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THE ORIGIN OF THE DIVINE HISTORY
Malaga is one of the oldest cities in Europe. Together
with Cadiz and Almeria, Malaga was founded by the ancient mariners in the days
before the Foundation of Rome. But if you take a look deep in the ground there
are buried in the soil of the hills of the province utensils and others remains
from Prehistoric Times. My brother Antonio has a pretty nice collection of
utensils from those days. There are megalithic monuments too, speaking about
the inhabitation of South Spain by the Homo Sapiens. No wonder! Malaga had a
paradisiac microclimate from the very days of the Neolithic Era. The African
winds meet the Ocean stream, they mix, and produced a zone of template seasons,
very much like the paradisiac conditions enjoyed by the Middle East in the days
of Adam and Eve. Today this wonder is subjected to the global climate change,
and Malaga is becoming kind of North African City, too hot in Summer, to dry in
Spring, Autumn is the only season worth living, winter is worthless. But when I
was a kid, Malaga still was that place it was when the mariners from old got
enchanted by the contrast between the Mountains, the sea and that soil, so rich
that they just needed to let fall a seed to grain a tree. Unfortunately this
paradise was discovered during the nineties sixties by the Europeans and soon
began the colonization of the Province by that Plague called the Tourism. Today
Malaga is not worth a stay of a simple week.
Thirty years ago, when I came back from India, Malaga
was still a town, a big town though, but a town. I loved to sit by the Old
Cathedral, play my guitar and sit quiet and meditate. My decision was not made
yet, will or will I not do the military thing? I thought that the system of
obligatory military service was absurd. You want to be a soldier, all right,
get paid, be a professional. That was OK. But to treat you like a dog, slap you
in the face like you were a shit, and all in the name of Country and Flag? Fuck
off. Again, I had to make the choice. They would not sign me a new passport
until I left them treat me like a dog-soldier. What would I do?
It was in those hours of mental chaos that I met Felix
the Cat. He was seventeen and he looked to my eyes a Cervantine Spanish version of Mike Oldfield. Felix the Cat came up, sat by me and said
“Can you play a blues for me?”. He got his harmonica out and hit it so good
that I had to stare at him and said : “Where you from, boy?”.
Felix the Cat was staying in a kind of squat,
downtown. He took me there and introduced me to the man running the business.
There we not much business to run, the rooms were for free. Days before that
building was a Pension, a family
business. Its actual owner had shut the place and reopened it again at the
service of the people living in the street. There were no many street people in
Malaga anyway, they were coming from different parts of Spain, running away
from their own cities.
The Professor, that’s how everybody called him, was a
man in his fifties, sweet looking, very educated and absolutely amiable.
“You are?...”
“Raul, but everybody call me Max”
“And you are from…?”
“Just around the corner”
“Are you staying here for any reason?”
“Felix the Cat said I should meet the most great men
on Earth. I thought he was kidding, but I got to agree with him, sir”
“All right, we talk later, you can stay as long as you
want. One rule, no drugs in here”
“I do no drugs. I’m simply a passerby dragged to your
place by the curiosity”.
He was attired to me by my friendly relation with guys
thought to be the scum of the society, junkies! Felix the Cat shot me his
excuses from his blue eyes for not telling me the entire story. I got fond of
the boy. He followed me everywhere like I was his elder brother, and proud of
the guitar man, his friend, who just came from India. He could not help himself
bringing me down to his Dream Madrid, a magic city full of witches and wizards
living side by side with heroes and goddesses. He had an American girlfriend,
from California, the most beautiful girl in the world, I had to see her, and
she had girls so beautiful that he had to carry a weapon to get rid of the
hyenas. He made me laugh. And I took the chance.
“Let’s go to Madrid”.
We reached Madrid by Fall, when the hell is gone and
you can walk the city all night along. Felix the Cat was squatting in the place
of a guy called Geronimo the Indian. The guy thought me fine, didn’t make any
objection. He looked like a real Indian, the bastard; actually he was from
Latin-American, some Indian blood he had. Felix the Cat never told me what the
Indian’s business was, until one morning the cops broke in the place and took
us straight ahead before the judge. Geronimo the Indian was a telephone cabin
sacker. He could empty the belly of the telephone cabin box in no time.
