Was There Only One World After All

And Then Serafina Understood Something For Which The Witches Had No Word: It Was The Idea Of Pilgrimage. She Understood Why These Beings Would Wait For Thousands Of Years And Travel Vast Distances In Order To Be Close To Something Important, And How They Would Feel Differently For The Rest Of Time, Having Been Briefly In Its Presence. That Was How These Creatures Looked Now, These Beautiful Pilgrims Of Rarefied Light, Standing Around The Girl With The Dirty-face And The Tartan Skirt And The Boy With The Wounded Hand Who Was Frowning In His Sleep.

He Meant The Kingdom Was Over, The Kingdom Of Heaven, It Was All Finished. We Shouldn't Live As If It Mattered More Than This Life In This World, Because Where We Are Is Always The Most Important Place.... We Have To Be All Those Difficult Things Like Cheerful And Kind And Curious And Patient, And We've Got To Study And Think And Work Hard, All Of Us, In All Our Different Worlds, And Then We'll Build... The Republic Of Heaven.

All Writing Is Difficult. The Most You Can Hope For Is A Day When It Goes Reasonably Easily. Plumbers Don't Get Plumber's Block, And Doctors Don't Get Doctor's Block; Why Should Writers Be The Only Profession That Gives A Special Name To The Difficulty Of Working, And Then Expects Sympathy For It?

Even If It Means Oblivion, Friends, I'll Welcome It, Because It Won't Be Nothing. We'll Be Alive Again In A Thousand Blades Of Grass, And A Million Leaves; We'll Be Falling In The Raindrops And Blowing In The Fresh Breeze; We'll Be Glittering In The Dew Under The Stars And The Moon Out There In The Physical World, Which Is Our True Home And Always Was.

The First Ghost To Leave The World Of The Dead Was Roger. He Took A Step Forward, And Turned To Look Back At Lyra, And Laughed In Surprise As He Found Himself Turning Into The Night, The Starlight, The Air. . .and Then He Was Gone, Leaving Behind Such A Vivid Little Burst Of Happiness.