The sky can wait

It was the first school Monday and all the children had gone to school.One of them had to validate him for his lesson before the doctors in the temple.In just seven hours I made a trip from the crib to martyrdom.33 years had passed in that transit between two images.The same person in the first case held by two tweezers, in the second for two nails that tied to the cross.The cloth with the Child Jesus that my neighbor Emilio had on the balcony of his floor from the bridge of the Immaculate Conception, the name of the mother of his children and the woman who lacks a few years ago, passed through the washing machineand appeared doing the theology of the narrows between cranes of future dreams and towers of old projects;An innocent, smiling child, escorted by a battery of kitchen cloths, shirts, underwear and towels.A clothing bike is a naked life pass.

The Church of the Savior, ancient mosque, welcomed the funeral of a good man, a full Egabrense.We occupy one of the sideways, which presides over the Christ of Love, a moving image with the signature of Juan de Mesa, which ended it in 1620, four years after the death of Cervantes, two before Valdés Leal was born.The same boy who rocked on the rope of Emilio's roof clothes was there, exhausted, dying.He had to arrive with his cross in tow, as in the central altar he narrated another work of art, the Christ of Passion of Martínez Montañés, the Cordoba who was a master of Juan de Mesa.As in the dedication that Manuel Machado made to the death of Alejandro Sawa, how is it possible that a land that made his joy his letter of presentation be nourished by such duo artists to recreate pain, suffering?

God, whom no one has seen how the gospels remind us (it is good.Julian Barnes is a British writer author of books as esteemed as Flaubert's parrot or a world of worldocontada in ten and a half chapters.Somewhere he published a shocking phrase: "I don't believe in God, but I miss it".The child and man are the same person, from the golgotha portal, from the clamps to the nails.Curious epilogue being a carpenter's son.

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— Real Mark Latham Wed Nov 22 06:58:13 +0000 2017

Love and passion.Few words have been the subject of more handling and chabacanería.Two imagery juanes put them in their place at a funeral in which death, which always walks so ufana and proud, was defeated again.In a collegiate school where the Qur'an was praying and then the Bible, a temple that was saved from abandonwell -understood modernity trill.

The sun and wind will have already dried the cloth of the Child Jesus, which on the first school Monday did not go to school.I had swallow practices.