A Day in Bullets

20 07 2012

Another mass shooting in Colorado knocked me off my rocker, and shaped the rest of the day. I read certain things I would not otherwise have read. Built a shrine in my room. Cried in the shower. Schooled myself in a game of soccer.

One of my favorite soccer goal-scoring memories lives just up the road from the theater.

I’ve found lately that I can only take my prayers seriously when recited in a foreign language. There is so much to say, too much for the words of my own tongue to be of any use. No orderly queue here; there’s cutting and quarreling and shoving until all devolves into chaos. Foreign words could mean anything- and so, they can mean everything.


Grief, like the bullets that so often bring it about, is a great leveler. It can unite those who would otherwise have nothing to do with one another. It can also be a force of devastating isolation. The choice is ours.

The Sound of Cry




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