November 08, 2020. Poland. Upper Silesia. Near to Katowice. I look out of the window. It’s pitch dark. Strange. Here the night has a different color than elsewhere. That deep black. Special. I would guess it’s midnight now. But since the sun is slowly saying goodbye to the firmament at four o’clock, I can really lie there and look at the clock. Indeed: it is seven in the evening.
The pedestrian zone.
The dark night invites me to take a walk. Cold and fog hangs over the city. Scents of charcoal and burnt wood and sometimes also of melted something float in the air. The road leads to the market square. Here and there people come towards you. Dressed in dark. With dark masks. Mask requirement as soon as you leave your own apartment. The market square lets the town hall and the church shine. A nice contrast to all the darkness. After a couple of blocks I have reached the goal of today’s walk: a cemetery. That may sound unusual, but in fact I made my way there with a candle and a lighter. To the place where my ancestors are buried.
All Saints Day is especially honored in Poland. The graves are decorated with flowers and candles and in the course of the day a colorful sea emerges from them, which shines through all the candle flames at night. On November 1st the quiet cemetery becomes a place of encounter, conversation and exchange. But that didn’t happen this year. Here, too, measures are being taken to contain the virus. The cemetery was locked.
I go to a large wooden cross. Lights are lit there to commemorate those who have died. Otherwise, an immense area is covered with countless candles. Today there are about 83 of them. Oh, wait. At this moment a woman comes and puts a candle in the middle of the room. 84.
I feel the warmth emanating from these candles. And from the people who go to the cemetery at this hour of the evening. The graves are cared with great care and dedication. Jewelry and flowers laid down. Candles lit. And I am very careful on the traces of my ancestors. What did they leave us?
Our world is currently a heap of ruins. Everywhere we look something has collapsed or is crumbling. Everyone is affected. Some more. Some less. Nobody can look away anymore.
Only a fraction of the usual number of candles.
It is time to set something right. The course for something new, because the old no longer lasts.
It is time to do something good. Something good for the world. For each other.
It was time to visit the place of the ancestors. Not necessarily the cemetery. But the house in which they once lived. As if the house should go with them too. Abandoned apartments that urgently need all-round renovation so that life can return.
But first it is necessary to remove the old. The piles of rubble and what crumbles bring down.
I can’t wait to show you the “after picture” of this room.
One of the many rooms we’re renovating.
