It has now been little more than two weeks since I first stepped here in Munich and it seems as if a small world has already been formed out of the streets, gestures, and words that surround me. “Guten Morgen, München!” is heard from the radio every morning, while Anabel, my host mother, comes to the kitchen with a smile, carrying the apricots she has bought for me. Parks and castles are revisited and new poems read each time in them. The repeated walks to Sankt Theresia follow, and then Mass is beautifully and silently celebrated. Finally, there comes the late summer sunset that carries the day to its end. By an Ewig Wiederkunft of gestures and meals, expressions and skies that belong to this place and will be forever intertwined with it, a new world is formed and given to me as a gift.
Thinking about this little world, so real and unreal at the same time, I notice what a strange role the German language plays in it. It is, of course, the first reason why I am travelling to Germany and also the bridge that connects me to others here. And, yet, at moments of weariness or shyness, how easily does it set me apart from this world! When I attended a seminar at the Ludwig Maximilians Universität München about Pseudo-Dionysius and Albertus Magnus, the words all failed me at the sheer prospect of speaking with the professor after class. But when walking in the beautiful streets of Innsbruck, when everything was lightness and joy, the words seemed to flow out of my mouth with an unprecedented naturalness. My goal, therefore, has been to revisit and maintain those moments of joy that were given to me, this lightness and beauty that sometimes reveals itself and that is stronger than shyness or broken pride, and able to turn all into learning, smiles, and sweetness. I have already received so much in these first two weeks and my heart is filled with hope, is truly frohbereit (happily ready) for the next three to come.
