Una fracción de los hechos se pierde entre parpadeo y parpadeo

viernes, 15 de junio de 2012

Desearse suerte puede ser uno de los actos más humanos. La única enseñanza que deja la historia es que en el mundo la suerte nunca se ha repartido por igual. Está regada en desorden por todos los destinos de forma tan extraña que invoca al mismo tiempo dosis equivalentes de belleza y de injusticia. Se escapa y aparece, se invoca y no llega, y llega sin que se invoque. Hace su entrada en tandas inesperadas, hila carambolas, arruina lo establecido y consolida lo incierto. A su arbitrio nos daña o nos vuelve grandes, aunque grandes o dañados seguimos siendo sus juguetes.

Para los que creemos en Dios, el 31 de diciembre no es un día como cualquier otro. La noción divina se vuelve casi palpable y esa cosa abominable que domina el tiempo y decide sobre la muerte, forma una nube silenciosa sobre las familias que se abrazan y se desean suerte. Todo se resume en un pensamiento colectivo sobre la suerte. En el deseo de que por lo menos se mantenga estable, que para arruinarnos una carambola no nos lance un terremoto. Sabemos que nos tiene tragedias guardadas pero pedimos que no las lance todavía, que se demore unos años, muchos años, o unas décadas.

En el último 31 todos estábamos pidiendo eso. Ahora, transcurrida la mitad del año, nos mandó un invasor que está destruyendo por dentro a a la abuela. Estoy muy triste.

miércoles, 13 de junio de 2012

¿Dónde estamos?

Le baptême de solitude

“Immediately when you arrive in Sahara, for the first or the tenth time, you notice the stillness. An incredible, absoulte silence prevails outside the towns; and within, even in busy places like the markets, there is a hushed quality in the air, as if the quiet were a conscious force which, resenting the intrusion of sound, minimizes and disperses sound straightway. Then there is the sky, compared to which all other skies seem fainthearted efforts. Solid and luminous, it is always the focal point of the landscape. At sunset, the precise, curved shadow of the earth rises into it swiftly from the horizon, cutting into light section and dark section. When all daylight is gone, and the space is thick with stars, it is still of an intense and burning blue, darkest directly overhead and paling toward the earth, so that the night never really goes dark.
You leave the gate of the fort or town behind, pass the camels lying outside, go up into the dunes, or out onto the hard, stony plain and stand awhile alone. Presently, you will either shiver and hurry back inside the walls, or you will go on standing there and let something very peculiar happen to you, something that everyone who lives there has undergone and which the French call 'le bapteme de solitude.' It is a unique sensation, and it has nothing to do with loneliness, for loneliness presupposes memory. Here in this wholly mineral landscape lighted by stars like flares, even memory disappears...A strange, and by no means pleasant, process of reintergration begins inside you, and you have the choice of fighting against it, and insisting on remaining the person you have always been, or letting it takes its course. For no one who has stayed in the Sahara for a while is quite the same as when he came.
...Perhaps the logical question to ask at this point is: Why go? The answer is that when a man has been there and undergone the baptism of solitude he can't help himself. Once he has been under the spell of the vast luminous, silent country, no other places is quite strong enough for him, no other surroundings can provide the supremely satisfying sensation of existing in the midst of something that is absolute. He will go back, whatever the cost in time or money, for the absolute has no price.” 

― Paul BowlesTheir Heads are Green and Their Hands are Blue: Scenes from the Non-Christian World