by Peter Versteeg, and the SpW team
When it’s dark, where do we go? Where can we stand? Are we looking back, searching for a light we once believed was there? Can we see what lies before us—a new hope, or a new light that blinds? As we stand at our doorstep, we realize that this is a time of loss. A company of dead children sings in the night, as they do every year at this time. Yet we are afraid to let them in. We warm ourselves with the glühwein of nostalgia. Golden oldies playing, wishing it were 1989 again. The end of history. Or 1999, one year before the human‑made universe was supposed to collapse. The end of the world as we know it—and I feel fine.
But the human‑made universe did not collapse. And suddenly we found ourselves in a vacuum. What could come next? An uncomfortable silence. And we responded by igniting implosion bombs with very slow fuses, ready to fragment justice, solidarity, beauty, and dignity. Everyone has become a perpetrator, except the innocent.
There is no option left but to step over the threshold and follow the singing children. In their melted hearts, a light shines. They have become two‑faced gods, the ones we abandoned long ago. They carry the past like an ember into the future. May they hear our prayers.