The phone was placed onto the table and all else faded away into a blur of hot helpless tears. You are mostly made of a column of water some six feet high, and what a miracle that water can walk and talk, worry and exult, touch taste and see. See until these first tears of loss obscure your vision and you grope around blindly for a chair, for solace, for a different explanation, as a part of your world seems to collapse.
Outside everything seems the same – the birds sing in their melodic fury, wind caresses the trees, rain falls and the sun flows through everything. Somewhere in Hawaii lava is spilling into the ocean, the winds batter the southern coast of a driftwood town in Argentina, a snowflake settles in its ordained place on a mountainside forest in Slovenia. You can’t understand how everything could go on when this has happened
Maybe you sank to the ground, maybe you ran outside, scrubbed the sink until it shone with a lustre born of the energy of grief. Shone so brightly it was nearly blinding. Maybe you heard a sound from somewhere so deep within yourself that it seemed to come from somewhere else entirely. Maybe you stood silent and felt the pulse of water through your veins, heard the hum of electricity in wires, smelled the rock at your feet and took all this in blindly. Because something had now vanished, and trying to understand the depth of forever can make us stare blindly into our selves. It is not ashes to ashes and dust to dust- it is a soul that has broken free from a column of water, some six feet tall which now will unravel, in tandem with your heart.