Welcome, readers, to the first Synchronized Chaos issue of November 2025. First, a few announcements.

This issue was edited by poet Tao Yucheng, who has been published several times in Synchronized Chaos and in several other publications.

Contributor Kelly Moyer has launched a blog-style journal, Circle of Salt, a simple blog-style journal for all things esoteric. Potential contributors are invited to send up to three unpublished pieces of magickal poetry (including esoteriku), prose, personal essay, original art, reviews, recipes, tips, etc. to Kelly Sauvage Moyer at unfazedmoon@gmail.com. The web address is https://circleofsaltmag.blogspot.com/.

Also, the Naji Naaman Literary Prize is now open to emailed submissions from around the world.

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Now, for this month’s first issue: Sip and See.

A sip and see is a meet and greet party popular in the southeastern United States where people enjoy light snacks, drinks, and the chance to meet a newborn baby. In a way, Synchronized Chaos Magazine’s issues are global ‘sips and sees,’ celebrations where we may meet newly emerged bursts of creativity.

As we would when encountering a new baby, Priyanka Neogi revels in life’s joy.

Teresa de Lujan Safar’s poem celebrates the delight a mother takes in her children’s appreciation. Graciela Noemi Villaverde remembers the daily love and care of her deceased mother. Rakhmiddinova Mushtariy Ravshanovna pays tribute to the presence and care of her mother.

Doug Hawley’s short story “Evergreen” portrays quiet familial concern, capturing the subtle tension and affection between siblings as they notice their mother’s unusual, tender attachment to her garden.

Mahbub Alam takes joy in nature and the brilliant sunshine. Timothee Bordenave’s essay explores permaculture, advocating livestock grazing on fallow land and urban fruit tree forests. Genevieve Guevara playfully links weather patterns and emotions. Walid Alzoukani revels in how the rain enriches his spirit. Brian Michael Barbeito’s “What is the Meadow and What is Love?” finds love and presence in the quiet endurance of nature. Bekturdiyeva Nozima’s essay examines the urgent need to cultivate ecological consciousness among youth, emphasizing education, family, and practical engagement as keys to a sustainable future. Jack Galmitz’ poetry speaks to cultural memory and our connections with nature. Brian Barbeito’s work reflect the relationship between human beings, nature and animals, which is even more important in the current Internet age.

Paintings from Srijani Dutta reflect hope for the return of spring, drawing on images from an Asian mythological system. Eddie Heaton guides us on a surrealist romp through a colorful universe. Mark Young speculates through found and created poetry on how human art can coexist with science and technology.

Federico Wardal highlights the work of holistic physician Dr. Antonello Turco and how his medical practice is a work of art. Nidia Garcia celebrates the creativity and insight of a weaver who tells the story of her people in cloth. Taylor Dibbert shares an amusing anecdote about sartorial fashion choices and lost luggage.

Jacques Fleury’s “The Color Purple” is a vibrant meditation on heritage and symbolism, exploring how shades of purple evoke nobility, spirituality, emotion, and the richness of human experience. Normatova Sevinchoy reflects on the nature of beauty and finds it through elegant simplicity. Kelly Moyer’s films explore the relationship between life and all things through the disposal and dissolution of human-built objects.

Literature and writing are integral parts of human creative culture. Contemporary Uzbek literature blends tradition and modernity, emphasizing national identity and the Uzbek language. Abdulazizova Nigina Faxriddin qizi’s article “Developing Speech Culture of Primary School Students” examines methods to enhance young learners’ oral and written communication, emphasizing interactive strategies, cultural awareness, and the link between speech skills and social participation.

Zuhra Jumanazarova expresses that preserving the literary quality of the Uzbek language is integral to preserving Uzbek culture. Muhayyo Toshpo’latova’s essay explores how contemporary Uzbek literature balances tradition, national identity, and digital-age innovation. Nilufar Yusupova discusses advantages and challenges posed by online education. Masharipova Unsunoy outlines strategies for improving student public speaking competence. Dilafruz Karimova evaluates various methods for teaching English as a second language. Rashidova Lobar’s “Mother Tongue” is a heartfelt tribute to the Uzbek language, celebrating it as the nation’s soul, heritage, and eternal source of pride and unity.

