The harpist Figueredo
Parables and Illustrations for Values Education |
This story is also of Galeano and was in Cartagena, in the meeting that took place in 1997 on action research.
There was no party in plain or dance of joropo without the magic harp master Figueredo. His fingers caressed the ropes and joy lit and the wide river of his prodigious music flowed uncontrollably.
It was of people in town, announcing and allowing the party. It, their descriptions and his harp, by the infinite roads of the plain.
One night, I had to cross a thick morichal and there waited it for the bandits. They assaulted him, beat him savagely until dead and took descriptions them and the harp.
The next morning, passed through there a few carriers and found the master Figueredo covered with bruises and blood. He was alive but in very poor condition. He could hardly speak. He made an incredible effort and came to babble with numb and swollen lips: «Stole Me the mules». He returned to sink into a silence that hurt, and after a long pause, he managed to push his shattered lips a new complaint: «Stole Me the harp». After a while, and when it seemed that not you going to say anything, he began to laugh. It was a fresh and deep laughter that inexplicably came out of that flayed face. And amid the laughter, master Figueredo was able to say: "But not stole me the music!".
Let us not being stolen us illusion, hope, dreams, utopia. «History is over,» pontificated the Japanese American Francis Fukuyama, as an expression of that neo-liberal culture that arises with hegemonic pretensions, and seeks to convince us that this is the best of all possible worlds, and therefore it makes no sense to try to change it. Happiness is reduced to mere consumption levels and dreams reduced to objects of brands that distinguish us and grow us the illusion that we are superior and better. There is no who believe, what to believe, how to believe, except for private and industrial consumption. The hope is collapsed and dying. Snow long and strong in hearts seeking heat of things.
Today, more than ever, and precisely because billions of people in the world are removed or "excluded" the possibility of a life dignified, utopias, as Frei Betto, says ' not only have future, they become necessary and urgent. But they will not be found in any supermarket shelf. They will arise as in the impoverished who made changes to a future become better... There maybe end of history when we discover own story as part of a collective process, and acquired awareness of the human, civil, social and religious rights».
Somewhere I read the complaint of the cure that many confessed to have had bad dreams, but nobody confessed is of much more serious sin not to dream. Let us not being stolen to us the right to dream, which is the most important of all. Without it, the rest are meaningless. It would be terrible if we could not imagine a different world, dream of it as a project and deliver us with hope and joy to their construction. We oppose our ability to dream to the antisueno of the pragmatists. Remember to Facundo Cabral: 'If we let our dreams die we will be poor, if we care for them and put into practice, we will be rich'.
According to the mythology of our indigenous yekuana, a dream of God created men and women and gave them life everlasting beyond pain and death appearances: «God dreamed them while singing and waving their maracas, wrapped in tobacco smoke, and felt happy and also shaken by doubt and mystery. The yekuana know that if Dios dreaming of food, it bears fruit and feed. If God dreams of life, born and gives birth. The woman and the man dreamed that a large shiny egg appeared in the dream of God. Inside the egg, they sang and danced and armed much uproar, because they were mad desire to birth. They dreamed that the joy in God's dream was stronger than doubt and the mystery; and God, dreaming, created them, and singing said: "I break this egg and born woman and born man. And together they will live and die. But they will be born again. They will be born and die again and again will be born. And never will be born, because death is a lie"(Galeano).