went from town to town painting the railroad propertyswitches, crossing gates, bridges, and stations. How I hated that color! My brother was always covered with it. On pay days he used to get drunk and come home wearing his paint-covered clothes and bringing his money with him. He did not give it to mother but laid it in a pile on our kitchen table.

I can see the picture. My mother, who was small and had red, sad-looking eyes, would come into the house from a little shed at the back. That s where she spent her time over the washtub scrubbing people s dirty clothes. In she would come and stand by the table, rubbing her eyes with her apron that was covered with soap-suds. Don t you dare touch that money, my brother roared, and then he himself took five or ten dollars and went tramping off to the saloons.

When he had spent what he had taken he came back for more. He never gave my mother any money at all but stayed about until he had spent it all, a little at a time. Then he went back to his job with the painting crew on the railroad. After he had gone things began to arrive at our house, groceries and such things.

Sometimes there would be a dress for mother or a pair of shoes for me. Winesburg, Ohio 40 down threatening us if we dared so much as touch the money that sometimes lay on the table three days. I studied to be a minister and prayed. I was a regular ass about saying prayers. You should have heard me. When my father died I prayed all night, just as I did sometimes when my brother was in town drinking and going about buying the things for us. In the evening after supper I knelt by the table where the money lay and prayed for hours.

When no one was looking I stole a dollar or two and put it in my pocket. That makes me laugh now but then it was terrible. It was on my mind all the time. I got six dollars a week from my job on the paper and always took it straight home to mother. The few dollars I stole from my brother s pile I spent on myself, you know, for trifles, candy and cigarettes and such things. I borrowed some money from the man for whom I worked and went on the train at night. It was raining. In the asylum they treated me as though I were a king. That made them afraid.

There had been some negligence, some carelessness, you see, when father was ill. They thought perhaps I would write it up in the paper and make a fuss. I never intended to do anything of the kind. I wonder what put that notion into my head. Wouldn t my brother, the painter, have laughed, though. There I stood over the dead body and spread out my hands. The superintendent of the asylum and some of his helpers came in and stood about looking sheepish. It was very amusing. I spread out my hands and said, Let peace brood over this carcass.

That s what I said.

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He was awkward and, as the office was small, continually knocked against things. I have something else in mind. You are a reporter just as I was once and you have attracted my German ass: Esel, Arsch. Sherwood Anderson 41 attention. I want to warn you and keep on warning you. That s why I seek you out.

It seemed to the boy that the man had but one object in view, to make everyone seem despicable. There was a fellow, eh? He despised everyone, you see. You have no idea with what contempt he looked upon mother and me. And was he not our superior? You know he was. You have not seen him and yet I have made you feel that. I have given you a sense of it. He is dead. Once when he was drunk he lay down on the tracks and the car in which he lived with the other painters ran over him.

For a month George Willard had been going each morning to spend an hour in the doctor s office. The visits came about through a desire on the part of the doctor to read to the boy from the pages of a book he was in the process of writing. To write the book Doctor Parcival declared was the object of his coming to Winesburg to live.

On the morning in August before the coming of the boy, an incident had happened in the doctor s office. There had been an accident on Main Street. A team of horses had been frightened by a train and had run away. A little girl, the daughter of a farmer, had been thrown from a buggy and killed. On Main Street everyone had become excited and a cry for doctors had gone up.

All three of the active practitioners of the town had come quickly but had found the child dead. From the crowd someone had run to the office of Doctor Parcival who had bluntly refused to go down out of his office to the dead child. The useless cruelty of his refusal had passed unnoticed. Indeed, the man who had come up the stairway to summon him had hurried away without hearing the refusal. All of this, Doctor Parcival did not know and when George Willard came to his office he found the man shaking with terror.

German adventure: Abenteuer, Erlebniss, Schicksale, Schicksal. Winesburg, Ohio 42 Do I not know what will happen? Word of my refusal will be whispered about. Presently men will get together in groups and talk of it. They will come here. We will quarrel and there will be talk of hanging. Then they will come again bearing a rope in their hands. It may be put off until tonight but I will be hanged.

Everyone will get excited. I will be hanged to a lamp-post on Main Street. When he returned the fright that had been in his eyes was beginning to be replaced by doubt. Coming on tiptoe across the room he tapped George Willard on the shoulder. The idea is very simple, so simple that if you are not careful you will forget it.

It is this--that everyone in the world is Christ and they are all crucified. That s what I want to say. Don t you forget that. Whatever happens, don t you dare let yourself forget. The night was warm and cloudy and although it was not yet eight o clock, the alleyway back of the Eagle office was pitch dark. A team of horses tied to a post somewhere in the darkness stamped on the hard-baked ground.

A cat sprang from under George Willard s feet and ran away into the night. The young man was nervous. All day he had gone about his work like one dazed by a blow.

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In the alleyway he trembled as though with fright. In the darkness George Willard walked along the alleyway, going carefully and cautiously. The back doors of the Winesburg stores were open and he could see men sitting about under the store lamps. In Myerbaum s Notion Store Mrs. Willy the saloon keeper s wife stood by the counter with a basket on her arm. Sid Green the clerk was waiting on her. He leaned over the counter and talked earnestly.

George Willard crouched and then jumped through the path of light that came out at the door. He began to run forward in the darkness. Behind Ed Griffith s saloon old Jerry Bird the town drunkard lay asleep on the ground. The runner stumbled over the sprawling legs. He laughed brokenly. German arose: entstand, entstanden, entstandst, entstandet, gingt auf, ging auf, gingst auf, entsprangst, gingen auf, entsprangt, entsprangen. Winesburg, Ohio 44 George Willard had set forth upon an adventure. All day he had been trying to make up his mind to go through with the adventure and now he was acting.

