Wednesday, September 10, 2008
FROM MORNING DRIVE JOURNAL
SEPTEMBER 11, 2002
Sunlight is fire in the towers of trees, a bright blue sky behind and beyond, a beautiful day like the beautiful sad day a year ago. One must care and not care. One must love and carry on. The universe is finally a cinderspeck; we are finally ashes. Yet while we live and move we should love and improve - it is the husbanding, the mothering that we must do if we are ever to get out of this world alive - by becoming more than just a bag of bones who lived here.
I think of all those souls lifted. They are moving in the trees this morning, shaking the leaves; they are the ripple on the surface of the pond; they are the gentle kiss of sunlight.
Silence is seldom quiet. Any moment of silence this morning will SHOUT. This instant, this clap of thunder.
I cannot speak of the tragedy yet; I cannot write of it. I choke on the word "fireman," my mouth full of sorrow and wonder both. We never know what we are made of until we are tested. Humans rush in out of duty, a duty we've chosen to accept, a duty we bear - whatever the consequences. We do it because we must and still it amazes me, what we are made of.
No, we are not ashes. I take that back. In the end we shall all be light.
The moment of silence. I've said all I can say.
SEPTEMBER 11, 2002
Sunlight is fire in the towers of trees, a bright blue sky behind and beyond, a beautiful day like the beautiful sad day a year ago. One must care and not care. One must love and carry on. The universe is finally a cinderspeck; we are finally ashes. Yet while we live and move we should love and improve - it is the husbanding, the mothering that we must do if we are ever to get out of this world alive - by becoming more than just a bag of bones who lived here.
I think of all those souls lifted. They are moving in the trees this morning, shaking the leaves; they are the ripple on the surface of the pond; they are the gentle kiss of sunlight.
Silence is seldom quiet. Any moment of silence this morning will SHOUT. This instant, this clap of thunder.
I cannot speak of the tragedy yet; I cannot write of it. I choke on the word "fireman," my mouth full of sorrow and wonder both. We never know what we are made of until we are tested. Humans rush in out of duty, a duty we've chosen to accept, a duty we bear - whatever the consequences. We do it because we must and still it amazes me, what we are made of.
No, we are not ashes. I take that back. In the end we shall all be light.
The moment of silence. I've said all I can say.
