To the living, the dead are asleep. The Bible makes that clear. There is but one voice they will hear; it is not ours. They don't know we still weep. Their nerves don't grate at the shrill bagpipes played in their honor. The tolling bell does not disturb their slumber. They do not stir when their names are read one after another in an hours long sorrowful, orgiastic trance.

They are no longer witness to the perpetuating hatred against Muslims.

Every token of remembrance is strictly for the living. And we have every right to remember, to celebrate, to memorialize. But with that right comes the responsibility to move on. Grief should be part of healing, yet somehow I don't think the macabre proceedings in New York every year on this day are accomplishing that healing. Once healed, a scar sometimes remains. Or perhaps a slight limp, or a painful twinge that predicts the coming rain. It's only fitting that Ground Zero remains a pus oozing open sore that won't heal; it reflects our national psyche in that respect. But a public spectacle magnitudes larger than any individual funeral for those who perished only serves to reopen the wound.

It takes a lot of strength to move on. At 13 I lost a brother to an act of violence every bit as sudden and senseless as the hijacking of four planes. When a loved one or friend is taken away suddenly, a rift large enough to engulf you opens. The beckoning darkness (like sleep) seems comforting. But time and tide slowly close that rift, never totally, but enough for you to jump across. Maybe nine years isn't enough time. But I see that rift growing, and that means the medicine is not working.

It's time for a new prescription. If I were doctor I would start by downsizing the 9/11 ceremony. That sounds like treason to some reading this. But it's a start. Maybe I'd feel differently if I had lost someone in the attacks. Probably not. But watching the pomp and circumstance, I sense a feeling of obligation from the participants. We don't have to forget; we'll never forget, but we're only obliged to move on with our lives. I think if they weren't busy sleeping, nearly 3000 people would agree.