During the days of WWII, I was a young, little boy, a boy, searching for love and peace. Each day I searched, I found a big, cold, empty world. “Nothing” is a very wrong word to use, but, nothing could help to heal my tender, wounded mind, body and heart, nothing, except for the earth’s soil, a woman and the sun. Every morning when I woke up, I gazed through the window, waiting for the sun to rise. The warmth of the sun’s rays touched and healed my wounded mind and heart, but, there were days, and hours in a day, when the sun’s power was unable to reach and help heal my mind and heart. Layers of clouds, dark shades, decreased the power between the sun’s power, and my tender thirsty heart, thirsty for love and peace. The sun could not always reach, what the beautiful power of beautiful women, mothers, with their warm respect and love, always reached. Because we are human, and are the parents of Nature, war and fighting are very weak, unhealthy powers. Our love is our healthy power, a love which a little boy, now an old man, cannot forget; a power within power, the earth’s soil, women and sun, a power which cannot be washed away or dried up, but it cannot be wounded any more than it already is. World, we are losing the parents of our freedom and health, and the worst part of it is, and it can’t be any worse, is that more than half of this world is staring and looking, at what it is unable to taste and see. The sunpower could not reach what women, mothers, always reached.

I can still feel the warmth of the women’s warm arms, their embrace holding me tight, close to their warm bodies and hearts. I still have memories of their healthy warm wishes and words. They called me “child” and “son.” They talked to me and built my hope each and every day. I can still hear the words “Child, son, don’t be afraid. The bombing will stop very soon. The war will come to an end. Your father will return home, soon.” I can still feel their spilled tears, running down on my face and neck. Love is a beautiful power, a power that is still “melting” an old man’s heart. “Son, the war will come to an end.” Their warm healthy wishes have not yet, come true. To have one child, one parent killed, is too much, and it is TOO MUCH, but to have killings and loss of life by the thousands, is not enough.