“Tell me, what do you think of religion?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I can’t explain why”


WITH EVERY BREATH MAN LIVES RELIGION

Man is religious by nature
Man without religion…
There no such thing

Man lives to worship
Man is a worshipper by nature
If man does not worship
Man dies.

TELESCOPES

I want my eyes
To become telescopes
So I can see you
From afar.


TELESCOPIOS

Quiero que mis ojos
Sean telescopios
Para verte
A distancia.

THE DOCTOR LOOKED AT MY PREVIOUS WOUND AND ASKED

“What happened to your leg?”

“I was ran over by a bus” I answered

“Did the bus hit you leg?”

“Not exactly, I was inside the bus -the doctor’s face turned into a question mark- the back tires of the bus were the ones that ran over my leg”

“But how did it happen? You said you were inside the bus?

“That’s correct. I was pushed out from the back door of the bus”

“You were pushed?”

“Yes”

“By whom”

“A friend”

“A friend pushed you?”

“Yes, I rather remember it as playful push”

“Good heavens! Where’s you friend now?”

“He committed suicide”

“What?”

“He killed himself. I understand his wife left him, he got depressed, grabbed a revolver put the gun in his mouth an pulled the trigger”

“You should write a book”

I decided to stop the conversation. I looked at her belly and I could tell she was pregnant.

“Are you ready to tell us your side of the story?”

“Yes, do you want to hear it in Spanish or English?”

“It doesn’t matter, everything is being recorded; our experts will translate and interpret everything you have to say”

“Very well then, I will opt for Spanish, since it tends to be more of a mystical language”

“You can begin when you’re ready”

I looked at all of them. All six of them gathered in that warehouse. I could tell that we were somewhere in the country because the air smelled different. There was probably a diary close by. I saw the faces of each one of them; all told stories of broken families, all drove cars that were not paid for. Some of them took Prozac, others hit the bottle every night. The ones with wives would beat them regularly. The rest would beat their girlfriends. At least half of them, the more macho types, were closet homosexuals. All were disintegrating. The only thing that gave them the little meaning they had was their jobs. I felt like shedding tears for them, but I tried to control my self the best I could. I took a deep breath as I thought “Lord Jesus Christ” and then exhaled as with the internal words “have mercy of them” I proceeded in Spanish…

-Ha llegado el tiempo de resucitar. Han estado muertos la mayor parte de sus vidas, consumiendo las mentiras que deforman sus mentes. Son conejillos de indias en el laboratorio de Satanás –los rostros de los que entendían español trataron de mostrar indiferencia pero era imposible esconder su espanto- Estoy hablando de ustedes que dicen tener la verdad. Los que mencionan el nombre de Jesús como si se tratará de otro anuncio publicitario. Es triste, están muertos y no lo saben. Las mayorías duermen hipnotizados por los medios electrónicos, se han envenenado con su propia ponzoña, Dios tenga piedad de todos ustedes. Hay algunos que están concientes de su desdicha, saben que tienen una vida de zombis sin poder despertar de este coma del espíritu, viven las muertes de sus existencias. Odian y temen con todas sus fuerzas. Se odian a ustedes mismos, a sus prójimos, a Dios. Su orgullo los lleva a los rincones más tenebrosos de la conciencia. Prefieren el suicidio que el camino de la humildad. Ustedes quieren cambiar el mundo. Mejor pongan sus fuerzas en cambiarse a si mismos. Sería mejor para todos. Ustedes son los arquitectos de sus desgracias. Nadie más. Es todo lo que tengo que decir.

“When you wake up –he said as he approached me with the needle in his hand- you will not remember anything”

“You can try to erase my memory with drugs, but this will do nothing to my spirit, and remember, is better to see, remember and thinks with the eye of the spirit. Before you stuck that needle in my arm, I want to tell you this: You would have been a good doctor. Go back to the vocation of healing people before you lose the gift”

“Stop! Don’t medicate him, he’s a Citizen -said an older man that walked towards us form the shadows- why didn’t you tell us you are citizen?”

“No one asked” I answered

“We’ll let you go, and I am not going to tell you to keep quiet about what happened here, since nobody will believe you anyway”

“It’s okay; I guess I’ll write a fiction novel”

“The Nativity is one of the most important aspects of human history –he said as he played with his white beard- in order to understand the Nativity you need to understand love. Do you understand what I am saying or do you want me to try my Spanish?”

“It’s okay, I understand”

“Why do you keep telling us all these stories about Christmas? What we really want to know are you political ideas. I’ll tell you what, tell us who you know and we will let you go”

“There are people out there, confused with stolen ideas from books, bad taste in their mouths. You know the types; they’re the ones who are so bent with God that proclaim themselves atheists. It is not that they don’t believe. They believe a lot, insomuch that they hate God. The poor fellows, I feel for them. I think of them dearly this Christmas”

“Okay boys, who is Santa?
“A coca cola product”
“Who is the real guy?”
“Saint Nicholas”
“Very good, you all will get lots of gifts this Christmas”

I hate Christmas
He said
Then he snorted
Some cheap blow

MARRY CHRISTMAS & DO NOT DISTURB

Christmas is best
With good liquor
Your wife in your bed
The children playing with their toys
In their room upstairs.

