Like many of you, I felt sucker-punched by Bourdain’s decision, and I am struggling to make sense of it…to find an emotional shelf to put it on. I do that by wrestling the issue to the ground, a messy process, sometime capturing my work-in-progress thoughts with you, as incomplete as they are.
Little things that make big things. Brush strokes, that make paintings, that have something to teach us.
My Mom, and millions of seniors like her, cannot have a taste of what relieved the suffering of the president of the United States. 1000 years from now, we’ll feel bad about that.
These writings and films open a window onto my personal journey on death. My hope is that by glimpsing through it you will find a blessing, and perhaps, a path to your own treasure.
There are some who, like Ophelia, fall into water and drown, their pale hands frantically waving inches below the glassy surface, as if to grasp the bright world beyond and pull it down around them. Those who breathe air and not water pass by and look, but cannot see what lies beneath.
There is a cost to war, measured in human life, and the victors possess the determination, perspective, and resolve to pay that cost for as long as it takes to win. We can, as humans, hold in one hand the horror, regret, and sadness that comes with the loss of life, while holding in the other the numb resolve to carry on.