In the office of the Winesburg Eagle he had been sitting since six o clock trying to think. He had just jumped to his feet, hurried past Will Henderson who was reading proof in the print-shop and started to run along the alleyway. Through street after street went George Willard, avoiding the people who passed. He crossed and re-crossed the road. When he passed a street lamp he pulled his hat down over his face. He did not dare think. In his mind there was a fear but it was a new kind of fear.

He was afraid the adventure on which he had set out would be spoiled, that he would lose courage and turn back. George Willard found Louise Trunnion in the kitchen of her father s house. She was washing dishes by the light of a kerosene lamp. There she stood behind the screen door in the little shed-like kitchen at the back of the house. George Willard stopped by a picket fence and tried to control the shaking of his body. Only a narrow potato patch separated him from the adventure.

Five minutes passed before he felt sure enough of himself to call to her. Oh, Louise! The cry stuck in his throat. His voice became a hoarse whisper. Louise Trunnion came out across the potato patch holding the dish cloth in her hand. In silence the two stood in the darkness with the fence between them. I ll come along. You wait by Williams barn. It had come that morning to the office of the Winesburg Eagle. The letter was brief. He thought it annoying that in the darkness by the fence she had pretended there was nothing between them. Sherwood Anderson 45 along the street and passed a row of vacant lots where corn grew.

The corn was shoulder high and had been planted right down to the sidewalk. There was no hat on her head. The boy could see her standing with the doorknob in her hand talking to someone within, no doubt to old Jake Trunnion, her father. Old Jake was half deaf and she shouted. The door closed and everything was dark and silent in the little side street. George Willard trembled more violently than ever. In the shadows by Williams barn George and Louise stood, not daring to talk.

She was not particularly comely and there was a black smudge on the side of her nose. George thought she must have rubbed her nose with her finger after she had been handling some of the kitchen pots. The young man began to laugh nervously. He wanted to touch her with his hand. Just to touch the folds of the soiled gingham dress would, he decided, be an exquisite pleasure. She began to quibble.

Don t tell me, I guess I know," she said drawing closer to him. A flood of words burst from George Willard. He remembered the look that had lurked in the girl s eyes when they had met on the streets and thought of the note she had written. Doubt left him. The whispered tales concerning her that had gone about town gave him confidence. He became wholly the male, bold and aggressive. In his heart there was no sympathy for her.

There won t be anyone know anything. How can they know? They began to walk along a narrow brick sidewalk between the cracks of which tall weeds grew. Some of the bricks were missing and the sidewalk was rough and irregular. He took hold of her hand that was also rough and thought it delightfully small. Winesburg, Ohio 46 They crossed a bridge that ran over a tiny stream and passed another vacant lot in which corn grew.

The street ended. In the path at the side of the road they were compelled to walk one behind the other. Will Overton s berry field lay beside the road and there was a pile of boards. Three times he walked up and down the length of Main Street. Sylvester West s Drug Store was still open and he went in and bought a cigar. When Shorty Crandall the clerk came out at the door with him he was pleased. For five minutes the two stood in the shelter of the store awning and talked. George Willard felt satisfied. He had wanted more than anything else to talk to some man. Around a corner toward the New Willard House he went whistling softly.

On the sidewalk at the side of Winney s Dry Goods Store where there was a high board fence covered with circus pictures, he stopped whistling and stood perfectly still in the darkness, attentive, listening as though for a voice calling his name. Then again he laughed nervously. Nobody knows," he muttered doggedly and went on his way. German awning: Markise, Sonnensegel, Plane. Three of the old people were women and sisters to Jesse.

They were a colorless, soft voiced lot. Then there was a silent old man with thin white hair who was Jesse s uncle. It was in reality not one house but a cluster of houses joined together in a rather haphazard manner. Inside, the place was full of surprises. One went up steps from the living room into the dining room and there were always steps to be ascended or descended in passing from one room to another.

At meal times the place was like a beehive. At one moment all was quiet, then doors began to open, feet clattered on stairs, a murmur of soft voices arose and people appeared from a dozen obscure corners. Besides the old people, already mentioned, many others lived in the Bentley house. There were four hired men, a woman named Aunt Callie Beebe, who was in charge of the housekeeping, a dull-witted girl named Eliza Stoughton, who made beds and helped with the milking, a boy who worked in the stables, and Jesse Bentley himself, the owner and overlord of it all.

German ascended: stiegst, gestiegen, stieg, stiegen, stiegt, aufgestiegen, stiegst auf, stiegt auf, stiegen auf, stieg auf, erstiegst. And she is not afraid of new steps. We live in darkness, and the political development in the world seems to make it even darker. Yet there is a sky full of stars above us. Above all, there is light. The dreary darkness ist just a scare. It has cracks everywhere, so the light gets in. Leonard Cohen knew that.

He died while Im am writing this. He reached the stars he could only describe until now. He tried hard, Greece and psycedelic encounters made him fly a bit, his songs made us soar. Looking at the bright stars in the dark I also realised a beautiful thing. I am not alone, and I made made more friends than I thought. Over a year at the Refugio I experienced what I had envisioned but maybe not really believed, that I have found new friends in an intentional community of the most different faiths and cultures, led by the Great Spirit.

He teaches me a new deep joy and calls us to live with him in unity and community. For me that is to celebrate life with old and new friends like Lee who invited us to Michigan and made us fill up our hearts. True community is surprisingly unspectacular. It is to drink wine, to dance and to enjoying the simple things like holding a baby, smiling at a friend, sleeping in my wifes arms or piling pebbles, small and big, colourful and grey. Ein dunkler Ort ohne Wahl.