Mickey Corrigan’s poetry honors the survival, grit, and literary mastery of novelist Lucia Berlin. Grant Guy’s artwork evokes the creative spirit of decades-ago absurdist No! theater. Christina Chin and Kim Olmtak’s tan-renga poems promise adventure on the horizon. Scott Derby’s poem draws on The Odyssey, exploring a journey of trials and self-discovery, ultimately evoking a return to faith. Inga Zhghenti reviews Armenida Qyqja’s collection Golden Armor, about the quest of the human spirit for survival amidst adversity.

Peter Cherches’ vignettes explore through gentle humor how we make decisions and set up our lives. James Tian reminds the faithful to use their God-given brains, even in church.

Janna Hossam’s essay explores the fleeting nature of achievement and the trap of “fast dopamine,” urging a shift from chasing external validation to finding lasting fulfillment in steady, meaningful growth. Sharifova Saidaxon advocates for balance in the use of social media and online entertainment. O‘rozboyeva Shodiya’s essay “How Social Media Affects Young People” reflects on the dual impact of social media, highlighting its benefits for learning and reading while cautioning against distraction and over-immersion in the virtual world.

Brooks Lindberg’s poem wittily questions the nature of facts, blending philosophy, mathematics, and law with humor and skepticism. Candice Louise Daquin reviews John Biscello’s novel The Last Furies, which evokes themes of tradition, vaudeville, religion and mysticism.

Turkan Ergor reflects on how people’s strongest desires and best-laid plans don’t come to fruition. Dr. Ashok Kumar expresses the peace found through surrendering to what we cannot control.

J.T. Whitehead’s Nocturnes are haiku-inspired reflections on art, history, and personal experience, capturing quiet joy and solitude. Christina Chin and Marjorie Pezzoli’s collaborative renga blends fragmented, stark imagery with a conversational, experimental flow, exploring tension, vulnerability, and the raw textures of experience. Derek Dew’s poems “To Come” and “What is Ours” delve into language, memory, and moral stillness, blending abstraction and lyricism to explore identity, silence, and the elusive nature of meaning. Sayani Mukherjee’s “God’s Hands” is a dreamlike meditation on time and memory, shimmering with blue skies and fleeting wishes. Vo Thi Nhu Mai’s “Harbour of the Changing Season” is a tender, reflective meditation on love, loss, and the passage of time, finding beauty and peace in the rhythms of nature and the flow of life.

Duane Vorhees’ poem “ORH” tenderly portrays love as cleansing and transformative, merging identities like rain washing away dust. Amina Kasim Muhammad advocates kindness and humanity. In a similar vein, Maja Milojkovic reflects on the value of a human soul as measured by the person’s compassion and integrity. Ruzimbayeva Quvonchoy Jamoladdin qizi’s essay highlights Uzbekistan’s national values as the enduring heart of the nation, shaping identity, unity, and moral life.

Yodgorova Madina also celebrates traditional Uzbek values such as diligence, hospitality, respect for the elderly, the young, and women, honesty, and compassion and urges modern Uzbeks to pass down those values. Jumanazarova Muxlisa’s essay highlights women as the vital foundation of Uzbek society, shaping history, education, and leadership. In the same vein, Egyptian writer Adham Boghdady’s poem portrays a woman as a radiant, inspiring presence who lights up hearts and the world. Dildora Khojyozova’s essay “Kindness and Humanity in the 21st Century” emphasizes the enduring importance of empathy and compassion amid technological and social change, arguing that true progress depends on how we treat one another.

Abbas Yusuf Alhassan’s long poetic piece illustrates the different facets of love as expressed through grief. Elmaya Jabbarova’s poetry intertwines love and grief. RP Verlaine comments on what brings people together and what divides us. Eldar Akhadov ponders the mental distance that inevitably separates everyone.

Turdiyeva Guloyim’s “I’m Tired, Mother!” expresses profound loneliness and disillusionment, lamenting false friendships, cruelty, and the harshness of the world, while yearning for genuine human connection. Kandy Fontaine’s “Nepantla, The Tipping Point, Deep Time: A Conversation Between Worlds” examines the intersections of literature, identity, and planetary change, using the concept of Deep Time to reflect on societal fear, power structures, and the urgent need for transformation. Mirta Liliana Ramirez reminds us that powerful people exist who prey on the vulnerable. Patricia Doyne surveys the sentiments at a San Francisco Bay Area No Kings rally. Aubrey Malaya Lassen’s poem “The Call” confronts misunderstanding and oppression, using vivid animal imagery to explore awareness, resistance, and the refusal of power to recognize truth.