“Were we his partners?” asked the judge.
“Sir”, said I, “do we look to you like two telephone
cabin sackers? Here my little friend plays harmonica, and aI play guitar, have you ever heard of any telephone cabin box being opened with a
song?”
“All right, clever boy, what were you doing with that fellow,
in his place?”
"I don't know, sir, my little friend here said to
me that that fellow was a real India from the movies, and he had a kind of
tribe of real warriors from the West. And I believed him. See his eyes?”
I thought the judge was gonna break laughing. Two good looking hairy hippies, seventeen and twenty years old,
healthy as the mother of God, living in a world of fairies and Marvel comics.
“All right, all right, go, watch out who you walk
with, and take care of your little friend”
Yeah, we walked away free and Felix the Cat had a new
story to tell. We moved on to Arguelles. Felix the Cat’s girlfriend was to land
in Spain from California sometime soon. I was already guessing that she was an
invention of his imagination when three most lovely girls showed up and buried
Felix the Cat under a volcano of kisses, my my little
friend! Andy, Kate and Linda, these were their names, every one of them a girl
of her own kind. Andy was from New York, tall and beautiful like the Queen of
Thule. Kate was small, from Texas, with that nose and freckles which betray
Irish roots. And Linda, Felix the Cat’s girlfriend, was from California, and as
her name said it, she was absolutely 'linda', the
classical Hollywood girl from the movies. All three of them spoke perfect
Spanish. With those beauties on our side the already band of daily friends my
guitar and Felix the Cat's harmonica used to bring around soon became a crowd.
The girls made our living easier. We didn’t need any
help anyway; we made it pretty well playing in the street. But the girls wanted
us for them, and we had to give up some hours of our freedom for their sake.
The guys who clang to our company had some money too,
and some want me to teach them to play guitar the way I did. Well, I would not
mind to show them some tricks, but I was not going to slice my time for their
sake. I had to earn my living, I had to enjoy our girlfriends' company, I had
things in my head.
My guitar and Felix the Cat's girlfriends would not
bring around only good people. Rocky, from the Carpio’s Gang, already kicking the town and stabbing idiots to death simply because they
did not know whom they were talking to, that same Rocky used to sit by us to
listen the guitar and have a chat. Even the mad need sometimes to be treated as
a friend from someone who shows no fear of him and from whom he has nothing to
fear. Jos the Bear, my new partner, crossed his eyes, but he was me who said
who could sit with us, and the end he made friend with Rocky too. From time to
time the Carpio’s Gang would sit by us eating their Bocadillos de calamares,
had a ciggy and go back to their stabbing business. We were big boys all. Jos
the Bear, Toño the Quinn and me we could deal with
any shit any moment any time. While they came around to listen music, have a
chat and smoke a ciggy, great. I mean, no one in that shithole dared to cross a
word with those guys and there we were, talking and laughing. Who would mess
with us?
Felix the Cat and me kept our mutual company hangin’ ‘round his magic city, in one of those adventures
around La Plaza Mayor we met Caperucita. Jos the Bear just melted when I introduced her
to him. Caperucita was a beauty from Murcia, a real fairy tale girl. She was with someone but she
became fonder and fonder of our company and when the winter showed up she
became a part of us. Jos the Bear rented a flat for the company to meet; he
gave me the key. Winter is cold in Madrid. But though cold, Madrid’s winter was
crazily amusing. There was not many people playing in the street those days, we
could make our living pretty easily. Felix the Cat and me we needed not much,
and the girls wouldn’t let us to suffer from daily needs anyway. There was the
company, and there were the two of us. They girls would take us to eat to their
fancy places, Mac Donald and Maxim and the Hard Rock place. They were Americans
after all. Just one thing was no going good, the guys were getting into the LSD
thing. You know, you eat one, you enjoy, and forget it. Sometime later you may
fall in another and you go for it. But I had one rule, I never look for
anything. If it happens to meet one guy hitting a marihuana joint, and he pass
it on to me, I hit it, I enjoy the company, and I keep going. I forget, am
forgotten, not big deal. The guys were looking for LSD, more and more. And I
didn’t like it. Drugs are not to play, drug is fire. You played with fire and
you came out uninjured? Good for you. Don’t tempt the Devil twice. You hit me
today, and I gave you the other cheek, good, take it as a miracle. Next time I
might answer back, and you will take two for one. Be happy, you escaped Death,
don’t come back to make a joke of it.
