I recently heard that Christian truth ends on Friday, at the moment of doubt on the cross, and it is a truth so terrible and unbearable that, faced with it, man, straining hard, added to it a comforting Sunday fairy tale. I have a slightly different intuition – that all truth begins and ends on Saturday, in the suspension between question and answer, which only allows, in a flawed way, a glimpse toward the truth. In this narrow, peculiar, timeless gap, or zero point, here and now, about which nothing can be said. Meanwhile, the human drama (and human comedy) lies in that the world begins and ends with the word. The word lasts. Dawns and dusks. Seduces, misleads, elevates, and disappoints. The world is a story, and man is a story. Without the word and the story, only cold, empty, devoid of any meaning, boring truth remains.

Happy Easter, Nation.