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What you can read below I noted down last night
by 04:30 am.
I
did not note it down to publish it. I did not think of publishing it
until a few minutes ago when I sat down in front of my computer to
draft the blog entry #105 on a very serious theme. I changed my mind
then. I thought, "Why get on my readers' nerves with an "intellectual
outpouring" (comment 104C17)? As this blog is a personal one, why not
share with everybody some of my raw little thoughts, the dwarfs that
scurry along with me on the path
of my nondescript life?"
Today a little something of my raw inner cogito, therefore, like
as-cast iron the last note of my notebooks.
Loads
of notebooks I've got, some big, some slim, different in size according
to the momentary size of my pockets, to the places and situations (at
my office, in my bedroom, on trips etc.). Some of them I've lost or
forgotten here and there, but a few of these I've sometimes found. I do
not worry about the destiny of my notebooks. The ones who have left me
in my own little corner—vox
populi vox Dei (the
people's voice is God's voice), but is this true?—justifiably do not
regard me as a thinker. For others who nevertheless are interested in
my thoughts, here's my last night note :
Last night I prayed, hunched
up, my insteps and my
forehead stuck to the floor of my apartment, to that concrete embedded
a few floors below into the earth that the Creator has given me
(telling), "Make it whatever you want!" (Genesis ———)* and I
wised up
once more. To some people prayer is a time of mystical illusion, of
daydream. To me it is the contrary, it is the time when I wise up, when
I reach the skepticism that has saved me ever since 1974-1977!
God?
I only heard a Voice distinguishable in the middle of a carnival of
lights and a frightening concert of cracks in the roof structure. I've
even gone somewhat deaf by it afterwards. Jesus? He was in the flesh,
indeed, but was he just clothed in the flesh when he spoke to me or
would he keep being in the flesh wherever he went in the night once
he'd left me? How does he live? Does he breathe? Does he eat? I don't
know. I only heard his Message. In other words, I do'nt know
much
about the things I believe in. I am a skeptical believer, therefore.
I
have faith, but I only believe in what I saw and heard. When a
communist, I thought I was wising up against the morals of the bougeois
close to me. And then the Bible brought me to wise up against my former
communism, and then Jesus and the Father brought me to wise up against
my Bible (the way it was interpreted in my church) and theology.
I am a skeptic. I am not an incredulous one, but just a skeptic.
I
went out onto my balcony, then, in the intense cold and damp air of
February and through a hole in the dark night veil I saw the stars and
marvelled realizing that I could live in the middle of the infinite
space, so I saw for myself that I could not be anything but a
tabernacle of God, and even nothing but God himself, made a God
by God…**. I am a man, a marvel. If I were not a skeptic, I couldn't
understand the very little bit of myself that makes me—a little man—all
and All.
*
Genesis 1/28-30, 9/1-3
**
Revelation of Arès 2/13
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