I died once and went to that place of omniscient one-ness with the universe, that place of all-being, all-seeing and all-knowing; one with God. I could see the immensity of the universe, and the minuteness of its components; the complexity and the simplicity of everything, all at once. What I remember most, other than a feeling of complete and utter, total serenity, was an awareness that, in the grand universal scheme of things, my little problem down here (being dead) was just a drop in a bucket in a whole big old ocean of things to worry about, and so was, as a friend used to say, "Nothin' but a thing."
I think that those of us who would have us build a monument to their every trauma, to be reminded of it every day lest we trip on one of their marble bases as we wind our way through the veritable forest of them that would be required, possibly triggering the magic trapdoor releasing all our horrors, to be relived again and again, would do well to remember that we are all just little specks ("Triggers and Lifelines," March 28). We aren't the first people terrible things have happened to, those stories on the news really have nothing to do with us and no one ever got anywhere by making a career out of keeping the memory of their trauma alive, feeding it and tending it so it never dies.
Terrible things happen. Some people are abusive. Accidents happen. Sociopaths walk among us. No society ever grew stronger by making a religion out of victimhood, though. We do well when we persevere despite our horrors, not when we focus on reliving them with every reminder. Live life. Move on. Be free.
Steve Parr, Eureka