Read the original Spanish version here.
According to the prophet, God’s face is brighter than the sun and His long hair is whiter than snow and His voice roars like the rushing of a river, and next to Him man is nothing.
At times I think of these things, early in the morning, when the sun rises, and my mind is stuck in dogmas and mysteries which I can hardly understand, and I can only conclude that man is nothing.
According to the poet, God is greater than the priest imagines, for His mercy is greater than that of all of beings, for His light banishes the darkness in those who seek Him, for man is nothing.
It terrifies me, when I contemplate this life and its toils, to think that God is so far removed from our ways, yonder in the distance, that His light might not reach us and we will continue to grope about, for man is nothing.
According to my brother, God is found in the details, not so much in the geometry of constellations, not so much in the blue echo of the fathomless heavens, and he claims this while knowing that man is nothing.
I confess I do not know whether God dwells in the valleys or whether He moves about invisibly between dimensions or whether He is simply our daily breath, for I understand in defeat that man is nothing.
I wander around dressed in the rags of a roaming man. I know I am ephemeral, a sighing in the night.
I am crushed as I realize that even I am nothing. And only then do I fumble my way to a god I can trust.
And only then do I discover the God I can trust.
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