There’s beauty in the silver, singin’ river
There’s beauty in the sunrise in the sky
But none of these and nothing else can touch the beauty
That I remember in my true love’s eyes
— Bob Dylan, “Tomorrow is a Long Time“
Distant lives become entangled with our own when for some reason they cross the glowing synaptic web at a fateful moment, and take on emblematic power for inner constellations of need and desire that seek some form beyond their own chaos. And when death’s darkness covers them, we might feel some ghostly trembling in that antique web, buried now under so many layers of years and changes, but still embered in the timeless now that saw it created. You might see, as in a dream, some near one’s eyes, returned from darkness, for a moment, just a moment, perhaps no longer than the breathing of a song.
