I glimpse the infinitely unknowable face of G-d and I tremble
A childhood memory: I’m sitting cross-legged on the grass, plucking petals from a daisy in this game where love is a random chance, waiting for the final petal to fall: odd or even, for or against, love or abandonment.
He loves me. The sun shines this morning.
He loves me not. A child is lowered into the belly of the earth.
He loves me. My children are safe.
He loves me not. Human faces, distorted by pain, like a ghastly reflection in a funhouse mirror, bringing up strange and difficult childhood memories.
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