The death of a friend — even one you haven’t seen for awhile — always brings you back to that which is frustratingly incomprehensible, the mysteries. He, the believer, died dancing, near the shore of Lake Atitlan in Guatemala; assumed the whole, gobsmacking, psychedelic thing was right there in our hands. From this side of the divide, I, the skeptic, continue to see only the parts. But often the parts are beautiful. And there is hope — which is yet another mystery. Dance in peace and joy, Brett Greider.