San Diego Stories by Salvatore Filippone

« August 2002 | Main | November 2002 »

September 11, 2002


(presa ... ppp)

Of the day, the hours and the minutes and the thousands of seconds, there is measure. Of the moment there is no measure, it is elusive and infinite. It is exquisite.

I sat once as a child in a field of whispering wheat swaying. This, among so many countless, was such a moment. It captured for me the essence of life.

Four years ago I sat at the side of a dying man. To him I whispered "it is okay to leave now." It was midnight, a measure. He died. In that quiet, in that solitude, I sat and listened, I watched. In that measure of time there was a moment where I listened to the silent symphony his life. His 62 years were brief, that moment is eternal.

Last year on 9/11 thousands filled eternity with the symphony of their lives. In all of the noise, the arguments and debates, the anger and the fear, the endless cacophony, have we paused to listen?


Posted by sfilippone at 10:19 PM