In the Confession Room

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The meek Christ knows that my heart is Simon-Peter; coral injured. So, he did not hesitate to trap me as a shameless fisherman who insisted on spreading my fragile net in the shallow part of Lake Genasaret. I understand, love is absurd law. So, I have prepared an argumentous crowd in my street fibers. If this time he failed, then I would have enough two smart fish withering for him. Because intelligent fish know about the absurd miracles written by the Scriptures.

In the quiet and shivering confession room, he pulled the boat that was bobbing in my chest. Duc in altum! He was impressed deliberately led me to the deep lake. He knew, Simon-Peter — a hard withering person — that he placed right in the hub of symmetry, my body would be easier to sink in deep places.

Really. Nets have not yet been spread. Faith hasn't yet been converted. Fish are angels who know the strategy of Christ. When the wind blows, He shakes my boat. I sank into a swirling vortex created from water and blood flowing from His stomach temple.

"Inner self-absolute absolvo a peccatis tuis in nominee Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti."

It forced the fish to swim toward me.

Christ looked at me longingly.

Amen!