My Mother's Life Was Way Too Heavy

Soul. The Word Rebounded To Me, And I Wondered, As I Often Had, What It Was Exactly. People Talked About It All The Time, But Did Anybody Actually Know? Sometimes I'd Pictured It Like A Pilot Light Burning Inside A Person--a Drop Of Fire From The Invisible Inferno People Called God. Or A Squashy Substance, Like A Piece Of Clay Or Dental Mold, Which Collected The Sum Of A Person's Experiences--a Million Indentations Of Happiness, Desperation, Fear, All The Small Piercings Of Beauty We've Ever Known.

She Didn't Even Know How Dangerous The Truth Could Be, All The Tiny, Shattering Seeds It Carried.

Most People Don't Have Any Idea About All The Complicated Life Going On Inside A Hive. Bees Have A Secret Life We Don't Know Anything About.

If You Aren't Giving People Something To Talk About, You've Become Too Dull.

Drifting Off To Sleep, I Thought About Her. How Nobody Is Perfect. How You Just Have To Close Your Eyes And Breathe Out And Let The Puzzle Of The Human Heart Be What It Is.