The souls we have, are made of the love we have shared and the love we have lost; of the friends we have made, of the friends who have stayed and the friends who have strayed. We carry these shards forever within as vignettes of inconsolable peace, honed by an eternal forgiveness displayed on the Cross. The anger and pain is channeled into laughter redolent with pathos, or into a satire to sharpen the truth or into a parable directed to a few. Even as it finds expression, no one can see the shadow beneath.
Every time we see death or pain in others it becomes an echo of our own. We grieve with those who grieve, and even die with those who die. The experience is vicarious.
This existential trauma, is the journey of those irremovable shards as they snake their way inexorably to the gulag of an already brittle heart. When that tryst of the shards and the heart is complete, the pilgrimage on earth is done.
May God bless and receive Robin Williams. He has found his peace, and I must wait for mine.
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