Empty pages—The Christian god—About my mother.
It is very strange that a kind of empty white page should be left in my head. How I walked there, how I waited (I remember I had to wait), I know nothing about it; I remember not a sound, not a face, not a gesture, as if all communicating wires between me and the world were cut.
When I came to, I found myself standing before Him; I feared to raise my eyes—I saw only His enormous cast-iron hands upon His knees. Those hands weighed upon Him, bending His knees with their weight. He was slowly moving His fingers. His face was somewhere above as if in fog. And, only because His voice came to my ear from such a height, it did not roar like thunder, it did not deafen me but appeared to be an ordinary human voice.
“Then you too, you the Builder of the Integral ! You, whose lot it was to become the greatest of all conquistadores! You whose name was to have been at the head of a glorious, new chapter of the history of the United State! You. …”