Modernity sets a demand for measure that we must not exceed. This modest restraint is the only true memory, the only path towards honest compassion…
The twentieth century is laden with meaningful experiences of bloody ideologies and death. Differing from the previous ones perhaps only in their large number. Death has, with its horrendous presence in the region and hard- to-discern and often unfathomable reasons, become a cruel reality. Compassion will always remain the truth of an individual feeling, to a victim of life a disproportionate way of saying thank you.
Does a commeasurable way exist and how does one give form to it?