In the highest and most sacred part of Cuba, where nothing impure can touch it, is Jose Marti. In it inhabit the keys of our growth, of the liberating eagerness, of the detachment and of the surrender towards others. They are the keys to the encounter with ourselves.
Since every Cuban has a notion of the world, the Apostle touches his soul: he approaches softly, from his contours in a bust, from tender and luminous verses; he does it in the language of all men, asking, in an act of total sincerity, to die facing the sun because it is good, telling that a butterfly has seen from a rose bush, stored in a glass, the shoes of a girl who has gone forever… —will, only possible in him, tell other children about death… -; It approaches us from a beauty that seems simple.
But one day that beauty explodes and multiplies; it becomes indecipherable – with its flavor of centuries in just one line of words, with the coherence of each sacrifice without complaint. That day we cried, and understanding better the delivery of the Master we only managed to say: How could he be, so unique, so sore and enormous? What miracle worked its leap from the harsh conditions of a “more” being, to the transcendence that enchants and crosses us? We cry as they say, a huge Cuban cried while lamenting the shot that, they say, broke his tongue.
After the day of the discovery, Marti accompanies us without anything to diminish or deny it, because it contains the deep truth that the country, as the poet Cintio Vitier has said, “is that very clear and untouchable mystery (…). Very clear mystery I say, because it does not need any analysis; untouchable, because no “opprobrium” or “affront” can stain it ».
Marti, a source of pride, is there to save us. Forever.
Source: Juventud Rebelde