Only
when everything is silent within us
are
we able to glimpse Him, the One
who
fills our silence and the soul
of
the one killed by the rabid barbarian
with
a bullet fired into the nape of his neck
a
bunch of grapes hovering in the void
pouring
drop by drop a rainbow describing
him
in the arms of the Lord above his house
occupied
by the assassin the hands of Christ
full
of bitterness and of mystery above him
and
the Comforter full of dolour today too
above
the killed houses wherein the happy
assassins
pullulate. The silence and our
incapacity
to pray are deeper and deeper
the
cruelty of the barbarians acuter and acuter.
We
must search for a house of ours in the skies.
We
are as sad as Christ on Maundy Thursday
in
the Passion Week. We must know how
to
always be grateful to a terrible enemy
because
he renders us to ourselves because
he
liberates us from the dispersal and from
the
dilution because however he works
for
our good. The barbarians are just as
they
themselves say our rescuers subjecting
us
to trials to humiliations and to innumerable
sufferings
hoping to destroy us. Yeah, that
always
supervenes in reverse. That’s why
the
killer is the true defeated man.
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