Professional Documents
Culture Documents
-Cuento y Ensayo-
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produce la certidumbre de la muerte. Todos andamos haciendo diabluras,
tratando de olvidar que somos reos, condenados a la pena capital. No hay
argumento que valga, a nadie entusiasma la idea de la anulación total, absoluta y
eterna. No hay suicida alegre.
Pero, para no pasarse de grave, “La Muerte Inefable” posee un sutil y bien
logrado mecanismo lúdico que gira alrededor de un eje simbólico. Al final no
deja de provocar sorpresa y, lo más celebrable, humor. Es un magnífico
testimonio que -una vez leído- provocará una cierta vibración en el alma de
algún “lector desprevenido”. Y de seguro que a todos nos planteará algunas
interrogantes.
(¡Que la gloria sea para Yavé!)
La Muerte Inefable
(Cuento)
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Aunque llena de altibajos, toda su vida fue un pecado. El escritor ADAN
FARISEO disfrutó descaradamente de los placeres de la carne: odió al prójimo;
se inmiscuyó en la política; simpatizó con el comunismo; fue sadomasoquista y
homosexual; mintió y robó; blasfemó y fornicó. Nunca mató, pero con su verbo
aguerrido aniquiló mundos imaginarios y recreó universos verbales que luego
asesinó con una frase, con una sola palabra. Nunca se arrodilló ante un ídolo
pagano; pero su corazón rindió tributo al dios de las tinieblas en sus variadas
manifestaciones mundanas. Nunca adulteró, porque no se unió legalmente a
ninguna mujer. Nunca usó el nombre de Yahweh en vano, porque antes de morir
no lo conoció (mejor dicho, apenas lo conoció). Su muerte inesperada puso
punto final al imperio de Satanás el Diablo en su piel de barro.
Los manuscritos profanos de ADAN FARISEO están sobrecargados de
sutiles impurezas hábilmente disfrazadas por un humanismo a ultranza en busca
de la liberación personal sin Dios ni Jesucristo. Me atrevo a afirmar que su
destellante prosa en última instancia socavaría los cimientos de la imaginación
creativa en cualquier lector desprevenido. Descarto, por consiguiente, que su
obra literaria se vea ennoblecida con el galardón póstumo de la publicación
-nimio mendrugo de la posteridad vencida-.
Por valorar sus manuscritos con palabras agrestes, Jesucristo tiene que
perdonarme. Es de rigor que mi verbo sea severo al enjuiciar sus páginas,
porque ADAN FARISEO fue un personaje cuyos días fluctuaron entre lo
auténtico y lo falso, entre la total dependencia y la mayor autonomía. No
pretendo justificarme ni racionalizar la virtual injuria.
Tengo ante mí sus textos. Los veo; los re-leo. Me avergüenza saber que
ADAN FARISEO fundó “El Club de los Ateos”, lugar distinguido en donde
muchedumbres se daban cita para saciar sus penes. Tengo ante mí sus textos.
Ahora los leo.
Pongo a Yahweh por testigo. ¡Tengo que ser implacable! ¡No hay atajos!
¡No hay salida! ADAN FARISEO vivió como un desaprensivo hasta que un día
terminó de investigar la Biblia. Después de negar la verdad revelada por mucho
tiempo y -más notorio aún- después de interminables debates polémicos con
varios de sus amigos “Unitarios Universalistas de las Iglesias en las Casas” en la
privacidad de su habitación se arrodilló abrazando la Biblia. Le pidió
humildemente a Yahweh DIOS de los Ejércitos que lavara su inmundicia con la
sangre expiatoria de Su Hijo, Jesucristo.
A su mente llegó la cita clásica de Juan 3:16 según la versión de la Biblia
Concordante de A. E. Knoch: "Porque de tal manera amó Dios al mundo, que
ha dado a su Hijo unigénito, para que todo aquel que en él cree, no se pierda,
mas tenga vida eónica." Su corazón vibró; su alma se estremeció. Permaneció
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de rodillas por un tiempo que parecía eterno por la sublimidad de la paz que
embargó de repente su compungido ser.
