season will be the end of the year, will the weather be me ... the fact is that these days I've thought about what we call guilt. Well it does not know why, because as I do not feel guilty of anything, unless it be for food atascones in which one incurs almost by accident. But the fact is that the idea of \u200b\u200bguilt has haunted me very closely and in the middle of my ramblings silent, trapped in a circle, came to my mind the memory of a story read long ago. No company is called and was written by someone who has never been the writer of my loves. A writer (and intellectual historian, says her bio) is so unfriendly to me like Vargas Llosa, with the aggravation of not being as good as the Peruvian writer. But like everything in life there are exceptions and even acrobats and accommodating writers, artificial Region 4 of the organic intellectuals as well characterized by Antonio Gramsci, find a common ground. The central story of his story was not important, what interested me was what happened in the background, a distant memory brought to mind by the co-star of the main story. The memory of a forbidden love , certainly nothing original, including a Jesuit priest and a good girl. A love emerged from the dark corridors of the Universidad Iberoamericana, in the late 60's and early 70's of last century. The priest was all that any teen might idealize as the epitome of Platonic love: theologian, historian, cosmopolitan, highly cultured, highly sensitive, of course, any Badulaque handsomer than Brad Pitt. Too cliché where you look. Still, the character was interesting not so much in that stage where she, like Eva embodiment of highbrow, tempted him with worldly and carnal delights to do fall in sin (a man victim of the sets of a capricious millionaire Lizard), but then when you know totally lost. I liked the way on how to assume their doom, which I did not start the night that first love with good girl (she set him into her bed and got it on the road but also fell in love, another cliché But if love is, what else could be expected), but when he confesses his guilt before the seductive father, who set him into her bed and got even in the process of course, also fell in love. Hence on everything is downhill and if the golden promise of the Society of Jesus, the brightest graduates in years, expert multilingual writer Teilhard de Chardin and Jacques Maritain, the handsome priest who thronged the same Sunday Mass the classrooms (at 28), went on to become an old-looking and frustrated man who dragged his fault between mangroves and unclean hotel rooms in a Southeast Asian country where he was exiled as a punishment. It was not my intention to tell the whole story, just wanted to talk about the Jesuit priest, the moment completely lost wakes up one morning not knowing how he to that filthy hovel nor how he rose to life gallant lady lying next to him and suddenly, amid the horror of himself, leans out the window, draws the foul air and looks up at the clear sky and crashed to shout, shouting, their God how he could let him do that (God) within. Until then, the man kept a semblance of faith, but it was that same morning when he lost it completely, since God obviously did not respond. What's more, according to his way of seeing things, God allowed her to continue wallowing in the wreckage of pain and guilt. End of story the story.
Of all the defects inherited, instil, by Christianity, no such guilt. Almost insoluble, guilt seems more terrible than the very notion of sin. I admire (and I mean it) who go through life without knowing this terrible torture caused by the fault. It may sound arrogant but I have never felt "sinner." In contrast, the times to deal with guilt. Some trivial, others less so. Since I have memory I have struggled against this feeling: guilt away from certain beliefs, some people blame for ending relationships, guilt for not wanting to, wanting more or less, who did not want to be, for believing in who should not, etc.. Many reasons. Although the worst and most reprehensible of all, must be the fault that generates not do or say something on time. Repentance-blame for what was not said or shown, is the saddest thing there is. course, look no worse than blame someone else when you can not load more guilt. It would be good and there are antidepressants exist to prevent something similar fault. Little pill to not feel guilt. Preferably non-addictive and without detrimental effects.
Moaning, figure in Mesoamerican mythology
*****
"No I care what the faux pas that makes you fall on my body "Marguerite Yourcenar 
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