We become how we live.

 

At 40, Franz Kafka (1883-1924), who never married and had no children, walked through the park in Berlin when he met a girl who was crying because she had lost her favourite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll unsuccessfully.

Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would come back to look for her.

The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter "written" by the doll saying "please don't cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures."

Thus began a story which continued until the end of Kafka's life.

During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll carefully written with adventures and conversations that the girl found adorable.

Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he bought one) that had returned to Berlin.

"It doesn't look like my doll at all," said the girl.

Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: "my travels have changed me." the little girl hugged the new doll and brought her happy home.

A year later Kafka died.

Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter signed by Kafka it was written:

"Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way."

4

"My week ended with my spending time with the two most vulnerable people I presently know in my Bangkok.  You don't need to know who they are.  Just know that they are broken, fragile individuals in need of good and decent care.  On their request, I reached out to them on Saturday.  Their wounds were gaping wide open.  Their journey, seemingly going nowhere, just meanders on.  There I am with them, overcome by own sense of inadequacy, of my going nowhere in helping them.  This is life."      

This was my introduction I had prepared for today's entry.  It was going to lead me along a philosophical path of reflecting on consolation, not comfort, as the way to go in approaching life's woes.  This line comes from a book I have started to read.  The point of the writer was that consolation is about hope - no hope, no life.  So, no matter what, we offer hope.  

Then I read the above post on Facebook shared by a good friend in Dublin.  It immediately pushed all the right buttons for me at this point in time.  I thought, "This is it!"  What more can one say in facing the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" in life at the beginning of Holy Week? 

Thank you, Brian.  Thank you, Kafka.