(BONHOEFFER strikes a match and lights a candle as the lights come up in his prison cell stage left.
BONHOEFFER finds his seat at a small desk. He picks up a pen and begins writing on a piece of paper. His voice is heard over the loudspeakers as he writes:)
I don’t have to tell you how greatly I long for freedom, and for all of you. For decades you have given us such incomparably beautiful Christmases that my grateful memory of them is strong enough to outshine even this rather dark one I am now spending in a prison cell.
It is times like these that show what it really means to have a past and an inner legacy independent of the change of times and conditions.
The awareness of being borne up by a spiritual tradition that lasts for decades gives one a strong sense of security in the face of all transitory distress. . .
I often ask myself who am I, really? Am I the man that squirms under these ghastly conditions and cries out with complaints or am I the man who disciplines himself to appear outwardly unaffected by these things?
Who am I, really? Perhaps I persuade myself that I am a man at peace, content, and in control of myself. Am I just playing some part in a stage play, or not? What does this “posturing” mean? In short, one knows less and less about oneself in this prison and no longer cares.
I have had my fill of psychology and I dislike all this soul searching more and more.
I believe, therefore, that is why the poet Stifter has become so important to me. His writing is far more important than all this talk of self-help and self-knowledge.
He wrote of everyday things that we take for granted. Like a walk in the garden. Many in this prison are of the same mind.