Und das wars auch, wir hatten das Sharehaus zu einem anderen Kontinent gebracht. Von Afrika nach Europa und jetzt nach Amerika! Tiefe Dunkelheit. Wir konnten viel reisen dieses Jahr. Die Welt war zu uns ins Refugio gekommen, um eine sehr internationale Gemeinschaft zu bilden. Das machte uns hungrig, die Welt wieder zu sehen.

Wir waren im Jahr davor in Jordanien gewesen, um unsere Tochter zu besuchen und wurden von Malakehs eingeladen, ihre Mutter in Amman zu besuchen und mit ihr zu beten. Amman, dann Amsterdam und jetzt Michigan. Sie machen sich nicht zu viel Sorgen. Wo, fragte ich mich, verstecken wir unsere Alten in Deutschland? Aber wir blieben in der Dunkelheit dieser neuen Welt. Ich kann nicht der Baum sein und ihn in der gleichen Zeit umarmen. So viel wir uns auch in die Wildniss wagen, wir brauchen ein Zuhause.

Und doch bin ich mitten in dieser Welt, in der Finsternis. Die Welt und ihre neuer Nationalismus kann einem Angst machen. Ich kann nicht alles sein. Muss sein. Mit dem Winter als Tod dazwischen. Und dann: der Tod! Das Ende davon. Ich denke an meinen Freund Hein, der zu jung gestorben ist. Es war schrecklich. Sie betrat eine neue Geborgenheit, eine perfekte Zuflucht. Weil die Liebe gewinnt. Ja Kieselsteine. Es gab nichts anderes zu tun, als Kieselsteine zu stapeln. Ich war sogar manchmal schlaflos. Ich liebe es, meine Mutter zu besuchen.

Sie war immer ein harter Arbeiter. Elkes Kieselsteinhaufen sahen aus wie kleine buddhistische Tempel, und wir begannen, sie nach Hause zu nehmen, und am Ende sogar nach Berlin. Alle Steine? Ja, wir haben sie alle mit nach Hause genommen. Wir lachten auch. Und auf Michigan. Irgendwie alte Seelen. Die Amish sprechen sogar Pensylvania Dutch. Beschneidung im Herzen. Es ist wichtig, um dieses Leben wert zu machen. Weniger ist mehr. Wenig und begrenzt zu sein, ist gut. Und sie, die Heilige, hat keine Angst vor neuen Schritten.

Wir leben in der Dunkelheit, und die politische Entwicklung in der Welt scheint es noch dunkler zu machen. Die triste Finsternis ist nur ein Schrecken hier. Leonard Cohen wusste das. Er wollte zu den Sternen, die er bis jetzt nur beschreiben konnte. Mit Blick auf die hellen Sterne im Dunkeln wird mir klar: Ich bin nicht allein. Und ich habe mehr Freunde, als ich dachte. Diese Erkenntnis lehrt mich eine neue tiefe Freude.

Ich will das Leben feiern, mit alten und neuen Freunden wie Lee, die uns nach Michigan eingeladen und unsere Herzen voll gemacht hat. Hey, ich will ich den Geist! Seid nicht so konform mit der Welt, dass ihr ohne Nachdenken einfach in ihr funktioniert, sondern lasst euch von Gott leiten, dann werdet ihr von innen heraus wie verwandelt sein.

Wir waren wie diese kleine Welt im Schliessfach bei den Men in Black. Wie konnten wir nur vergessen, was wir tief tief im Herzen wussten!? Sein Graffiti sah neulich noch recht frisch aus. Wo ist Gott? Einfacher Test. Umarme ich Fremde? Aber nie war geplant, dass wir dieses Welt alleine meistern. Der Heilige Geist.

Ob ich auch Antworten bekomme? Es ist also gar nicht so schwer zu verstehen wer dieser Heilige Geist ist: Ein Freund. Und doch ist der Heilige Geist ein ungleicher Freund und eine ganz andere Liebhaberin. Jesus, in dessen Arm wir liegen. Wir kleinen Ekstaten. Die wenigsten sind Christen. Gott macht jeden trunken, der will. Ich glaube der Heilige Geist ist die meist verkannte Celebrity unseres spirituell hungrigen Zeitalters. Und doch sagen mir viele: Den Heiligen Geist kenne ich nicht.

Weiss nicht. Oft fastete er, wenn es nicht weiterging. Und Gott ist wild. Und sanft. Unendlich geduldig. In jedem Moment zu haben als Freund. Aber das ist nur die Vorspeise. Ach Himmel. Aber ich bin nicht Gott. Geduldig scheint sie in unsere Gesichter, in unsere Dunkelheit und Ratlosigkeit, so wie eine Mutter ihr schlafendes Kind betrachtet.

Bereit zu Allem. Wo ist dein Hunger, dein Durst nach mir? Wach auf Geliebter, wach auf! Lass uns fliegen, Heiliger Geist! Die Strasse entlang hinke ich oft genug allein. Searching for emptiness after a long day, I check out iPhone covers. Sure, I wish. What I want is the Spirit. The Great Spirit, the Holy one, the meaning of all live hidden behind the closet door, which leads to Narnja. Paul warned the Romans, and me, because we all to easily fit skintight and seamlessly into the world, as we move like silverfish on the bathroom floors of our little world. When we meditate on Tuesdays together on the roof, I sometimes mention a thought: Imagine how we hang out in two thousand years on our soft, golden chaise-longues bathed in divine light, how we listen to Manu Chao and laugh at how much worried in this small and limited world.

We were like in Men in Black this little world in a safety deposit box. How could we forget what we knew deep deep in our hearts!? Where is God? Simple test. Am I able to sing loudly during the day? Do I feel like hugging strangers? Do I feel refreshed and invigorated by my hard work, my conversations, books or movies, I read, see, have, watch?

