To Wake, Perchance to Dream

Last night, my sister had a rooftop party at her West Village apartment. From there, we could all see up close the projected lights meant to symbolize the Trade Center. My brother-in-law had gone to that roof four years ago at the instruction of my father, who had been driving by on his way to work and saw the hole in the north tower. “Go to your roof. Something is going on,” my father told him. He got up there just in time to have the second plane roar over his head and crash directly in front of him.

Four years ago today began the pain that is indescribable for me and so many others. Finally, I heard the name of one of my friends who died read at the service this morning—I’m surprised it still hurts.

~

The waking life moves on. And I truly think to keep it going, the dreamers need to do their magic: Make it something worthwhile, an experience where pain is a value because it is unavoidable.

I would like to figure out how to be one of them.