NOVEMBER 30
Into Paradise may the angels in whom I do not believe lead
thee; at thy coming may the martyrs long decomposed take
thee up, in eternal rest, and may the chorus of angels lead
thee to that which does not exist, the holy city, and perpetual
light.
—WILLIAM GIBSONThere is a way in which reason fights against the possibility
of life beyond death. We see the body suddenly devoid of
life, of spirit. Where has it gone? We do not want to be
duped, even for our own comfort. How can a spirit live
without its lifetime clothing?
And yet...we want so badly to believe there is more, and
that we shall know one another again. The religions of hu-
mankind have described a frame for us on which we can
hang belief. We have stories, hunches, hopes. We have visit-
ations and dreams, and we know of lives made over by the
force of what cannot be seen or measured.
So to be on the safe side, we express our uncertainty, our
skepticism, and then from somewhere comes the intuitive
flash of faith, and the stories, and we are lifted up on
wings...and we fly!
Faith is a gift. I can open my hands to receive it.