Today is the sixth anniversary of the crowning of the Ground Zero Death Pit where the World Trade Center used to stand.
I have written about that life-changing, world-modifying, event every year since the attack and I have come to gruesomely realize there are some dark pits that no words can ever begin to fill.
There are some wounds that will never callous.
I feel as if I have failed to give that historic, hollow, felling
any sense of scope or magnitude with invtented text — and so I am left
to wonder alone what that still-smoldering grave of despair means in
the grander semiotic of our lives.
The World Trade Center meant something grand and indescribable to
all New Yorkers. It was the ultimate landmark; the immortal
milestone. You used the Twin Towers to ground yourself and to orient
your being in space in a City that was often overwhelming and always
intense.
Unless and until a proper replacement is found to fill that dual
spiritual semiotic — the rest of us will be left to swallow our
yearning for the continued loss of two stakes in our miserable lives
that once produced definition and comfort in a troubled world.
