From the underground


duermenY
et another case of synchronicity. Yesterday I had to meet a lawyer in downtown Buenos Aires. He seemed to be a good man, very busy though. I sat waiting for him in his office watching the rain through a huge window. I could see a building in the distance. It has been once stylishly elegant, a  petit hotel built in fashionable French style perhaps a century ago. Air conditioning units now appeared all over the front in a chaotic fashion making it ugly.

The office where I was sitting was filled with “expedientes” that is collections of depositions, affidavits, briefs, etc. that in Argentina represent the dialogue that takes place in court during legal litigation. That is the way justice was administered long ago, I believe the custom goes back to the Spanish Inquisition trials of the 1500′s. It still works that way here.

The whole thing filled me with the same kind of sadness. I remember rainy days of many years ago when the buildings in Buenos Aires where meticulously painted and elegant porteños hurried up and down the streets wearing impeccable raincoats. We were busy building things back then before everything went crazy and the killings began. Later I took the subway back home. There were perhaps a dozen men and children sleeping in one of the connecting passages under the main avenue that divides Buenos Aires in two sectors. Most of them had no shoes. A man and his son were singing a traditional song in perfect harmony. The kid was nine or so. It reminded me of Picasso’s Familia de Saltimbanquis like a beautiful pearl shining in the mud. This world needs Christ I thought. If Christ did not exist we would have to make Him out of the depth of our souls and have Him fix this broken world. He is surely taking His time to open that sixth seal. Kyrie eleison.

Suo Gân (traditional Welsh lullaby)

Huna blentyn ar fy mynwes
Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon;
Breichiau mam sy’n dynn amdanat,
Cariad mam sy dan fy mron;
Ni chaiff dim amharu’th gyntun,
Ni wna undyn â thi gam;
Huna’n dawel, annwyl blentyn,
Huna’n fwyn ar fron dy fam.

Huna’n dawel, heno, huna,
Huna’n fwyn, y tlws ei lun;
Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenu,
Gwenu’n dirion yn dy hun?
Ai angylion fry sy’n gwenu,
Arnat ti yn gwenu’n llon,
Tithau’n gwenu’n ôl dan huno,
Huno’n dawel ar fy mron?

Paid ag ofni, dim ond deilen Gura, gura ar y ddôr;
Paid ag ofni, ton fach unig
Sua, sua ar lan y môr;
Huna blentyn, nid oes yma
Ddim i roddi iti fraw;
Gwena’n dawel yn fy mynwes
Ar yr engyl gwynion draw.

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