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Does rejuvenating life, joy, sorrow, laughter flow through my tired veins? Sure, this broken world will exhaust us and bring us to our limits, inspire us, and scare us. But never was it meant to be mastered alone. We are like kids just scratching away the paint and adjusting the seats, when we could start and drive around with God, fuelled not by the world, but by the rhythm, the divine cosmos, patience , kindness and love of God with us, for us, in us.

The Holy Spirit. Not man or woman, yet both, a friend, companion, personal, approachable. You can annoy her, offend, insult her, you can laugh together and cry, and sometimes you like a madman being with her. If I get answers? In a fragmented way our world reflects the whole of creation. And like in the world a real friends wants our trust, openness, loyalty, honesty, dedication, as we want it. Yet the Holy Spirit is an unequal friend and quite an unusual lover. Some mystics and ecstatics floated while in trance one foot above the floor with her.

And I am often feel drunk with her when she flows genty, yet powerful through me when I pray for others, the sick, the seekers, or just lay on my hand quietly on a shoulder. And he makes me laugh every time, because I have this indescribable feeling of the greatness of which my world is only a reflection, a dull mirror of a far greater reality. The Holy Spirit is the God we can never see.

Jesus, in whose arms we are resting. And at the same time a beautiful woman, a gentle and quiet mother, or like a Venus rising from the shell, with every fiber a beauty in whose presence there is the sudden fragrance of flowers. She is also the sometimes the light, then the heavy peace that fills us when we meditate on the rooftop in the early darkness of autumn. God coming over us as a dense cloud. Sometimes even frightening, but if we let go, always beautiful.

Us little exstatics! Few of us are Christians. God makes all drunk who want. Musicians, painters, artists know the Holy Spirit with whom they dance, they know the inspiration that is not of this world. Sounds crazy, but this ist the upside down Kingdom, where the first will be last and the last will be the first. I think we all meet the Holy Spirit, some can fly wit her, others are just given a hand or led a short way. The Holy Spirit, I believe. It is the paradox of the gift that we only learn with intimate closeness the true with of God. And this greatness can be like a whisper, a flying across landscapes, while I am waiting for a latte mad early in the morning by a sulking man with too many piercings.

How can I feel it, him, her as a source in me? Where is the Holy Spirit when I absolutely can not remember where my car key are, or where I can work from next month on, or why my family is driving me nuts? Sometimes I wonder if a rice farmer in the Chinese mountains, a child on the beach in Mozambique, or an old man in his Swedish vegetable garden is not guided much more by the Spirit than I am, than us makers and shakers of a sophisticated, great and exhaustive world.

Gandhi was given the name Mahatma, Great Soul. With the Spirit he has peacefully forced a colonial superpower to its knees, a barefoot man in a plain robe. When he needed advice, he fasted. Gandhi could not do anything without His power, same as Jesus often withdrew from the world and went up the mountain to be with an unfiltered God.

A wild and gentle God. Infinitely patient. A friend available in every moment. Sitting in the sun at one of the canals in Amsterdam, he gently speaks into my fears and anxieties. He calms me down and makes me think peacefully. She, the Holy Spirit, answered my questions and I feel calm.

For weeks now at the Refugio we hear at the Sharehaus, that we must be more Spirit led again to get into the next level. To be. Mindfulness teaches a sense for what really there is. If I had not experienced in Africa how the Holy Spirit heals with a mighty hand and comforts and brings life into dead bones, I would think the Spirit is really just like an inspiration.

I would indeed think demons and angels were actually abolished with the invention of electricity. And God as the Personal Great Spirit with them. Prophet Joel, as if torn by the Holy Spirit, cries out from his heart in a brutal and unjust time. Pour out! On ALL people! Oh heavens. If I were the Holy Spirit, I would shake everyone at the canal here in Amsterdam, kiss them awake, speak with a clear voice to them about my deep deep love.

What marvel there would be, glasses would fall to the ground, relieved sighs fill the air, wild laughter would sound, and there would be silence, tears, and a deep peace. Deep, deep deep because nothing dead could be there be anymore, the pain of never healed wounds, the losses and our own lies, all washed away. Patiently she shines in our faces, into our darkness and cluelessness, like a mother looking at her sleeping child.

Ready for everything.

Männer wollen nicht mehr Sex als Frauen

And as children we are to be free from the fear of death, free from the illusion of being able to rule the world. We are asleep and gently gently kissed by our love singing: Where is your desire, your devotion to me? Awaken to love beloved, awaken! What a slow learner I am. Bring on the royal Party! Let us fly, Holy Spirit! I am way too often limping down the street alone. Eines der erstaunlichsten Dinge im Leben ist Erneuerung. Nach 7 Jahren ist man wie ausgetauscht, rundumerneuert.

Ich bin nicht der, der ich vor 7 Jahren war? Und seelisch? Nicht alles vergeht. Vor allem die Liebe nicht. Glaube, Liebe, Hoffnung. Es war ein warmer Sommertag, und der Fahrstuhl ist klein und stickig. Alles vergeht, aber die Liebe nicht. Drury und ich schwitzten und freuten uns. Was machst du da? Warum in Rosa? Ich hatte damals diesen Teil des Korintherbriefs mit einem Pinsel in hellgrauen Buchstaben gemalt, Drew schrieb mit einem rosa Marker zwischen den Zeilen. Aber die Liebe bleibt. Ganz einfach. Den Text wiederholen, und doch alles ganz neu erschaffen. Mit welchem Schwung? Was bedeutet dieses Wort?

Alles vergeht ohne die Liebe, wird unwichtig. Alles nichtig ohne die Liebe. Wie welkes Gras und leere Kaffeepads ist alles, was wir tun und denken, wie sinnlos gemurmelte Mantren und scheppernde Gongs, haben wir keine Liebe. Die Liebe. Wir sehen nur einen Teil von ihr, wie einen leuchtender Sternenhimmel in einer Sommernacht. Die funkelnden Punkte am Himmel aber sind Galaxien und Welten, die entstehen und vergehen. Jetzt entsteht wieder etwas Neues.

