Friends,

I have come to understand the reason why no one believes in God anymore. It is an ancient reason, going way back to the days when nature was anthropomorphized, when nature was human and acting out of emotion. The reason no one in L.A. believes in God is because in L.A. nature is not powerful--it is weak. Nature, by God, is a sissy. Can all God do is come up with easy-going sunshine? And all year long? I mean, come on, Lord. Show us your chest hair. Give 'em something, anything. Stop making it seventy-two and partly cloudy. Throw 'em something to tremble at. As for out here in Pennsylvania--God is buff. He is humungous clouds and sky, angry thunder, pretty flowers and forests. Alli and I have been to the woods. For her birthday we stayed in a castle built many years ago (not feudalism-long ago, because there wasn't any feudalism here, except in the South, among the ancestors of trashy whites) by a man named Joseph Sibley. A friend of mine, Eddie's uncle Rich (perfect name, eh, for one who owns a castle) let us stay with him for a night in his castle. It is in beautiful and big woods where trees are trees and men are men and God is God. And God can really get things going out there, you know, he can show us his stuff. There is a tremendous feeling of force when the morning is cold, just-colder-than-your-sweatshirt-can-handle cold, and you have to put on your shoes and socks and hope for the best. That is prayer. That is veneration. We who love God out here in the East understand God as a generous God, a loving God; not safe, but good (as C.S. Lewis would have said). We see the proof of his power in the mornings and in the change of the seasons, and in the cold shivers of night time darkness. God is bigger than I am. God's big arm moves through my afternoons in wind and dark clouds and then, in an instant, here are sun and birds and the feeling of forgiveness. God is bigger than all I can see, and he proves it. Not like for you wussies out on the West Coast. Your god is puny. Your god, if you can even call him a god, is no greater than Dallas Raines. "But," you respond, "Carlos, your argument is full of holes. There are people out in the East who do not believe in God. You can't go around saying that the East is full of theists just waiting, at the first sign of rain or sound of thunder, to drop to their knees in worship." And, you're right. I can't say that. There are atheists out here, too. I have met many of them. "So, why," you may ask, "are they atheistic?" Here is your answer: the problem of evil. How can you believe in a good God when it gets so damn cold? God in winter is a tyrant. I hear that during the winters, our loving God--loving shmoving--is about as nice as Hitler when he's hungry. And we're in for it. I mean, I am afraid, very very afraid. I want to make sacrifices to him. I want to give him some things in order to get my California winter back. Too bad I don't know any virgins.

As I said, Alli and I went to a castle for her birthday. It was a nice trip up through Franklin, PA, a place where there is only one street and a river. It was pretty everywhere, rich and thorough. Some of the leaves were already changing, and while we were driving John Lennon's "Imagine" came on the radio and I felt like crying at all the beauty surrounding me. Then, to get to the castle, we had to drive into the woods for a couple of miles down a dirt road. There was a small creak next to the road and many things to look at. We pointed out for each other the birds and plants and things all over and around us. Then it happened: thumpthump! Alli looked in the rearview and hit the brakes. "Oh no! No! No! No!" she screamed. Then I turned around to look out the back window. I saw a poofy tail flailing back and forth, back and forth, getting slower and slower. Alli had run right over a squirrel's head. When I walked back to see what all had happened, I noticed that it was already dead, so I rolled it with my foot to the side of the road.

This was very sad, because I knew this was Alli's worst nightmare, to kill an animal. I walked slowly from the car to the squirrel, and took my time walking back from the squirrel to the car, because I knew she was crying in the car, and I wanted to give her some time. It is against her nature to take the life of an animal, and I knew she felt very guilty, but that she needed some time, just a little time. By the time I got back to the car her face was wet and she was very quiet. I was sad too, and we drove the rest of the way without talking, only holding hands and me rubbing her neck and back. This was a very sad and special moment.

Then we went hunting.

Actually, we had a great, easy time up in the woods, after, of course, the squirrel incident. This is a rare kind of experience for someone from California. Big Bear is all I know of the forest, and there there are all kinds of trees that you or make you sticky. Here, though, the trees and things were something else, tall and light green and friendly and peaceful. They wave with the breeze. They are almost as kind as Shel Silverstein's Giving Tree.

Here is some good news: Alli and I have finally met a friend, a real friend, someone we will talk about from now on in our phone conversations with you, and whom you may one day meet for yourself. He is kind. His name is Ian. He is a good listener and talker, and we have some classes together. He is good at drinking beers with me; he keeps up and then we get loud about our writing and we say to each other (in Ernest Hemingway's way, not in hip-hop's way) how "tight" we feel, and we buy each other a pitcher, and then only good things seem to happen. Also, to say something about his compassion, he gave Alli a birthday gift, a how-to book for decorating, for our new house. This is what I mean by kind. I was the only one out here who would be able to spend the day with her, and he gave her a present, to make her feel a little more at home. He also drove me around the night before Alli's birthday, to make sure all the plans and gifts were set up right. He was sick, but he agreed to do it, because he understands a man's need to seem like a good husband. This makes him double-good, for me and for Alli.

I hope you're all well out there. We both love you very much.

Carlos