The problem with drugs is that the mind of the people
in drug is not the mind of the people when they are not on drug. You can’t
reach that mind. I can cope with you to show you the way out, but if they don’t wanna get out, I gotta let
go. I’m not a guru, I never was, and I never will. Neither a disciple. No way.
Life is based in one simple principle : You live, you experience, and you keep
walking. From the moment the experience chains your feet and you can’t walk
anymore, you are a slave of death. When you don’t love somebody and you make
love to that somebody when dawn comes around a sweet kiss of goodbye it’s all
is need. Hypocrisy is madness. Slavery is foolish. You gotta use drugs as you use your underwear, dirty and broken, you throw the shit, or
you get sick. Drugs cause the same effect on the mind. I could see the lethal
effect of the LSD on guys already walking like zombies. That’s a warning. The
less you take, the better. Once you know what it is, that’s it.
It is not nice to see your friends falling. Soon or
later you got to follow the casket, and it is not nice thing.
It was one of those days, when Spring came around,
that while walking on my own through Main Street Preciados I met the Professor.
“I know you” said him.
“Yeah, I can remember you too”
“Can I pay you a drink?”
“Sure”
He asked me lot of things about my life, I told him
enough, the rest he figured it out all by himself the rest.
“You are running away from your military service,
don’t you”.
There was no point in denying to a man like the
Professor the truth. He was kind fond of me anyway. You know, he looked at me
like a father to a son who is wild but he’s not evil. And I looked at him like
a real intelligent person with a wise heart and a saint mind. As we spoke he
understood that I was in the company of people from whom I could not decide to
break free. He offered me a way out. He could share with me his room in La
Latina. He was quite into a story, his business, nothing to attire my
curiosity, so he said, but he was feeling lonely in this big city, and he would
enjoy my talking.
I moved to his place. I kept the company, but the LSD
had broken through the innocent world we had and was building an artificial
universe created out of nowhere. Madrid’s Spring, however, it is delicious. I
had my guitar. And the Professor to count on a wise man’s advice.
And yet, I have to say that only I blind man cannot
see the light. The Professor was all smile and good words to me. But he never
shared with me why he was in Madrid, and I took for granted that a man like him
was perfectly happy. Until one of those nights I was woken up by mourning and
lamentations. I thought I was dreaming and I turn my head.
As I did so I saw the Professor in his bed, sitting,
with his head down and a tread of blood falling from his mouth to his chest. I
was no dreaming.
He would not see me. His soul was talking. And he was
talking to God.
He was in the dark, alone and confused. He was found
with a brain disease in his head. He was in need of a fine chirurgical operation.
It got to pay a lot of money. He was a man from a rich family but his family
would not help him. This is his story.
As a boy he got a call from God, and was taken at His
service. He moved to Latin-America, where he became an eminent Theologian. He
was the pride of his family. He won many Universities distinctions here and
there all through his life. He never got married. He had fulltime dedication to
the Cause of the Evangelization, body and soul. A catholic man, old school, he
could die for his Lord, anytime. Were the times of persecutions, he would
follow Paul and Peter to the death. Full of years and glory the professor came
back to his hometown, Malaga.
A man like him could not stay quiet, and as he walked
the city his heart melted before those street dogs burning their soul away
under the hooves of the twentieth century horse, Brown Sugar. Junkies were
rejected from their homes and thrown to the streets like dogs worth nothing.
The Professor opened that building downtown Malaga and gave them a home.
People like him move between applauses and demonizings. Some loved him because his heart of gold, in
which they saw Christ in his splendor; and some hated him for bringing those
dog round their doors. He fought his way through. A valiant soul his.
Death came around looking for the servant of its
enemy. The Professor could fight back a legion of men and keep his soul high.
But this time the enemy was no human, but Death itself.
And there was nobody to lend him a hand. It could not
sell the building to pay his operation; social service would not run the cost.
