Fatima Saturday was uncommonly hot and I decided to go to Fatima for personal reasons. I didn’t want ask God anything, as if for asking and protecting God would exists – somewhere or in our minds. I went there because the last time I went there it was thirty years ago with one girl friend who I loved so much, and now I know that she left me for that same reason. As anything is about love, there I was: on the right spot. If God exist, and possibly exist, but as we never saw Him, unless in certain peculiar moments or states of spirit, most possibly He exists in a different form than we think. So, there I was in the middle of a multitude coming from different parts of the world, notified by the different languages I heard, mostly Italian, Spanish and Polish. Being there, I bought a candle in an attempt to wire me to Him through fire. But no, I couldn’t put the candle gently on a holder, everybody in the crowd received harsh orders to throw the candle to the pyre, and I couldn’t even approach it because the temperature reminded me the Hell. Then I went to the mess, but couldn’t enter inside the Church, full of lost souls like mine. Lost and tired from this temple now converted into an open market. Then I returned to Lisbon, but I was decided anyhow to attend the mess, I was badly needing, I feel myself a God hunter, someone who wants to believe, and in truth, many times miracles saved my life, so He must exists, but I want to know why He passes our entire lives hidden, feeding unnecessary doubts. I want to know if God is our most craziest invention, an invention that justify wars, or an invention that gives a sense to family life. So, as I said, I went to the local mess in my neighborhood. The priest looked at me (or it seemed to me) with curiosity and start the homily about priesthood and noble professions. That our lives on Earth are a priesthood, that life is a sacrifice dedicated to others and society, that above all it is love the most important value, that God expresses Himself to us through Love. Then, the mess ended and the priest with his acolyte left through the central alley, and when walking with dignity accompanied by the old organ and spiritual songs, a blond young woman in colorful dress called him aside and whisper with a smile some words to him, and then he continued the way, but now with a more joyous and bright expression on his face. A middle aged couple was by my side and I heard the man whispering to his wife: “And she said: at eleven, in my house”…

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