What we are reluctant to touch often seems the very fabric of our salvation.

You live in a tower that soars to heaven and goes unpunished by God.

What you see is not what we see. What you see is distracted by memory, by being who you are, all this time, for all these years.

I saw a photograph of a wedding conducted by Reverend Moon of the Unification Church. I wanted to understand this event, and the only way to understand it was to write about it.

Her death would leave me scattered, talking to chairs and pillows. Don't let us die, I want to cry out to that fifth-century sky ablaze with mystery and spiral light. Let us both live forever, in sickness and health, feebleminded, doddering, toothless, liver-spotted, dim-sighted, hallucinating. Who decides these things? What is out there? Who are you?

The modern meaning of life's end-when does it end? How does it end? How should it end? What is the value of life? How do we measure it?

Maybe when we die, the first thing we'll say is 'I know this feeling. I was here before'.