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Simon Phipps's personal commentary

Light is streaming across my desk, dragging my mind to New York. One of the things I like in New York is looking down the east-west canyons and seeing the surreal light of amazing sunsets. In late spring this year I finally made the pilgimage to Ground Zero one afternoon after speaking at an event in Mid-town. I'd not been able to bring myself to do it on earlier vists.

One year ago today I was speaking at NetObjectDays in Munich, and the events unfolded in a collage of fragments from the Web, from CNN on airport monitors with the stranded many and from instant messaging conversations late into the night when I finally arrived home, trying to track down friends as so many had tried to track me during the evening. I could have been there - the NY Java SIG had invited me to speak, but I was already booked for Germany - and the knowledge built empathy, and then fear, and then grief, and finally relief as all my friends and colleagues checked in, some from close encounters.

The light. The light was a surprise. I'd walked down Broadway from Times Square, and the encounter with the grief and mementos on the railings was moving. I decided first to go to Battery Park though, and backtracked to the WTC site.What caught me unawares was the light. The void, the immense space blown apart in the fabric and life of the city, nation and networks of souls, allowed the light through. The sunset streamed into the site, reflected of the clouds, the buildings, and there was such beauty.That's the paradox.

The detail of the site, the personal memories, the mementos, the enormity of the losses, the accounts from friends, all were expected burdens. But the light. It seemed that opening up the space had somehow allowed the light in. The paradox of hope overwhelmed me.

posted at 9:29 AM (UK) | |