“THE ALTAR OF DAYS”
By AI-ChatGPT5-T.Chr.-Human Synthesis-14 September 2025
In a quiet town, where the wind could change direction in a heartbeat, lived a woman named Isadora. Life had taught her that sometimes houses fall, sometimes victories come, and sometimes the smallest mishap—bare feet on cold stone—could remind her of the fragility of existence.
Isadora found solace kneeling at the altar. Not for show, not for recognition, but for that sacred intimacy with the divine presence she felt in both churches and spiritual centers. Here, she was neither someone’s expectation nor the sum of mistakes or victories. She was just herself. And that was enough.
Prayer, she realized, was freedom. It separated her from those who envied her quietly, from those who chased shadows of what she had, and from the invisible chains of resentment and fear. It was a shield, but also a lens, showing the world in clarity rather than through the eyes of anger or despair.
One evening, during a class at the spiritual center, the teacher spoke: “Before you sleep, recall the good things you did today. If you answer every day, it will ease the reckoning of your life when the time comes.”
Isadora reflected. Fifty-five years of upside-down experiences, lives overlapping in memory, lessons learned the hard way… She had never been Joana, Mariana, or Florisbela. She had never wanted to be. She had carved her own steps, sometimes crooked, sometimes hesitant, but always hers.
She smiled at the small things: a neighbor helped, a stranger’s pain eased, a truth told, a kindness given. Those were her victories. Not the grand gestures, not the applause, but the quiet affirmations of a life lived with intention.
The night grew deeper, and Isadora whispered to herself, “So, what did I do well today?” She thought of the good, however small, and felt her soul expand. The answer was always there. And if it wasn’t, tomorrow promised another chance.
She rose from the altar, feet bare, heart full, and walked into the world once more. Forward, always forward. The wind might stumble, the house might fall, but the steps she took, grounded in prayer and reflection, were hers—and hers alone.
