I am a skeptical creature. I do not believe in ghosts, or in angels. I say I believe in nothing. My behavior contradicts my beliefs. I walk through Berlin with both a sense of eeriness and blissfulness.
It is Saturday, and I want to haunt ghosts. The sky is grey. All sense of hope is faded. All I can do is think about the past. There is no forecast of a future. I think about Hegel while I drink my coffee with cream. I do not know if I could ever believe in history being rational. Yet, if I think about it, it makes sense. Perhaps that is the problem. It is too rational. I want to believe in different spirits.
I search Hegel on the Internet in a futile attempt to try to understand him more. I realize immediately that his death anniversary was two days ago and that he died in Berlin. This feels like destiny (I do not believe in destiny). I wanted to have an excuse to go to a graveyard for a couple of days. I rewatched The Royal Tenenbaums and felt weirdly attracted to the graveyard scenes. Only Wes Anderson could manage to make a cemetery look soft and pastel. After finishing the film, I searched for famous people buried in Berlin on the internet. The only one I was interested in was Nico. It felt appropriate since her song These Days is used in that iconic Margot Tenenbaum scene. But then I remembered I read somewhere about her racist allegations. I did a quick google search. I saw enough to convince myself I do not want to be near her grave. Everyone is problematic, true, but Hegel does not have that much dirty laundry on the internet.
I go out wearing my faux-fur coat. I take the S1 to go to the place Hegel was buried, Dorotheenstadt Cemetery. During the ride, I try to absorb the last flashes of light before it gets dark. All the force I am applying with my eyes makes my head spin. I get motion sickness. I try not to look outside anymore. There is an old man sitting in front of me listening to music on an old MP3. It makes me realize I forgot my headphones. I wanted to listen to Nick Drake and Elliot Smith. Admittedly, this is also partially because of The Royal Tenenbaums' soundtrack. I am trying to convince myself that whatever nonsensical timeline I am living in is not my actual reality. Movies often follow logical linear timelines, and I wish I lived in one. I hear Joan Didion's voice: "We tell ourselves stories in order to live". Maybe all I believe in is stories.
I get off at Oranienburger Straße and walk for about ten minutes. My fingers freeze as I take off my gloves to use the maps app. As I walk to the cemetery, I wonder why I have not done this before. I remember Patti Smith's tradition of visiting the graves of her favorite writers in whatever city she is in. I wish I were in Paris just so I can visit Oscar Wilde. I regret not doing so when I was there. I did, however, visit all the places Cortazar mentions in Hopscotch. Again, I can only navigate life through narratives. I have been trying to find film locations in Berlin for a while. Before watching Wenders' Himmel über Berlin, one of the only films I knew was based in Berlin is Field's Tár. But that isn't necessarily a narrative I want to live through, to say the least.
I rush to the cemetery as the sun was beginning to set. The place resembles a magical garden more than a graveyard. There are statues of angels, most of them looking down or praying. I remember Patti's picture from when she came to visit Brecht now. The graveyard does not have that gold pastel touch Wes filmed in his graveyard scenes, but I prefer this version. The dark green bushes make the place vaguely resemble a labyrinth, one where angels can help you find your way out. I doubt it, but I hope someone is looking out for me. I do not find certainty in any of that. Yet there is something hopeful about this place. While the rest of Berlin looks grey, this spot is an oasis. The green has not faded here. It seems to have been unaffected by time or seasons. Hegel's grave has a newly sent floral arrangement from Stuttgart for his death anniversary. I don't like the arrangement. The green foliage below is what draws my attention. It creates the illusion that the leaves are growing from Hegel's own decomposed corpse. They are not, nevertheless. His skeleton is rotting alone. I hope I can become one with the earth one day.
I walk back to the S-bahn still wondering what would Hegel say about German history today. I remember the conversation I had with my Jewish American friend the other day. I asked her if she ever feels odd here. She says that she feels that Germany is full of ghosts. I often feel that way when the sky is perpetually grey and the trees are bare. I think some of Berlin tries to make up for its ghosts by giving birth to so many new ideas and perspectives. But today is one of those where I cannot imagine seeing white wings in such a grey sky.
I went home and rewatched Wings of Desire. I remember the dialogue "my heroes are no longer warriors and kings, but things of peace, just one as good as the next", a few lines later, it goes on, "but no one has so far succeeded in singing an epic of peace". I have never thought of Heroes as an epic of peace until I watched Jojo Rabbit. I pray one day I can dance to Heroes when they announce war is over. But I want to dance forever. I want history to stop dancing in circles. I want the contradictions to disappear eternally. Ultimate synthesis, as Hegel would say. I am dreaming of utopia, but one where the road does not have endless turns. I am feeble and faithless, but I still dream of it. My behavior contradicts my beliefs. I say I have no hope but I still wake up every other day. I am an atheist, but I believe all humans were once angels. I am not certain if we are able going to be able give up greed in exchange for wings. I am trying really hard every day. I see many former angels in the streets of Berlin trying. I can only hope a zap of shared goodness will transcend…
p.s. if you are also overthinking history lately and feeling hopeless, I recommend reading this article ♡