On a table near my bed rests a feather. It is a talisman of the finest kind, delivered to me in the way such wonders should --- by chance, discovered when most needed. A feather snared in tall dry grasses, a symphony of browns and earth, appearing at my feet. A symbol from an anonymous donor, accompanied by an amorphous voice who spoke four clear and simple words. “You are not alone.” All this is as true as anything I know.
I am a creature not given to belief, yet to deny this extraordinary event would in itself be non-scientific. A feather as real as any carbon-based life form. A voice as real as any sound my ears have ever heard. When the unreal is vouchsafed, we then must accept its truth, and in the accepting, must ultimately accept as well the why and the wherefore of it all. It is unwise and serves no useful purpose not to do this.
This experience of mine was help in its purest form, help when I needed it most desperately, help which eventually saved my life. To question the particulars is to deny the obvious, and to deny the obvious is to be ungrateful in the extreme.
An experience in an autumn meadow. To what end, for what purpose? For the continuance of my life, of that there is no doubt. Sent by whom, from whom the voice? I still have no idea. There are possibilities. I only know that I believe in the strings that vibrate. What causes those strings to vibrate remains for me a mystery.
Causes Mara Buck Supports
Kennebec Valley Humane Society, Amnesty International