Wir Menschen versuchen das Leben nach allen Regeln der Kunst richtig zu machen. Und doch stets Derselbe ist. Der Fahrstuhl wird immer Menschen rauf- und runtertragen. Wir sind jedesmal anders. Die Liebe bleibt stets dieselbe, und doch kommt sie heute in anderer Schrift, in anderer Farbe daher. Und so ist jeder Tag. Ich will ihn schon vom ersten Augenblick an richtig kosten, leben und fast nie gelingt es mir.

Ekstase und Tanz. In jedem Menschen Gott sehen. Pro Tag nur einer. Ein sanfter Vorschlag Gottes, die Tiefe jeden Tages mit ihm zu leben. Jeden im Haus will ich neu sehen. Menschen in der U-Bahn. Jede Woche kommen Menschen zu uns, die nach Antworten suchen, nach neuen Perspektiven. Sie staunen, ich bin dankbar. Man kann sie schwer auf Facebook posten, auf Flyer drucken, an seine Fans twittern. Schau wieviele Milliarden unterschiedlichster, einzigartiger Menschen es gibt. Und wir unterscheiden uns untereinander nur durch unseren Hunger, unsere Sehnsucht, denn Liebe ist nicht Sattheit, sie ist kein Status und kein Gesetz.

One of the most amazing things in life is renewal. We so much desire to understand the rules of life, to be able to understand the instructions for it and to repeat all that has been proven to work. In a cosmos interwoven with divine life power there is constant renewal, just as the cells of our body are dying constantly and are again renewed.

We have a daily Beginning and Dying. After 7 years one is completely exchanged. Physically a completely renewed person? And psychologically, mentally? Not everything passes. Especially not love. Be steady in your faith and trust in God, be steadfast in your hope and be extravagant in your love. Faith, love, hope. The largest of the three but is love!

Paul writes to the Corinthians. Love remains, it is the very fabric of creation. Mystically deep and everyday simple. Drury is a calligrapher, and in different fonts he wrote in the elevator, excited, sweating, about love. It was a warm summer day, and the elevator is small and stuffy. Almost a year ago I stood in there and painted with a brush onto the old grey walls the phrases of Paul about love. Walls that have seen much life, and even death. Years ago the house was a home for the elderly.

Everything passes, but not love. Drury and I sweated and enjoyed the writing, and we both needed 4 hours. Me from midnight to 4 am, the night before the opening, in company of many guests, since many residents of the Refugio did not sleep. It was a beautiful, warm summer night. Thoughts, worries, anxiety, loneliness, and search for peace was in that warm summer night. And I was amazed how many conversations between midnight and early morning I could have about life and love. Drew felt the same. He went up and down with guests and residents. What are you doing there?

Why do you write on the walls? Why in Pink? Why about love? I had painted this part of the Letter to the Corinthians in light grey letters, Drew wrote with a pink marker between the lines. Not with any pink, with a very special one just for this occasion. The elevator, it sees life, it sees sorrow, it sees faith and hope, miracles and failure. Up and down it goes. But love remains. Love itself is not a thing, it is the very force of renewal, it is the luminescence of the cosmos, the joyfullness of quarks, the vibrant harmony ever atom, it is the purpose of life, the drive, the goal and the path of a constantly meandering river, which carries us through and beyond our temporary, physical end.

Love is eternal life, it never stops, it is never the same and yet unchanging. Repeat the text, and yet create everything anew from scratch. And there he was, talking about how the Holy Spirit, the universe, God guides him when writing. Which swing of my hand? What does this word mean? And he heard answers, excited, animated, like a monk, ecstatic, when copying a sacred text. Everything fails without love, is unimportant. All is void without love. Especially all the things our mind and intellect governed society would consider extreme: Speaking in tongues of angels, revealing secrets of God, having faith that moves real mountains, to give everything to the poor, everything!

Or being burned alive on a stake for trusting in God. Unheard of! No, those things happen, but they are all important, if we do not habe love. It all is meaningless like dying grass and empty coffee pads, is everything we do and think, the pointless mumbled mantras and the noisy gongs we sound, all count for nothing, if we have no love. We only see a part of it, like shining stars in the sky of a summer night.

But the bright dots up there are in reality galaxies and worlds that come and go. The first year in the big house Share Refugio was exciting, wild, chaotic, painful, new. We can not, we should not repeat everything that was. Jesus came to shake loose the religious foundations, the secular laws, rules, human assumptions and empty repetitions. We humans try to get life right with all the rules of engagement. God comes as a surprise every day. Yet always they are the same. I have learned incredibly much in a year at Sharehaus Refugio, and I do not want to stop.

The community garden is in a different season, or in a new year. Here is a great and beautiful mystery of life: Always start everything anew and afresh, and yet keep what is permanent and steadfast. The elevator will always carry people up and down. But we will never travel the same way in it. We are different every time. Love stays always the same, and yet it comes in a different font, in a different color, every day.

Sometimes I pray in the morning and wonder what God has for this day. For this particular day. I want to remember that day, live in its fullness. I want to really enjoy, savour and live it and I almost never succeed. The answers are surprising, beautiful, strange: richness in friendship. Searching closeness. Enjoying deeply. Having compassion for the poor. Ecstasy and dance. Seeing God in every person. Being wild. Being grateful. Such are the impressions then. One per day. And then the day for is the the day of compassion, or enjoying closeness to people, or to feel the divine embrace.

Gentle suggestion of God, to live the depth of each day with him. And so must the Refugio, my life, the world, step into a new phase to recognise the tried and true again. For those who always and only stick to the rules, who practice the repetition of what was once fresh, they have lost sight of what is eternal.

