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The Physics of Angels Trish Crapo

I suspect the world remembers everything--- time and bones and words flung together and me in it, suspecting. If we can believe in photons---entities that possess movement but not mass, and if the spirit, too is made of light---then who am I to say I haven't lived before---or you, and thus this tenderness? Who am I to doubt that grace is elemental, like fire---or that souls have no need of us, finally?