Thursday, February 27, 2014

The naked God (I)



Beauty is what God can't hide of himself in this strange game of becoming invisible while he waits us.
The True God has neither hells, nor tortures, nor demons biting the sore bodies of sinners, nor inquisitions, nor canon law, nor long treaties of liturgy and protocol, nor princes, nor kings , nor crowns, nor dresses of gold, nor plaster saints adorned with jewelry, nor candles begging desires of life and health, nor marital cancellations, nor humiliating confessions, nor counting of crimes and inmorality, nor censorship, nor censors, nor fear, nor terror, nor agonizing series of litanies, nor boring ceremonies of thirsty warriors of revenge and triumphs, nor cathedrals, nor palaces, nor clothing, nor money, nor countries, nor constitutions, nor rulers, nor fame, nor bursts of power and swagger, nor list of imperfections, nor flags of victory, nor banners, nor warrior goats, nor army, nor chosen people, nor sons tortured and sacrificed to redeem anything, nor holy wars, nor cassocks, nor habits, nor fasting, nor corporal punishment, nor penance, nor blood, nor violence, nor hatred...
The real God has children, and forests, and seas, and skies, and winds, and scenes full of inexplicable beauty that usually nobody sees. He has rain, and sun, and snow, and flashes of foam on the crest of million waves, and smiles, and stars, and planets, and different people... He has black sheeps, and white sheeps, and pink sheeps, and red sheeps, and flowers... He has strange flowers, and he also has banal and ordinary flowers. The Real God has made the eyes, and smiles, and buttocks, and breasts, and naked bodies, and sex with its passionate and beautiful sap, and the heterosexual desire, and the homosexual desire, and all natural desires. And the sanity, and reason, and conscience, and the ability to predict effects of actions, and love, and empathy, and long hair, and beards, and caves, and beaches, and volcanoes, and earthquakes, and death, and worm that turns into cocoon so that later becomes butterfly, and the twins who are very comfortable in the belly of his mother, and fearing their birth, because they think that the birth is the end... as... they have never seen the life after the birth they fear the birth. God has mothers, and fathers, and thunders, and lightning, and the beautiful ones, and the less beautiful ones, and the ability to capture beauty that is present everywhere, and sun,  and sons, and scenes, and daughters, and leaves in forests, and depths of the seas, and curves of human bodies, and chimpanzees, and Homo Neanderthal, and salt, and sand, and laughters, and sleep and water, and wheat, and olive, and flies, and bees, and donkeys, and grape juice, and a bunch of meadow flowers, and the old lady who scandalizes when reads this that I am writing, and the young man who meditates it and smiles, and the girl or the boy who read it and understand it, and the religious fundamentalist that registers me in his blacklist...

God has done everything as everything is, and not as we've invented. Sadly, human people still try to invent reality. 
We paint fantasy tissues on a reality that humiliates us or that frightens us. We try to cover it. We don't realize that this reality is more beautiful than the fantasy of the tissue. 
How beautiful the clay, and the body, and the thunder, and the night, and the sand! 
How beautiful the variegated range of hearts so different! 
That few straight lines! Not a single square, none rectangle, many points, many curvy lines, many provocative approaches to our limited invention of the world. 
God provokes to our aseptic consciences. Our consciences have been deformed in whitish convents, and they are away from the beauty of reality. 
Whenever we dress God, we are disfiguring a reality that is infinitely more beautiful than the the dress we put to God. Everytime we dress god, we are deforming a reality that is infinitely more true than the dress that we use to hide God.

Does someone dare to look God and the existence that he originated as this existence is?
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To all the post about Naturism:
Naturism. 

To all the post about Catalonia
Catalonia

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Tribute to Villarroel, General who gave his life for the freedom of Catalonia.



He paid the supreme price 


"Be sure you are right. Then go ahead"
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To all the posts about Catalonia:
                      
                  Catalonia

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

The blood of what is free.


We have been too much time hiding
the sketch of what we were, 
of who we are.  
Crescent made in ground, 
with colours of the twilight and the sea. 
Warmth of the sun on the stone; 
stroke of life, 
a thousand years after a thousand years 
as if they were waves coming and going, 
just a moment stretching in the present. 

And now, and here, 
all things show themselves to everybody. 
Now, and here, 
all things disintegrate the poisonous smoke generated by the cold and black vacuum of ambitions. 

We have dreamed too long our return to home. 
All colors embrace us with blue kisses of sea. 
The song of God sails beyond the Mediterranean sea, 
seeking Ithaca. 
Sometimes, this song comes back, 
and the breath of what is beautiful greets us. 
The breath of what is beautiful 
is the blood of what is free. 
This breath lives just beneath our skin.
















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Images has been taken by Jeremias Soler in "La Musclera", naturist beach of Arenys de Mar (Catalonia)

To all the post about Naturism:
Naturism. 

To all the post about Catalonia
Catalonia



Sunday, February 23, 2014

We long for nature where our specie has evolved. Sant Llorenç del Munt (Catalonia).


We live in Terrassa (Catalonia), and we are fortunate for living fifteen kilometers far from wild nature. That is to say... we are lucky for living half an hour far from home. Because wild nature is our home.
The body that we have, and the mind that we have, have been made amid cliffs, caves, forests, streams, smells of thyme and rosemary, screams of all kinds of birds, the sound of wind at different times of the day, lights that mark the time of the day, cold, mugginess, damp and rains that indicate seasons and the cycles of the life. 
Two hundred years ago, we were separated from all these realities; our habitat. Now, we are confused, and we feel as orphans of something that we can't exactly identify. Most of Homo sapiens don't know that they yearn their home, because they have never been fully aware where is their home. They long for nature where their specie has evolved, and they don't know that they yearn nature. They live amid a restlessness that drives them to want more, to have more, to power more, to get more. They look for a happiness that they have only fifteen kilometers far ( at least, those who live in Terrassa). They confuse happiness with a material success, and they in no way accept the emptiness of this material success.

