It's so lovely and easy to, like the angels in Wings of Desire, slip invisible through millions of people's stories.
Returning to a little piece of Heaven on Earth that felt like Home, that's all there was, a sea of millions of other moments in other peoples' lives.
Who was Addy and who painted this for her birthday?
Christ by the rolls of shipping paper and boxes and envelopes you always needed when you didn't have them.
And how come we all gathered so many pens and markers?
The perfect place to have an angel to pray to.
Somebody once loved these white tigers.
and the clothes...the clothes just begging to be tried on, even if there wasn't one thing needed...
All it was buoyed by a delight of wandering through, unfettered but engaged. Almost like an interesting chat with someone also waiting on line for the bank. Amused but not involved.
Then a pile of blank notebooks beckoned. Could always use those.
There was nothing blank about them. They were, in fact, filled with parts of my own story.
The phone number of an old high school classmate, the amazing one who one day in English class, got up and tap danced on the teacher's desk and we all knew he was destined for greatness, the one who died too young, too soon...
the beeper of another...his photos so astounding they capture rare moments of our souls so well his name has become a verb to us (have you gotten "..." yet?)...
the daily reminder notes of a third...the one who, decades after being a young professional dancer, literally danced up a wall at a party..UP the wall... there's a picture somewhere proving that...
HEY I KNOW THESE PEOPLE IN THIS BOOK! I shouted to the guy who was selling all this stuff. I KNOW ALL THESE PEOPLE.
"Anything happens here," the Heaven on Earth guy shouted back at me.
And anything does.
I went to school with his brother.
Wings of Desire
Heave On Earth Feels Like Home
Sunday Memories of High School Stairs
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