These past months I have been if not in the greatest danger, then in the most terrifying tumultuous seas. My ship, which sails an ocean of sickness, has rising water in every hold. It floats heavily and cuts through the ocean ever so harshly. Strangely, I think lying here just off of Cape of Good Hope that there is no symbolic imagery – for hope? Hope nevertheless! However stone-grey the ocean and however dark the sky, one must still remember that we are “born and raised amongst militants”, as quartermaster Krak says in the opera “The Steadfast Tin Soldier”. The thought sometimes creeps into my head in all my weariness, that my cup is now full. One can feel etched into life’s nerve and think: nunc libera me. That’s when one must go back to Kraks old aria on Tórshavn’s Skansin field: The military with its canons does not fear the bayonets! In the least, Skansin should now be credited. For Barbara is gaining recognition at a fairly good speed. Life’s turbulence brings one further ahead.