COMPOSTELA.
I went pilgrim to
Compostela grace abounding and grace seeking and what I found was the big
night, angels on the rocks and stonecasted gargoyles sprouting over spires,
unbelievable arches and bell cranks, the grey of rain, falling down the
centuries, gutter poundering the
conveyance of water. Rain in Spain. Lluvia de Compostela. Did I find the pulp of my
faith or the the addle myth of empty superstition?
Outside Lugo, where is the throne of the goddess Lupa, I lunched oysters
in a nice restaurant and before seeing with these eyes of mine, prospective
fodder to the vermine of tombs, the Gozo Mound I made love to a beautiful
negresse from Cuba, she was sweet and understanding with my impotence.
Santiago la bella que nunca la ves hasta que estás encima della.
Then drinks, coffee bars and taverns alongside
Azabachería. There were the abodes of the jet merchants. Succinum nígrum. They
dealt on piedras negras. To embrace the Apostle I couldn´t. It was after hours,
well past night o´clock on a Friday. Sextons had gone home or were drinking at
the pubs nearby Plaza del Obradoiro. Canons at the cathedral were through with
Vespers, the irongates with its railings
like spears were closing down, only could I see the big perron leading to the
magic towers, La Puerta del Perdón in the Porch of Glory, the best
representation of glory and rank ever conceived over the line of the stroke of
the burin (burilada) with all the figures escorting the Pantocrator Christ in
reverence and majesty sitting as judge appearing with all the pageantry in the
court of saints and martyrs, the nine grades of angels entouring his see, the
mystic almond, simulating the external orifice of a vulva. Escathology,
Theology, biology, a chant to the everlasting cell represented under the
disguise of the mystic body which symbols an egg.
And there good Jack
was, the son of Zebedeo and María Salomé, like a thunder in peace with himself
warden of his own tomb over the centuries venerated. Kisses and tears shedded
over his grave have flagellated his chest like a tinderbox (yesquero). Crowds
and hordes of the faithful have deposited on the shrine like a Hoque (la robla
y el alboroque de santidad) their osculator wishes. From here to eternity. Santiago is not a real
city like Jerusalem. Overwhelms. In order to quell the panting oppression
sensation it conveys (la abofellada) on the visitor, you have to recur to most
menial sources. Riveiro is a good wine if you take it in moderation.
That night I couldn´t
either. Santiago was too much. I felt its bruising prophetic atmosphere all
over me. That is why I got drunk and on my way home at the first junction
leading the way to Asturias a civil Guard asked me to pull, they made me to
blow the alcoholic test and I was unable to pass. A fine of 75000 pesetas,
three months without driving licence. It was the curse of the apostle. Galicia
is the only region of Spain where you could see gnomes and witches walking
along the country side or climbing the branches of the big oaks. its cemeteries
(composita) are a variegated motley. A culture of death. Galicians believe in
apparitions. The ghost stroll walkside of the hamlets with barns and haystack
at dawn: Sancta Compaña, the irreal peg of almas en pena, visions of hobgoblins
in midnight processions, somebody toll the bells of belfries of churches in
ruins, the bells commence to peal, the bones for long time hidden at the bottom
of the lake corpses of people who drowned back again on the march. We have in
Iberia our particular Ireland of Saints. And there I was inmersed in a
laberynth dismal and frail
However, Santiago is
a drab city like Jerusalem. Drinking is allowed and womanizing tolerated but
extramuros. The scarce half an hour I spent with my mulata was worth much more
than the whole pilgrimage.
However, one has de
duty to live and abide by legends and myths.
La Santa Compaña is a
myth in the same way as the Stone Barge with the mortal remains of Boanerges, a
pill hard to swallow, belongs to the realms of allegorical fiction, where
religion crossbreeds superstition.
These mingled
ingredients conduct us in spite of all to the triumphant scenery of the art of
mouldering flagstones of Portico de la gloria. There the chisel full of
inspiration and devotion of Maestro Mateo has the last words. Yo no soy más que un
cintero de la inmensa poesía que guarda el arte cristiano.
But Compostela keeps
the esoteric profile of the Gnosis founded in the New Scriptures. Gnosis comes
from the Island of Cnosos (Crete) that evokes the cavities leading to the
labyrinth, we are surrounded by the maze framing our mortal lives. The great
support of the gnostic knowledge, another approach to God, is the Fourth
Godspell. John writes in a divine incomprehensive way. He was the disciple who
loved Jesus, another son of thunder, brother of Jack.
That is part of the
mysteries unveiled by Santiago: its johannic connections. With its shells or
merelles, veneiras, the stock, the burjaca, bordón, the pumpkin, cape and the
long robe. Compostela means a wedge between heaven and earth moulded by the
last of the evangels. Campus stellae, the graveyard of the star glowing mysteries
and the key of our essence and existence.
Pilgrim is part of our
way of live. The Russian yurodivi filed the route of the Volga with the
fourth book of the New Testament in their leather bag (bujarca). Morral de devoción. And that line of demarch was
spiritual, and symbolic, a certain allegiance to the book of glory. Steps in
the direction of eternal life and apocalypses. A book set the whole Europe on
the move. The West and the East.
I drove all the way
from Canterbury. My compass was a star (lizarra) and I went astray at that
brothel in the motorway I know but that was not a big sin.
Jaca is Jack, the
town of Wisdom, the sister of Compostela. Located at the initial of the track leading
to the stars over Finisterre. There was three ways in Europe which leads to the
lands end: from Canterbury to Cornwall and the Stonehenge; from Chartres to the
Armorica or Mont Saint Michelle. And I have done all the walk from Canterbury
step by step per pedes apostolorum
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