Was It Harder To Die, Or Harder

One Day When I Was Fourteen, I Told Charlie That I Hated Mother. “don’t Hate Her, Jo,” He Told Me. “feel Sorry For Her. She’s Not Near As Smart As You. She Wasn’t Born With Your Compass, So She Wanders Around, Bumping Into All Sorts Of Walls. That’s Sad.” I Understood What He Meant, And It Made Me See Mother Differently. But Wasn’t There Some Sort Of Rule That Said Parents Had To Be Smarter Than Their Kids? It Didn’t Seem Fair.

People I Didn't Know Formed A Circle Around Me, Sheltering Me From View. They Escorted Me Safely Back To Our Jurta, Undetected. They Didn't Ask For Anything. They Were Happy To Help Someone, To Succeed At Something, Even If They Weren't To Benefit. We'd Been Trying To Touch The Sky From The Bottom Of The Ocean. I Realized That If We Boosted One Another, Maybe We'd Get A Little Closer.

Whether Love Of Friend, Love Of Country, Love Of God, Or Even Love Of Enemy—love Reveals To Us The Truly Miraculous Nature Of The Human Spirit.

It Amazed Me How Some People Could Touch An Instrument And Create Something So Beautiful, And When Others Tried, Like Me, It Just Sounded Like Mangled Noise.

A Wrongdoing Doesn't Give Us The Right To Do Wrong.