Continued I part.
Clinic
God delights in men long before they know it.
can not build legends about the birth of Cesco because he was born in a clinic, perfect, clean, aseptic, organized and efficient, not mice. Neither straw manger, no animals with him, and pastors around. The Angels would be there, but had to dare to sing. Neither paternal nor maternal tenderness protection: the father and the mother was busy, on the verge of death. It was not a child born, was the 214 that arrived at the theater. With their number for a little arm attached to the tape, they put in an incubator. Was between two children: the 213 and 215. Today many children are born that way.
A harbinger of poverty.
I teach, of course, the list of Byzantine emperors and crystallographic systems. He learned by himself to catch flies, making bellows to spread chalk dust, to make paper flying arrows and blowguns to shoot peas. One night had thistles, 'that if you are a man, if you're not a man ',' that if you smoke, if not smoke ', ended up dizzy. The next day morning, the bust of the important man who headed the school's main staircase, appeared with his nose painted red. Before the inquisitor was looking for the culprit, Cesco knew confess that he had done because he had done. Dar
face.
a child wanted to be a shepherd in the mountains, after the discoverer of the pole, then expect to get the moon, then he wanted to be an aviator, sailor, guide in the Alps, senator, engineer, physicist. How often dreamed of what most felt would always in a push up, never thought of living with slippers and armchair, protected and secured by the business in a little shop.
Aim high.
still very young, there was war and was sent to the front. Before meeting the love and hatred of men, was marked by the redemption of the blood. That saw the death of the carpenter's apprentice, a locksmith that first-time, a stranger had given him half of his droll, that child rather than coming to the forefront with her silk pajamas on the grapevine, to that classmate. Cesco returned home, but Mingo did not return, he had been somewhere, with his eyes wide with surprise child, crystallized forever in innocence. After the war had only two things: the brand of innocent blood of his generation and 'the flower of hope, tiny and tenacious', as he said a poet of his generation before his death. Over the years, new generations brought new winds of hope, and was beautiful to see. I understood well, because he belonged to the blood of Mingo.
Fidelity to the innocent generation.
He was sent to infantry. Reached the front at night, in a great silence, an eerie silence, much more chilling than the explosion of bombs. All were children and his eyes opened like the first time I sent for something dark room. Again, terrified eyes and fear in the heart of the first night he was listening, silent and crouching, with his rifle between the legs a few feet beyond the lines. Never completely free of fear, always had, even when they could distinguish the bursting of the shells of the bombs, when they knew by the noise, whose planes were approaching. With much fear, however, never made the lazy when he played out of the trench: advanced, without losing the sense to move sheltering.
Forward, despite the fear.
always had friends. It was good character, and next to nobody was bored. Generous: never kept to himself at school, he was told nougat for Christmas, if he had money he spent, but never himself. He was faithful, who fought with a friend mocked hunchback. One day, in front, were the other two up there, well entrenched, long hours of fighting, Cesco and did not know whether or not afraid. Thunder of explosions: chim-pum (the guns on them), chim-pam (our guns); crouch, jump, hide, jump, crouch, and hide. Found the other leaning against a tree, his rifle useless in the hands, 'Take, drink a sip from my canteen. " Sharing
water canteen with the other.
fell prisoner. Lice hunger and shame. At night, prisoners felt surrounded by alert sentries, a cry that was repeated every fifteen minutes, surrounding you. Spent the day lying down, unarmed, did not seem living. A classmate died with him, maybe more of shame than from starvation. They would prefer the front, where life is played, yes, but where they could feel free, fighting. Now silent. 'Let us not abate, sing. Although we still hungry, we are not a losers'.
not give up.
had before to make a great retreat. Ambulances, bridges blown up, men lying in the gutter, dead perhaps, low-flying aviation contrary. Poultry loose, away from their pens. Villagers fleeing with the woman and children, car, mule, cow mattress. Soldiers without officers piled into trucks officers without soldiers, in small cars. A child pulling a goat, alone with his goat. A girl, alone, crying colleagues wanted to mess with her. Cesco was like everyone, but loaded the rifle, "No one will touch, is crying."
respect to women, because women are a sign of contradiction. Who is able to respect, will also able to all other acts of man. And vice versa.
may have forgotten to respect women and other gestures is normal, what every man would do if it went awry. Cesco was a normal boy, not disgustingly perfect, with very few defects own: giddy, vain, spendthrift, too nice. Very immature and perhaps very sinful.
But it was not shrunk.
There are flaws that shrink and lead to resentment as when you want to hide the trap caution, cowardice with meekness, complexes with justice, decline with allergies, selfishness with prudence, with bachelor's soul continence. Mal
way. Where can deviate even grace, because grace reaches everywhere, but if the recipient without straightening shrunk, it is distorted, no integration, no unit in man. As narrow shoes that give bad career. Cesco
was not shrunk.
There are flaws that do not shrink and lead to the normal basis, in a normal manner. The violence is closer to the Christian softness, that cowardice, a lucid awareness of his own worth, even with its tinge of pride, is closer to the humility that scrupulous timidity, recklessness is closer to that false prudence wise man installed, the intransigence is closer to the charity that the weak indulgence, the waste is more than near poverty to greed, sin done with some respect to women is closer to the chastity and continence repressed tormented soul fake bachelor.
track. The grace of God can move through it normally, because to face, forward, share the water bottle, not to give up, respect women, are gestures that have their normal conduct of Christians in the fact face the truth of God , hope for eternal life, to engage in this temporal life, breaking bread, take the cross of Jesus Christ, find the virginity of the soul.
evil way. Track.
