Every so often a breath of scorching wind filled my mouth and soul with sand. The stones were on fire. Not a flower, not a drop of water, not a single songbird to emit a sound to welcome the passer-by or jeer him away. Suspended above me was God, only God—like a sword. This God is not Christ, I thought to myself with a shudder. He is not the kind, sweetly speaking son of Mary. He is Jehovah, the terrifying man-eater. I sought the one and found the other.
