Most mornings, when I wake up, the rays of the risen sun have passed through the six-inch crack up in the wall to rest where they should be…at the very edge of my sleeping mat. If the sharp, tiny rods of illumination were there, I’d trace the gleams of energy through the fissure to reach the rounded star in its most benign form. The one-room house I shared with my parents, Anne and Joachim, served...