For some reason, the end of Aldous Huxley's Island keeps running through my mind as I watch the coverage in Boston:

"The work of a hundred years destroyed in a single night."

but also

"And yet...the fact remained and would remain always...the fact that the ground of all being could be totally manifest in a flowering shrub, a human face; the fact that there was a light and that this light was also a compassion."

So much dark, and sadness and pain- but also so much support, love, and light.