Chronicle of a Silence Endured. Guido da Verona
my mind, an angel is a self-sufficient entity.
It is unfamiliar with co-dependence and the long,
bitter suffering of a lost love. It does not ponder
first-hand as a member of the human race the
infinite mysteries that surround life on this earth.
Can an angel feel what us humans feel in our
laughter, in our affection, in rain falling on our
skin, in our injury, our countless injustices,
in our anxious understanding that we will all
die someday, stripped even from our own
name? When an angel looks down from heaven,
might it feel a sense of envy because perhaps
it does not know how beautiful it is to suffer
with joy, how honorable to love one’s enemy,
how inexplicable the experience of an embrace or
the ultimate test of our God, as He, in a
cruel mystery before death, removes Himself
from our precious, beating heart?
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