Ahora la gente me asedia con sus preguntas. Les digo que ADAN
falleció, que pasó a mejor vida. No me pueden entender y les confieso que
algún día escribiré la historia singular y verdadera del escritor satánico ADAN
FARISEO. No sé si publicaré sus textos. Sólo sé que siento incomodidad
cuando la gente se acerca a mí y me cuestiona sobre el finado poeta.
En la actualidad, estoy sopesando su obra inédita. Antes de morir, le
prometí al difunto vate publicar sus textos. La labor de resucitarlo a partir de las
cenizas del cigarrillo encendido que aún se consume obstinadamente
-consumiéndose a sí mismo y consumiéndome por dentro- es en verdad una
empresa heroica -acaso titánica- que algún día realizaré a sabiendas de que mi
biografiado no merece ser recordado ni siquiera por la mujer que durante nueve
meses lo albergó en el resquicio sagrado de sus entrañas.
Tal vez muchos seres se encuentran en la misma condición caída. Es muy
probable que la muerte inefable del escritor satánico ADAN FARISEO ilumine
sus atribuladas almas. Yo, por mi parte, me he equivocado tantas veces que en
esta ocasión también creo que he fallado en dar en el blanco.
Camino despacio entre la multitud. Algunos me saludan y me confunden
con el extinto aeda. Yo les digo que se han equivocado, que dejar de fumar no
es tan fácil. Espero que este sea -Dios mediante- el último cigarrillo de ADAN
FARISEO. Por lo pronto, debo reunirme con mis amigos “Unitarios
Universalistas Bíblicos”. “¡Levántense, vámonos de aquí!” (Juan 14: 31).
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The Ineffable Death
(Essay and Short-Story)
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who –in spite of it- has left an extensive work that we guess to be passionate.
Therefore, the severe storyteller-testament executor finds himself trapped in
the dilemma of publishing it or, due to the fact that he judges it so sinful as the
same life of Adam Pharisee, condemning it to the “ostracism of silence”.
It is unavoidable to feel an autobiographical smell in “The Ineffable
Death” (maybe the odor of a lit cigarette). The theme is displayed with too
much honesty and courage. On times of lax relativism, the author takes a
stand, makes a confession of faith. It’s true, he nakedly exposes himself off,
indeed he runs the risk of being crucified. But at the same time he throws on
our faces the very Adam Pharisee that all of us are, because we suffer the
“quiet desperation” (Joyce) that produces the certainty of death within us. All
of us walk devilishly, trying to forget that we are prisoners, equally
condemned to capital punishment. There are not valid alibis, nobody is
enthusiastic about the idea of total annihilation, absolute and eternal. There
are no happy suicides.
Nevertheless, not to be exceedingly grave, “The Ineffable Death”
possesses a subtle and well performed ludicrous mechanism, which turns
around a symbolic axis. At the end, it doesn’t stop to provoke surprise and,
the most celebratory-like reaction of all, humor. It is a magnificent testimony
that once read through will provoke a certain vibration in the soul of some
“unaware reader”. And for sure, to all of us, it will spring some questions up.
(May the glory be to Yahweh!)
I am the one and only witness of the ineffable death of the satanic writer
ADAM PHARISEE. Out of his turbulent existence, there is still a single
vestige remaining: a lit cigarette on the ashtray which in life belonged to the
deceased poet. So far his works stay unpublished. I have the hateful
responsibility of publishing his texts. I fear that the toxic flavor of his
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poisonous pages will force me to condemn all of them to the ostracism of
silence.
Even though being full of ups and downs, all his live was a single sin.
The writer ADAM PHARISEE openly enjoyed the pleasures of his flesh:
hated the neighbor; took part in Politics; sympathized with Communism; was
sadomasochist and homosexual; lied and stole; blasphemed and fornicated.
