I went to the MoMA with my dad on Friday (my parents are in town visiting for the next week). Standing in front of Jackson Pollock's massive Number 1A, I meditated on the loss, chaos, and suffering in Japan. My heart goes out to everyone there. The event is beyond comprehension -- I can't conceive of words that could possibly fit the scope of the tragedy there. But when I looked at this wild, chaotic, and yet somehow inherently ordered painting I felt a resonance with the scary unpredictability and fierce beauty of the cosmos. I felt conscious of and very grateful for life.