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Life is too short for boring stories

Finally he fell asleep, the sweet little one. Raphael was eight months old and the cutest baby in the world, his mother Nina was convinced, and she was right, like every mother, but as happy as she was, she also suffered. On the one hand under permanent lack of sleep, because the little one challenged …

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You stayed for a long time in this silence that I did not dare to break. It was as if you had to draw strength to be able to tell further. “Aunt Morgana had hit me so unlucky with the poker that I passed out. I woke up because I was cold. A rough wind …

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You asked me how I am, and I answered with a fleeting „good“. Sometimes I’m lucky that you only listen with half an ear, that you ask casually, out of habit, or because you just remember that now that we meet again and the silence is between us, just say something but it does not …

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Where were you, His disciples, as He went down into the deepest of desolations? Where have you, His disciples, hidden you, trembling and fearful, when He died the death that embraces all others? Where have you been, Simon Peter, when He abandoned himself to inevitability? Where have you been, Simon Petrus, you rock that crumbles …

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You may have often wondered what it was, that inevitability of which He spoke, when He took you, lifted Himself up to take you with Him, to follow the way He had to go, had to go with you, but you did not dare to ask him. You feared His answer too much. But you …

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You walked straight, looking up and open, and not lowered humbly, as you probably expected, upright as you crossed the square, toward the house where He was with His disciples. At the open door you stopped, because where He was, there was nothing closed, nothing that could be removed from His view. He sat in …

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You stepped in front of your house, holding firmly the alabaster vessel with fragrant needle oil, which was no longer trembling, and your jet-black, long hair, freed from the cloth and hiding, glistened in the sun. All unrest had fallen away from you, and the looks, the envious and the malicious, the drooling and the …

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Your hands trembled as you took the alabaster vessel that was filled to the brim with that wonderfully fragrant oil as you held it and made your way to it. Your heart beat violently as you stepped out of the house, and your open hair glistened in the sun, your long, jet-black hair. You had …

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There are many people who like to talk about themselves. At least that’s what they say. There is at least a great deal of agreement about what this „telling about oneself“ means, a series of stories that happened in an individual’s life. Anecdotal or pointed, depending on your temperament, it can also be quite amusing. …

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