Oh, and every day you gaze upon the sunset
With such love and intensity
Why, it’s ah, it’s almost as if you could only crack the code
And you’d finally understand what this all means
Ah, but if you could, do you think you would
Trade it all, all the pain and suffering?
Ah, but then you would’ve missed the beauty of
The light upon this earth and the sweetness of the leaving
Calling all Angels, calling all Angels
Walk me through this one, don’t leave me alone
Calling all Angels, calling all Angels
We’re trying, we’re hoping, but we’re not sure why
It seemed about time for a pained, heartsick plea for divine intervention.
A prayer, a hymn really, truly worthy of the over-used description achingly beautiful, Calling All Angels begins with the sadness of a funeral – a mother sings, and a baby can be heard crying as the pallbearers hoist the heavy load and proceed, one foot after the other, life going on somewhere not so far away as they pace toward the grave – and ends with the bittersweet acknowledgement that you couldn’t hide from the pain and suffering without also giving up on all the beauty, an insight that feels like resigned acceptance born of hard experience, or perhaps wisdom, supposing there’s a difference. It’s hard to keep the faith, nurture the hope, perceive the light that still sometimes penetrates the darkness, and remain mindful of the good that sometimes offsets the evil; it’s hard to hold fast to the belief that it all has to mean something, to fulfill some sort of purpose, even if we can’t understand. We could use a little help down here.
I don’t know, maybe the angels aren’t coming this time, in fact maybe they never have, but I don’t suppose there’s any harm if we keep on calling out to them, not so long as we steel ourselves to carrying on as if we’re on our own. I’ve heard it said that there’s no such thing as false hope. There’s only hope. I never used to agree, but standing here at what feels like the dawn of a new Dark Age, maybe I’ve changed my mind.
the needlefish 