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Life is too short for boring stories

Where were you, His disciples, as He went down into the deepest of desolations? Where have you, His disciples, hidden you, trembling and fearful, when He died the death that embraces all others? Where have you been, Simon Peter, when He abandoned himself to inevitability? Where have you been, Simon Petrus, you rock that crumbles …

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You stepped in front of your house, holding firmly the alabaster vessel with fragrant needle oil, which was no longer trembling, and your jet-black, long hair, freed from the cloth and hiding, glistened in the sun. All unrest had fallen away from you, and the looks, the envious and the malicious, the drooling and the …

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