You're glowing in the dark...

It is a dangerous thing with brothers, to think that you could be as strong as them, or as wise as them, or as good as them. To believe that you could have been the same person, if only you hadn’t gone a different way. To think that your parents raised you the same, and that your genes combined the same, and that the rest of what has happened in all your triumph ... or failure.

He wishes that he had some guarantees about the afterlife. He wishes he were absolutely certain that his grandparents are now together in some tranquil and restful place, sharing endless walks and talks beyond what their too-short stint on on this Earth allowed. He wishes he knew that they were offering enough comfort to one another to allow them both not to remember their distressing, even excruciating, last hours and days. Perhaps in this very moment they are peacefully making their way down the zigzag trail that joins the villages to the rest of the world below. And in his imagining, whenever they lose track of one another, one or the other calls out in a voice that echoes throughout the hills. Where are you? Right here, my love. Right here.

Oh boy, I think I'm in trouble now...

For so long I thought I've been playing the last act of this nightmare of a year. With my life in turmoil for so long, it just seems impossible to avoid the setup of a shattering countdown when it will all be over and the tide will once again turn in my favor. So I give an insistent appeal for crucial answers, but I only receive evasive responses or killing silence from the universe. But the banks of my patience are bursting, an intractable cataclysm disturbs my interior world. Yet, this disruption might allow me to restore my emotional power by cleansing the oppressive environment and purifying the air that I breathe. Maybe I can still get out of this alive. 

They stare because they know...

All normal expectations went by the board and my daily habits were disrupted by a sense of ever-spreading all-consuming chaos which rendered the future unpredictable, the past unrecallable and ordinary life so haphazard that I simply assumed that whatever could be imagined might come to pass. That if there was only one door in a building it would no longer open, that wheat would grow head downwards into the earth not out of it, and that, since I could only note the symptoms of disintegration, the reasons for it remained unfathomable and inconceivable. There was nothing I could do except to get a tenacious grip on anything that was still tangible.