Easter, for me, has a rancid taste, blending childhood fears, death, martyrdom, suffering, guilt and pain together ... It is a depressing time, where the subject does not feel anything comforted, but guilty of the brutal death he inflicted on Christ, as we have. Small and we were told that he died for our sins and one without knowing why, felt guilty and horrified by that story that did not quite understand. Why the hell I had to pay for the sins of that gentleman and lady who ate an apple? Why did he come the Son of God to kill him the same men who had sin and give them as a reward, therefore, salvation? It was absurd to remove a little sin of all, as was the theft of an apple, a crime was committed with malice murder
time ago ... try to escape from this time, I'm going out to avoid the spectacle of gruesome content, pain, martyrdom and blood, which is displayed in the streets of Andalusia and in Spain, to a greater or lesser extent, with varying degrees of religiosity. A Christ suffering the indignity of a powerful lords who did not know, or wanted, to understand what I said, intended to maintain and sustain the established power system. That kind of praise to the suffering, the exaltation of the suffering and humiliation, that identify with the suffering, the pain ... not to my taste and conviction.
I can hardly understand the feelings of those people who makes their life and activities throughout the year a goal to get his christ his brotherhood. Sure we all need to belong to a group, socially speaking, and this may be a meeting of that particular group. It would be like a club, but instead of playing tennis or golf, there is this other activity. Then your function is no longer religious to become social. Immediately afterwards, one wonders, then, if religion is nothing more than that, a way of bringing together people who need their membership, that identification with a collective and through the management of the group, create a structure, position or social model to uphold the system of power established within that group. Habemus dispute then.
believer and I am not anything arising is influenced by my pure and simple reasoning. I know I can not avoid the schemes that have marked me fire, fears and dictation, when I was little, but I think in the end, the reason was imposed and only believe what I gather, what I see as possible and, of deny anything about what you do not have solid enough argument, I can give overtones of probability, however remote, certain things that my reason given for possible under my inability to understand or my limited knowledge. Do not believe what we touted by religion, but do not deny that there may be a higher energy body condition rules, regulations and laws governing the world, but in any case not be equated us, but could form part of an energy which we are involved and subject to its laws. In this case, knowledge is the way to make this possible truth, science tool, the vehicle that transports us to that end. If you want to call it God, which I find much to call, then I have my doubts about the existence of that god.
Anyway, this week chose to move and travel. We went to Carrión de los Condes with my friends Paul and Marisa. From there we visited Medina de Rioseco, charming town of Valladolid, with its arcaded streets and churches, filled with English roots. Urueña, or the Villa of the book, walled and the charm of its streets transport you to times past, not very far away there is a Romanesque chapel where the environment takes you to merge with nature, listening to the gentle breeze from the leaves of the trees stirred emotions and feelings of inner peace. Wamba, where he was crowned the Visigoth king Wamba in 672, after the death of Recesvinto in the same place. The story of Wamba, senior, did not end well at all. In this village, I was surprised at his church, the place was crowned Wamba, Romanesque, Mudejar combines space, with its horseshoe arches, and Gothic. As curiosity is a charnel house filled with human bones, skulls, femurs, tibias, etc. stacked, giving similar to "Capela of the Bones "in Évora, Portugal. In Valladolid we met my friend Conchi of Horrocks, who made us act as a guide and visit the city, splendid, as always, with its streets, squares and avenues.
Aguilar de Campo was the other target. Already knew, but Donino and his wife joined us on a tour that took us to the monastery of Santa María la Real and visited the streets and squares. The coffee we took in Santa Maria de Mave, a former monastery converted into guest quarters.
As annoying curiosity, are you alluding to characters streets of the old regime, crosses of the fallen, yokes and arrows phalanx, in the strange cult of the old regime Franco At this point, protected by the rulers of an autonomous community of imperial tradition and home to the Falange. This brings me to the reflection of the great difference between the European right and the English right. The first is the daughter of the antifascist struggle against Nazism and ours is the daughter of the same fascism that survived the Second World War. That explains a lot in our national politics.
not be so hard to leave for my next post the continuation of this story or reflection. Meanwhile you can watch some pictures. I Wamba and Valladolid missing because I ran out of battery.
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