Page 447 - Microsoft Word - Belicena respaldo
P. 447
previous analysis had isolated me solipsistically from the World; or, in other words, that the
Manichean polarization to which I submitted the human organizations, had continued
unconsciously jumping categories till a confrontation: Me and the World. This could be given
by my instinctive rejection of the material. But it was not in such form because when I thought
in friends, my family, the people that I admire, I intuited immediately the spiritual potency of
them. And I knew the sensation of joy that inspired me the spiritual, made my body vibrate.
Yes, I was capable to intuit the Spirit in some beings and thereby I was not really alone.
The heart-breaking loneliness that I felt –I thought rapidly– was not a product of a pathological
deviation as the one that usually suffer in their melancholy the selfish solipsistic. That was a
totally different sensation. Pricking and painfully acute could be translated in just one word:
abandonment.
I felt alone and cosmically abandoned, but in that sensation of abandonment,
permeated, there was a second sensation, more subtle but less painful: it was like a silent
reproach that vibrated in the depth of my Soul, but in an imaginable profundity. Was the
reproach of God which was transmitted through a space without dimensions and that seemed
to cry for a loss; a metaphysical amputation of His substance that was suffered as only He is
capable to suffer.
And that loss that the God reproached was Me….
Was Me who was betraying him, who committed an abominable and reprehensible heresy.
I felt alone and cosmically abandoned, I repeat, but in such intense grade that for one instant I
thought to be dying.
It must be understood that all these very quickly, perhaps in just some minutes or
seconds. And the most probable is that I would have really died –I understood this much later–
If that strange animic state would have won me.
If that not occurred thus was because remotely, in the frontiers of the consciousness
that was rapidly abandoning me, I had a certain intuition: that emotion that was killing me was
external to my own being!
It was not me who was bemoaning and moaning emotively with such force that it filled
everything; that traversed my multiple spheres of perception and was diffused through the
surrounding reality; that dissolved my consciousness when it lost the differentiation between
subject and object.
The curious was that I made this intuition conscious; all was cut suddenly, in a silent and
brilliant blast in which I believed to distinguish fleetingly a white circle that surrounded me.
447