Friday, 31 October 2014


my religious conversion (to roman catholicism) happened when I was a teenager.  back then (havana, early 1980s) the church was also almost a closed social club, mostly attracting all sort of people who rejected the Revolution, from the remnant of the deposed bourgeoisie to disenchanted proletarians who found not space of expressing their unorthodox ideas elsewhere. and for a country with little exposure to the wider world, the church was also a window where you could get otherwise unavailable books, foreign magazines and newspapers, music that wasn't played on the radio... and make friends. it was there i read jp sartre and martin buber, gustavo gutierrez and ernst bloch. teilhard de chardin and thomas merton... it was also there that i had my political crisis expressed. my approach / reproach connection with the revolution. and my crisis of faith that lead me to become an agnostic for many many years

i woke up this morning thinking of joaquin. father joaquin. my friend and godfather. my mentor. the man who introduced me to sartre and camus and read my dreadful stories and not better poetry. my teenage exploration of literature. patient enough to listen to me every time i had my heart broken, or i broke somebody's heart . i can feel as i type the words he always said, his blessing every time we kissed goodbye: be good. same words he said the last time i called him. he was smiling, waiting for his death. and i'm sorry i wasn't always as good as i should

but his command was mostly a plead. an encouragement i try to live my life with

welcome to havana upon tyne 3.0, let's fly together

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