he fell into my arms and said"sometimes god takes what we love most. he knows best".i agree.so I made up something as i buried his grandchildren.
i said, "god wants us to love him unconditionally";to get too tired to be angry; to love himthe way my friend zorab goes into the niagara gorgeto look for messages in bottles. he hates god, but finds hope.you get thankful for anythinghe doesn't take: breath, sight,memory, until they're taken. then you're thankfulfor death.such gratitude, taking everything forgranted, your ski-doos, your anger, sorrow;even fear; you forkover every feeling to him.
today i am thankful for anything,even the cold glance ofthose who do not love me. it's an experience.my novice master used to say he couldn't behurt anymore. me? i collect every sight and sound i'llmiss in my final moment.
today i buried four children. i don't know what the weepingwas about; i held thegrandfather's head to my own, like ahorrified brother faced with anunconditional god. it was like holding my own head.his brain, his love, his faith, my own -- anddoing what we do best -- living in spite of him.until he opens the screen door and says, come in;the day of streets and leaves is over.lay your head to rest, and put awaythe likeness of the day.
