Dust Ball


It was around 5 am when I realized that everything one can no longer put into words is the aftermath of 9/11.

The way we all are with one another is consistent with trauma victims.

We all began to behave in ways that made no sense to us, being particles in shock waves, not entirely “self” anymore; Trying to stand up, knocked down by something, or pulled under, or pulled away, always looking for the old vibration of how it felt before the great rumble, when we could still believe in that now amputated something. Dust covered people all of us, trying to hard to grasp light, healing, to swallow or be or do anything just to counter the still reverberating trauma we never mention. You have to be ready to take off, to run. You have to be ready for anything. You can’t cry.

Strangers will appear as angels, and probably are. People you get really close to will suddenly disappear, just as buildings will no longer make any promises to stay where they were.

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