Voices of Chaos


Mônica de Nazaré da Costa Pereira
Every day, before going to sleep, I close my eyes and pray to a God I don’t know how to recognize. I just haven’t seen him yet. We didn’t have any kind of contact, so I don’t know how to recognize him. And that bothers me, because for some time now I feel that He has been prowling me ready to steal something that I still have no idea what it is. He has been following me and I cannot know where He comes from. And not even because it comes … I’m afraid … I’m afraid of everything that can come from behind. I’m afraid that He won’t decide to come face to face with me. I am afraid of the shock and discomfort of being surprised. I wanted tomorrow to be a different day. And that my house was different. Everything here makes me so dark … And thin. I’m just skin and bone. Oh God, I don’t want you to meet me now, I’m so ugly. Do not rob me now, because I have nothing. I will pass under the bed, who knows He doesn’t find me. I don’t want you to see me. And if I find myself neither behind nor front I will have. The space is so short, just the right size for my bones. The way will be for Him to come aside. But now which way? I feel restless at the thought of staying under the bed and not knowing which way He will come.
Every time I pray to God I feel disturbed, because I feel that I speak to a stranger who lives running on the streets aimlessly.
Almost crazy. Him or me. Who runs the most? I don’t know anymore … The other day a butterfly came into the house and didn’t know how to leave. She struggled all over the room’s rocker until she almost lost her colors. It was blue. It flapped its wings to death. He died on the top and fell. Life seems short … I was alone again. One day Diana, before leaving me, said that God was in the butterflies. I didn’t mean it. The butterfly gave up living, because the window was always open and wanted to die on the rocker. Sometimes I think God doesn’t pass through the window, because my house is so messy. No one fits. I don’t really want you to come here, because I don’t want you to know about my mess and the dead butterfly. I’ll leave home. I don’t want to talk to Him, not today, because I don’t want to feel alone again.
Under the bed I have my own world. I know that He can come from the sides and I may not be looking the right way, but for now I can look to one side and feel that I am not afraid. Feeling that He will not scare me from behind and that He will not come looking at me .I’m afraid to face Him. I don’t think I would have the stomach for that. When
I was little, my mother said that God scolded those who did the wrong things. But she never taught me what was right … I never had concepts … They never dictated the rules. Living too free scares me because I fear that God will do the same thing that my mother did. When we least expect it, life ends. Even the flowers that slept in the garden are gone. A single solitary flower was born. Purple. Color of death. I think I’ve always been making mistakes. And now I feel that God closer than ever.
The sun was stronger than on other days, but I still go out. I had to forget a little about God. Maybe ignoring him one day will make him remember me and stop running like crazy after anyone who doesn’t look for him. My hurt is that he doesn’t look at me, even before my house starts to get messy. And I’m here now without knowing where to go, nor can I take my mess. Who knows if I screamed? If I set my own body on fire? Some women I loved would cry, including Diana, but where would God fit in my despair?
Not! There’s no point in staying here, hiding like that. If God decides to kidnap me, I will have to be strong. But how will I know who He is if I don’t know him? One day my mother said that God was a great being. But if He is so big, how can I not see Him? I’m more blind than ever. More blind. I even think I’m going crazy … I’m feeling
so alone. I need to see people! I know, I’m going to the street! I’m going to walk a little. Drink a little sun in my disgusting body of fear.
When I look at people on the street, I often see happy faces. Have they found God? Or is it the other way around? The old beggars cry at the doors of the churches. They want a handout. They want to live. Have they found God? I wanted God not to run from me just once. I don’t think he would just talk about me. I would speak of these men at the doors of the churches. I would speak of this war between men that never ends. And I would ask for a love that would make me forget all that. But I have seen him through the house window running aimlessly for a long time, looking for something that I don’t think He even knows what it is. We are two alone. I think I discovered his secret because now he cries. Start to rain.
The sun is over and my body is drunk with rain. I am no longer afraid, because I am no longer alone, I have the rain and it breaks me into thousands of droplets that fall to the ground and leave my trail. Now it’s easier for him to find me. I left my drops on the way. I will stay in that square on the corner and wait for Him and I hope that when he comes, he will take everything at once and that I will soon be left with nothing to lose the fear of losing everything. I will wait sitting in the square. It is then that I realize, God is closer than ever, because in the damp street the sky appears on the ground. My feet trod where God treads, according to my mother. I’m in His territory and something can happen at any time. I will not go
deny it, I’m so afraid. I wanted someone so much to keep me company.

Someone to love and feel that I am never alone. To wait for this God, with open arms to life, with someone who is me in a way I still don’t know.
The rain is nice. I got my body wet. Me and a girl in this same square. Is God in it? Why did everyone run away from the rain and only she didn’t? He seems to enjoy bathing like that. Or is it God? How can He not feel the
rain, because I think it has no skin, it’s in it to feel at least once what it feels like to be painted on a canvas in real life. The rain paints this girl. All the drops that fall on it are multicolored. I think in fact God was quiet. He stopped running and now paints one of the most beautiful of his masterpieces. God is the great painter. Girl? I came closer.
I’m afraid of this approaching man. I thought it was God, but it wasn’t, at least I thought it wasn’t. I was wet and ashamed. But so was he. And smile. I felt that God was in his wet smile. Say it. And the two smiled a welcoming laugh that warmed their entire bodies. And she, extending her hand to him, looked at the sky and smiled (in that smile all the last colors invented by acrylic poets who draw words immortalized in the midst of chaos fit). And between the two there was a purpose: to live in ignorance of the future that began today. They both know that someone took them there. They just don’t know how … They no longer remember fear and anguish. The looks balanced the dust of the cosmos and rested the thought to never fail and fail again. And they stayed there until chaos generated the night and everything went back to being like never before out before.

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