The Signature of All Things

by Elizabeth Gilbert

“To be prosperous and happy in life, Henry, it is simple. Pick one woman, pick it well, and surrender.”

“Well, child, you may do whatever you like with your suffering,” Hanneke said mildly. “It belongs to you. But I shall tell you what I do with mine. I grasp it by the small hairs, I cast it to the ground, and I grind it under the heel of my boot. I suggest you learn to do the same.”

Look how little I need, Prudence seemed to be saying. Behold my goodness.

“the signature of all things”—namely, that God had hidden clues for humanity’s betterment inside the design of every flower, leaf, fruit, and tree on earth. All the natural world was a divine code, Boehme claimed, containing proof of our Creator’s love.

“And yet Boehme said that God had pressed Himself into the world, and had left marks there for us to discover.”

Dutch was not a mellifluous language like French, or a powerful language like Greek, or a noble language like Latin, but it was as comforting as porridge to Alma.

“Oh, to those who already dwell in heaven—good luck for what is coming!”

The trick at every turn was to endure the test of living for as long as possible. The odds of survival were punishingly slim, for the world was naught but a school of calamity and an endless burning furnace of tribulation. But those who survived the world shaped it—even as the world, simultaneously, shaped them.

“I will tell you why we have these extraordinary minds and souls, Miss Whittaker,” he continued, as though he had not heard her. “We have them because there is a supreme intelligence in the universe, which wishes for communion with us. This supreme intelligence longs to be known. It calls out to us. It draws us close to its mystery, and it grants us these remarkable minds, in order that we try to reach for it. It wants us to find it. It wants union with us, more than anything.”

“Well, you are not alone in this world, Miss Whittaker, even if you have outlived everyone. I believe that we are surrounded by

a host of unseen friends and loved ones, now passed away, who exert an influence upon our lives, and who never abandon us.”

“You will never be gone. The spirit merely lives inside the body, Miss Whittaker. Death only separates that duality.”