This was his reason to be in Madrid. He had friends from his days of glory; he
was moving keys. For no purpose. The money was too high. He was damned.
What really was tormented his souls was to know not
why it was forsaken from is Lord. This was his salary for a fulltime life
dedication to His Cause? What he had done wrong to deserve this cross?
As I kept listening his lamentations my mind was
confronted with a revelation. I mean, there I had in front of my eyes a man who
was master in all classes of Divinities, so to speak. A man who knew the
Fathers, the Modern Theology and the Theology of Liberation too. No man could
beat his mastery of those sciences. He had revealed me his life during our conversations.
I had followed his life in South America through the years. In his behalf, I
will say that I was a young man who could speak hours nonstop, but I was a
great listener too. And to a man like the Professor I would give him my ears as
long as he could keep talking, and as in moments like those to speak is what is
most needed, the Man poured on me his entire life.
And there he was, in front of me, the greatest man I
had never met, a man who never said to me a single word about his tragedy,
sitting on his bed, his soul ruling his body and letting free his pain at my
feet. God of my soul! How blind can be a young man!
The Professor went back to Malaga few days after and I
was left with his Why in my head.
As Summertime came and Madrid was getting empty, I
moved on away too. A girlfriend of mine followed me down to Ibiza, but I wanted
to be alone and I send her away from me. There was no power in this world which
could shut my mind from the revelation I had. I could get back to books and
teachers and all that career thing.
What for? To find at the end that all I had learned
was useless? The world is full of genius, alive and dead. So what? What good
had they brought to the world? We were closer to a World Global Total
Destruction War than we had ever been. Wise men, good for them? What good they
do to the Third World, continuously falling in Hungers and Civil Wars,
Genocides and Tyrannies? We kill a disease and bring forward a most devastating
epidemic. Man’s wisdom is useless.
The sentence upon the World History was written :
“Dust you are, and to the dust you will get back”. This is all about. That’s
what History is all about, the Chronicles of the World from its first Local War
to its last Global War. And men keep searching for the door out of this grave,
in the books.
Books have no answers, just questions. There is only
One who knows the Answer, and if I wanted to know it, I had to go to Him and
ask it from Him.
The Process of consciousness is two ways. You reach a
certain stage of thinking because you are moved to it, and you know it; and you
feel where is coming from that Force moving you a step forward. That Force is
as real as the Sun, the Moon, the Stars and the Earth. That Force grows in your
soul, and your soul is your life, and you love your life, you love your soul,
and you know your soul is being pushed forward. You doubt not.
You have not open your mouth yet when the answer to
your request has been already delivered. It is not you who is challenging God
to raise your head up to the sky and to make you stand on the two sides of the
waters with firm legs; it is Him who is lightening your soul, and your soul
takes you where its Creator wants you to see you. And you are there, and you
know that it is Him, and you will be given what you have been requested to ask
because He has already given to you what you have not yet ask for.
This is the way the Immortal Soul moves in man. The
Soul is God's Power in man. God moves man through the Soul. If not for the Soul
man is an animal. Soul is what makes man free. Souls is too what makes man feel
pain and sorrow. Animals don’t have soul. Animals are ruled by laws. They don’t
think. Every year, at a certain time, animals, birds, fishes and beasts, get
together and procreate. There is no free will, they have no power on their
self-body. Ergo, animals don’t suffer from thinking.
When you look straight in the eyes of an animal, you
see no pain or joy. Their brain is infinite miles away from the thinking
process. They know no freedom, or will. They have no free-will. Ergo they know
no trouble or confusion.
Free-will comes from the Soul, and the Soul come from
God, and from free-will comes pain and confusion. It depends on the love of man
for God to cross the frontiers between the World as it is and the Creation as
it was. Given that the goal of the Creation is the rising of Man to the Image
of His Creator, and understood that man alone cannot take himself to this
realization, there is only one Door in to that Goal : Rise your Voice to your
Creator, ask Him Intelligence without limits.
This was the Process I was going through when I sent
my new girlfriend home. There are mental stages to be lived exclusively by the
person involved in it. And anybody around not invited to this soul party gets
hurt. I had to be alone and do by myself what it was coming. I think I told
this story in the Introduction to the Divine History of Jesus, ergo, I will
passed over.
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