I imagine this might be what it looks like when we die, and how it might feel; like being pelted with prisms of light that carry the particles of everything we’ve ever loved. Maybe it’s just science, maybe it’s God, maybe it’s whatever we choose to believe. Whatever makes it easier to stand back up, to open a slammed-shut heart.
Don’t pray for peace. Be peace. It’s not a wish or a request or someone’s else job. It’s in our hands.