It’s hard for a band of brothers to travel the same seas with a brother gone. He’s everywhere but he’s not. It’s hard for a band of brothers to walk the same islands with a brother gone. He’s with them but he’s not. It’s hard for a band of brothers to play the same music with a brother gone. His music is still loud but he’s not.
How hard it must be to be shaken from the busy that is everyday to be taken back to the very rooms of a brother. How silly they must feel… their dejections at once awake. How loud is his laugh among their silence? Books and apps and cards and plans and ideas do not prevail. His presence is so loud.
What to do with the present when the past seems this inconclusive? What does the future hold for those with inadequate pasts? What is there to multiply when ones's additions have been this subtracted? Divisibility abounds.
They are incomplete.