Wednesday, November 05, 2003

I ran into an old friend indirectly today. Her sister walked into our office for an interview and I didn't even recognize her. When I found out who it was, a forgotten past crept in through the backdoor to my mind; the memories left it open.
What directed us to the web we now live haunts us sometimes. In this case, there is a black box, like one of those flight log boxes on planes, telling why this and not that, the therefores a hopeful wish like candleblowing at birthdays -- you're not really sure if it will all turn out as you've planned, but you hope just in case hope is what will make a difference.
I just finished reading Till We Have Faces (C.S. Lewis) this past weekend. The ending of the book is open, a lot more open than the rest of it, yet it seems to be a tale we all live and dream, somewhere between this reality and that, trying all the while to forget whichever one we've currently disengaged from. Perhaps when the heaven's declaration becomes clear, we'll finally be able to decipher just what all those black boxes in life are, to understand why, even in love, we must continually find ourselves incomplete. In fact, if the tale is true, doubtless in the end we will know Truth fully, even as we are fully known.

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