I challenged, crazily, when George died, ok, communicate with me, show me a sign, now that you understand me, understand everything. and of course nothing. and yet the crazy thought does enter my head that if there is any afterlife, any true metaphysics to this, that it can only be expressed through the only vehicle capable of expression, in other words, myself. The thoughts that enter there, the thoughts expressed, are these the communication. The hint of thought, coming as they do, out of nowhere, a thought I couldn't have summoned otherwise. Maybe this is truly it. A eureka moment came when I was sitting on the toilet and contemplating a revelation of envy, a confession of this loss, that I lowered my hand down and splinter drove deep under my fingernail drawing blood (from the toilet seat!). That's when the idea hit me with full force, that of course it's only what you yourself do that is the conduit of expression from someone in the afterlife. It's what you yourself do. And that, to me, does have meaning.