If civil war broke out Mexico, a mean, Guadalupe only be able to agree to the contestants. That fervor for dark-skinned virgin breathes like no other place in the Basilica of Guadalupe. At the gates of the temple, I heard the phrase most lucid of my journey around the Mexican.
The church was built to honor the Virgin of coppery face that appeared in 1531 the Indian Juan Diego on Tepeyac Hill, north of the capital. Its surroundings are crammed full of rosaries vendors, stamps, sample images and all the "kitsch" usual the great Marian shrines converted by hustlers and needy in hypermarkets of faith. But here are authentic street vendors miserable, cripples some, they have every right to try to live a virgin considering his, perhaps their only property. We went, as, the enclosure to the sound of wailing and woe to beg some money in exchange for a memory, however insignificant. Among the hubbub of prayers and supplications, suddenly heard an old man, Multicolored rosaries in hand, pronounce a phrase unforgettable, the kind that you shake for a while:
-Buy me something that you left us ...
Can not say more in fewer words. Step stunned long, but the prayer of the humble Indian, dignified and forceful, continues to lurk within me as we visit the Basilica, that barely leaves a mark on me, except the indelible memory of the Indian families visiting the temples with a devotion devoid of affectation and prudery, as authentic as it is sometimes lacking in Europe. It is the same devotion that led their ancestors to offer children in sacrifice to Tlaloc, the rain god, but now the Aztec gods have given way to the Virgin and Child. Is, in any case, the allegiance of all-giving because almost nothing and, maybe that's why, trust everything to divine intercession, the goodness of a virgin brown as they, the favors of a saint mestizo, blood brother, allowing them to pray to God and pleading for his miseries in Nahuatl means certain that their prayers, as did the Mexica or Quetzalcoatl Tlaloc. The memory of my time in Guadalupe, forever, that sentence the old man whose face I've forgotten.
suddenly heard an old man, Multicolored rosaries in hand, pronounce a phrase unforgettable, the kind that you shake for a while: 'Buy me some of what you left us ...’
The painting of the Virgin is located behind the main altar. At their feet runs a passage that can be admired without disrupting the celebrations, hidden from view of the faithful who fill the banks without interruption. To avoid agglomerations are located two conveyor sections such as airports, in opposite directions, in which the faithful raise their prayers and whisper their prayers. These are just a few seconds, but there is always the option to terminate the litany in the other direction, gently carried by the moving belt, and repeat as many times as necessary at the risk of dizzy with so much fro oratory.
The image of the faithful coming and going, almost levitating sideways on the treadmill, eyes raised to the picture of the revered Virgin of Guadalupe, is the most unusual I've referred to in any Catholic church. Some people take the opportunity to take photos or record some images, but the noise of the cameras does not break the respectful silence of the faithful, not seem to take on the traditional lack kneelers for greater spiritual gathering.
At the exit, the same old man whispers a "God bless you" only serves to further embarrass. But I can not stop and buy something (argument is a wretched, but I sense that you give what you give, would deserve much more). I flee, as, up the street making my way through an old crippled their precarious ordering goods but at least it asks nothing. Way around the corner of the parking, I stop at a street vendor to buy some rosaries, perhaps inwardly shaken by my bad conscience Spaniard unsupportive. Another traveling companion does the same and is carried by eight pesos worth a pittance 15 weights after haggling melee before the astonished gaze of the little Indian, barely five feet gnarled body and fine mustache. Embarrasses me to think I'm another tourist more willing to haggle to trifles and, when it's time I pay my souvenirs, I let my fellow difference has refused to pay. His smile kindly pay me the trip to Guadeloupe, although it is still ashamed that costs so little to make someone happy.
