My Mind Drifts Back To Bangladesh

It’s a bad brew that gets uncorked there from time to time. You can’t understand the impetus for it by only scanning to the horizon. The Raj isn’t far back enough to go. You must cast your mind further.

Nandas? Guptas? Auryas? Do you know your Pashto? You could pick through the ruins of the Mughal Empire and see the world, in all its potentialities. The British did. That world looked back at them with a thousand yard stare.

God does not seem like a wooden totem only, there. He takes his millions in a rainstorm alone. The stones are soaked once again with blood, to mix with blood spilled by Menander.

You can look into your heart and try to find the notion that life itself has meaning. You hope others do, too. If their heart has that place.