“Marry Christmas bro; I am glad to see you again”
“Thanks Al, I’m also glad to see you”
“Did you have a good year?”
“It was a tough one”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah man”
“Hopefully next one will be better”:
“I am afraid things are not going to get better, do you dig what I am saying?”
“Yeah” The sound of his voice was wet with sadness.
“The most important thing is to be right inside –I said as I put my right hand on my chest- if we can do this, we’ll make it”

“What’s this shit I heard about the blog overthrowing the book?”
“That’s the talk in cyberspace man”
“Okay, I will burn my books”

-¿Tienes conocimientos de información clasificada?

-Bueno, lo que sé es lo siguiente: Tu primer idioma es el inglés y tu segundo español. Tus padres son mexicanos pero tú eres nacido en el este de Los Ángeles. Tú eres el único del barrio que tiene una educación universitaria, gracias al patrocinio del gobierno por haber participado en la primera guerra del golfo. Tus padres están muy orgullosos de ti aunque no lo aparenten. Cuando escuchan a los Tigres del Norte cantar “mi soldado” los dos se ponen a llorar. Tus papás te quieren mucho. También sé que te sientes nervioso por lo que te estoy diciendo. No te preocupes, soy tu amigo, sólo deseo tu bienestar. En este momento tu mente se está bloqueando y estás olvidando el español. Hablaré en inglés:

“I am your brother and I love you. Everything will be fine. I will not tell you superiors about your breakdown. I’ll keep you and your family in my prayers. Don’t worry about your wife, the cancer she has in her womb will be gone when you get home. She will not die. She will survive”

I could see tears in his eyes. He was touched. In my heart I wished for the best for this guy. He was more good than bad.

“Here, take my gun –he pulled a glock 9 millimeter from his shoulder holster and handed to me- I will show you a way out of this place”

“I don’t walk with the gun anymore. Now my confidence is in the Most High. Put that pistol back in its place”

“Okay, we are going to ask you more questions, we sent you someone who speaks your language and he said you were mocking him. This is not a game; you better get serious with us, because you can pay dearly for your attitude”

“I am serious person”

“Okay, we will begin”

“Wait, bring the guy who speaks Spanish, I want to clear up any misunderstanding with him. He was a good sport” I said.

“I will give you one last chance, if it doesn’t work, you will deal directly with me, and I will not be nice”

“I understand”

The lonely man walked out of my room talking his loneliness with him. The Spanish speaking guy came in.

-Quiero disculparme por cualquier mal entendido –exclamé.

-Aceptaré tu disculpa si respondes mis preguntas honestamente.

-De acuerdo. La razón por la cual dije que soy la voz que clama en el desierto es porque San Juan es uno de mis Santos.

-¿Has estado en el servicio militar? –me preguntó.

-No.

-¿Eres religioso?

-Sólo en el buen sentido de la palabra.

-¿A qué iglesia perteneces?

-A la verdadera iglesia.

-¿Cuál es la verdadera iglesia?

Mi primer pensamiento fue para los pobres, esa mayoría que vive en la miseria, pero que algunos dicen son los más felices. También pensé en los minusvalidos y los parias de todas las sociedades: las prostitutas, los drogadictos, los soldados y todos aquellos que son vistos con sospechas por diferentes razones. Aquellos quién el Héroe Cósmico, el mero Jesucristo, frecuentó, sanó y defendió.

-Pienso que la verdadera iglesia –dije al inhalar profundamente- son aquellos que todo lo soportan, que a todos aman, los que conocen las heridas universales de las pasiones y hacen todo lo posible por sanarlas. Pasiones como el orgullo, avaricia, codicia y muchas otras que son el combustible de las tragedias que aterrizan sobre los seres humanos. Esta iglesia tiene la medicina para curar a sus hijos e hijas de la enajenación del mundo. Medicinas como el silencio y la contemplación. La verdadera iglesia es aquella que se encarga de los suyos, como la hacen las madres, y al mismo tiempo tiene suficiente amor para aquellos que no son sus hijos. Ella intercede por todas las almas del mundo. Principalmente por las de sus enemigos.

Lo más atroz es el olvido.

I REMEMBER BETTER TIMES

“Hey Juan, what’s up my man?”

He asked as I watched the traffic jam; all those cars going nowhere. We were sitting under the tree.

“Not much bro, how are you?” I answered. It is always good to talk to my African big brother.

“I am doing fine little brother; I am looking for a new language, one that can be understood by everybody in the world. Do you dig what I am talking about?”

“I do man, you’re talking about the language of grace, you know, the language that has a lot of feeling”

“You the man!”

-Mis compañeros, las personas que te estaban haciendo las preguntas, me dijeron que tu primer idioma es español. Quizás si te hacemos las preguntas en tu idioma puedas contestar con más facilidad.

No dije nada. Sólo sonreí.

-Está bien. Empecemos. ¿Quién eres? –preguntó entusiástico.

-Soy la voz que clama en el desierto.

-¿Juan?

-Ése mero.

EL PLANETA SALE A DAR LA VUELTA

No permitas
Que tu afán
Por la subsistencia
De las cosas
Oxide de tu sangre.

“You are such a fool, you left the comforts of America for the uncertainty of the third world. How irresponsible can you be?”

“Comfort is decay and America is everywhere. The third world is the third world. Sometimes foolishness can save you”

“You’re crazy”

“Perhaps I am”

“Do you hate Americans?”

“No, I love them”

“Very well then, this interrogation is over”

I kept silence.

DESCANSO

Después de la tormenta
Mi hijo y yo
Nos quedamos dormidos
Aun lado del volante.

-Escúchame bien Juan –hizo una pausa para beber su cerveza con frenesí- Marx la cagó cuando dijo que la religión es el opio de los pueblos. Quiso decir “medicina” y no opio.