Last Tuesday, May 4th, I was present in the Pauluskerk on the Brink well in time to attend the meditative moment prior to the silent tour through the center of Baarn to the Monument in the Amaliapark. I light a candle, sit down and wait in silence for what is to come. The theme of the meditative moment is: Celebrate Freedom. What can you do for someone else's freedom?
Beautiful pieces by Bruch, Weber and Reger are sung and played. They are a soprano, a viola, clarinet and piano that fill the space with their beautiful sounds. Mandy van Doorn, a 15-year-old pupil of The Waldheim recites a homemade poem:
Stupid war, stupid soldiers,
Stupid violence.
You read it in the eyes of children
Sad and tormented
Lonely and alone.
No hope for a new tomorrow.
Trapped in fear and pain.
Who can take care of them.
Finally home after school.
It's dark, nowhere is light.
Where's mom?
Tears flow down your face.
Only in the empty room.
But not being able to say hello.
Then he sees the note,
What mom could have just put on the table.
Think of me
Look at the moon.
I will always be there
Whisper my name softly.
Think of me
Then you can understand
Love for you from me.
Wherever you will go.
So dare to dream
Dream about me.
I'll see you again.
I'll just let you go.
We go outside for the quiet ride. At the front is a scout with a fluttering drum, behind it the municipal council, some war veterans, members of the Red Cross, the scouts and then the bourgeoisie. Every time I walk along I experience that impressive unity of the procession of dignified silent people. Only the birds can be heard whistling freely.
Yes, what is freedom? Does human freedom exist? What is freedom for? They are questions that do not let me go. I see that there are actually two kinds of freedoms: freedom to act, in which you can be curtailed by your physical capabilities, or in which you are limited, for example, by bosses, Overlords; and the freedom of the will, that is, the freedom that we cannot lose. For example, a prisoner has an action restriction, but no will restriction. No one can take your will to survive away from you. Did that very free will not bring us freedom?
You can, on the one hand, free yourself from obstacles, get rid of them, but on the other hand there is freedom to achieve a goal, for example, to enter into loving interpersonal relationships. You could also make a distinction between right and wrong use of free will. With those reflections I arrive at the Amaliapark. I then stand at the edge of the lawn and have a good view of the whole. With some pride I see the beautiful monument. Everything is perfectly organized. On the lawn are six Canadians, of course in old age, but scratchy, and correctly in blazer with many decorations.
Two minutes of silence follow, and at the end, precisely timed, three small planes fly over low. The Wilhelmus sets the harmony and the many hundreds of people, young and old, sing our national anthem in a subdued tone. It touches me deeply. The acquired freedom, fought by so many, is felt.
I go home and see on the news what happened on the Dam. The serene silence is rawly torn apart by the screams of, what later turns out, a deranged man, who knows no brake in his brain to stop the wrong use of his free will. The panic that arises is at all understandable due to the collective trauma of last year. It gives a shock of paralysis and flight, but also of togetherness and connection. The Resolute intervention and adequate action of the security quickly creates trust. You ask yourself: Is this preventable in our free society? I'm afraid not.
The images afterwards testify to the great willpower of our royal family. It is the Free Will and the courage to be there. When it matters. You're not arguing that.
Is it not the ultimate expression of free will?
I would like to conclude with a few observations. They are four languages.
- The first language is the language of fantasy: the freedom to dream, the language of music. Being delighted with art, a beautiful performance or a poem spoken by a girl in the Pauluskerk.
- The second language of being is the language of the story: the freedom to tell your story. The power of the stories of people who lived through the war. It is deep listening.
- The third language is the language of silence. The deafening silence of Remembrance, The Silence of reflection. In silence, your perception becomes sharper. In silence the raids come, in silence you know what you actually want. In silence you choose truthfully and freely.
- Finally, the fourth language is the language of love. Do something for the other. Compassion. That is firmly Armed from the Palace back up the Dam. That's being there when it matters. That is to give your mother the support with a loving gesture: Mom , you want and may be there!
A people's back is straightened.
Boy Van Droffelaar, PhD
