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Showing posts from February, 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 cassoc…

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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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 mo…

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…

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…

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 …