Bill Tope’s “The Gauntlet” is a tense short story following Anais, a Haitian refugee, as she navigates an unsettling encounter with police in a small Ohio town, exploring themes of fear, vulnerability, and power. Ahmed Miqdad’s poem reflects on the horrors of violence and displacement, using stark imagery of blood and silence to evoke grief and loss. Emeniano Acain Somoza Jr. writes of humans eking out existence in the shadows of ageless deities and harsh weather. Stephen Jarrell Williams crafts a slow piece on calm preparations as an apocalypse looms.

J.J. Campbell illustrates the lingering effects of trauma on a person’s life and psyche. Mykyta Ryzhykh’s poem juxtaposes stark, unsettling images with fragile signs of life, capturing the raw and abrupt entry of innocence into harsh reality. Alexa Grospe personifies the pain and terror of stage fright and writers’ block. Philip Butera views life from the panoramic perspective of one nearing death. Ablakulova Dilfuza’s essay “My child, if I leave, you won’t find me again” is a poignant meditation on solitude, aging, and loss, vividly portraying the emotional landscape of a woman left alone, clinging to memories as her world darkens. Adewuyi Taiwo’s short story “A Star Called Priye” explores themes of family secrets, grief, and quiet strength.

Duane Vorhees’ review of Taylor Dibbert’s On the Rocks explores his Bukowski-inspired style—plainspoken, raw, and grounded in everyday struggle—revealing a candid search for freedom from pain. Rizal Tanjung’s review of Eva Petropoulou Lianou’s “Freedom” highlights the poem’s haunting imagery of two wingless birds, portraying freedom as both a lost ideal and a visceral, human necessity.

Jabborova Vasila comments on how medicine can address psychological changes in some heart transplant patients. Melita Mely Ratkovic’s poem urges the speaker’s friend to heal and love themselves again after trauma. Ramona Yolanda Montiel wishes all her readers simple joys and gentle comfort.

Eva Petropoulou Lianou’s “Miracles” celebrates everyday wonders, human connection, and the light of faith amid darkness. Jeanette Eureka Tiburcio’s poem honors resilience and hope, invoking golden children as symbols of strength, growth, and the enduring light amid adversity.

We hope that this issue serves as a guiding light as you ‘sip and see’ the many forms of human thought and feeling from around the world.

