life is reborn each year in spring. And every year, coinciding with the first full moon of spring, again reissued a passion ... the holy Easter.
And he sang the poet.
Oh! bolt, singing ...
... Song of the Andalusian people
all walks
spring asking
stairs to climb to the cross ...
centuries ago, by an urgent need, the Catholic Church had to draw their sacred images to the street. The rescued people and their gods again. By humanizing figures made them closer, more worldly.
Already in ancient Greece, the gods Olympian down to mingle with men, and
with women. Of such unions born demigods, so necessary to win wars and to keep the gods. In Christian Rome, a unique sky god let his son, another demigod. To make it credible was born of woman, yes, virgin, to reign on earth. As his kingdom was not of this world, returned to heaven. There continues to the right of a parent, managing our salvation.
Even today, the most ancient cultures, inherited the religion, keep that belief alive. And more earthy expression is the representation of Holy Week on the street.
So
Joan Manuel Serrat sang it before he did ... because poetry Antonio Machado.
In midday sun, the streets fill with people. A restless-eyed boy in the arms of his mother will not take his eyes off an image that moves as if walking. The
carry on h SHOULDER, dressed in purple robes, men's throne. In the face of the Christ child is afraid and covered his face ... So hugs to his mother. Withdraws procession down the street, but has left behind aromas of rosemary and incense. Only the sound of the band as Tranq uilizan. Over the years, little has changed in the procession on Good Friday, the "Nazarene" has not aged, but the carriers themselves are others forever young and strong. Many are children and grandchildren of those who went before.
That child grew up to par, but has always been a spectator of the staging, just looked at him curiously, wondering always what moved people to return every year to the same streets to follow the same representation . many springs have passed and much has changed ... were drawn up wrinkles and dark circles, but that tradition remains unchanged. The these processions paraded through the village streets. Music sounds with new sounds and those of rosemary and incense aromas penetrate beyond the senses. The same eyes, more tired, they return to roost in that face of Christ. It was not just fear that a child made him cover his eyes. Was an inexplicable confusion. Now, when I look back, find the emotion in the ro Stros people ... and is absorbed easily. As every year, he misses his mother's tears and restrained emotion, one that stays on there forever.
Easter has in Andalusia a peculiar staging. It's a party and a passion. And he lives in the souls that were touched by her.
While the tears of emotion I feel that provoke the passions and "shrines" that each of us
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