the object. the tact.
her fingers slipped through the yellow pages of that book. maybe it was much more than a collection of books. with a careful movement, she turned the pages slowly while she oberseved them. people from distinct eras, facts separated by centuries, now were mixed as the girl leafed through the book. she saw uncommon names such as Uzziel, Eliashib. She saw verbs like obey, sacrifice, say. she saw little stories, great men, she saw suffering, joy, singing and crying. in this instant, the thought crossed her mind as something that invades our senses leaving no space at all. there was her own life story. not with the abundance of detalis as those people. but her story was there, told through examples, quoted in the prayer the Son of God said on Earth: "My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message".
For what she had was more of a physical experience with the object, the book, than with an especific text, it was the tact. she heard the voices, she knew there was an Author. at that time, she was compeled to pray. she felt the an impetus in her heart to ask for forgiveness for all the times in which she took control. for all the times she ignored her Author and Creator's voice. at that time, her life got back on track and deep inside her, she knew that.