Short Fiction of Alice Munro: Cultural Memory and Psychological Identity                            

Ratan Bhattacharjee Ph.D.,D.Litt*

Alice Munro, the Nobel Prize-winning Canadian author, is renowned for her psychologically rich short stories that explore the intricacies of memory, identity, and cultural inheritance. This paper examines how Munro’s fiction engages with cultural memory and psychological identity, particularly through the lens of gender, place, and time. Drawing on selected stories from collections such as The Moons of Jupiter, Runaway, and Dear Life, the paper argues that Munro’s narratives function as intimate excavations of the self, shaped by familial legacies, social expectations, and the quiet violence of memory. Alice Munro’s fiction is often described as “novelistic” in its depth and complexity, despite its brevity. Her stories are rooted in the rural landscapes of southwestern Ontario, yet they transcend geography to explore universal themes of memory, identity, and emotional survival. Munro’s protagonists—often women—navigate the tensions between personal desire and cultural expectation, between past trauma and present consciousness. Munro constructs psychological identity through the prism of cultural memory, revealing the subtle interplay between individual experience and collective inheritance. Cultural memory, as theorized by Jan Assmann, refers to the shared pool of knowledge and experience that shapes a community’s identity over time. In Munro’s work, cultural memory is embedded in domestic rituals, family histories, and the social codes of small-town life. Her stories often begin in the present but spiral into the past, uncovering buried truths and unresolved tensions.In “Walker Brothers Cowboy” (Dance of the Happy Shades), the narrator recalls a childhood outing with her father, which gradually reveals the economic hardship and emotional repression of Depression-era Ontario. The story’s power lies in its subtle evocation of class memory and familial silence. As Jędrzej Burszta notes, Munro’s narratives are “intimate and psychological portraits… embedded in the dynamic clash between individualism and community” (Burszta).Similarly, “The Moons of Jupiter” explores the strained relationship between a writer and her dying father. The protagonist’s memories of childhood are refracted through adult disillusionment, revealing how cultural scripts of fatherhood and filial duty shape emotional perception. Munro’s use of fragmented chronology mirrors the instability of memory itself, suggesting that identity is always in flux.Munro’s fiction is deeply concerned with the formation of psychological identity, particularly in women. Her protagonists often struggle to reconcile internal desires with external roles—daughter, wife, mother, lover. This tension is most vividly portrayed in stories like “Runaway,” where Carla, a young woman trapped in an abusive marriage, vacillates between escape and submission. Munro’s psychological realism is grounded in the minutiae of thought—hesitations, rationalizations, and suppressed emotions. In “Runaway,” Carla’s identity is shaped not only by her present circumstances but by the cultural memory of female sacrifice and endurance. Her inability to leave her husband is not merely personal weakness but a reflection of inherited narratives about marriage and duty.In “Royal Beatings” (The Beggar Maid), the narrator recalls her father’s violent discipline, which she later learns was a reenactment of his own childhood trauma. The story illustrates how psychological identity is transmitted across generations, often through pain. Munro’s exploration of intergenerational memory challenges the notion of autonomous selfhood, emphasizing the porous boundaries between past and present. Munro’s stories are often set in rural Ontario, a landscape that functions as both setting and symbol. The small towns, farms, and lakes are repositories of memory, where characters confront the ghosts of their past. Munro’s attention to place is not nostalgic but forensic—she excavates the emotional sediment of geography. In “Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage,” the protagonist Johanna navigates a world shaped by social class and gender norms. Her psychological identity is forged through acts of quiet rebellion, such as traveling alone or marrying unexpectedly. The story’s setting—a remote town and a train journey—mirrors Johanna’s internal transformation, suggesting that movement through space can catalyze shifts in self-perception. Time in Munro’s fiction is non-linear, often looping back to earlier moments or jumping forward unexpectedly. This temporal fluidity reflects the workings of memory, which is rarely chronological. In “Dear Life,” Munro blends autobiographical fragments with fictionalized recollections, blurring the line between lived experience and narrative construction. The result is a meditation on how memory shapes identity, and how storytelling becomes a form of self-making.Munro’s stories frequently engage with trauma—emotional, physical, and psychological. Yet she resists sensationalism, opting instead for quiet revelations and elliptical disclosures. Trauma in Munro’s fiction is often encoded in silence, in what is not said or remembered. In “Dimension,” a woman visits the psychiatric hospital where her husband is incarcerated for murdering their children. The story unfolds through her internal monologue, revealing how trauma distorts memory and reshapes identity. Munro’s portrayal of grief is restrained yet devastating, emphasizing the ethical complexity of remembering. Munro also explores the trauma of social exclusion. In “Red Dress—1946,” a young girl experiences humiliation at a school dance, which becomes a formative memory of shame and alienation. The story captures how cultural norms—beauty, popularity, femininity—imprint themselves on the psyche, shaping identity through emotional injury.Alice Munro’s fiction offers a profound exploration of cultural memory and psychological identity. Her stories illuminate how individuals are shaped by familial legacies, social expectations, and the quiet violence of memory. Through her nuanced portrayals of women, her forensic attention to place and time, and her ethical engagement with trauma, Munro constructs a literary world where identity is always in negotiation. Munro’s work challenges readers to reconsider the boundaries between self and society, between memory and narrative. In doing so, she affirms the power of storytelling as a means of understanding who we are, where we come from, and how we carry the past within us.Munro’s fiction is deeply rooted in place, particularly the rural landscapes of Ontario. These settings are not merely backdrops but active participants in memory transmission. The towns, farms, and lakes are repositories of familial and cultural memory, where characters confront the ghosts of their past.In “Home,” the narrator returns to her childhood house, now inhabited by her stepmother. The physical space triggers memories of her father, her mother, and her own emotional development. Munro uses the house as a metaphor for the layered nature of memory—each room holds a different story, a different version of the self. In “Fiction,” a woman discovers that a young writer has fictionalized her life. The story raises questions about ownership of memory and the ethics of storytelling. Munro implies that memory is communal, shaped by both teller and listener. The transmission of memory across generations is not passive but active, involving interpretation, negotiation, and sometimes conflict.Place also serves as a bridge between generations. In “Working for a Living,” Munro recalls her father’s fur-trapping business and the economic struggles of her family. These memories are tied to the land, to the rhythms of rural life. Munro suggests that identity is shaped not only by people but by the environments they inhabit.Munro’s characters often use memory to resist cultural norms and to reclaim agency. In “Friend of My Youth,” the narrator revisits her mother’s stories about a woman named Flora, who defied expectations by refusing to marry. The narrator’s interpretation of Flora’s life changes over time, reflecting her own evolving identity.Munro portrays memory as a site of contestation, where different versions of the past compete for legitimacy. The narrator’s attempt to understand Flora becomes a way of understanding her mother, and ultimately herself. Munro suggests that reclaiming memory is an act of empowerment, allowing individuals to rewrite inherited narratives.Dr. Ratan Bhattacharjee Former Affiliate Faculty, Virginia Commonwealth University, USA is an International Tagore Awardee poet and multilingual Columnist . Email profratanbhattacharjee@gmail.comWorks CitedMunro, Alice. Too Much Happiness. McClelland & Stewart, 2009.Munro, Alice. Open Secrets. McClelland & Stewart, 1994.Munro, Alice. Dear Life. McClelland & Stewart, 2012.Munro, Alice. Runaway. McClelland & Stewart, 2004.Munro, Alice. Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage. McClelland & Stewart, 2001.Burszta, Jędrzej. “Images of Past and Present: Memory and Identity in Alice Munro’s Short-Story Cycles.” ResearchGate, https://www.researchgate.net/publication/314633920..Munro, Alice. Dance of the Happy Shades. McClelland & Stewart, 1968.Munro, Alice. The Moons of Jupiter. McClelland & Stewart, 1982.Munro, Alice. Runaway. McClelland & Stewart, 2004.Munro, Alice. Dear Life. McClelland & Stewart, 2012.Assmann, Jan. “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity.” New German Critique, vol. 65, 1995, pp. 125–133.Clifford, James. “Diasporas.” Cultural Anthropology, vol. 9, no. 3, 1994, pp. 302–338.