Everyone in the house I want to see afresh. People in the subway. I want to practice the unobstructed view. I think God looks at us like that every day, anew, maybe not surprised, but with great curiosity. In the same way I want to see the world. With many Sharehauses worldwide, each a different one, always fresh, revolutionary at heart, driven by a longing, a desire, a cheerful hunger, and a noisy love, that can be quiet at the same time and deep.

Every week people are coming to us looking for answers, for new perspectives, for answers. Ambassadors, governors, makers, managers, professors, directors, pastors, seekers, networkers. They marvel, and I am grateful. They see, they grasp in these moments maybe only the surface. Maybe their hearts feel a resonance, the divine frequency everyone understands. But the extent of love, of suffering, of tears, of joy and longing at the Refugio remains hidden. The unprecedented depth of love one can only experience oneself. That is why are Sharehauses like the Refugio are not only for newcomers or refugees, but for every person who is searching for more.

Look how many billions of different, unique humans there are. And they all struggle for identity. But under the divine gaze we are all the same, simply human. And we only different from each others by our hunger, our longing for more, for love is not a state of fullness, it is not a condition and not a law.

Love is longing and desire, adventurous, dangerous, gentle and beautiful. It is not something, a part, a way. It is us who we are only a part, because love is greater than anything. And we can only have it when we surrender to it, her, him, as God is love and personal. Love never dies. Inspired speech will be over some day; praying in tongues will end; understanding will reach its limit. We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete.

But when the Complete arrives, our incompletes will be canceled. When I grew up, I left those infant ways for good. But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. Hier wird nach den Regeln nur eingelassen. Was doch so wenig Ruh'! Rather should he take care that nothing pinches my toes! But since my cobbler is a great poet thinas look bad for my footwear! Look how sloppy they are, they flap everywhere! All his verses and rhymes I'd glady have him leave at home, histories, plays, and farces too if he'd bring me my new shoes tomorrow!

SACHS You do right to remind me; but is it fitting, Masters, tell me, that, if I make a little verse for even the donkey-driver's soles, I should write nothing on those of our highly learned town clerk? Walther, much put out, remounts the Singer's seat The little verse which would be worthy of you I with all my humble poetic gifts have not yet found; but it will surely come to me now, when I've heard the knight's song - so let him sing on undisturbed! An end! Zum Schluss! What more should we hear? Unless it were to delude you? Each mistake, great and small, see it recorded exactly on the slate.

A "Patch-Song" here between the stanzas! A quite incomprehensible melody! A confused brew of all the tones! If you aren't put off by the toil, Masters, count the faults with me! He'd have failed with his eighth, but no one has yet got as far as he: certainly over fifty, at a rough count! Say, do you elect him Master?

I see it clearly! It looks bad for the knight! Let Sachs think of him what he will, he must be silent here in the Singing-school! Is everyone of us not at liberty to decide whom he wishes as colleague? If every stranger were welcomed what worth would the Masters then have? How the knight is toiling away! Sachs has chosen him for his own. It's really vexatious! So put a stop to it! Up, Masters, vote and raise your hands! If I yield to superior forces here I foresee it will trouble me. How gladly I should see him admitted.

He'd be a worthy son-in-law. If I am now to bid the victor welcome, who knows if my child will choose him! I admit that it torments me - will Eva choose the Master? Jeden Fehler, gross und klein, seht genau auf der Tafel ein. Ein "Flickgesang" hier zwischen den Stollen! Mag Sachs von ihm halten, was er will, Hier in der Singschul' schweig' er still! Bleibt einem Jeden doch unbenommen, wen er sich zum Genossen begehrt? Drum macht ein End'! Auf, Meister! In vast nocturnal horde how they all begin to croak with their hollow voices - Magpies, crows and jackdaws! There rises up on a pair of golden wings a wondrous bird: its dazzling bright plumage shines light in the breezes; blissfully hovering now and again it beckons me to fly and flee.

My heart swells with sweet pain, in my need wings sprout; it soars in bold progress to fly through the air up from the tombs of cities to its native hill to the green Vogelweide where Master Walther once set me free; there I sing bright and clear in honour of my dearest lady: upwards then climbs - though Master-Crows are unfriendly to it - the proud love-song. Farewell, you Masters here below! With a gesture of proud contempt, Walther leaves the Singer's Chair and the building.

There is general confusion, augmented by the apprentices, who shoulder the benches and Marker's box, causing hindrance and disorder to the Masters who are crowding to the door SACHS Ha, what spirit! What glow of inspiration! You Masters, be quiet and listen! Listen when Sachs beseeches you! Master Marker, favour us with some peace! Let others listen! Grant but that! In vain! Every endeavour is in vain! One can scarcely hear oneself speak!

No one will heed the knight. There's spirit for you, to carry on singing! His heart's in the right place: a true poet-knight! If I, Hans Sachs, make verse and shoes, he's a knight and a poet too! Ade, ihr Meister, hienied'! All' eitel Trachten! Kaum vernimmt man sein eig'nes Wort; des Junkers will keiner achten: das nenn' ich Mut, singt der noch fort!

Das Herz auf dem rechten Fleck, ein wahrer Dichter-Reck! The flowery garland of fine silks - will it be granted to the knight? Between the two houses is a narrow alley winding towards the back of the stage. One house, grand in style, is Pogner's; the other, simple in style, is Sachs's. In front of Pogner's house there is a lime-tree, in front of Sachs's an elder.

It is a pleasant summer evening and during this scene night falls. St John's Day! Flowers and ribbons in plenty! Sing your silly songs alone!

Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg libretto (English/German) - opera by Richard Wagner

If you weren't so proud you'd look round - if you weren't so silly! Turn round to me! Mistress Lena! You here? Just look inside! That's for my dear little treasure. But first, quickly, how did the knight fare? You advised him well? He won the garland? It's a sad sory: he has completely sung away his chance! Singt allein eure dummen Lieder! Kehr' dich zu mir! Erst aber schnell, wie ging's mit dem Ritter? Du rietest ihm gut? Er gewann den Kranz?

Da steht's bitter; der hat vertan und versungen ganz! No titbits for you! God help us! Our knight undone! She goes back into the house, wringing her hands in despair. How successfully he has wooed! We all heard, and saw it too: she to whom he has given his heart and for whom he would give his life - she hasn't given him the basket.

Hold your tongues this minute! Every man woos as he wishes. The Master woos! The apprentice woos! There's much flirtation and cuddling! The old man woos the young maiden, the apprentice the old maid! David is about to fly at the boys in his temper, when Sachs, who has come down the alley, steps between them. Do I catch you fighting again? Nichts zu naschen! Hilf Gott! Unser Junker vertan! Heil zur Eh' dem jungen Mann! Gleich haltet das Maul! Da freit ein jeder, wie er mag. Der Meister freit, der Bursche freit, da gibt's Geschlamp' und Geschlumbfer!

Der Alte freit die junge Maid, der Bursche die alte Jumbfer! Treff' ich dich wieder am Schlag? They're singing coarse songs. Learn better than they! To rest! Get inside! Lock up and light a lamp. Put the new shoes on the last for me! Zur Ruh', ins Haus! Schliess und mach' Licht! Die neuen Schuh' steck' mir auf den Leisten! I'd like a word with him.

Shall I go in? David comes out of the inner room with a light and sits down to work at the bench by the window EVA He seems to be at home: there's a light within. But what for? Better not! He turns away If someone is about to risk something unusual what advice would he accept? And if I left the beaten track was it not in his way?

But was it perhaps vanity, too? EVA An obedient child speaks only when asked. How good! Come, sit down here for a while with me on the bench. He sits on the stone seat under the lime-tree EVA Won't it be too cool? It was very close today. That suggest that tomorrow will be the most beautiful day. Zu was doch? Besser nein! Er wendet sich ab Will einer Seltnes wagen, was liess' er sich dann sagen? Er sinnt nach War er's nicht, der meint', ich ging' zu weit? Und blieb' ich nicht im Geleise, war's nicht auf seine Weise?

Doch war's vielleicht auch Eitelkeit? Er wendet sich zu Eva Und du, mein Kind? Du sagst mir nichts?


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EVA Ein folgsam Kind, gefragt nur spricht's. Komm' setz' dich hier ein' Weil' noch auf die Bank zu mir. Er setzt sich auf die Steinbank unter der Linde. O child, don't your heartbeats tell you what happiness may be yours tomorrow, when Nuremberg, the whole city with burghers and commoners, with guilds, people, and high council, shall assemble before you so that you may award the prize, that noble garland, as consort to the Master of your choice? EVA Dear father, must it be a Master?

But just go in - I'm coming, Lena, I'm coming! EVA as before The nobleman, I thought? EVA Haven't you seen him today? But no What then?


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  5. EVA Come, dear papa! Go and change! EVA zerstreut ja, meiner Wahl. Doch tritt nur ein - laut, zu Magdalene gewandt gleich, Lene, gleich zum Abendmahl! EVA wie oben Wohl den Junker? EVA Sahst ihn heut' nicht? Nicht doch! Was denn? Geh', kleid' dich um. What's going round in my head? EVA He was still and silent. EVA disturbed The knight? God help me, what am I to do? Ah Lena!

    What anguish! How can we find out? EVA Ah, he's fond of me! Of course, I'll go to him. Your father would notice if we stayed any longer. After supper! Then I shall have more to say that someone has secretly entrusted to me. EVA Who then? The nobleman? EVA That should be good! They go into the house Hm! Was geht mir im Kopf doch 'rum? EVA Blieb still und stumm. EVA erschrocken Der Ritter? Was fing' ich an? Ach Lene, die Angst! Wo was erfahren? EVA heiter Ach! Der hat mich lieb: gewiss, ich geh' hin. Nach dem Mahl! Dann hab' ich dir noch was zu sagen, im Abgehen auf der Treppe was jemand geheim mir aufgetragen.

    EVA sich umwendend Wer denn? Der Junker? EVA Das mag was Rechtes sein! Sie gehen in das Haus. He turns to David, who is still at his work-bench Show me! It's good. Move my table and stool up by the door there! Go to bed! Be up in good time, sleep off your folly and be sensible tomorrow! Heaven knows! Why's the Masters staying up late tonight? David goes into the inner room which overlooks the street Sachs arranges his work, sits on his stool at the door, and then, laying down his tools again, leans back, resting his arm on the closed lower half of the door SACHS So mild, so strong and full is the scent of the elder tree!

    It relaxes my limbs gently, wants me to say something. What is the good of anything I can say to you? I'm but a poor, simple man. If work is not to my taste, you might, friend, rather release me; I would do better to stretch leather and give up all poetry. He tries again to get down the work, with much noise. Er wendet sich zu David, der an seinem Werktische verblieben ist Zeig her! Leg' dich zu Bett', steh' auf beizeit: verschlaf' die Dummheit, sei morgen gescheit! Gott weiss was! Warum wohl der Meister heute wacht? Was gilt's, was ich dir sagen kann? I feel it, and cannot understand it; I cannot hold on to it, nor yet forget it; and if I grasp it wholly, I cannot measure it!

