It was the first cleft in the sacredness of parenthood, it was the first split in the pillar on which my childhood had reposed,
and which everyone must overthrow, before he can attain to self-realization.
The inward, fundamental basis of our destiny is built up from these events, which no outsider observes.
Such a split or cleft grows together again, heals up and is forgotten, but in the most secret chamber of the soul it continues to live and bleed.
I myself felt immediate terror in the presence of this new feeling,
I would have liked to embrace my father’s feet there and then, to beg his forgiveness.
But one cannot beg pardon for something fundamental, and a child knows and feels that as well and as deeply as any adult.
I felt the need to think over the affair and to consider ways and means for the morrow; but I did not get around to it.
My whole evening was taken up solely in accustoming myself to the changed atmosphere of our living-room.
Clock and table, Bible and looking-glass, bookcase and pictures seemed all to be saying good-bye to me.
With freezing heart I had to stand by and watch my world, the good happy time of my life, sever itself from me, to be relegated to the past.
I was forced to realize that I was being held fast to new sucking roots in the darkness of the unfamiliar world outside.
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