By Juliane Uhl
Juliane Uhl writes from a monastery where she has withdrawn for a few days to think about the meaning of life and the noise of the world. The enclosed monastery grounds stand in contrast to the ordinary world outside, with its traffic, supermarket and fast food restaurant.
In the monastery shop she notices her own reflex to consume, even in a place of silence. She looks at books and realizes that reading alone can become another distraction from inner life. Empty notebooks become a symbol of beginning, but also of the difficulty of finishing anything.
Encounters with refugee children, the ringing of bells and the prayer of Cistercian sisters lead her to reflect on powerlessness, war and responsibility. Her tears in the church become “drops that fall into nothingness” — an image for the pain of seeing suffering and not knowing what one can truly do.
