On a bench in the park

“Don’t I know you?” I ask the man on the bench. “Well you look familiar, aren’t you the artist who worked in Osdorp?” He answers. “No, but I helped him.”

He’s a small, bold, North African fellow. His face has dwarf attributes, but he has no beard. It is a beautiful day in the Rembrandtpark, where I’m taking pictures for a one month taking litter research. It doesn’t take long before he tells me that his father died a few weeks ago. When he asks what I do, I tell him that I’m looking for work.

“We should be grateful for what we have. Nowadays people in the top believe that they have got there by themselves. People believe that they own everything, that they can control nature. But who has given them nature? Did you see, with the crisis? Many millionaires who thought they were safe, suddenly lost everything. God gives you everything and he could take it away just as quickly.”

He tells me that the Qur’an and the Bible essentially talk about the same thing. “But the New Testament is nonsense. How can Jesus be the son of God? God is too big to have mortal children! These books are not written by God, they were written by prophets. God is to big to write books!” I’d like to recommend him to read the Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy, but I don’t want to brutally interrupt his stream of words.

“Hell is worse than you can imagine. One tiny little bit of hellflame” he makes a spark sized shape with his fingers “would burn the whole earth! And heaven! That is so incredibly beautiful, man, you cannot even think of it” I’m getting the association of a little boy who is full of his new toy. “The Angels there are so big… One has a sword that is bigger than the earth! And it’s good that we don’t see them, too. We’d go insane! If one angel would live among us on earth, all men would abandon their women and go after her!”

After about twenty minutes, I manage to detach and proceed. Intriguing kind, the religious.


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