But metaphors help eliminate what separates you and me.

What we seek is some kind of compensation for what we put up with.

A story is not something of this world. A real story requires a kind of magical baptism to link the world on this side with the world on the other side.

You throw a stone into a deep pond. Splash. The sound is big, and it reverberates throughout the surrounding area. What comes out of the pond after that? All we can do is stare at the pond, holding our breath.

One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true harmony.

Even castles in the sky can do with a fresh coat of paint.

I’m me, and at the same time not me. That’s what it felt like. A very still, quiet feeling.