'... getting there is your goal, / more do not rush the trip. / Better that it extends long years / and in your old age you arrive at the island / with whatever you have gained in the way, / without waiting for Ithaca to sadden you. / Ithaka gave you a beautiful trip. / Without it the road would not have been undertaken, / but nothing else can give you. / Although poor you find it, Ithaca did not deceive you. / Rich in knowing and in life, how have you returned, / understand what the Ithaca mean ... '.
Kavafis: Poem to Ithaca (1)
Let's talk about Sanctuaries. Or the return home. Or of that mythical trip to Ithaca, which holds us back or moves us from goose to goose, allowing us to pull again because it touches us, to return us transfigured to the place of departure, which, after all, is what it is all about. Let's talk about places, feelings, desires, hopes.
Let's talk with Eros and Psyche and while they reject each other with irreconcilable arguments, let's make peace with Demeter and with Mary. Let's wallow in these muds, caused by those ancient puddles.
We pick up the stones that we left behind, at the crossroads of the roads that we no longer have to return to, and continue advancing, with them in our pockets, knowing that there are always new roads to cross and other crossroads that await that stone of yours that they will keep you until the day you return to claim it.
And while we make our way, never forgetting to drink the water and wine from the taverns, let's talk about Ithaca; thus, without hastening the trip, as Kavafis said. And when speaking of Ithaca, let us remember, then, that antediluvian poem by Gilgamesh that, metaphorically speaking, is in the end this authentic Creation that we call Montserrat.
Montserrat is one of those trap places, whose spider web is entangled in the spirit in such a way that when you leave there, in your soul you have engraved on fire the slogan that you have to necessarily return, as it used to go and to the cave of the Sibyl.
It is a supernatural magnet, whose magnetism attracts and at the same time repels; that takes and gives, that removes and puts, that speaks and silences at will.
An enchanted place; sacred, if you prefer, in your own right, where dwells a dark-skinned Goddess, oh daughters of Jerusalem !, of which one may wonder, however, how could the sun have roasted it, if for centuries it remained in the deepest and recondite of its sanctuary?.
As the ancient Celtic Mothers to whom both Shakespeare and Saint Bernard venerated and before which the people danced in a circle to the sound of the drums.
Today the corros are endless lines that do not go down to the cave, but go up to the basilica, as if ascending through a mythical scale of Jacob.
Today, in its alabaster skin, the light of the stars that once trampled between the stalagmites and the stalagmites of its ancient dwelling is not reflected, but instead, behind the glass case that shelters it, the flickering flames of pious candles of beeswax, creditors of requests and miracles. Now Ulises is getting older with Penelope and Telemaco has become independent. Now the Odyssey, it's simply called Faith.
Notes, References and Bibliography:
(1) C.P.Kavafis: Complete poetry. Editorial Literary Alliance, page 100.
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Original content by @juancar347
[Martial, latin poet]
Toca la imagen y participa.
Diviértete y disfruta.