    But then, how should I grasp what seemed to me immeasurable? No rule seemed to fit it, and yet there was no fault in it. It sounded so old, and yet was so new, like birdsong who heard a bird singing and, carried away by madness, imitated its song, would earn derision and disgrace! Spring's command, sweet necessity placed it in his breast: then he sang as he had to; and as he had to, so he could: I noticed that particularly. The bird that sang today had a finely-formed break; if he made the Masters uneasy, he certainly pleased Hans Sachs well!

    Doch wie wollt' ich auch fassen, was unermesslich mir schien? Kein' Regel wollte da passen, und war doch kein Fehler drin. Dem Vogel, der heute sang, dem war der Schnabel bald gewachsen; macht' er den Meistern bang, gar wohl gefiel er doch Hans Sachsen! Still so busy? Dear Eva! Up so late?

    And yet, I know why so late: the new shoes? EVA How wrongly he guesses! I have not yet even tried the shoes yet; they are so beautiful and richly adorned that I have not yet dared put them on my feet. EVA Who then might the bridegroom be? EVA How do you know then that I am to be a bride? The whole town knows that. EVA Well, if the whole town knows, then friend Sachs has good authority! I thought he knew more. EVA Well, think! Will I have to tell him? Am I so stupid? Noch so fleissig? Lieb' Evchen? Sie setzt sich dicht neben Sachs auf den Steinsitz.

    EVA Wie wisst ihr dann, dass ich Braut? Das weiss die Stadt. EVA Ei, seht doch! Ich bin wohl recht dumm? EVA Then might you be shrewd? EVA You know nothing? You say nothing? Well friend Sachs, now I truly perceive that pitch is not wax. I would have thought you sharper. Both wax and pitch are familiar to me: with wax I coated the silken threads with wich I made your dainty shoes: today I am making shoes with thicker yarn, and pitch is required for a rougher customer. EVA Who is that? Someone important? A master proud, intent on wooing, plans to be sole victor tomorrow: I must finish Herr Beckmesser's shoes.

    EVA Then take plenty of pitch for them: then he will stick to it and leave me in peace! EVA Why he then? EVA Might not a widower be successful? EVA How so, too old? Art is what matters here! Das sag' ich nicht. EVA Ihr wisst nichts? Ihr sagt nichts? Ei, Freund Sachs, jetzt merk' ich wahrlich: Pech ist kein Wachs. EVA Wer ist denn der? Wohl was recht's? EVA Wieso denn der? EVA Ei was! Hier gilt's der Kunst, Let him who understands it woo me. EVA Not I!

    It is you, who are making excuses! Admit that you are fickle. God knows who may dwell in your heart now! Yet I thought I'd been there for many a year. EVA I see, it was only because you were childless. EVA But your wife died, and I've grown tall. EVA Then I thought: you might take me for wife and child into your house. Yes, you have thought it out well for yourself. EVA I think the Master is just laughing at me. And in the end would ha cheerfully, under his very nose and in the sight of all, let Beckmesser win me tomorrow with his song?

    Your father alone might know the solution. EVA Where does a Master keep his brains? Would I come to you if I could find the answer at home? SACHS wer sie versteht, der werb' um mich. EVA Nicht ich, ihr seid's, ihr macht mir Flausen! Gesteht nur, dass ihr wandelbar. Gott weiss, wer euch jetzt im Herzen mag hausen! Glaubt ich mich doch d'rin so manches Jahr.

    EVA Ich seh', 's war nur, weil ihr kinderlos. EVA Doch, starb eure Frau, so wuchs ich gross? Ja, ja! EVA Ich glaub', der Meister mich gar verlacht? You're right: my brain is in a whirl. I've had many cares and troubles today: so it may well be that something's sticking. EVA drawing close to him At the singing-school summoned today? A song-trial caused me distress. EVA Ah, Sachs! You should have said so at once, I wouldn't have vexed you then with unnecessary questions.

    Now, tell me, who was it who asked for a trial? EVA A knight? Tell me, was he admitted? There was much dispute. EVA Then tell me, say, how did it go? If it caused you trouble, how could it leave me in peace? So he fared badly, and failed? EVA Hopelessly? Might there be no way of helping him? Did he sing so badly, so faultily, that nothing can help him to become a Master? Ach, ja! Hast recht: 's ist im Kopf mir kraus.

    Hab' heut' manch' Sorg' und Wirr' erlebt: da mag's dann sein, dass was d'rin klebt. Eine Freiung machte mir Not. EVA Ja, Sachs! Nun sagt, wer war's, der Freiung begehrt? EVA wie heimlich Ein Junker? Mein, sagt! Und ward er gefreit? Macht's euch Sorg', wie liess' mir es Ruh'? Sang er so schlecht, so fehlervoll, dass nichts mehr zum Meister ihm helfen soll? EVA Then tell me further whether he won none of the Masters as a friend?

    He before whom everyone felt so small! Squire High and Mighty, let him go! May he fight his way through the world; what we learned with dificulty and labour, let us savour in peace; let him not run amok among us, but may Fortune smile upon him somewhere else. EVA rising angrily Yes, it shall smile upon him somewhere other than among you nasty, jealous little men; where hearts still glow warm, in despite of all malicious Master Hanses! At once! I'm just coming! What comfort could I take from here? It stinks of pitch here, may God have mercy! Let him burn it, then at least he'd grow warm!

    Mann lächelt schwangere Frau im Bus an, nachdem sie 3x den Sitz wechselte, rief sie die Polizei!

    She crosses the street hastily to Magdalena and remains in agitation at her own door SACHS with a meaningful nod of his head I thought so. Now we must find a way! During the following he closes the upper half of his door too, so as to leave only a little crack of light showing. Where are you, so late? Your father was calling. Hear me! Let me have my word. Den Junker Hochmut, lasst ihn laufen! EVA erhebt sich zornig Ja!

    Ich komme schon! Da riecht's nach Pech, dass Gott erbarm'! Nun heisst's: schaff Rat!