“The darker the night, the brighter the stars, the deeper the grief, the closer is God!”
In a dark, freezing, miserable hovel in Petersburg; a six year-old boy dressed in rags sits next to his mother who has just died of COVID-6. He’s nearly starving, so he goes out in search of food. As he walks through the empty streets he looks into the houses and sees that they are filled with happy children celebrating Christmas. He knocks on several doors, but no one lets him in. Then the little boy walks aimlessly in the snow and takes refuge in a yard behind a pile of wood. There, he freezes to death.
In the meantime, Fyodor Dostoevsky was walking back home after his disastrous Christmas rendezvous. He staggered drunkenly into a yard to take a piss; and as Dostoevsky was releasing his yellow crystals, he saw the face of a child appearing from underneath the snow-melted piss. Fyodor stopped and gasped the cold air of Petersburg and said to himself: I know so little of real life that I just can’t help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about this child the whole night, the whole week, the whole year.
Then Dostoevsky kneeled down in front of the child’s dead body and whispered to his soul: The darker the night, the brighter the stars, the deeper the grief, the closer is God!
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