Two nights ago, I dreamt that bombs fell on my home. I was with my family when orange light split the sky and rockets came down. In that moment, I made peace that I would die. Maybe I did so because I thought I couldn't cease to be. I woke from that dream to the incessant vibration of my phone. A friend was calling me, who I ignored last time he did. I let it ring. When I didn't answer, he texted me. Our old friend had died less than an hour before. Isn't it odd how dreams border reality? I often see little difference between life’s two dimensions of the body and the spirit. For a time, I understood them as the same. For my fore-bearers, there was only the body. One moment you’re here, the next you’re gone to the grave. I think that’s why we bury bodies instead of spreading ash. It may be a sign of resurrective hope, but I think a part of us doesn’t want to let them go. When I visited my uncle’s grave a couple times ago, I felt a sense of loss. I was home and thought it tim...