The post of today talks about a walk of 5 km in the midst of a land that has made us, that has breastfed us, that has pampered us, that has loved us... This land offers to host (at the end of our cicle) the matter who we are. This matter become part of other living beings.
 I'd like to show you some of the most beautifull landscapes of my little country: Catalonia.
In these images you can see the mountain of Sant Llorenç del Munt (Saint Lawrence). A Natural Park. You can see the mediterranean forest and the red conglomerate rock. 





























Friday, February 21, 2014

I have dreamed



I have dreamed
a time of soft values as forest's scents, and summer evenings;
where the bread is bread, and smile are smiles without a mask on its face.
A time when people who is different, is just different, and nothing happens.
A time when if It rains, people dance under the water.

I have dreamed
a time full of liberating indifferences,
and no possessive love,
ideas that don't want to convince anybody,
political parties that don't covet win,
shepherds that don't purport to be obeyed
nor threaten those that are black.

I have dreamed
a time of parents who are at home,
of sons and daughters that aren't alone;
they are healthy, without sores in heart or in forehead.
A time of clear desires, with no corners nor edges
that kneels before empathy.
A time of doctrines that proclaim their own ignorance,
and violences that waive their brutal essence.

I have dreamed
a time without money or debts,
without obsessive possessions or endless ambitions;
a time when there is time,
a time when there are sunsets and skies in red,
and rosemary scattering aromas that nobody sells in a perfumery;
and the distant barking of a dog, and the pyrenees breeze kissing Montcau's top,
and the laughter of a girl,
and the first stars in the clean vault of sky.

I have dreamed
a night brighter than day, and a sea bluer than sky.
I have dreamed
a beach without greed's barriers,
a body without fetishes or interest's calculations,
eyes exuding innocence, and a day without schedules.
I've dreamed
an smarter and more open specie.

Jeremias Soler


Thursday, February 20, 2014

Road Blues (short story)

Image from wikipedia. Creative Commons. Author: Averette
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ROAD BLUES

Jerry has never picked up a hitch-hiker so young.
-Where do you go?
-To California.
A swarm of freckles surround her nose. Her hair is red; her eyes are blue; her face, pale.
-What's your name?
-Eileen.

They stop in a petrol station.
An old man approaches them.
-Do you go to the west? -he asks.
-To Sacramento. -Jerry answers.
-The motor coach has gone away without me, and I haven't enough money for the motel.

The Chevrolet runs along the desert road. Wind makes spin crowded branches, as if they were strange rolling balls. By nightfall, landscape becomes phosphorescent.
-What's your job, Jerry? –Eileen asks.
-I'm a manager.
-I'm an actress -she says.

Suddenly, the vault of sky gets in red-hot. The Wind stops. The Flatness is dyed in orange light.
-My God! –Eileen exclaims, gazing at horizon.
-Indescribable. -the old man adds.

They leave the car and walk into the desert. They sit on the ground. The old man takes out a mouth organ and plays a Willy Nelson's melody.
-I must confess one thing –Jerry says, scratching his head -. I've been untruthful. I've really lost my job. My wife has left me, and I don't know where I am going.
They all get silence.
-I haven't told the truth either -Eileen finally says -. I've run away from home.
-Well... in my case, my daughter has deserted me in the petrol station -the old man explains. His eyes are open as dishes.
Silence appears again. The situation is full of uncertainty. Then, suddenly, they start to laugh like sillies.
-And now...? –asks Jerry.
-Let's play another song... –says the old man.
Red light of sky is toning down. A deep nostalgia covers wilderness.

Jeremias Soler 
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(Road Blues is a story from the book "10x10 microrelats" edited in catalan language by La Quàdriga)
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To the post I wrote yesterday:
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Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Cala Fonda (or Waikiki). Those who love this land reach this land as this land is; and love this land, as this land is.



There aren't many places in Catalonia, that we can only reach after walking half an hour by a virginal forest. There aren't many places hided behind a virginal forest, with coves of crystalline water, far from any road or building.

 In Cala Fonda (or Waikiki) we find creeks surrounded by pine trees, beaches with cliffs hided by forest at the top.
Most of people who arribe to this beach don't use swimsuit, because this is a nature's temple.
I am pleased to discover that the fact of being in this beach works better than any anti-depressant pill. Nothing like get rid of clothes, forgetting the obsessive desire to go further in the frantic race for owning more possessions in this materialistic world. This place has the power to overcome evil wind that tries to seduce us and frighten us with the specter of poverty or social exclusion, just for not participating in this empty race.

Austerity is what we really need for not relying anymore on any economic success or any consumist ambition. We need reject the silver mirrors that the conquerors of the new civilization of the competition use to try to convince ourselves for renouncing to the wild life and to the free nature.

We do not need anything. We really need to have anything. We need to forget the made paths. We must protest against boardwalks that destroy forest's ground. We don't need paved accesses. Those who love this land reach this land as this land is; and love this land, as this land is.  We can't add anything more to improve this land, because nature is the best painter, and the best engineer. We can't do more than wind, we can't do more than sun, we can't do more than sea, we can't do more than universe and stars. Let's drop swimsuits, jackets, ties, combs and other synthetic products. Let's drop all the malignant viruses hidden in invisible needs.
  I invite you to visit this free nude beach of Catalonia. It has a family environment, with tolerance towards the human nature. We must respect its family character. We must have an attitude full of respect, and of course we must get near there with a naturist mentality.


















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Recovering lost innocence of nakedness

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