It rains meekly about the big cypresses. In this Mediterranean country, dry, it is the blessing of the Creator about his creatures, which he did not leave of his hand.
The cypresses, humbles and in a row, on both sides of the path, takes us, also meekly, towards a space out of the time.
We have arrived at the door of the Carthusian monastery. In crossing it, the present has disappeared; all the time it is now. And the outer space has disappeared; all the world is here, in this cloister garden.
We follow in silence the brother Josep Maria for the Gothic corridors until the chapter house, where the liturgy will start, which will be in the chapel and in the choir.
In the "great silence" of now and of here the words of Jesus in the Last Supper proclaimed from the book rest echoe like never: "I’m the way, the truth and the life".
Some divine words that fill in all the great human silence, that fill in the space and that fill in the time, that fill in all the world and fill in everything the times. So, does anything out of this have importance? Is anything out of this interesting? Is any other thing necessary?
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