Sunday morning
One Sunday morning, the rain fell like a long sadness. I saw two angels with silver wings peeking out from the open sky window. In their eyes there was a fire that insisted on evaporating the wet sadness. Loneliness and poetry crucified me on the doorpost of my room. Psalms that had long been locked in the breviary evaporated and filled my head. In front of me, there was only a woman like Mary who was determined to uphold the sea for the ship that I created from pairs of lonely words. A few steps from my room, God had not yet finished breaking Himself into sequential divisors. I, who was still steadfast on the lowly doorpost of my room, wanted to simplify my faith into a fat and whole zero. Because religion is too busy numbering itself in various positive numbers that are getting bigger and bigger so that it tortures God to continue to divide His Body. I let my faith change numbers into zeros. I want to trap God in an undefined division. I love You, much simpler than the way religions define You.