Legacy Blog: "A Prayer for the Dead"


“A Prayer for the Dead”

What is of value, I say? The rise of dawn? The break of day? 

I am reminded of the biblical prayer, the De Profundis:

“Out of the depths I have cried to thee.  Lord, Lord hear my voice.”

As I shelter in place, am I safe? Does anyone hear my voice? 

The real query is: What do I value in my life? What is accessible behind the wall in the safe locked tightly containing my possessions? 

Rationally, I know the science.  I’ve paid attention to the incessant admonitions about the so-called 30%.  But what do I believe in my heart?  How can I wrap my head around the carnage beset against those numberless souls?

At this moment in time, I see the metaphor of 100,000 people, nameless, filling a large sports stadium, sitting silent, their voices absent.  They were not safe.  But they were of value.  Someone’s father, mother, sister, brother, aunt, uncle, grandmother, or grandfather.  The indescribable anonymity of those lost, suffering souls who died the solitary death of isolation is literally unimaginable.

The pain and suffering of those left behind.

We are history.   And history should always be written within the context of people.  The writers are the historians of this time.  The word on the page is what is of value and which survives the author.  The essayist will breathe the obligatory, historical consciousness onto the folio of everlasting life, a chronicle and narrative of an extraordinary account, writ large.

The living, breathing word is what will be treasured, remembered, and forever valued by the souls who discover our precious occupations.  Another holocaust.


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