And above all the grace of God that pokes, looking, importunate, click, push, until it makes us realize that whether we are born in a shack, and at the bottom of a mine, as in a clinic, every We are born naked. Until we find out what was the point made that harbinger of poverty.
A harbinger of poverty.
I teach, of course, the list of Byzantine emperors and crystallographic systems. He learned by himself to catch flies, making bellows to spread chalk dust, to make paper flying arrows and blowguns to shoot peas. One night had thistles, 'that if you are a man, if you're not a man ',' that if you smoke, if not smoke ', ended up dizzy. The next day morning, the bust of the important man who headed the school's main staircase, appeared with his nose painted red. Before the inquisitor was looking for the culprit, Cesco knew confess that he had done because he had done. Dar
face.
a child wanted to be a shepherd in the mountains, after the discoverer of the pole, then expect to get the moon, then he wanted to be an aviator, sailor, guide in the Alps, senator, engineer, physicist. How often dreamed of what most felt would always in a push up, never thought of living with slippers and armchair, protected and secured by the business in a little shop.
Aim high.
still very young, there was war and was sent to the front. Before meeting the love and hatred of men, was marked by the redemption of the blood. That saw the death of the carpenter's apprentice, a locksmith that first-time, a stranger had given him half of his droll, that child rather than coming to the forefront with her silk pajamas on the grapevine, to that classmate. Cesco returned home, but Mingo did not return, he had been somewhere, with his eyes wide with surprise child, crystallized forever in innocence. After the war had only two things: the brand of innocent blood of his generation and 'the flower of hope, tiny and tenacious', as he said a poet of his generation before his death. Over the years, new generations brought new winds of hope, and was beautiful to see. I understood well, because he belonged to the blood of Mingo.
Fidelity to the innocent generation.
He was sent to infantry. Reached the front at night, in a great silence, an eerie silence, much more chilling than the explosion of bombs. All were children and his eyes opened like the first time I sent for something dark room. Again, terrified eyes and fear in the heart of the first night he was listening, silent and crouching, with his rifle between the legs a few feet beyond the lines. Never completely free of fear, always had, even when they could distinguish the bursting of the shells of the bombs, when they knew by the noise, whose planes were approaching. With much fear, however, never made the lazy when he played out of the trench: advanced, without losing the sense to move sheltering.
Forward, despite the fear.
always had friends. It was good character, and next to nobody was bored. Generous: never kept to himself at school, he was told nougat for Christmas, if he had money he spent, but never himself. He was faithful, who fought with a friend mocked hunchback. One day, in front, were the other two up there, well entrenched, long hours of fighting, Cesco and did not know whether or not afraid. Thunder of explosions: chim-pum (the guns on them), chim-pam (our guns); crouch, jump, hide, jump, crouch, and hide. Found the other leaning against a tree, his rifle useless in the hands, 'Take, drink a sip from my canteen. " Sharing
water canteen with the other.
fell prisoner. Lice hunger and shame. At night, prisoners felt surrounded by alert sentries, a cry that was repeated every fifteen minutes, surrounding you. Spent the day lying down, unarmed, did not seem living. A classmate died with him, maybe more of shame than from starvation. They would prefer the front, where life is played, yes, but where they could feel free, fighting. Now silent. 'Let us not abate, sing. Although we still hungry, we are not a losers'.
not give up.
had before to make a great retreat. Ambulances, bridges blown up, men lying in the gutter, dead perhaps, low-flying aviation contrary. Poultry loose, away from their pens. Villagers fleeing with the woman and children, car, mule, cow mattress. Soldiers without officers piled into trucks officers without soldiers, in small cars. A child pulling a goat, alone with his goat. A girl, alone, crying colleagues wanted to mess with her. Cesco was like everyone, but loaded the rifle, "No one will touch, is crying."
respect to women, because women are a sign of contradiction. Who is able to respect, will also able to all other acts of man. And vice versa.
may have forgotten to respect women and other gestures is normal, what every man would do if it went awry. Cesco was a normal boy, not disgustingly perfect, with very few defects own: giddy, vain, spendthrift, too nice. Very immature and perhaps very sinful.
But it was not shrunk.
There are flaws that shrink and lead to resentment as when you want to hide the trap caution, cowardice with meekness, complexes with justice, decline with allergies, selfishness with prudence, with bachelor's soul continence. Mal
way. Where can deviate even grace, because grace reaches everywhere, but if the recipient without straightening shrunk, it is distorted, no integration, no unit in man. As narrow shoes that give bad career. Cesco
was not shrunk.
There are flaws that do not shrink and lead to the normal basis, in a normal manner. The violence is closer to the Christian softness, that cowardice, a lucid awareness of his own worth, even with its tinge of pride, is closer to the humility that scrupulous timidity, recklessness is closer to that false prudence wise man installed, the intransigence is closer to the charity that the weak indulgence, the waste is more than near poverty to greed, sin done with some respect to women is closer to the chastity and continence repressed tormented soul fake bachelor.
track. The grace of God can move through it normally, because to face, forward, share the water bottle, not to give up, respect women, are gestures that have their normal conduct of Christians in the fact face the truth of God , hope for eternal life, to engage in this temporal life, breaking bread, take the cross of Jesus Christ, find the virginity of the soul.
evil way. Track.
And above all the grace of God that pokes, looking, importunate, click, push, until it makes us realize that whether we are born in a shack, and at the bottom of a mine, as in a clinic, every We are born naked. Until we find out what was the point made that harbinger of poverty.
From: Ballarin JM, Francesco , Salamanca, Follow Me, 1975. pp. 29-33.
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