17.3 C
Roma
Wednesday 12 May 2021

Restless heart Remember ...

Remember ...

Author of the content

In this period I am meeting some childhood and youth friends. I realize that my memory, as it happens to everyone, is not geometric: the most distant episodes are close while the memory of more recent events fades. To tell the truth, it is not only a joke of memory but it is the memories that involve the heart that have priority. I clearly remember the moments when the heart was involved ...

Now that I live a life of faith, I share the memory of many young people of that time in a kind of communion of saints. I want to convey to them the positive energy of prayer. At the same time, the heart softens thinking about the many chats and adventures spent together. I feel a debt of gratitude to them: a duty to remember them before God.

As I have already written, recently at the Autumn festival in Catanzaro I listened to Mogol who told how the words of some songs by Lucio Battisti were born. He was in love with a child's heart of a little red-cheeked elementary school girl and one year older ... then the story grows with the years and the image of a sea that turns black due to an oil leak where it comes out before you could even see a pebble on the bottom. Then the poet stops to sing the anguish about the fate of the girl who moved away from him with other love stories.

But the charm is for the images of distant memories:

The blonde braids, the blue eyes and then
Your red socks
And innocence on your cheeks
Two even more red oranges ...
But you remember the green water and us
The rocks and the white bottom
What color are your eyes?
If you ask me I won't answer ...
Oh black sea, oh black sea, oh sea ne
You were clear and transparent like me
Bicycles abandoned above the lawn and then
We two lying in the shade ...

But you remember the big waves and us
The splashes and your laughter ...
Oh black sea, oh black sea, oh sea ne
You were clear and transparent like me
The sun, when it rises, rises slowly and then
The light spreads all around us
The shadows of ghosts of the night
They are trees and bushes still in bloom
They are the eyes of a woman still full of love.

Cutting the most erotic verses, as I did, may seem silly moralism but in my heart the enchanted moments of being together, of the relationship as people, weigh more. In love and friendship. I remember the adventures with a friend in Calabria, first as children, then as underwater fishermen. Now he is in heaven and his children feel them mine. Or dreams about our future with a partner from Naples: many hypotheses or plans that then went in a completely different way with Providence that acted as conductor ...

I think of the afterlife. Theologians assure that not only will we retain our identity but also our body will be supported by the soul in turn full of the Holy Spirit, so much so that it will resemble the glorious body of Christ: a body with particular virtues (passed through the walls and disappeared) but a real body, not that of a ghost, specified Jesus. And it is Christ himself who paints eternal life as a banquet where wine is drunk ... "from now on I will not drink of this fruit of the vine until the day I drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom"Matthew 26,29.

This humanity of Jesus moves me, no spiritualisms, no abstractions. We will sit at the table together just like in the happiest moments of this land. Nothing that will have involved our heart will be lost ...






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