I learned little about Luisito before a truck ran over him when he was chasing a ball. In Spain, in the 80s, there were more deaths from chasing a ball than a camel. I only knew that he was the finest boy in the first year of primary school, from 1ºB, and while the brutes were playing soccer or getting into each other's hands, he seemed to get lost identifying the few plants that grew in the yard. Our death was not told by our tutor, but by her mother's screams in the street that led to the window of my room, at the western end of the Costa del Sol. By the time they pulled me away, I had already seen the brains of Luisito cleaning the asphalt.

A few years later, I told the mother of my friend Ignacio, my mother's mother, that my maternal grandparents had died at the same time that same day. That afternoon my grandparents were watching the bulls on TV, and they ate fennel cream before going to bed. That confession was never commented on in my house, and from my bedroom I heard my mother's embarrassed voice on the phone, "they are little things," he said. Nor were other confessions already mentioned late. That is why I put all my effort into fleeing on the basis of rebounds, and at age 15 I went to play basketball at a team in Seville to grow better as a fibrous forward than as an apocalyptic lad. Pascal warned that "there is only one big thing: knowing that you are miserable . " Those who write good poetry know that you have to start as a young arsonist and mature embraced in the arcade of a sunset. In those Sevillian years, in a Nervión bookstore, near the street where some of my classmates were fucking, I bought a biography of David Bowie from my brother. I like to invite, but not to give . And in the end I kept the book, born my teenage obsession with Bowie, which resulted in a passion for the enigma of God, which of course has nothing to do with the British, who was very good, maybe a genius, But it was not God. In that book they tell how Bowie became interested in religion in the mid-1970s, when in Los Angeles he lived his own descent into hell. From that reference my interest in the religious started, and I began to work on faith, which is a sacrifice: a job of becoming sacred . Some go on vacation to Rome and return almost holy. Others see the Virgin in any field of Chiclana. And there are those who only believe in what they see or trust what they know, the latter are the most unfortunate. I approached mysticism because there was a junkie composer who was interested in him.

I think it was the Marxist philosopher Ernst Bloch who pointed out that the mystic is a superman, but without pride . I don't know a better definition that I can aspire to as a person. The serious thing about the best obsessions is that they tend to be unapproachable. The good obsessive pursues the unattainable, and that natural incapacity is his food. Few obsessions more perfect, for their imperfection, than that of God . Santo Tomas, the greatest student of this mystery, wrote that the most we can know about God is that he always exceeds everything we can think of him. Before, St. Augustine already warned: "if you understand it, it is not God." And so we spend our lives, hoping to know a lot to understand almost nothing. This was the case of Bloch, which the subject cost him a three-volume study that he named, Principle Hope (Trotta). In it he concludes that vanity is the last suit that man strips. If the dead are good, those we love, we cry and miss, they abandon that sack-like suit and end up looking like God, and then God stops becoming superfluous - as happens in this wild capitalism as a religion that we are suffering, and that denounced the Benedictine monk Lluis Duch so much to take the soft face and the clean look of Luisito or my grandparents Paulina and Manuel.

In our narcissistic reality, God is the best remedy to forget a little of ourselves, to accept our submission to nature and to be able to disobey in peace . Pessoa wrote that to think of God is to disobey God. And he asked that we be simple because God will love us making us beautiful and offering us a river to go to, a flow to the good life. That is why it is better to live in God than to think about him too much. Ratzinger, perhaps one of the most educated and confused parents, pointed out that God is the ability to see love . That is, recognize ourselves in our humanity to stop hating. The poet Clara Janés says that lack of faith is the evil of this time. It is not too late to remind us that what each one believes is not so important, but what makes us as a society what we do not believe . If, as it seems, our time here depends on the effectiveness of the invisible, it will be better to invest less in what is felt and more in what is not seen. Let us choose the human rather than the universal. Better the simple word than the ineffable grammar. That way we will get our neighbor to finally be our teacher, and soon we can celebrate together the absence of misfortunes. Bowie sang it better: " Gimme me your hands cause youre wonderful ". God with him.

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