The Strolling Saint

A picture by Pedro Meyer, 1993

When I bumped into him everything went quiet. Everything stopped for a moment and then went into slow motion. Everything was filled with meaning.

Nine years ago I was praying to God, whom I could not understand, asking him to show me what it was like to really have faith. To this day, I do not understand him for I don’t think it’s possible to understand something that’s so much greater than yourself, but I know him now. I know him very well.

“It’s a humble place to be” a friend of mine once said. I couldn’t have put it in better words myself. It’s such a humble place to be. At his side. Where you are oh so powerless and at the same time – so fearless. A place where you would never harm another human being cuz’ you’re not frightened anymore. Cuz’ you know that by harming other you’d only be harming yourself.

My God has no religion, he is no greater than your God. He doesn’t make me fight to prove ‘my truth’ for only he knows that the truth is one. The truth which is not to be found in the pages of the Bible or the Qur’an, and is not hidden in the sound of a quietly pronounced sacred mantra. The truth which is like that strolling Saint – always round the corner, always here, but only to be seen if you are looking with your heart.

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