As the Sun Rises My Uncle Martin Tells a Story

As you can see my new morning started at an early hour. I just could not sleep anymore. It was six o’clock. The sky was bright and the wind was cold. I loved the prospect of having a whole day before me.
Enough time to broom here and there. Water the plants and feeding the birds. And putting a few comfy Seats at a Sunny place in preparation of my espressomoment. I followed some morningnews and made my breakfast toast.
As it was still too cold outside I chose my coffeemoment on our Sunny quiltdivan. There I read about the mysticism in Buber’s philosophy of Encounter. When I focus on reading Buber or about his work, I immediately enter this mood of serenity. This is the real thing!
It is not so easy to tell what exactly it that makes shift my basic mood into Hifi-mode. I never experience any brainteaser, unwelcome intellectual burden irritation. On the contrary, I get this feeling: this is written for me. Buber is this Emigrated Old Uncle of mine. My grandfather told about his brother Martin who went abroad.
And suddenly an almost forgotten family member appears through the morning mist and enters our home. Here’s Uncle Martin! And while I make a fresh tea, he starts telling some very old stories. Happening to strange people living far away to the East.
And then I take a pillow kneeling down to his feet. I listen breathless while he goes on telling. Meanwhile the sun rises and rises. My espresso is getting cold, but I do not notice it