He cried for the animal, for us, our lives, and for the war he’d endured and never told about. He changed after that, inch by inch. Another person might not have noticed, but I saw it. And so did Bush. She was moved by his new openness, his lack of skin. Tears have a purpose. They are what we carry of ocean, and perhaps we must become sea, give ourselves to it, if we are to be transformed.
