Maracunya: alerta naranja, poesía

  Lord God of life and truth, on this holy day as we remember your faithful servant, Saint Catherine of Siena, we praise you and give you thanks for her witness of love, of courage, and of total surrender to your will. She who knew how to hear your voice in the silence of prayer, who spoke with firmness when the Church needed her most, and who served the poor and the sick with tenderness, inspires us today to live with greater faith, with deeper inner fire, with a greater thirst for justice and peace. Lord, we ask you to grant us a humble and simple heart, like Catherine’s a heart that does not take pride in knowledge, nor closes itself in its own securities, but opens to the wisdom that comes from You, to the light that only You can give. Make us able to recognize our weaknesses and, at the same time, to fully trust in your mercy. Let us not be lost in guilt, but may we return to You with hope, knowing that You are slow to anger and rich in mercy. Help us, Lord, to walk in your li...

  For the poetry circle of ENGLISH 300 “A pastor of the people, not a state clergyman. The path is shepherding; the mission is caring for and serving the community, rather than bureaucracy or political power.” black man from the jagua masks appearances simulations the unreal  “likes” and trends beyond the rational empty room vacant nightstand forbidden tenant painted passport Sacrifice Zone automatized individuals saturated with egocentric exhibitionism normalizing vices lies corruption fraudulent and despicable attitudes hallucinogens for cockroaches broken verses like dissociative drugs concrete jungle midwife of misfortunes black and wild zombie low emotional intelligence zombie society zombifying society faithful companion: neurosis Despite being your orphans, the guardian of the password protects us. You are  now with our Father. -ER

On April 21, 2025, at 7:35 in the morning, Francis’ heart stopped beating. At 88 years old, Jorge Mario Bergoglio set out for the Father’s House after falling into a coma due to a stroke. After two months of a respiratory via crucis that culminated on an Easter Monday, just hours after blessing the entire planet and being blessed by the Holy Faithful People of God.

  A romantic relationship is not that perfect fairytale many imagine.  It’s not about having breakfast together every morning, or endless cuddles under the covers. It’s not an immaculate home filled with constant laughter or sweet words to lull you to sleep each night. No, it’s not a magazine cover or a romantic movie without pauses or mistakes. A real relationship is when someone steals the blanket in the middle of the night and snores without guilt. It’s a slammed door in anger, an uncomfortable silence, a word that stings. It’s stubbornness clashing with yours, pride refusing to bend. It’s enduring routine, dirty laundry, dishes that wait, and exhaustion without filters. It’s biting your tongue when your heart wants to scream, out of love, out of care. But within all of that lies the deepest and most beautiful thing: it’s having someone who stays, who holds you when you’re falling apart, who cooks with you at odd hours and sits beside you when the world is col...

"y de nuevo, le volvieron las espaldas y de nuevo se enamora de la muerte, el espectáculo    de su saliva, desmaya a todo el mundo, le huele el aliento, a interminable cementerio, se le han derretido los ojos en las cuencas,    le han desaparecido las piernas." -Pedro Pietri  En la Casa Santa Marta allí en esa casa sin oro ni mármol, donde la sal no la hace las monedas, sino los pasos lentos de quien limpia los pecados con las manos abiertas y los pies polvorientos, vive vivía un hombre de sotana blanca, que no buscó trono, sino mesada.  La Casa Santa Marta : no es palacio, es refugio. Una Latinoamérica que nos arde.  Una Palestina que grita. Una Isla que no conoce su historia. No es cima, es subsuelo, donde la ternura se sienta al borde de la cama de un migrante sin papeles y el Evangelio se sirve caliente con arroz y silencio. Allí se escucharon oraciones que no están en ningún libro, susurros rotos de prostitutas redimidas, de abuelos sin techo, de ...