Súbito

Suddenly, a desire to walk hits me
I still don’t know exactly which way to go
But I already understand movement
I go

Movement is life
Getting out of the same old spot
Where exactly to?
Even if the answer isn’t clear yet
The action to take is already known
To go

Walking is playing at being God
He who moved over the waters
When no road had yet been carved in the ground
The Baby Jesus
What was he but a wanderer?

Carried in the night from Bethlehem into Egypt
As if he carried in his newly incarnated soul
A crime for which he should die
But instead of death
He gains the road as his sentence
The crime was ours
Who fled, since then, from the inevitable sentence of death
Opening roads, building towers, boats, fleeing, that was us

But the baby Jesus
From his very first moments
Identified with those who flee
With those who walk
Though being royalty in his homeland
He came here to wash feet, grill fish on the beach, serve wine and bread
He was the prince of his own
But here, no
He was just a wanderer, with a heavy accent
You could only truly understand what he said with your heart

Love is the intergalactic language that unites wanderers and natives
So he walked
But he walked a lot
Strolled around
A thousand walks, maybe more
God knows how many miles from his throne to Palestine
How much wandering was needed after the last breath on the wood
Until the Sunday morning of resurrection

Follow me
To live is to walk
Even if you don’t know the destination or the road
The traveler knows the guide who says
Follow me