(Light skinned middle aged Latina woman with short dark hair, reading glasses, and a floral blouse speaking into a microphone).

May there be joy… 

May your eyes discover 

the small beauties of nature. 

May the scent 

of flowers perfume 

every moment of your days. 

May the morning 

sun color your cheeks 

and brighten your eyes. 

May the spring breeze 

give movement to your hair. 

May good memories 

refresh your memory. 

May your ears hear 

your favorite songs 

again and again. 

May the kisses 

and caresses 

of those you love 

and who love you make 

you sing and dance. 

May all this soothe 

your sorrows and pain. 

May joy envelop you 

and be the air you breathe. 

Ramona Yolanda Montiel Born in Mercedes, Corrientes. Currently living in Barranqueras, Chaco, Argentina. Retired Teacher and Social Worker. Writer of the Working Group “Together for Letters” director Mirta Ramirez, Chaco, Argentina.

Christina Chin (plain)

Kim Olmtak Gomes (italic)

honking horn – 

a dog chase

of the schoolbus 

umbrella 

my shield 

weather change – 

the windchime 

soundless stillness

cloud peaks

forecast rain

rainy season –

thrillseekers

tapping the untamed

flooded street 

boys in roller skates 

Simplicity — the Most Natural Form of Beauty

Beauty is the pleasant and delightful appearance of a person, nature, or a work of art. True beauty lies in a person’s naturalness, simplicity, and sincerity. Real beauty is the beauty of the heart. Everything in this world has its own kind of beauty.

The essence of simplicity is to be naturally beautiful without unnecessary decorations or artificial things. Everything created by Allah in this world is beautiful, and among them, the most beautiful is the human being. To be a beautiful person is indeed a blessed feeling.

Inner beauty is reflected through one’s inner qualities such as kindness, honesty, patience, forgiveness, gratitude, and sincerity. This kind of beauty is not seen on the face, but shown through a person’s character and behavior.

“Outer beauty is seen by the eyes, but inner beauty is felt by the heart.”

Outer beauty fades with time, but the beauty of the heart shines brighter as the years pass. A person with a beautiful heart spreads warmth and joy to others just by being themselves.

The secret of beauty lies in being both outwardly and inwardly beautiful — loving ourselves, the world, and everything around us. Sincerity, simplicity, and kindness are the feelings that make a person truly beautiful.

In conclusion, simplicity is the most natural and genuine expression of human beauty. Sincerity and naturalness bring warmth to hearts, for indeed, simplicity is the highest virtue that adorns a person’s inner beauty.

