It's odd how poorly her reasoning functions, this clever artiste, how mistaken and how contradictory; one would have to believe that she doesn't reason at all, that rather she's merely being driven on by her destiny-a destiny that amongst us can only forebode ill. She has removed herself from practicing her art, she herself has destroyed the power that enabled her to take charge over our inner being. How could she ever have attained this ability seeing as how she understands so little about us, the depths of our soul. She's hidden herself away and won't sing; but our folk, ever calm, without showing the slightest sign of disturbance, practically in the guise of the master-a mass that is at one with itself and essentially an entity that despite all appearances to the contrary is one that can only give gifts to others but is never able to receive any, not even from the likes of Josephine-our folk continues along its path.

As regards Josephine there's no hope left, her time is over and I'm already able to see the last word regarding her existence, the last dying whistle of her tune as it fades into silence. She's merely a small episode in the never ending saga of our folk, a bit of history, and we'll be able to rise above our loss, our folk shall continue on. But then, it won't be that easy-how are we to assemble together in total silence? Indeed, we weren't all that silent even when she was with us, was her actual whistling louder and more lively than our memory of it, am I saying anything in posing such a riddle? And was it ever anything more than a memory even when she still lived, rather isn't it much more the case that our folk in its wisdom, our folk rated her song so highly even due to this, because it was some-thing that bespoke what is immortal, something that we'd never lose. Perhaps then, indeed, we won't be missing her all that much.

But Josephine, Josephine who has now been released from all of our earthly travails-travails that, in her opinion, lie in wait for anyone who has been chosen to rise above the mundane-it is with joy that she shall become lost in the countless multitude who make up our heroes, the heroes of our folk; and soon, seeing as how we're such awful historians, soon in a heightened state of blissful release {gesteigerte Erlösung} she too shall be forgotten along with all of her brothers and sisters, there is so much that we tend to forget...