He who does not know how to populate his solitude,
does not know either how to be alone in a busy crowd.’
— Charles Baudelaire, ‘Les Foules’

Worship, tearing deep feeling in the soul. Well, my friend, sometimes we love from far not to contaminate the subject that we appreciate, sometimes we love inside out, deep, lasciviously. You know that feeling that freezes in the spine when we feel the strong presence of any special divine humans? The smell affects us, bringing memories, looks, gestures and sensations. However, we got no reaction, just worshiping a latent desire, only platonic.

The worship alone, as its meaning requires extreme, excessive love, causing the person has to pay homage to a deity, and not always the object or person is worshiped as divine or sacred, so, it is suffering from some physical or intellectual attributes, and most often they are ordinary people, passersby this insane world.

Well, my friend, worship inside out, it is this feeling I have, I cannot just like people, because I am moved by passion, I love viscerally, that is stuck in my arteries, it is something latent, a thing of crazy people. It sounds corny, but when I look at brilliant people I see beyond their physical aesthetics, I see their spiritual aura. I wonder how they live, what makes them happy, how they sleep, how they see the world, and often, I would like to see the world through the eyes of those people.

Throughout my life, I have met fabulous people, some actually I can say they are deities who came to bring light to this world. And how not worship them? I just prostrate myself before them, worshiping them as demigods, inside out, upside down.

I remember a phrase my mother said from her blind faith: ‘You shall worship the Lord your God, no banal things and people.’ These beings of light, which I mention in simple words, these are sons of God, hereditary divinity, He consecrated them, I mean, in my humble opinion, the DNA of the supreme love of God is contained in them! So I can create this devotion to them as a form of worship and respect. So many Angelas, Marisas, Dalvas, Marias, and other names sanctified by the complicity of the true friendship. Then I grab myself to my portion of chronic infatuation and I exalt my sense of crazy cool and say to my friends: Dude, I love you, I adore you, you are in my arteries  — I am so stagy!

I have a small imaginary sanctuary in my inner shrine of serenity, where I make my prayers to those deities, because I can never forget the both of outstretched hands, shoulders to weep over, words in moments of pain that these demigods have offered me. They raised me up, hold me, and gave me peace and shelter. Amen! ♥