February 19, 2021
Today, for Me, Is Simply His Day
The day of Florin Mihăescu.
I know: you have never even heard of Mr Florin Mihăescu, one of the two pillars of my spiritual being. But I do not write to you merely because he is, for me, a perfect man, a pole of his age from my wholly subjective perspective.
I tell you only that such a man ought to have been known to a broad majority of those in Romania with intellectual, or even spiritual, concerns. And not only there.
A true Christian in his living; author of a Shakespearean exegesis of the highest intellectual order; author of the finest translation of Shakespeare’s Sonnets; a Christian writer of many thousands of pages of the loftiest spiritual experience and penetration; a true saint of absolute humility and modesty — probably the chief cause of his utter anonymity — who lived in the midst of the city, in the midst of Bucharest… and nobody, or almost nobody, knows anything at all about him. He does not even have the beginning of a page on Wikipedia.
That is Romania. Unfortunately.
A country that ignores and forgets its authentic worth.
But I do not think there is any point in telling you more. It would be too much for our patience, so hurried in these days.
Only this I add: today is Mr Florin Mihăescu’s day; he departed from among us in body some years ago, but is ever present through his work… which nobody reads any longer.
God rest you in peace, Mr Mihăescu.
And may He forgive us our ignorance, our indifference and our blindness.
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