Living, Building, and Feeling: Theological Reflections from my first year in Colombia

Leer en español

Sometimes I don’t know if

I just close my eyes and am quiet,

or if it is a way of shouting.

I don’t know if I fly,

Or at least, simply,

I squeeze tightly the lids

of my eyes and, I leave them

just a little but open.

 

Maybe you don’t understand me.  No.

Maybe, just maybe,

you are convinced to listen to me.

But no.

Life travels in a language

that only the soul understands.

If that language could be

read in my soul;

If somehow one could

stop feeling it, and understand it.

Only if I let myself convert

His ideas into figures!

Only if I let myself

listen to his sound

And sing by ear.

Only…

 

There would be a memory,

a mist of who I am.

A latent reminder,

that lives.

Small words,

tattooed on my years,

that grow, and are alive

They tell me,

just like the first time

in Nicaragua, in that room:

God is infinite!

 

A whisper would be heard cooing in the silence.

A whisper, that I believe I already know.

Dwells in the soul.

A voice, powerful and serene.

I listen to it, agonizing,

en bad moments and in good moments,

between life and death,

between sentences and sparks of hope.

“…Listen to me…

My great love lasts forever.”

 

A wait,

because I am never alone.

You would find a door of virgin wood

that leads into a room.

A table, a chisel, a box.

you would see an awl, a hammer, a straightedge,

nails, brushes, gouges, a saw;

and from the sawdust that

falls on the floor,

a carpenter at work,

which gives me the strength to live in scarcity

and the wisdom to live in abundance.

 

A cry of freedom!

An unfading glory,

Asking for peace, yearning for reconciliation.

You would hear my soul singing vallenato,

cumbia, bambuco and bullerengue,

And shouting a goal.

Dreaming of peace, battling

not with bullets, but with love.

Painting half the face blue, white, blue

and the other half yellow,

blue and red.

Adopting another name,

Now I am not just “Nica,” now I am also “parce.”

…His dream of great things,

His dream of great changes

in me.

 

Of course!

Only in the case in which

we consider these words a language,

and from that, to this paper

We give the name:

MY SOUL

Blog Pedro Collage

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