Normatova Sevinchoy, Uzbekistan 

1)

RAINBOW

The sky is gray.

He whines.

His lamentations are legion.

The sky is pale

He gets angry

Blues Day

Today the scorpions are letting loose

The sky is gray

Hearts are gray

And even often black with storms

The sky is gray

I trot little mouse

I smile

My smile is sad though

He wants to drip too

To sink in the gulp

To annihilate oneself far from the stench

My smile quivers

My smile moans

The sky is gray

I smile

My smile hesitates

But I hear on the umbrella canvas

The tender note the slow note

A joyful poppy tempo in winter

But I see my cat

Impassive who seizes the moment

He was waiting for me with all his love

With the accuracy of his wisdom

He certainly doesn’t smile

But his eyes speak the language of the soul

The sky is gray

Sad human race

Filled with hatred and arrogance

Today the scorpions are letting loose

The sky is gray

Hearts are gray

And even often black with storms

But I draw

Once again

At the well of infinite Love

So despite the tumult of shouts and hatred

To which the multitude abandons itself

I smile

And my smile

Print on the gray sky

Through her tears

The colors of my light

2)

BEFORE THE GREAT AWAKENING

Amber News

The read leaves abandon themselves

And flee to the wind

I was that lost page

Tears of despair

At the railing of my balcony

They are pearled without thread

I was that tear

In his mad race

The clock is moving

And catches a cold in the gray morning

Might as well get drunk too

I am this hour stopped

With a tissue

Autumnal cold

Under your crystal clear skin

The days fall asleep

I am silent

Rendered

Under the covers

Night under the eyelids

Warm

Dreams languish

Eternity

Under glass

Autumn fades away all its colors

Before the Great Awakening

The Bomb and the Bulb

Faces built from a material harder than plaster—

Belonged to the preachers standing beneath the flag—

That read “Delivering the Will of God”.

All of them who dealt with “God”,

Firmly believed—

That solemnity was the sharpest tool to tame the world.

Once they lost it,

Their faces would look no different,

From clowns in a circus…

They knew well what their audience loved to hear,

Just two topics:

Forgiveness and bread.

“Forgiveness” could let these people feel forever blameless,

Granting them real comfort.

“Bread” was what none of them could ever escape,

Even until death.

So their favorite line to repeat was:

“Thank ‘God’ for giving us bread.

As long as you follow us,

‘God’ will always forgive you…”

They loved to make people kneel,

Loved to see the furrowed brows,

And the slightly wet corners of people’s eyes.

They were like bus drivers,

Responsible for delivering a passenger called “God”,

Into everyone’s heart.

After that, “God” would take care of all the rest.

This passenger named “God”,

Was like the pivot of a seesaw—

The acceptable and the unacceptable

in everyday life,

Could now all be explained in plain human words:

“Because it’s the will of God,

That’s why it all exists…”

Thus the world was spared,

The fatigue and frequency of thinking.

And people were grateful to them,

For finding the most righteous excuse,

For not using their own brains!

It was a grand agreement,

As if the entire universe had shrunk,

Into the size of a button.

Then they said from the pulpit:

“‘God’ loves everyone.

When we die, we’ll go to It.

Everything good exists there—

As long as you remain servants of ‘God’.

If we could see It right now,

That would be our immediate blessing…”

At that moment,

Someone whispered a single word:

“Bomb…”

And instantly they—all of them—were terrified.

People shoved,

Scrambling with their eyes—

To find the way out.

It seemed their brains,

Unused for too long,

Had grown so dull,

They couldn’t even remember where the entrance was.

They ran faster than anyone,

The crowd following close behind—

Their speed rivaling the gazelles…

Then the culprit,

The whisperer,

Jumped up to stop the panic:

“I said ‘bulb’, not ‘bomb’.”

He pointed upward—

To a lightbulb above them.

Everyone looked and understood:

One of the bulbs in the hall,

Had simply gone out.

They sighed in relief,

And sent someone to bring the preachers back.

When they returned and learned the situation,

They too were overjoyed,

Repeating again and again:

“Let’s thank our ‘God’—

It has spared our lives.

For It once said—

Not cherishing life is itself a sin…”

Everyone laughed,

Looking toward that broken bulb—

That very direction—

Where they said “God” resided…

James Tian, Philippines