He never killed, but with his furious words he annihilated imaginary worlds
and re-created verbal universes that he then murdered away with one phrase,
with a simple word. He never knelt down to worship any pagan idol, but his
heart praised unendingly the god of darkness in his various worldly
manifestations. He never committed adultery, because he didn’t join legally to
any woman. He never used the name of Yahweh in vain, because before dying
he didn’t know it (in other words, he barely knew it). His unexpected death
finished up with the empire of Satan the Devil in his flesh of clay.
The profane manuscripts of ADAM PHARISEE are overcharged with
subtle impurities wisely disguised by an extreme Humanism in search of
personal achievement without neither God nor Christ. I dare to say that his
brilliant prose ultimately would destroy the foundations of the creative
imagination in any unaware reader. I discard, therefore, that his literary works
will be honored with the posthumous award of publishing –petty crust of
defeated posterity-.
For assessing his manuscripts with harsh words, Jesus Christ ought to
forgive me. It’s a must that my verb has to be severe when judging his pages,
because ADAM PHARISEE was a character whose days fluctuated between
the authentic and the fake, between the total dependency and the biggest
autonomy. I don’t pretend neither to justify myself nor to rationalize the
virtual offence.
I have in front of me his texts. I look at them; I re-read them. I feel
ashamed knowing that ADAM PHARISEE founded “The Club of the
Atheists”, high-class spot where multitudes used to meet in order to please
their penises.
Yahweh is my witness. I must be unforgiving. There are no shortcuts!
There is no escape! ADAM PHARISEE lived unscrupulously up to the day
when he finished investigating the Bible. After denying the revealed truth for
a long time, and –more noticeably yet- after unending heated debates with
several of his “House Church Unitarian Universalist” friends, in the privacy of
his room he knelt down embracing the Bible. He humbly pleaded to Yahweh
of the hosts to cleanse his wickedness with the atoning blood of His Son, Jesus
Christ.
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The classic biblical verse of John 3:16 came up to his mind in the
rendering of the Concordant Bible by A. E. Knoch: “For thus God loves the
world, so that He gives His only-begotten Son, that everyone who is believing
in Him should not be perishing, but may be having life eonian.” His heart
pounded; his soul trembled. He knelt down for a time that seemed eternal due
to the sublimity in the peace that suddenly invaded his contrite being.
Now people surround me with their questions. I tell them that ADAM
PHARISEE just died, that he passed away to a better life. They can’t dig me,
and I confess to them that someday I will write down the unique and true story
of the writer ADAM PHARISEE. I don’t know if I will publish his texts. I
just know that I feel uneasy when people approach me asking about the extinct
bard.
Now I am measuring up his complete works. Before dying, I promised
to the dead poet that I would publish his texts. The task of resurrecting him
out of the ashes of the lit cigarette that it’s still burning up inceasingly –
burning itself up and burning up inside of me at the same time- is indeed a
heroic enterprise –in a way a titanic one- that someday I will endeavor myself
to do, knowing that my biographee doesn’t deserve to be remembered not
even by the woman that during nine months nurtured him in the sacred spot of
her womb.
Perhaps a lot of human beings are trapped in the same fallen state.
Probably the ineffable death of the satanic writer ADAM PHARISEE may
enlighten their wrecked souls. I, on my part, have been mistaken so many
times that now I also believe to be missing the mark.
I walk slowly among the crowd. Some people greet me and mistake me
by the deceased poet. I tell them that they are wrong, that to quit smoking is
not easy. I hope –God willing- that this will be the last cigarette of ADAM
PHARISEE. But now I must meet my “Biblical Unitarian Universalist”
friends. “Arise, let us go hence” (John 14:31).
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“It’s certain that we live procrastinating all that can be postponed.
Maybe all of us deeply know that we are immortal and that sooner or
later every man will do everything and will know everything.”