Shoulder arms!

"Mafra came to an end, a dark exile. Mafra, the January chill shivering through the body, the dampness on the walls, the somber corridors where omens and curses dwell. Everything there is fleeting, a premonition of torment, mornings of uncertainty and alarm, also joy and blue – melodies of hope – but the stone, the vaulted ceilings, the gloom of the cloisters, their former splendor lost, cast a long-lasting torpor over the days. Everything there is brief. Even if the hours weigh heavy, life hibernates. Even if there are moments of crystal and levitation. Now, upon leaving the Barracks and its extensions of beauty at dusk, the harshness of the silences, things unravel within experiences, which are already beginning to change, the thread breaks and nothing remains. Nothing? The stigmas, the weight of constraints, remain. And the atmosphere of solidarity with which we defend our threatened humanity."