bethofalltrades

I still imagine that someday we will find Don.

Tomato Nation does it to me every year. I think that it doesn't matter anymore, that seven years is a very long time, and then Sars writes about believing in angels (or not) and the tears can't be stopped.

I got into a deep discussion with Amanda about fate and the Universe. I believe that everything that happens is supposed to happen. I fight to believe it, even when things are going wrong. I believe it with no evidence.

That's faith. Believing when there's no reason to. I tried to explain to her that there are just things that I know in my heart. There's a reason that my hands can find the sore spots in a friend's body, and a reason that I call for no reason because I have a feeling that someone is sad, and a reason that I am here, now, doing what I do.

It wasn't a very compelling conversation, I fear. I am not the most articulate person in the world, and it is hard to articulate something that is only proved by "I feel it to be so."

I have met angels. The old Orthodox man who helped me up when I fell two years ago and told me that everything would be fine. He didn't mean my skinned knee. The punk girl on the bus who hugged me unbidden, without words, when I was crying.

I got to be an angel once, for a woman who fell down the stairs in the subway.

...

The only thing I want to say, I've said already.

(and it's a bit fucking tedious to say it again, no matter how true it is, no matter that it's the one unifying thought humanity has.)

Love,
Beth