We will never be able to stitch together a complete accounting of our own history.

If we survive this, one day, perhaps, we will decide to leave the past behind us--much as it is today--a tapestry of mysteries (narratives) woven together with both truth and falsehoods, and colored with both horrors and the sublime.

How many knots are there to untangle, and how many threads will be unraveled (and counted) before we realize their flowing patterns have been lost--and will we remember how there is in each one of us such vast darkness, and infinite light?