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“The damned could be saved, he said, anytime. But they refused to give up their sins. Though they suffered endlessly, they would not give them up, even for salvation, perfect divine love.
I hadn’t understood at the time. If sinners were so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why, without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life. It wasn’t like I didn’t know where all this remembering got you, all that hunger for beauty and astonishing cruelty and ever-present loss.. I had already seen more of the world, its beauty and misery and sheer surprise, than they could hope or fear to perceive.
But I knew one more thing. That people who denied who they were or where they had been were in the greatest danger. They were blind sleepwalkers on tightropes, fingers scoring thin air. So I let them go, got up and walked away, knowing I’d given up something i could never get back. Not Ann and Bill Greenway, but some illusion I’d had, that I could be saved, start again.”
