Death

Big title. Max is dead. I can't go and see him anymore. I was always going to.... never did. And now he's dead.

They cremated him and put his ashes in a beer stein. There it sat on the alter in the little church in Pickerington. There he sat? Nah. He's moved on.

So, what do I believe? I don't know. I believe there is more. Consciousness? Maybe, but not ego. Not the deduced I. The deducer. The I that precedes the deduction. Old, old train of thought. From the spring break I was riding around Europe on the trains. Just after I found out that Max had married Lorree.

And now, Max is dead.

Thank God for the horses. I hope Max gets to ride in heaven. That would be a good thing.