Sometimes I would leave my office with a sense of the great unity behind and beyond the minute particulars of life (…) It reminded me of the sense I’d had (…) that our mortal lives were just incarnate metaphors, that we are stories being told about the living love that created us and sustains us. It made me wonder if maybe that was true of all history. Maybe all of history’s beauty and bloodshed was a story not about pleasure and pain and power but about humanity’s relationship with the unseen spirit of love. We yearned for that spirit but we feared and hated it, too, because it shone it’s terrible light on us, we saw ourselves as we were, broken and shameful, far from what the spirit of love has made us. Maybe all our wars and rapes and oppressions were just our attempts to extinguish that light and silence that story.

Andrew Klavan